“Such as abandoning your wife and child?” Solomon bit his tongue. He hadn’t wanted to say it. He hadn’t wanted James to think it mattered to him at all.
“Yes,” James said. “That was my sacrifice.”
“No, you bastard,” Solomon answered. “That was ours.”
He raised his fist to strike, but they were both brought out of their personal acrimony by the clear, high sound of a scream.
“That’s not Catherine,” was Solomon’s first response. “I know her scream.”
“What difference does it make?” James said as they retraced their steps as quickly as possible in the darkness. “I think it came from somewhere near the church.”
As they reached the space between the church and the rock, Solomon saw a growing crowd of people gathering around a still shape on the ground. From what he could see of the clothing, it was a woman.
“It’s not Catherine. It wasn’t her voice,” he repeated to convince himself. Then another thought struck him. What if the scream had been from Mondete?
He pushed his way through the people until he could see the face lying on the stone. Her eyes were open and empty. Solomon felt a wave of relief and then guilt.
It was Hersent.
Catherine had followed the two women through the warm night with a sense of being in some ancient story where, at any moment, a talking bird would swoop by, or a friendly wolf would trot up and lead her to the secret treasure. This was not the world she lived in every day; it was a strange country where magic survived, where children became swans, and river spirits gave up immortality for earthly princes. The flicker of the tiny oil lamp the two women carried was a talisman, part of the enchantment.
So she wasn’t surprised when Griselle and Hersent vanished through a narrow slit between the church and the rock. She followed them without fear, for how could stories harm you?
It was barely the space of a breath later when there was a scream and one of the women came stumbling out, falling all too solidly onto the hard earth.
Catherine ran to her and knelt at her side.
Hersent whimpered in pain, then made a noise in her throat horribly like the one Catherine had heard when Hugh was killed. The woman gripped Catherine’s arm.
“Save her!” Hersent begged.
The grip released as Hersent’s body went slack against Catherine. Gently, Catherine lowered her to the ground.
There was the sound of running feet. Catherine knew help was coming and so, reluctantly, she stood. Griselle was still in there. Someone had to go in and get her. Someone had to save her.
Catherine had intended to wait for someone with a torch and weapons. Then, above her head, a voice called to her from the dark. “Have no fear,” it said enticingly. “I’m here to help you. To fulfill your dreams. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Come up here. Follow me.”
Catherine looked up. Way above her, the lamp was shining, the flame dancing in the night breeze. As she watched, it moved farther up the side of the rock face.
Help was coming. But the voice was calling her. There had been no voice in her dream that she remembered. But dreams were so uncertain. What if she were meant to follow? What if she failed the test and this child died as well? Catherine stood in torment. What should she do?
The light moved farther up. The voice was fainter. “Hurry!” it urged her. “There isn’t much time.”
Catherine decided. If one wasn’t willing to take the leap, then faith had no worth.
But this was too much to ask of Saint James alone. Catherine clasped her hands quickly, then whispered as she entered the gaping crack in the cliff. “Holy Mother, I am trusting in you. please, don’t let anything happen to my child.”
There was no light inside, but Catherine didn’t have time to fumble around. She hit her shin almost immediately on a sharp edge. A step. She bent over and felt with her hands. There was another. She placed one hand against the rough wall and started to climb.
Edgar woke to the echo of the scream from the churchyard. He didn’t even need to reach out to know that Catherine was missing. He swung out of bed and grabbed his boots. Across the room, Hubert was doing the same.
“Where is she?” Hubert demanded.
Edgar’s heart sank. He knew. “Somewhere high up,” he answered. “I have to find her before she falls.”
Hubert opened his mouth to upbraid Edgar for his lack of care of Catherine. With an effort, he stopped himself. She had got past him as well.
Neither of them concerned themselves with knowing where to search. If they followed the commotion to where the noise and confusion were thickest, Catherine wouldn’t be far away.
They ran, almost literally, into Mondete, coming to find them. Her hood had fallen and her bald head shone in the torchlight, while her face was oddly shadowed, making her appearance that of a corpse, returned with evil tidings from beyond the grave.
“Gaucher has left the church,” she panted. “Solomon and his father are following him. No—” she forestalled their questions “—I don’t know where the scream came from. But Griselle and Hersent passed me as I was coming to get you, and Catherine followed soon after.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?” Edgar shouted.
“I promised Solomon that I would fetch you,” she answered. “Catherine will meet up with the others when she gets to the church. She’s in no danger.”
Edgar didn’t bother to answer her. He knew that Catherine was in danger, but he also knew that it was up to him to find her.
When they arrived at the church, they found a cluster of people circled about the body of a woman. Edgar’s heart lurched until he saw Solomon standing apart from the group. If the body were Catherine, he would have been next to her.
“Where is she?” Edgar gasped as he and Hubert reached Solomon.
Solomon knew instantly whom they meant. “I haven’t seen her,” he said. “That desfae monk and I went off in the wrong direction after Gaucher. He’d slipped into that hole in the rock behind the church. The monks here say that it’s an ancient stairway up to a ridge leading to any number of caves. But this is the only way out. He stabbed Lady Griselle’s maid on his way in. He may have taken the Lady as hostage. The monks don’t want to send their guards up in the dark for fear of getting her killed.”
“Solomon!” Edgar stopped him. “Catherine’s in there as well.”
Solomon stared at him. “No one mentioned her. How do you know?”
“Mondete saw her going after Griselle,” Hubert said. “She’s in there with a murderer. I’m going after her.”
Edgar looked at the darkness that he knew Catherine had vanished into. “No, I have to go,” he said. “She’s my wife and it’s our child. I have the right, Hubert.”
Hubert had already taken out his knife. He started to protest, then stopped himself again. Edgar did have the right.
“You go first, then,” he said. “I’ll come behind with a torch. She was my child long before you married her.”
“I’m following as well,” Solomon told them. “According to the monks, the passage is too narrow for more than one at a time.”
They hurried over to the opening but were impeded by a pair of guards, townsmen under the authority of the abbey. “No one is to enter,” the shorter one told them. “We’re here to see to that.”
Hubert sighed. “There’s really no point in arguing, is there?”
“None at all,” the guard answered firmly.
“Well, I suppose there’s only one thing we can do then.” Hubert sighed again and turned as if to move away. “Solomon?”
Solomon also turned, and then the both of them swung back, their fists connecting with the guards’ jaws before the men realized what was happening. More men rushed up to join in the fray.
In the ensuing confusion, Edgar slipped into the darkness and started up the stairs.
As she climbed the stairs, the voice grew clearer and Catherine realized that it was Griselle. She couldn’t understand how G
riselle had managed to get ahead of Gaucher until she realized that Hersent had caught up to him at the entrance to delay him. Did Griselle know that the maid had given her life to obey her mistress’s orders?
Griselle’s melodic summoning led the knight up and up the staircase, in and out of the side of the cliff. Gaucher followed as if sleepwalking, his face turned perpetually to her light. Catherine wondered what they would do when they reached the top. From the darkness, Griselle answered for her.
“Come along, my dear,” she crooned. “You’ve been pursuing me since Le Puys, almost as long as I’ve been pursuing you. I couldn’t surrender to you with all the others around, could I now? Think of the scandal.”
“I always knew you wanted me.” Gaucher stumbled, then caught himself. “But why here?”
Griselle laughed. Catherine shrank into the darkness, even though she was sure she couldn’t be seen. The light, frivolous sound terrified her.
“Oh, my Lord Gaucher,” Griselle replied, “I know how you like it, at least with women. It’s more exciting in a forbidden place, isn’t it? A church, for instance, or a shrine, before a holy object. Wouldn’t you like to have me on the floor of the cave with the Blessed Virgin staring down on us? Once more before you give her back?”
Catherine heard Gaucher stumble again. His chain mail rattled against the rock.
“You’d like to keep that on, too, wouldn’t you?” Griselle’s voice was as tempting as a serpent’s. “You want to see the marks of the metal rings branded into my flesh.”
“Oh, yes,” he breathed. “How … how do you know that?”
She laughed again. Catherine shuddered and forced herself to continue after them. They had reached the top of the stairs and come out onto a narrow plateau. Catherine stayed on the final step and peered around the edge. Griselle had undone the brooch holding her cloak, then let the garment fall. She stood in the lamplight clad only in a short shift. It was untied at the neck and open so that her breasts were half uncovered. Her long blond hair fell loosely around her like Danae’s shower. Catherine blinked. Griselle was really quite attractive.
“I know everything about you, my dear.” Griselle set the oil lamp on the ground next to Gaucher and smiled at him invitingly. “I’ve heard it over and over. I know all your appetites, your pleasures—just as I learned those of your friends. But they were so ordinary, no imagination. You were the one who knew how to make things interesting, weren’t you? I heard you were always the best.”
He moved toward her, reaching out to pull the shift from her shoulders. “After tonight, you won’t need to rely on the word of someone like Mondete,” he murmured. “I knew you’d come to me one day. There’s never been a widow as pious as you made out to be.”
“Yes,” she breathed, moving closer to him. “I was just preparing myself for you.”
The shift fell to the ground as Gaucher pulled her against him, holding her tightly as he kissed her. When he let her go, Catherine saw the marks of the chain mail across her chest. What was the woman doing, letting him hurt her like that? Was she mad?
Gaucher reached around Griselle and began to lift her by her buttocks, but she pushed away. Catherine noticed that her right hand was closed as if she were holding something.
“At the shrine,” she told him. “I want to do it just the way you like it best, with Our Lady watching. Which cave is she in?”
“I’ll take you there,” Gaucher said and lifted her so that her arms and legs were around him. He staggered a bit as he walked, but he didn’t drop her as they entered the cave. A moment later he came back alone, wiped his brow, picked up the lamp and went back inside.
Catherine stood frozen in shock and embarrassed fascination. So this was how Griselle had lured the knights to their death. Rufus certainly; even Hugh might have found her too much to resist. She may have thought Norbert too old for her charms and so resorted to poison. But how could she have allowed herself to do anything so disgusting with those men?
But what about Rigaud? From what had been said, it didn’t make sense that the monk would have followed her to an assignation. How had she convinced him to assume such a position for her?
The lamplight shone from the cave. Shadows reached out as someone moved back and forth between the lamp and the door. There was a loud moan, but not of pain. Catherine did not want to go any farther. She did not want to see what was happening in there. She wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to tell her confessor what she’d already observed.
But wasn’t it her duty to prevent a murder, even if the would-be victim wasn’t likely to thank her for intervening? Catherine moved toward the cave, wishing with all her heart that she had never believed in her dream, wishing even more that she could somehow get through this with her eyes closed.
Gaucher was a horrible person, but she couldn’t allow him to be killed, especially in a moment of sacrilege. Catherine forced herself to the entrance to the cave. She swallowed hard, stepped into the light … and gasped.
Twenty-One
Inside a cave in Najera. The middle of the night.
Peccator, ama misericordiam, quia si non amas, non mereris.
Sinner, love mercy. For if you do not love it, you do not deserve it.
—Hugh of Saint-Victor
De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei
Libri II Pars XIV cap. V
Catherine paid no attention to the bodies writhing on the floor. They were mere movements in the dark. The lamp had been placed on a ledge before the statue, and the light shone steadily upon the dark face of the Virgin. She was about three feet tall. On her head was a golden crown, encrusted with jewels. Her cloak was covered with pearls, its edging of gold thread. Even though the statue had been hidden in the cave for many years, everything about it was as bright as if newly made.
But it wasn’t the panoply that made Catherine gasp. It was the face of the Virgin. The carving was from a deep brown wood. Instead of being lost in the splendor of the robes, the contrast between the bright gold and the dark face only drew the eye to the tender simplicity of her expression. In her arms was the Child Jesus; a boy of three or four. The mother and son were looking directly at her, and Catherine had no answer to the question in their eyes.
Her thoughts were jerked back to earth as Griselle cried out and Gaucher laughed. There was a scuffle and then he gave a sudden yelp of pain.
“You bordelere!” he screamed. “That hurt! What was that? What did you stick me with?”
“Get off me, you pig!” Griselle shouted back, pushing against his weight. “Nothing half as painful as what you did to her, I promise. I know all about it. They held her down for you, didn’t they? She had no way to protect herself. And before you were through, her body was a mass of cuts from the rings of your mail shirt. And when he tried to save her, you tied him up and made him watch. And when she was dead, you started on him.”
Gaucher got up, rubbing his shoulder. “You’re mad! What are you talking about?” His voice shook. He knew.
Griselle scrambled to her feet. “I’m talking about Bertran, my husband. The child you tortured and mutilated. You and your brave friends, all soldiers for Christ. My beloved didn’t live long enough to avenge what you did to him and his mother, but thanks to God’s mercy, I have fulfilled his oath.”
“You?” Gaucher’s voice was barely audible. “You did it? Norbert, Hugh, Rigaud, Rufus? You killed all of them?”
“No, my dear Lord Gaucher,” Griselle purred. “I have killed all of you. You are the last, and the worst. And you will be dead by morning.”
Catherine saw the shadow that was Gaucher stiffen.
“Poison,” he said. “On the brooch.”
“Much kinder than what you did to her,” Griselle answered. “But I had no more time. And now I will take back the Lady you stole from Saragossa. My duty will then be finished.”
She crossed in front of him to reach for the statue, but Gaucher grabbed her by her flowing hair and pulled her to the ground, beating a
t her with his free hand. Griselle twisted in his grasp, clawing at his face, both of them growling like wild beasts.
The statue gazed down on them with ethereal serenity.
Something inside Catherine snapped. “No!” she screamed, falling upon the struggling pair. She pounded on Gaucher’s back, kicked with her bare feet at Griselle’s flailing arms. “Not here! Not in front of her! Stop! Stop this now!”
Under Catherine’s blows, Gaucher’s grip on Griselle’s hair slackened. She twisted in his grasp and bit his unprotected thigh. The knight threw back his head and roared, pulling harder. Neither gave any sign of noting Catherine’s presence.
“Very well,” she told them. “Kill each other. But not with Our Lady watching you. You can’t shame her like that.”
There was a stone jutting out of the wall that gave Catherine a step up to the ledge. She stood on it and took the statue from the niche, the wrappings clinging to its feet. It was heavier than she had expected. The gold must be solid rather than plate. She took a length of the wrapping cloth and tied it around her neck, making a sling to hold the statue. She nearly lost her balance coming down, but caught herself.
Cradling the statue in her arms, Catherine circled Gaucher and Griselle. As she passed, she brushed Griselle’s foot. The woman looked up. Gaucher followed her gaze. They both saw what Catherine carried.
“Thief!” Gaucher shouted, dropping his hold on Griselle. “It’s mine!”
“Never!” Griselle screamed. “Catherine, run!”
Catherine obeyed.
Outside the cave, the night was as black as the moment before Creation. Catherine paused, uncertain of which way the stairs lay. Behind her, Gaucher gave another roar and Griselle a scream. Then there was a brief silence, broken by the clink of mail as the knight rose to follow her.
Catherine turned the wrong way.
She kept her hand on the rock wall, afraid to trust her feet not to stumble in the darkness. But she couldn’t find the opening leading down. Although her heart was drumming loudly in her ears and her frightened breathing all too clear, Gaucher seemed not to have discovered which way she had gone. He shouted again, ordering her to return.
Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur) Page 34
