The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “If someone had told Olivier about the underground passages.” Catherine deliberated the possibility and decided it was all too likely. “Then the engineers would only need to create a new one that would connect with the others. From there they could gather the soldiers into groups and overwhelm us before we knew what had happened.”

  “So Master Edgar decided to find out,” Samonie said dully. “And Brehier went with him.”

  “Samonie, we have to do something,” Catherine said. “The answer has to be in those tapestry pieces. If we have to solve that idiotic puzzle to save ourselves, then we shall. Come with me.”

  Samonie dragged after her, trying to tell her body that, even if she hadn’t slept, she had at least spent most of the night on her back.

  “Elissent?” Catherine was at the door to the sickroom. “Could you spare a few moments? Samonie will stay with Aymon.”

  “Mother, I don’t need a nurse, or a guard,” Aymon complained from his bed. “I’m nearly well now. Once this weakness leaves my legs, I’ll be as good as new. You can leave me alone for a space. I’d rather like some time to myself.”

  Elissent seemed doubtful. “What if that murderer comes after you again?”

  “I have a knife,” Aymon said, grinning. “I’d love a chance to give a bit of what I got. But it’s not going to happen. He probably escaped into the forest right after I was attacked. No one else has been hurt, have they?”

  “No.” Elissent was still uncertain. “But what if you need something?”

  “I’ll shout for a maid,” Aymon told her. “Go on. You need some rest. Catherine, after she does whatever you need, would you see that she gets a few hours’ sleep?”

  “Of course, Aymon,” Catherine said. “You really are looking much better. I’m sure you’re in no more danger than anyone else at Boisvert.”

  She finally managed to drag Elissent away on the condition that Samonie was left on a bench outside the door, to rush to Aymon’s assistance at a moment’s notice.

  “Now what is it?” Elissent was annoyed at being dragged from her son’s side.

  “We need you to look at some embroidery,” Catherine explained.

  “Oh, really! At a time like this, we need to be doing something more productive than stitching altar cloths,”Elissent sniffed.

  Catherine took her up to the solar where they had laid out the pieces.

  “I thought you might have the missing one,” she told her. “But then last night we found what I think is the final piece. We still aren’t sure what it means, though. We were hoping you could help.”

  Elissent’s annoyance evaporated when she looked at the long panel of embroidery. Her expression was replaced by something that seemed like fear.

  “I’ve seen this before,” she said. “But not for years. Just after Seguin and I were married, Gargenaud took it off the wall and cut it into pieces, one for his daughter, Madeleine, and the rest for his sons. Seguin’s father, Fulk, took his to the Holy Land. I imagine it is still there. It looked similar to this.”

  She touched the piece that Agnes had received.

  “What about this one?” Catherine showed her the one Margaret had found.

  Elissent fingered it. “This looks like the original. All the others are new. They are much like the old ones, but not quite. Perhaps it’s just the colors, but they don’t seem right.”

  “And this?” Catherine directed her attention to Brehier’s piece.

  Elissent stared at it. It was a scene beyond the end of the story. The first part showed the knight and his lady at home in the castle with children around them. Then an image of a great storm cloud darkening their home. The last two showed the lady kissing her lord good-bye and, finally, the lady, holding the treasure box, standing in front of a gate of three stones, one foot raised to enter.

  Elissent shook her head. “I’ve never seen this before. There was a story, but I. . .” She felt the material. “This isn’t from Gargenaud’s tapestry. It’s much older. Where did you get this?”

  “Brehier had it from his great-grandmother,” Catherine said.

  “Did he now?” Elissent said. “I heard that long ago there was another tapestry. But it was lost at the time of the raids from the Northmen. Gargenaud’s was a copy of it. There was no panel showing Andonenn’s departure. Everyone knows that.”

  “None of us do,” Marie told her. “Yet we and all our children are in jeopardy because of the secrets you here at Boisvert are so determined to keep.”

  “This makes no sense!” Elissent insisted. “The original pieces were scattered before any of you were born. Who made these copies?”

  “Mandon?” Catherine suggested. “Or perhaps her sister, Berthe of Blois?”

  “You keep talking of Mandon,” Elissent said. “But no one has seen her for years. She’s just a poor madwoman who hides under the castle. She must be dead by now. All that generation had weak minds. Madeleine isn’t the first, you know. Living here would send most women into madness. And she has no sister that I ever heard of, certainly not in Blois.”

  “Very well.” Marie tried to make peace. “All we need to know now is if there is anything in the total picture in this tapestry that can help us defeat Olivier.”

  “No,” Elissent said firmly. “It’s nothing but a story. It means nothing now.”

  “But what about. . .?” Agnes began.

  Marie shushed her. “Thank you, Elissent,” she said. “We are sorry to have disturbed you for no good reason.”

  “I understand your worry,” Elissent told her. “But Boisvert can’t fall even if the water fails. You need not fear.”

  When she had left, Marie looked at the others.

  “Was that of any use at all?” she asked.

  “Well, we know that Brehier’s section of the tapestry was new to her,” Agnes said. “And that someone copied all but Mother’s so that we would get them. And Elissent suggested that the last piece is the part of the story where Andonenn goes back to the spring.”

  “I’m sure of it,” Catherine said. “I wonder if the writing would tell us where she went.”

  “Since we can’t read it, we have to hope it doesn’t,” Marie noted.

  They all glumly agreed.

  “This is the end of the story, right?” Catherine said.

  “Yes, that’s been established,” Agnes told her.

  “I was just remembering the jongleur,” Catherine said. “The end of the saga of Jurvale and Andonenn. What was it?”

  Open the lock in your darkest hour

  Children of Andonenn needn’t cower

  To save her you shall have the power

  Follow the guide left in the tower

  It will lead you to Andonenn’s bower

  Fear neither storm nor shower

  Insert the key into the flower

  Find the treasure and win the dower.

  They all turned to stare at Margaret. She blushed.

  “It was easy to memorize,” she said. “Tumpty-tumpty and tumpty-tump. It just stuck with me.”

  “How can you put a key into a flower?” Agnes asked.

  “ ‘Fear neither storm nor shower,’ ” Catherine said. “And Mother went outside to find the way to Andonenn. Don’t you see? It’s not one of the doors within the keep. It’s somewhere beyond the walls.”

  “Or by the well,” Margaret said. “Maybe she didn’t jump in. Maybe there’s a secret doorway in the well house, too.”

  “Even if we find the door, we don’t have the key,” Agnes objected, but there was hope in her voice.

  Catherine had been staring at the last panel.

  “Edgar told me that the opening to the tunnel in the forest looked like some of the pagan stones you see in the countryside. You know, three slabs piled up like a doorway to nothing. Only these marked the entrance. Don’t you think this picture of Andonenn going home looks the same?”

  The others crowded around.

  “It could be,” Agnes said. “But the only way to f
ind out is to go see it and, in case you’ve forgotten, there’s an army between us and the forest.”

  “There has to be a way,” Catherine said. “We must do more than simply wait to be conquered or rescued.”

  At that moment, their frazzled nerves were further assaulted by a sudden explosion of angry screams mixed with shrieks of pain. As one, the women ran toward the sound.

  Elissent was in the hall outside Aymon’s room. She was holding Samonie by the arm with one hand and, with the other, was beating her fiercely with a stick.

  “You disobedient, lazy, traitorous woman!” she yelled as she struck. “What did they pay you? Where did they take him?”

  “Stop!” Catherine cried, as she tried to grab the stick from Elissent.

  Margaret threw herself over Samonie. “Don’t hurt her, please!” she begged.

  Agnes and Marie helped Catherine restrain Elissent.

  “Let me go!” She struggled in their arms. “That woman is a traitor! She let Olivier’s men in to kidnap my son!”

  “What?” Marie asked.

  “It’s not true!” Samonie shouted through a swollen lip.

  “It is!” Elissent insisted. “I never should have left him so helpless. I came back and his bed was empty and this slut sound asleep when she should have been watching!”

  “I was tired,” Samonie protested. “And I did drop off, but I’d have heard if anyone had carried Aymon away. He would have called for help.”

  “That’s right,” Elissent said. “My poor boy! And no one but a serpent in our home to hear him!”

  “Elissent.” Catherine was firm. “Samonie would never betray us. If Aymon has been abducted, she had nothing to do with it. Considering how many secret doorways there are in this place, he could have been taken out through a revolving seat in the privy!”

  “How can you mock at such a time!” Elissent sobbed.

  “I beg your forgiveness.” Catherine sighed. “But you have also overstepped yourself. Samonie is my servant. It is not your right to strike her.”

  She knelt next to the maid, who was holding the side of her face. There was a red mark across her hand. Catherine moved it to examine her bruised cheek.

  “Marie, would you make a poultice for this?” she asked. “Margaret, take Samonie to her bed, please.”

  They both nodded and, their arms wrapped protectively around her, took Samonie away to be cared for.

  Agnes remained. She could see how angry Catherine was. Someone had to stay to assure that there wouldn’t be another murder.

  “Elissent,” Catherine spoke from between clenched teeth. “I am sorry for your loss. It grieves me that death has come to Boisvert. It grieves me even more that my family and I have been brought into this. We came here out of respect for my grandfather and our heritage.

  “We have been insulted and put in mortal danger. You have lied to us repeatedly. If it weren’t for the threat to my children I would say now that Boisvert deserves to be conquered.”

  “I say the same,” Agnes stated, to her sister’s amazement. “Catherine and I are going to uncover the truth if we have to do it with spades and buckets. I’m sick to death of you and your ineffectual husband. And I think you have terrible taste in clothes!”

  Elissent stared at them a moment and then covered her face with her veil and stumbled, weeping, in search of someone more sympathetic.

  Agnes brushed her hands together.

  “So, what do I have to do to set a trap to catch this Mandon person?” she asked.

  Edgar and Brehier were making their way back through the woods up to the village walls. The fog had lifted and been replaced by brilliant sunlight. It was a going to be a lovely day. They crept as quietly as possible, praying that all of Olivier’s watchmen were busy guarding the mining operations.

  “A few more yards,” Brehier whispered. “Then we’ll have to sprint for the wall and hope that our own men don’t shoot at us.”

  “There isn’t one inside who doesn’t know me on sight,” Edgar said. “I’ll go first. Ready?”

  There was no answer. Edgar turned and came face to face with the point of a crossbow bolt.

  The day wasn’t going as he had planned.

  “This yarn is stiff with dirt,” Agnes commented, holding it up with distaste.

  “It’s been wound through a lot of floors,” Catherine said.

  They were in Mandon’s tunnel. Agnes and Catherine had found the passage from the storeroom simply by pounding and clawing at every possible area.

  “If we start at the place where she was last seen,” Catherine had explained. “We have a chance of following her back to her lair. It’s not a great chance, but it’s all we have.”

  Agnes had not argued. While Catherine went to get the yarn and change her clothes, she had made her own preparations for confronting Mandon.

  They had told Marie and Margaret where they were going and overridden their mild objections. When they met at the passage door, Agnes was wearing a short chainse with a cord belt and a cloak that came just past her knees. She had twisted her blond braids into a knot and hidden them under a flopping cowl.

  Despite her anxiety, Catherine smiled.

  “You make a very attractive young man,” she said.

  “So do you,” Agnes said. “Although it unnerves me how much you look like Solomon. All you need is a beard.”

  “There wasn’t time to grow one,” Catherine said. “Shall we go?”

  This time the yarn was tied to the handle of the trapdoor. No one could untie it without being seen by those in the nursery.

  They descended a spiral of stone steps that passed through the landings above ground and continued into the depths.

  “This is not at all what I expected,” Agnes said, gazing with distaste at the slimy walls. “From the tales, I thought it would be draped with glittering gossamer and jewels.”

  “I swear, I’m going to have strong words with the next poet I meet,” Catherine muttered.

  They came to a fork.

  “Which way?” Agnes asked.

  “The one on the right,” Catherine answered.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do,” she answered with older-sister logic.

  Agnes followed, willing to trust her for the moment but ready to blame her if it all went wrong.

  “I am Edgar, lord of Wedderlie,” Edgar announced quickly. “And this is Brehier of Boisvert. We demand to be brought to Lord Olivier.”

  “Right,” the man at the other end of the crossbow said. “You look to me like an outlaw come out of the woods to see what he can grab.”

  Edgar stood up carefully. The bow moved upward with him but shook a bit. Edgar was a head taller and he held himself like a man used to being obeyed. A sliver of indecision entered the man’s mind. He uncinched his belt and tied it around Brehier’s wrists. Then he looked at Edgar’s one hand and tried to think how he could be equally restrained. He made a decision.

  “All right then,” he told them. “You! Lord Whatever! You go ahead. And remember, you try to run for it and your friend gets a hole through him.”

  He kept the point of the crossbow against Edgar’s back as they walked.

  “What’s your ransom value?” Edgar asked Brehier as they came closer to Olivier’s camp.

  “My horse has more than I do,” Brehier answered. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to finding out.”

  Edgar had planned to make a move when the guard stumbled on the rough ground. But the bastard was part goat and soon he had brought his prize into the camp and up to a large tent with a pennant flying from its ridgepole.

  He handed them to the guard at the tent flap.

  A few moments later they were manhandled inside. Edgar opened his mouth to explain who he was. But what he saw robbed him of speech.

  A dark young man in a crisp linen tunic, a gold brooch at his neck, must be Olivier. But Edgar and Brehier were transfixed by the man sitting next to him.

  Aymon smil
ed at them with wicked glee.

  “Catherine, if I find out that there’s a dry, clean pathway to Mandon, I will never let you hear the end of it.”

  Agnes was glad that they had decided to dress like men for this. Her shoes and hose were spattered with muck. She shuddered to think what a long skirt would look like.

  “Are we almost there?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Catherine admitted. “This doesn’t look like any place I’ve been before. We’re going up again; did you notice?”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  They went a little farther. Catherine stopped and pointed.

  “I think it’s good,” she said.

  At the end of the tunnel they could see sunlight sneaking in between piled-up rocks. If they were taken away, there would be a hole about knee height.

  Automatically, Agnes dropped her voice.

  “It must be the entrance to Andonenn’s tunnel,” she said. “We could all escape through here.”

  “Unless there are guards on the other side,” Catherine said as the light flickered, as if someone had passed in front of the entrance.

  “But it’s our best chance,” Agnes replied. “Let’s leave the end of the yarn here and go back to tell the others. Hermann will be so happy. He wants to go home where people understand what he says.”

  “Not yet,” Catherine said. “We need to follow the way Andonenn took.”

  “We have, only in reverse,” Agnes told her.

  “No, when we entered this part, there was another on the left,” Catherine said. “The answers are down there.”

  “You don’t know that,” Agnes said. “We should be getting back. Perhaps Edgar has returned.”

  “You’re right, Agnes,” Catherine said absently. “You go back. Tell them what we’ve found. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, even if it leads straight to Hell.”

  Agnes sighed. “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I’ll have to come, too.”

  Brehier stared at Aymon in disbelief.

  “You murdered your own brother!” he shouted. “How could you?”

  Edgar hadn’t thought of that question. In his family, fratricide was almost a tradition.