“Mabile! Edana!” a voice called. “I told you not to go in there. The guest is still sleeping.”
A woman appeared at the door. She was in her early thirties, with a gentle face. Astrolabe sat up and reached for his brais.
“It must be late,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience the family.”
“No, we’re early,” Marie answered. “The children were all up before first light, so we left at sunrise. I haven’t heard the bells for Tierce, yet. I’ll take these naughty girls and leave you in peace. I beg your pardon for disturbing you. Girls!”
The little one, Mabile, was squatting in the corner. Edana, who had finally mastered the chamber pot, was trying to make her cousin stop. She pulled at Mabile’s hands and the two of them fell over. Edana shrieked and Marie rushed to her.
“Mabile, what did you do to her?” She picked up both children. “Edana, stop that noise. Your cousin can’t have hurt you that badly.”
Then Marie saw the blood pouring down Edana’s leg.
“Sweet Virgin’s tears! How did that happen?”
She quickly unwound her scarf and wrapped it about Edana’s thigh at the same time calling for help.
Samonie ran in from the kitchen, but Astrolabe was there first.
“She’s cut herself,” Marie said. “It looks deep. One of the rushes must have been sharp. Can you take Mabile? I don’t want her rooting around here.”
Gingerly, Astrolabe picked up the little girl, holding her at arm’s length. He was relieved when Samonie took her from him.
Marie was busy trying to stop both the bleeding and Edana’s cries, which were escalating. Astrolabe bent over the place where she had fallen, looking for the thing that had cut her.
He found it right next to the boot he had thrown the night before. It wasn’t a floor rush.
It was a knife.
Five
The hall of Catherine and Edgar’s home. Morning, Friday, 7 ides of May (May 9) 1147; 9 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Soulange, shepherd girl, who died fighting off a noble rapist. The reason this made her a saint isn’t quite clear.
Iam enim sitio, oteroque vorator panum in siccitate strangulari, nisi clementia vestra michi vinum povideat. Hoc utique vobis paratius est quam caelia, quae a nostratibus [sic] usu vulgaria cervisia nuncupatur. Ego tamen utriusque bibax sum, et non abhorreo quicquid inebriare potest.
But now I am thirsty and it is possible that I may choke from the dryness of your loaves unless you, in your mercy, give me wine, which is more available to you than caelia, which we vulgarly call beer. But I will drink both and do not disdain anything that will make me drunk.
—John of Salisbury
Letter 33 to Peter, Abbot of Celle
Catherine recognized Edana’s cry from upstairs. She raced down at once, pulling a long chainse over her head as she went.
“What is it?” she cried, scooping the child from Marie’s arms.
“A knife cut,” Marie said. “But it’s not deep. Samonie is making up a bread-and-honey poultice.”
“Oh, good. That should protect the cut,” Catherine said. “All we need to do is keep her from eating the poultice. How did she come by a knife?”
Astrolabe showed it to her.
“It’s a meat knife that was left among the rushes,” he said. “It’s not mine. The design on the handle is unfamiliar.”
“It doesn’t belong to the house,” Catherine said after examining it. “The handle is deer horn, with a star design near the blade. Anyone recognize it? Samonie?”
“No,” the woman said as she put the poultice on Edana’s leg and wrapped cloth around it. “Perhaps one of Lord Guillaume’s men dropped it.”
“They weren’t in here this morning,” Astrolabe said. “At least I don’t think so. But I’ll ask.”
As he left he passed Edgar, who had just come down, having taken time to dress and put on shoes. Catherine explained to him what had happened. With a whimper of “Papa,” Edana held out her arms, sure of extra comfort. He spent a moment cuddling her and finished with a tickle as Astrolabe returned.
“None of the sergeants has seen it before,” he told them. “Perhaps it was left by your father?”
He was beginning to suspect where the knife had come from, but he clung to the hope that he was wrong.
“Samonie!” Edgar called to her as she was going back to the kitchen. “The floors were bare when we got here, I remember. You just put the rushes down a day or two ago, is that right?”
“Yes, Master Edgar,” she said. “There was nothing there then. I would have noticed.”
“What are you thinking, carissime?” Catherine asked.
“Of those men who were in the garden,” he answered. “They didn’t find what they were looking for. Perhaps I need to set guards down by the creek at night.”
“Strangers in the house?” The idea made Catherine’s stomach lurch. “And none of us woke?”
Astrolabe sighed.
“I’m afraid I did,” he admitted. “I thought it was a rat and only managed to come round long enough to throw a boot. There was a clank that may have been the knife dropping. Whoever it was must have been a natural thief, for I heard nothing more.”
“Was anything taken?” Catherine asked.
Everyone looked around, checking chests and shelves.
“Nothing has been disturbed,” Samonie told them. “Perhaps Master Astrolabe routed them with his boot.”
“Edgar, do you think this was one of the men we heard when we were sleeping in the garden?” Catherine asked.
“Well, I hope so.” Edgar set Edana down. “I wouldn’t like to think our home has become a Jerusalem for thieves.”
“But what could they be looking for?”
“It couldn’t be the body.” Edgar considered the question. “They must have realized we’d have found it by now. In another day the whole street would have smelled it. Yet the knight wore no valuable rings or brooches, and there was nothing in the counting room. I have no idea. But I’m posting guards in the back again until we find out.”
“What is all this noise? Can’t a man get any sleep in this town?”
They all looked up; Catherine’s brother was scowling at them all.
“All I wanted was a little rest since we got up so early to come here. I’d forgotten how many damn churches there are in Paris,” he continued. “I wake up every time they ring the hours. Marie, I know you want to shop and visit your friends, but even one night of that infernal clanging and I’ll be rabid. You’d think they could at least all decide when Prime actually is.”
Marie laughed at him. “You poor thing! In Vielleteneuse we have no canons at the church so the nights are tranquil. How did you ever survive growing up here?”
“I only lived in Paris until I was eight,” Guillaume reminded her. “Then I went to live with my uncle. His keep in Blois was smaller even than ours, and very quiet.”
He said this last as his children came rushing down the steps at him.
It took some time before Guillaume understood what had happened in the night. When he did, his first impulse was to pack up his family and Catherine’s and set out back for Vielleteneuse.
“It’s all these mew people coming in,” he complained. “For every honest pilgrim or soldier of Christ, there are a hundred thieves, heretics and whores.”
“Not to mention the relic hawkers.” Catherine sighed, momentarily distracted from the issue. “Yesterday three people tried to sell me a bramble from the Crown of Thorns. You’d think they could be more creative. I could make the whole crown myself out of the overgrowth in our garden.”
“Bloodstained as well, I’d imagine.” Astrolabe grinned.
“True,” Catherine said. “I couldn’t do it without being covered with scratches.”
“Catherine,” her brother interrupted, “the point is that you all should abandon the city until the army has left. It’s not safe for any of you, especially Edgar’s sister.”
B
efore either Catherine or Margaret could answer, Edgar stepped in.
“Thank you, Guillaume, but if I must remain in Paris, the family stays together,” he said.
Catherine nodded agreement.
“And I must stay in Paris,” Edgar added. “I have to take up my new position here. Your father arranged for me to be accepted by the water merchants and the wine sellers, but I if can’t deal with them from the safety of your keep.”
“You really intend to keep up Father’s trade?” Guillaume was incredulous. “You’re a nobleman! And what about Margaret? What would Count Thibault say?”
“I have no idea,” Edgar answered. “But unless you have a better means for us to earn our daily bread … ?”
Guillaume fell silent. They all knew the revenues from his castellany weren’t enough to support another family. The truth was that it had been Hubert who supplied his son with a number of the luxuries Guillaume believed his position required, such as fine hawks and tooled leather saddles.
“Master?”
It was a moment before Edgar remembered that he was now master in this house. He turned his attention to the boy in the doorway.
“What is it, Martin?”
“Two men have come to see you,” the boy answered. “A Knight of the Temple and a rich cleric, by the look of him. What shall I do with them?”
It was a good question. The hall where visitors would normally be received was now crowded with family, as well as Astrolabe’s bedding.
“Take them up to the counting room,” Catherine suggested. “They may want to see where the body was found. The books are all locked away, so they won’t be able to snoop in our accounts.”
“Yes, that will have to do,” Edgar said. “Show them up, Martin. And then bring two more folding chairs. Samonie, will you take some refreshment to them?”
“Of course.” The housekeeper bowed to hide her smile. She wasn’t about to let the men leave without getting a good look at them.
“Tell them I’ll meet with them directly,” Edgar added.
“You mean ‘we’ll meet with them,’ don’t you?” Catherine asked. “I want to know what they’ve found out about our body, too.”
“Catherine, you can’t receive these men,” Edgar told her. “They’re from the Temple commander.”
“What do you mean?” Catherine was indignant. “Aren’t I the mistress here?”
“Catherine,” Astrolabe interjected mildly. “No one is denying your authority. I believe Edgar was commenting on the fact that you’re wearing nothing but your shift.”
Catherine looked down. Her bare toes wiggled back at her.
“Oh,” she said.
The men were clearly not happy about being taken up to a bare room in the middle of the house. When Edgar entered a few moments later, followed by Samonie with a tray, neither of them bothered to stand to greet him.
The cleric removed his glove to take the cup of wine. He waited until Samonie had left before he spoke.
“I am Master Durand,” he said. “One of the chaplains to the brothers of the Temple of Solomon, and this is Brother Baudwin. We are here to investigate the death of one we assume to be of the Order.”
Edgar bowed, ignoring their manners. “I am Edgar of Wedderlie, master of this house. Have you discovered the identity of the man, yet?”
“No,” Brother Baudwin said.
Master Durand interrupted him. “His identity is still unknown. However, we expect to uncover the truth shortly.”
There was a knock at the door. Martin came in, carrying another folding chair, followed by Catherine, who was now decently covered.
“My wife, Catherine, daughter of Hubert LeVendeur,” Edgar said.
Still the men stayed seated. Catherine raised her eyebrows.
“Welcome to our home,” she said too smoothly. “Martin, please set my chair next to Edgar’s.”
She smiled at the men in a way that put Edgar immediately on his guard. “Would you like a poppyseed cake?”
She offered them the tray. Brother Baudwin took one and stuffed it quickly into his mouth, leaving crumbs in his beard.
“Now, how may we help you?” Catherine smiled again.
Brother Baudwin looked to Master Durand, who returned the smile and muttered in Latin to the knight, “These two should pose no problem. I’ll soon know if they’re lying.”
Baudwin seemed not to understand, but Catherine did. Her eyes widened in surprise and anger. She opened her mouth to respond. Quickly Edgar took a cake and gave it to her, with a warning look.
“Really, my dear.” Master Durand leaned forward with a patronizing expression. “This is a nasty business and nothing you need trouble yourself about.”
This was too much. Catherine dropped the mask.
“Having spent the past two days scrubbing the blood and ichor from this room, as well as killing the maggots, I have already been troubled. Now I want to know who this man was and why he was left here.”
The chaplain looked at her sharply and then to Edgar. Catherine was aware of his outrage and didn’t care.
“Master Durand?” she prompted.
Both men straightened. Brother Baudwin finished brushing out the crumbs with his fingers.
“We were sent here to ask you that,” he answered for them both. “Commander Evrard isn’t satisfied with your explanation of the discovery of the body.”
“Really?” Edgar stood. “I find that as amazing as the fact that you’ve managed to offend both me and my wife in the initial moments of your visit.”
He went to the door and opened it.
“Martin!” he called. “Our guests are leaving.”
Baudwin and Durand both got to their feet but not to depart.
“How dare you refuse to answer to us!” Durand said, trying to pull himself up to meet Edgar’s eyes. He was several inches too short. “We’ll have you taken to the Temple for questioning!”
Behind him Catherine laughed.
“You’re not in Antioch or Jerusalem, Master Durand,” she said. “You can’t drag citizens of Paris from their homes. The king would have something to say about that.”
Durand snorted. “I’m sure the king would respect the wishes of the commander of the Temple, especially since he’s relying on us to guide him to the Holy Land.”
Edgar had had enough.
“We shall be happy to test your hypothesis, Master Durand.” He held the door open. “I assure you that respect is something I expect to both give and receive in my dealings with others. When you are prepared to offer it, my wife and I will give you our full attention and aid.”
Brother Baudwin turned bright red, and Catherine feared he would choke on the second cake he had picked up as he was leaving. She moved behind him and tried to edge him out. One corpse to clean up after had been quite enough.
Neither of the emissaries said another word as they stomped down the stairs and out into the courtyard. Master Durand turned as they passed through the front gate.
“You’ll regret this!” he warned.
Edgar shook his head.
“Weak, very weak,” he commented. “I’ve received much better threats from simple knights. Until next time, Dex vos saut.”
He shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling in relief.
Catherine hugged him in glee.
“I love it when you act the haughty lord!” she exclaimed. “Except when you do it to me.”
She tweaked his nose.
“That, ma dame, is taking a dreadful liberty!” he said, and pinioned her with his left arm while he tickled her rib cage.
“Edgar! Stop!” She laughed.
There was a tug on her skirts. Still laughing, she looked down into James’s reproachful eyes.
“Mama, Papa,” he said. “You shouldn’t play without me.”
They both began laughing again, wounding their son’s budding pride. Catherine lifted him, and they held him between them, tickling until he started to hiccough.
Edgar patted his back. “There, there, son. Hold your nose and count back from ten. Now you see what happens when you play grown-up games.”
His face grew serious as he looked at Catherine.
“I only hope that isn’t what you and I are doing. Master Durand could well be a powerful enemy.”
“Better that than think him our friend,” Catherine answered. “He’s not a man to trust. You heard what he said to Brother Baudwin. He wants to blame us for the death. It’s simpler than investigating and perhaps finding something he doesn’t want to know.”
“Or for others to discover something Durand already knows.” Gently Edgar set James down. “There’s only one thing to do, isn’t there?”
Catherine nodded. “We have to find out first.”
Edgar saw that the mysterious knife was locked safely away in the spice box in the kitchen and spent the afternoon, once he had finished his business with the head of the water merchants’ association, hiring a couple of men to patrol outside the house from Compline to dawn. He accomplished this by going from one tavern to another until he found a friend who knew someone who knew someone who had a friend who knew of a man who had been one of the king’s guards until an unfortunate incident with a lady had left him with only one eye. This man had a brother, just arrived from the country, and they were looking for honest work and didn’t mind staying awake through the night.
Nothing to it.
Edgar was congratulating himself over a bowl of new beer when he heard his name called.
“Maurice!” he greeted the cleric standing at the door. “Come, sit with me. Have something to drink. How are things at the Cathedral? Have your precentor and chanter come to blows, yet?”
“Not since last night.” Maurice filled his bowl from the beer pitcher. “But our music is suffering from the animosity.”
He sat a moment in silence, rocking the bowl in his palms.
Edgar refilled his bowl. “The lack of melodiousness in your choir upsets you that much?” he asked, noting Maurice’s distraction.
Maurice came out of his reverie. “That? No, of course not,” he said. “I was thinking about something I heard this morning. There’s talk of calling a meeting to make the bishop of Poitiers answer questions as to the orthodoxy of his teaching.”
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 7
