To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “Really?” Edgar raised an eyebrow. “And who, besides perhaps Master Peter of Lombardy, could possibly understand his answer? I never made much sense from the subtlety of Master Gilbert’s lectures.”

  “To my mind that is certainly the problem,” Maurice answered. “Master Gilbert is so subtle that someone not so gifted in theology could easily misinterpret his words.”

  “And end up by assuming himself to be the son of God?” Edgar laughed.

  Maurice joined him. “Perhaps not that radical a conclusion.” He sipped from his bowl. “You know, I think I may have seen some of those followers of that Eon or Eum near Nôtre Dame this morning. I hadn’t paid them much mind before, but there’s a clutch of beggars who, I swear, are wearing ragged silk and linen with bits of fine embroidery still showing.”

  “That’s strange,” Edgar said. “Astrolabe gave me to understand that this heresy was confined to Brittany.”

  “Well, these people may have been given worn altar cloths as charity,” Maurice said. “I suppose I assumed they were Eonists because the one crying alms had a Breton accent.”

  He shrugged. The world was full of bizarre heresies. Most of them vanished quickly with a few well-placed sermons.

  Edgar was spinning his bowl of beer, watching the residue settle on the rim like seaweed on the beach. He looked up to find Maurice watching him with amusement.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was worrying about that dead man left in our house. It seems no one at the Temple can name him.”

  “You said his face was eaten away,” Maurice replied. “Why should it be odd that no one recognizes him?”

  “Maurice, wouldn’t you be able to identify me, even if my face were gone?” Edgar asked.

  “Of course, by your …” Maurice stopped suddenly.

  “My hand, yes,” Edgar finished for him. “But apart from that?”

  Maurice pursed his lips. “Yes, I could at least guess, by your hair and form.”

  “Exactly,” Edgar said. “The knights are all noblemen, and they tend to join the order in groups of friends. Many know each other anyway. They’ve fought beside or even against one another over the years. This man would have had to come from far away for no one to know him.”

  “You think he may not have been a member of the Order?” Maurice asked. “If so, then why was he wearing their white cloak?”

  Edgar had no answer to that.

  When Catherine had convinced her brother that they would not go back with him, then he insisted, despite protests from his wife and oldest daughter, on leaving at once.

  “Catherine and Edgar seem to enjoy danger,” Guillaume stated. “I prefer to face it knowing that my family are on the other side of a motte behind thick walls. Come along, Marie, Evaine, we’ll return soon enough. I’m sure the commander of the Temple will have everything solved in a few days.”

  Catherine refrained from answering that, if Master Evrard’s investigators had their way, the case would be resolved even more quickly. She just nodded.

  Marie understood her expression. Taking Catherine aside, she made one more plea.

  “Let me take your little ones back with us,” she begged. “Look at what’s happened to Edana already.”

  Catherine wavered, then shook her head. “Accidents happen everywhere. Don’t you worry about Gervase every day?”

  Marie pressed her lips together. Catherine realized that she had used an unfair tactic. Guillaume and Marie’s first child was now nine and had recently been sent to Vermandois for fostering and training. It was a coup on Guillaume’s part to have his son under the protection of the count, a great lord and cousin to the king, even though at the moment he was under a decree of excommunication. But, reasoned Guillaume, if the king didn’t mind that, why should they? This did not help Marie’s grief at sending her young son away.

  “If you change your mind,” Marie answered finally, “we’ll always take them in.”

  “Thank you.” Catherine hugged her. “It’s a comfort to know you’ll be there if we need a refuge.”

  Still it was with relief that she waved them all out. The house, she reflected, was too small for four extra children. Before they had left for Trier, Edgar had been planning an addition on the back. She should remind him of it once things settled down.

  If they ever did.

  At the moment the house was as peaceful as it was likely to get. Edana was napping on the blankets that had yet to be put away. Astrolabe had left for the day. Samonie and her son were busy in the kitchen. She could hear James with them. But where was Margaret?

  Catherine checked upstairs first, but all the rooms were empty. Then, stopping to be sure Edana still slept, she went into the kitchen, where Samonie was chopping early lettuce and carrot tops to add to a fish sauce for dinner. The two boys had cleared a space on the floor for a game of conkers.

  “Samonie, have you seen Margaret?” she asked. “Did she go to visit Willa?”

  “I don’t think so,” Samonie answered. “She knows Willa is busy today. She didn’t go out this way.”

  “Yes, she did, Mother.” Martin looked up from the game. “Just before Lord Guillaume’s family left.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Samonie turned on him. “I’m sorry, Catherine.”

  “She’s fourteen, Samonie,” Catherine said. “She doesn’t need watching like a baby. There’s no reason for Martin to have reported it.”

  Nonetheless, she was worried. The last time Margaret had gone missing, she had nearly died.

  “I think I’ll just go to the market and see if she’s there,” Catherine decided. “Would you boys take the conkers into the hall in case Edana wakes?”

  They didn’t dare grumble. Even James sensed that Catherine was worried.

  Catherine hurried down the street hoping that she could find Margaret before Edgar returned home. She had told Samonie that Margaret was old enough to look out for herself, but she didn’t believe it and feared that Edgar would blame her if anything more happened to his sister. But Catherine would blame herself even more.

  She asked at all the places she thought Margaret might stroll to: the ribbon makers, the leather workers, the seller of embroidery thread. No one had seen a young woman with red-gold hair and a scar along the side of her face.

  Catherine was beginning to panic when she caught a glimpse of a red braid swinging amidst the crowd. She pushed her way through and found Margaret heading in her direction on the arm of Abraham the vintner.

  “Margaret!” she cried, gathering the girl into her arms. “What were you thinking of? Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

  She looked at Abraham. “Thank you for bringing her back. Where was she?”

  The old man guided them to a quiet side street before he answered.

  “She came to my door,” he said. “Unescorted.”

  He gave them both a stern look.

  “Margaret, why bother Master Abraham?” Catherine hadn’t even realized Margaret knew the man.

  Margaret sniffed back tears. She knew she’d been foolish.

  “I had to go, Catherine,” she said in a wobbling voice. “We’ve heard nothing, but I thought some one of his people might have had a message.”

  Catherine finally understood. “Oh, ma cossette, if there had been word of Solomon in the Jewish community, they would have told us instantly.”

  Abraham patted her shoulder. “Of course we would. But, Catherine, you must make her understand that it’s not safe for her to come to our homes without you or Edgar.”

  “She should know that already,” Catherine said. “But I’ll explain again. Thank you, Master Abraham.”

  The vintner bowed and turned back toward his home, ignoring the dirty looks some of the people in the street gave him.

  Catherine let the lecture wait until they reached the house. She paused only to be sure everything was quiet, and then she bundled Margaret upstairs and sat her on the bed.

  “You should be whipped for doing
something so stupid,” she began, fear making her harsh. “Your brother will be furious.”

  But the stricken look on Margaret’s pale face was too much for her. Catherine relented and sat down next to her.

  “My dear, after what happened to you in Germany my stomach freezes if I can’t find you,” she said.

  Margaret leaned against her shoulder. “I know. I was frightened to go. But I had to find out. Why aren’t you worried about Solomon? What if those people who listened to the false monk in Köln come for him, too?”

  “I am worried about him,” Catherine admitted. “But only a little. Solomon has spent most of his life among strangers. He knows how to protect himself.”

  She didn’t add that, for the most part, the greatest danger to Solomon in the past had not been from anti-Jewish mobs but from the relatives of attractive young women he had encountered.

  “There are a hundred reasons for him not being here when we arrived,” she continued. “All of them perfectly natural. He might have learned of a wonderful opportunity for trade and decided to follow that.”

  Margaret wasn’t convinced.

  “There’s another thing.” Catherine hated to mention it. Margaret should have understood without being told. “Abraham was not only concerned for you, but for himself and his community. If you had been noted going into his house, he could be accused of trying to proselytize and, if you were hurt, all the Jews might be accused.”

  Margaret’s eyes grew round with fear. “I didn’t think it was like that here,” she said. “Remember, there are no Jews in Scotland. I’ve had to learn so much since I came to France.”

  Catherine squeezed her hand. “I know, and the fact that Solomon is my cousin is somewhat confusing, I’m sure. We trust you with the secret. But with that trust there are responsibilities.”

  Margaret sighed. “I’ll remember.”

  “Good.” Catherine got up. “Now, while the chaos in the house has abated for a while, will you help me with a more pressing problem?”

  “Of course.” Margaret was relieved that the lecture seemed to be over.

  “It’s the matter of the body in the counting room,” she said as she led Margaret back down the hallway. “If we can’t find out who he was, we should at least try to learn why he was left with us.”

  “How can I help? I don’t know what to look for,” Margaret said.

  “I don’t either,” Catherine answered. “But this is the only room in the house that has its own lock. When we got here, the lock had been freshly oiled. Samonie told me she didn’t do it. The only thing I can think of is that someone knew about this room and went to the trouble of bringing oil so that he could pick the lock or to make a key turn more easily.”

  “Does that mean it’s someone we know?” Margaret sounded fearful again.

  “Not necessarily.” Catherine was speaking more to herself. “The house was empty for several weeks. If someone wanted to steal the supposed ‘treasure,’ then he surely would have expected it to be locked away.”

  They entered the counting room. There were still crumbs on the floor from the cakes they had given Brother Baudwin and Master Durand. Rushes weren’t allowed in the room, no more than lamps. Hubert had had an exaggerated nervousness about books and fire.

  Catherine went over to the book cabinet and examined the lock.

  “That’s odd,” she said. “This one hasn’t been tampered with, that I can tell. Avoi, look Margaret. Do you see any scratches or oil?”

  Margaret bent to study the lock. “No, it’s even a bit rusty.”

  “Now why do you think someone would go to all the trouble of breaking into the house, into this room, and not try to open the one place where something valuable might be kept?” Catherine tapped her fingers on the wood in irritation.

  “They were looking for something big?” Margaret guessed.

  “Bigger than the book cabinet?” Catherine couldn’t imagine what that might be.

  Margaret shrugged. “I was just guessing.”

  “Well, your guess is as good as anyone’s,” Catherine assured her. “I don’t even have that much.”

  Below they heard the gate opening. Margaret looked up in anticipation.

  “It’s just Edgar coming home,” Catherine said. “I wonder how his talk with the wine sellers went?”

  Then they heard voices. Catherine couldn’t make them out, but Margaret did. She was out the door and flying down the stairs so quickly that she missed the last three steps, throwing herself in a leap upon Solomon.

  “Sweeting! You nearly knocked me down.” Solomon caught and held her. “Is that any way to …”

  He realized that Margaret was sobbing hysterically.

  “Margaret, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” he tried to pull the damp hair from her face.

  “I thought they’d killed you!” she managed to say. “I thought you’d gone and died and left me behind! Solomon, Solomon, promise me you won’t die without me!”

  “Of course, Margaret,” he said. “Or not at all, if you prefer.”

  He patted her back as the sobs diminished to gasps for breath and quieter tears. As Catherine came down, he mouthed a question at her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Catherine eased Margaret away from him and hugged her cousin, whispering sternly as she did.

  “Solomon, we need to talk.”

  Six

  Paris, the home of Edgar and Catherine, Sunday 2 Ides May, (May 11), 1147: 10 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Antimius, priest and prophet, who was saved by an angel from drowning in the Tiber, only to have his head cut off.

  Et idcirco quæ in peccato originali est culpa … ad utrumque tamen tota redundat: in illam quidem quia peccavit in istum, quia peccanti consensit et peccatum illius consentiendo suum fecit.

  Therefore, as to whom [Adam or Eve] is more guilty of original sin … it fills them both to the brim; she because she committed the sin, he because he agreed to the sin and allowed her to sin by consenting to it.

  —Hugh of Saint Victor

  De Sacramentis Christianæ Fidei

  Book I, Part VII

  It was long past sunset. The last of the spring twilight had faded but Catherine, Edgar and Solomon still sat in the hall, sipping their wine and edging around the topic most on their minds.

  Finally, Solomon put down his cup. He could barely see the faces of the others in the flickering lamplight.

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked abruptly.

  “Of course not,” Edgar’s answer came quickly, with a firmness that satisfied Solomon of his sincerity.

  Catherine took longer before she replied.

  “You’re needed here.” She spoke slowly, unsure of how to give her suggestion without hurting her cousin. “You and Edgar must show that you can trade as dependably as Father and Uncle Eliazar did, if we’re to live. But it might be a good idea if Margaret were sent away for a time. Either to my brother or, if they’ll accept her, to the court of Count Thibault and Countess Mahaut at Troyes.”

  Both men stared at her in horror.

  “How can you even think of such a thing!” Edgar exclaimed. “After what she’s been through, to exile her as if she’d committed some grave sin!”

  “You want to punish her for being fond of me?” Solomon was outraged.

  Catherine stood up and went over to the cold hearth, kicking at–the rushes to release her own feelings. She turned back and faced Solomon and Edgar. It was easier to explain things when she could–look down into their faces.

  “It’s exactly because Margaret has endured so much that I feel she should be somewhere else,” she said quietly. “Between the damage to her body and to her spirit, her humors are terribly unbalanced. Apart from the attack, dear Lord, she watched her mother murdered!”

  Solomon winced. Catherine looked on him with pity. She knew how he blamed himself for not being able to save Adalisa. She would not have mentioned it but for the seriousness of the problem.

  “I know ve
ry little about the scars Margaret bears in her heart or how best to heal them, but I do believe that she needs some place quiet to become whole again,” she finished.

  “Well, I think she needs to be with those who love her most,” Solomon said.

  “You certainly don’t believe that anyone would find peace at Vielleteneuse,” Edgar argued. “The children alone make the place as chaotic as a battlefield. And with preparations for the count’s son to go with the king to the Holy Land, the court of Champagne is no better. You saw for yourself that Thibault and Mahaut are constantly involved in adjudicating some dispute or other. A court is no place for my sister.”

  Catherine rooted among the rushes with her toe for a moment. Both men had reasonable rejoinders to her proposition, but she still sensed that it was imperative that Margaret not be around Solomon until she was calmer and better able to understand the impossibility of her desires. She remembered how, at fourteen, she had fancied herself terribly fond of her uncle Roger. Three years at the convent of the Paraclete had given her time to realize how foolish that was.

  “Of course!” she exclaimed. “What better place for Margaret to compose her mind, as well as be educated for whatever position she’ll have in her life. Mother Heloise will take her in, just as she did me.”

  “What?” Solomon rose to protest. “No, not a convent! Not even that one.”

  “I’m not suggesting she take the veil,” Catherine said. “She’s too young, in any case. Mother Heloise won’t let any woman make final vows before she’s eighteen. Margaret could join the students there. You must admit there’s no better place for her to improve her Latin.”

  “Why should she?” Edgar wasn’t convinced. “She reads both French and English well enough. There’s no call for her to study Latin unless she wishes to enter the Church.”