To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Solomon was standing, too. “That I would never tolerate,” he said. “I promised her mother to care for her, not …”

  He was abruptly interrupted.

  “I don’t suppose any of you have considered that I might have an opinion in this.”

  All three jumped as if lightning had struck the room.

  “Margaret!” Catherine cried. “We thought you were asleep.”

  “Obviously,” Margaret answered. Her lip trembled, and she bit it to steady herself. “I know that my worry for Solomon may have seemed excessive to you.” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps it caused my melancholic humor to influence my behavior. But that is no excuse for you deciding my future without consulting me.”

  “Margaret, we would never …” Edgar started.

  “I was only thinking of your welfare,” Catherine said.

  “It’s my duty …” Solomon tried to explain.

  Margaret just looked at them sadly.

  “I do love you, Solomon,” she said. “Perhaps, as you say, my devotion is only as that of a daughter. I don’t know. I haven’t much knowledge of filial affection. You always seemed to care for me more than my own father ever did. Do you wonder that I return your kindness?”

  Edgar had to agree with that. His father and Margaret’s had seen his children only as possessions. He was generally indifferent to them unless they opposed him. Edgar had vowed when James was born that he would never treat his son as Waldeve had treated him.

  “None of us has denied Solomon the right your mother entrusted to him. Your welfare matters to all of us,” Edgar explained. “But, Margaret, you aren’t a child anymore, and you must understand why we’re concerned.”

  Margaret’s hand went to the scar on her cheek. “Yes, I do. Catherine reminded me not long ago. But when we’re all home together, I forget that Solomon is an ‘infidel who must be shunned.”’

  Solomon smiled tenderly at her. “I am grateful for that, my dear. I sometimes forget that you all are ‘idolators to be scorned.’”

  He sighed and held out his hand. “Come sit with us, then. Do you want some wine? I know that you’re of an age to be consulted. But you’re still weak from all you’ve suffered. Catherine may be right. It would be better if you could be somewhere peaceful to regain your strength.”

  Catherine was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. Perhaps her humors needed assistance, too.

  “Look around us, Margaret.” She stretched her arm out, as if to include the whole of Paris. “The streets are full of warriors and pilgrims eager for glory, their swords hungry for blood. In the countryside people are starving, and mad heretics roam unchecked. Not a stone’s throw from here civilized scholars want to condemn a bishop for a point of theology so precise only ten people in the world can grasp the subtlety of it. And we’re under suspicion of having murdered a total stranger and locked him in our counting room. Why would you want to stay in this cauldron of wickedness?”

  Catherine seemed on the edge of hysteria, herself. Edgar got up, put his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. Catherine buried her face in his tunic.

  “It isn’t only Margaret who needs a respite, carissima,” he said to her. “Perhaps you should take the children and all of you pay a visit to the Paraclete.”

  “And leave you here to face those men from the Temple?” Catherine exclaimed. “I would never do that!”

  “That’s how I feel, Catherine,” Margaret added. “I know I’ve been unsettled lately, but now that Solomon’s back, I already feel much better. I want to help you. Please, don’t send me away.”

  The other three looked at Margaret. The lamplight gave her pale skin and auburn hair a glow like ivory and flame. That and her tranquil dignity made her look like some otherworldly apparition that a word might dispel.

  Solomon shook his head, astonished to feel tears on his cheeks. He took a draught of his wine, letting the cup hide his face.

  “Edgar?” Margaret reached out to him.

  Edgar released Catherine and took his sister in his arms. “I’m not our father,” he whispered. “I won’t force you, only beg you to consider my advice.”

  Catherine sat down next to Solomon. She took his chin and turned his face away from Margaret’s to hers. The pain she saw in him struck her deeply. The matter wasn’t settled. She realized that he understood his own feelings even less than Margaret did hers. Catherine vowed to stay watchful of them both lest it end in worse than tears.

  The next day was clear with a southern wind that promised summer. All of Paris seemed to take a deep breath and move more slowly. Benches were set up outside the taverns, and shops lowered their shutters to use as counters to display their wares. The street of the drapers was festooned with fluttering ribbons, feathers and sparkling glass and bead ornaments.

  Catherine barely glanced at them as she made her way to the rue des juives. The night before, lying next to Edgar, she had made up her mind, but the decision didn’t rest easily. She feared that what she contemplated was a sin. The theologians weren’t completely certain on the matter. She only hoped that, if it were, one day, far into the future, she might feel enough contrition to repent.

  She knocked at the door, trying to look as if she had a perfectly innocent reason for her visit. She had brought a basket of early greens from her garden as a gift.

  The maid who opened the door smiled at her in a kindly fashion, but Catherine was so sure that her mission was written on her face that she drew back and stumbled over her words.

  “My … my name is Catherine, daughter of Hubert LeVendeur,” she said. “That is, Johanna and Eliazar who used to live nearby, they’re … they’re friends of mine. Johanna once told me … um … I mean, is Rebecca at home?”

  “I believe so,” the maid said. “I’ll go see. Would you wait here in the court?”

  She stepped back to let Catherine pass through the dark hallway and out into the inner yard. Gratefully, Catherine perched on the side of a copper washtub and tried to collect herself.

  “Catherine!” Rebecca came out almost at once. “I haven’t seen you since Johanna left for Troyes! How delightful! How are your children? Please, have some cider and cake.”

  She had brought out a pair of folding stools, and the maid set them up before leaving to fetch the cider.

  Catherine felt herself blushing at the welcome. “I’m happy to see you, as well. We’ve only just returned to Paris. I know Solomon and Edgar will be coming by soon to discuss buying wines with your husband, but”—she bit her lip—“I must confess that I wanted to see you alone. Long ago, Johanna said something that made me think perhaps you could help me.”

  She paused and looked down. “My last birth was a hard one and the baby too weak to survive the winter and the midwife said …”

  Rebecca put her hand over Catherine’s.

  “Don’t be ashamed, my dear.” She smiled. “You’re not the first Christian woman who’s come to me for instruction. Why don’t we have something to eat and drink? Tell me what news you have from dear Johanna. Then we’ll go up to my room, and I’ll show you what you need to do.”

  The conversation of the night before had been a forceful reminder to Solomon and Edgar that they were now responsible for the survival of the family. They were up in the storage room making an inventory of goods when Martin announced the visitor.

  “A man from Flanders, by his accent,” the boy said. “Says he bought a horse from you once. He’s waiting in the hall.”

  “Remind me to have Catherine explain to Martin about getting the names of our visitors,” Edgar said, as they went down.

  “I’d also like him to find out if they want to complain about a bad bargain or make a new one,” Solomon answered. “I want to know in advance if I’ll need to defend myself.”

  The man waiting for them didn’t seem belligerent. He was older and shorter than either of them, his brown hair, what was left of it, greying. He rose as they entered and gave them a nervous smile.

 
“You may not remember me,” he addressed Solomon. “I’m Bertulf, of Picardy. Several years ago my lord Osto and I bought a horse from you and your former partners at the fair in Troyes.”

  “Yes, you do seem familiar,” Solomon squinted to see him better. “It was a Spanish bay, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, a fine animal. We bred him to our lowland mares, and the results were excellent.” Bertulf paused.

  Solomon waited.

  “You wish us to find you another horse?” Edgar asked. “Or sell one for you?”

  “Oh, no, no, not at all!” The visitor seemed unsure of what to do next.

  “Then why have you come to see us?” Edgar prompted. “What may we do for you?”

  In some embarrassment, Bertulf opened the purse at his belt and took out a silver brooch.

  “Lord Osto and I came to Paris to join the king’s army; that is, Lord Osto did. I have other plans. In any case, we had thought ourselves well prepared for the journey,” he explained. “But many places would not feed or house us unless we paid, even though we are pilgrims. And Paris is so much more expensive than I remembered. So.”

  He held the brooch out for Edgar to examine.

  “I see.” Edgar held the piece in the light. “We don’t take objects as pledges, you understand. We’re not usurers. If you wish to sell it, I can give you only fifteen pennies of Paris. The silver is light, the design crude and scratched. You might do better taking it elsewhere.”

  He looked at Solomon, who nodded agreement. Edgar then handed the brooch back to Bertulf.

  “I’m sorry we can’t give you more,” he said.

  Edgar meant what he said. Bertulf’s plight touched him deeply. The man was clearly worn. His troubles weighed on him so that Edgar could almost see them pressing him down. How did Bertulf expect to survive the trip to the Holy Land?

  “You and your lord have a place to stay, don’t you?” he found himself asking.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Bertulf said. “Fifteen pennies will keep us until the king sets out, I’m sure.”

  He gave Edgar back the brooch. Solomon stared, wondering why he was buying such a shoddy piece of work. Edgar shrugged. Later, when Catherine found the notation in the record book, it was listed as “alms for Jerusalem.”

  “Just a moment, then,” he told Bertulf. “I’ll get the money.”

  He went upstairs to the counting room, where the box that held the coins for daily use was kept. Bertulf started to follow him, but Solomon stepped in his path and, taking his arm, guided him back to the center of the hall.

  The door to the kitchen opened and Samonie appeared, balancing a basket of newly washed linen. When she saw them, she started and dropped her load, sending it tumbling onto the rushes.

  “Damedeu!” she exclaimed as she bent to pick up the wet clothes and shake the bits of herb from them. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  Solomon hurried over to help her. “Dant Bertulf was just leaving, Samonie. As soon as Edgar pays him. Are these going to the roof to dry?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll take the basket,” Solomon continued. “Perhaps you could give our guest some bread and soup before he goes.”

  She glared at Bertulf, who cringed, but she didn’t dare protest.

  “He can have what’s left in the pot,” she said. “Come with me Dant Bertulf.”

  She went back into the kitchen. Bertulf followed at a safe distance.

  Solomon carried the basket up the stairs, stopping to call out to Edgar.

  Edgar came out of the counting room. He grinned at Solomon.

  “We’re taking in washing, now?” He laughed. “Have you no faith in my trading skills?”

  “Not if every bargain you make is like this one,” Solomon answered. “No, this time I don’t grudge the man his pennies, even though I have no interest in giving charity to these pilgrim knights of yours. But Bertulf is so pathetic that I can only pity him. He must mean to leave his bones at Antioch.”

  “Yes, he’s a strange man to be a warrior,” Edgar said. “It may be that his lord commanded Bertulf to accompany him, and the poor man had no choice but to go.”

  “I’d have picked a squire more fit,” Solomon commented as he continued up to the roof.

  Edgar considered this as he went down to the hall. He heard voices coming from the kitchen, but when he opened the door they stopped. Samonie was ladling soup over a crust from the previous night’s supper. She seemed angry. That puzzled Edgar. Normally Samonie was happy to share what they had with others.

  “Here are your pennies, Bertulf,” he said as he put the coins on the table. “The king should leave any day now, so I’m sure you’ll have no more difficulties. If you do, come to me before you decide to join the beggars in the parvis of Nôtre Dame.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Bertulf put the money in his purse without even counting it. “Very kind, thank you.”

  He took the crust from Samonie without waiting for the soup to soak in and, spilling as he went, he hurried through the hall and back out into the street.

  Edgar stared after him.

  “That Bertulf is a strange pilgrim,” he commented. “But there was no reason for you to treat him rudely, Samonie.”

  “I have reason.” Samonie then snapped her mouth shut. Edgar knew she would say no more.

  He sighed. “It’s nothing to me. By the way, you’ve left the door to the spice cabinet open. Lock it, please, in case any other ‘pilgrims’ come by for charity.”

  Solomon returned, having passed Bertulf in the hall. He broke a corner from a hunk of cheese and shook his head.

  “That man has something on his conscience,” he said.

  Samonie grunted and pointedly began wrapping the rest of the cheese. Edgar looked at her quizzically.

  “What is the matter with you?” he asked. “What is your reason for disliking Bertulf? Is there something wrong with that man? Do you know something about him that you should tell us? Do you think he stole the brooch he sold me?”

  “No, my lord,” Samonie answered. “I have no doubt it was his. This Bertulf seemed harmless enough. I’ve nothing against him. I’m just out of sorts today. Perhaps it’s the moon.”

  Edgar accepted that. Catherine had a problematic relationship with the moon, as well.

  “You do remember Bertulf from Troyes, don’t you Solomon?”

  Solomon chewed reflectively. “Oh, yes. I couldn’t recall the name of the buyer, but I remember the horse well enough. The man’s face was familiar. He and another bought the bay together. They said at the time that they were going to breed him.”

  “That’s all right, then.” Edgar took a deep breath. “Then let’s return to the storeroom. We need to organize it according to a system of our own. Hubert’s makes no sense to me. I know he said there was a box of saffron in there somewhere, and one of the water merchants told me he had a buyer for it. But we have to unearth it today, or he’ll find a vender elsewhere.”

  They left the room. Samonie heard their boots clomping above her. Carefully, she put the cheese back in the pantry. Then she made herself a chamomile tisane and sat sipping it until she stopped trembling and the tears dried.

  As she walked home, Catherine felt as if everyone were looking at her and knew what she had hidden under the kerchief in her basket. Desperation had driven her to it, she told herself. There was no other course. She was determined to carry the plan through, but she wouldn’t feel sanguine about it until she was safe at home with the thing locked in the box under their bed far away from prying eyes.

  Her heart almost stopped when she came around the corner from the bridge to the house and ran into a hunched-over man rushing the other way. She barely glanced at him or heard his apologies; she was so terrified that the basket would spill.

  Bertulf had a vague impression of having bumped into something, but he was as preoccupied as Catherine. Without looking back, he hurried on to the tavern by the river where Godfrey was waiting.

  �
�Did you get it?” he asked before Bertulf had sat.

  Bertulf nodded and signaled for a pitcher of beer.

  “She gave it to me right away, once we were alone,” he said after taking a long gulp. “I stuck it up my sleeve. You should have gone, you know. I’m not meant for this sort of subterfuge.”

  “You had seen them before. I couldn’t have convinced them so well. Did they recognize you?” the other man asked.

  “Not really,” Bertulf said. “The Jew knew he’d sold me a horse, but didn’t know my name. It’s a good thing Hubert has left. I never could have faced him and lied.”

  “Old Hubert would have helped us,” Godfrey said. “He understood how the world works. This son-in-law, his father’s a lord in Scotland, they say. The high nobility, they look at things differently. They can’t be trusted, even on oath. What’s wrong?”

  Bertulf had suddenly stood up and was patting himself all over, turning out his sleeves and shaking his belt.

  “It’s not here!” he cried. “I know I had it. I must have dropped it in the street!”

  “Calm yourself, Master!” Godfrey pulled Bertulf back onto the bench. “It doesn’t matter. As long as it’s no longer in the house. No one will ask where it came from if they pick it up from the gutter.”

  Bertulf saw the sense in that and cursed himself for drawing the attention of the others in the tavern. Of course it didn’t matter. As long as no one connected it with him. He finished his beer and sighed.

  “Now we have to present ourselves at the preceptory of the Knights of the Temple. That frightens me even more. Oh, Godfrey, what have we set in motion?”

  Godfrey put his arm on Bertulf’s shoulder. “We’re following the original plan; that’s all. It’s what he would have wanted. You honor his memory with your sacrifice.”

  Bertulf lifted his chin. “I give it gladly for my child and my descendants,” he said. “If only I knew that it wouldn’t be in vain.”

  Edgar looked at the object in Catherine’s hand as if he expected it to leap at him.