Solomon had not joined the conversation so far, but now he put down his cup, stretched and yawned.
“Now you’re saying what we knew all along,” he told Astrolabe. “Why should the Holy One care if the Christians or the Saracens have Jerusalem? I certainly don’t. If anything, the Ishmaelites are easier to do business with. Now, before you all start trying to convert me again, I’m taking myself to bed. Shall I drop James and Edana into theirs as I go?”
Catherine handed her burden over to him. “You’ll have to wake her enough to put her on the chamber pot first.”
“I’ll come with you.” Edgar let James flop over his left shoulder.
They took care of the domestic chores and came back down. Before they went outside Solomon stopped Edgar.
“I’ve been waiting for a moment alone with you,” he said. “Abraham came to me today. He says a man was at the synagogue this morning asking for news of Hubert.”
“A Jew?”
Solomon shook his head. “Abraham didn’t know him. But the man seemed to know more than he should. He wanted to know where Hubert had really gone.”
“Saint Oswald’s holy head!” Edgar exclaimed. Then he lowered his voice. “No one would tell, would they?”
Solomon grimaced. “I don’t think so. Isaac the draper is no friend of Hubert’s, but he hates the Edomites even more. Who do you think it was?”
“I don’t know.” Edgar chewed one end of his moustache, a sure sign of perturbation. “I wonder if the men Master Evrard sent to investigate the body have decided to look into Hubert’s past.”
“He was long gone when that man was killed,” Solomon assured him.
“I hope so.”
Edgar was cut off by the entrance of the rest of the family, who had decided it was time for all of them to go to bed. Soon the house was silent.
The moon was just setting when there was a cry from the garden. One of the guards had caught a fish.
Evrard de Barre was the commander of the Temple preceptory in France. But, with the participation of King Louis in this new expedition, his duties had increased tenfold. He had to find as many men as possible, some to go with the king and others to prepare the way for him. His new responsibilities only added to the obligation placed on him by Louis to go ahead of his army and negotiate with the emperor in Constantinople. Bertulf and Godfrey had not expected to be given an audience with him. Both of them were nervous in his presence. Bertulf, especially, was certain he would stumble over his words and appear a fool.
The commander sensed their discomfort and smiled on them.
“I understand you’ve come to join the brethren,” he said. “From Picardy, are you? And the horse you brought is apparently magnificent. There’s been talk of nothing else since you arrived.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Bertulf answered. “I bred him myself from a Spanish destrier belonging to my lord, Osto. But he is mine alone.”
“You have your lord’s permission to leave your land and join us?” Evrard asked.
Bertulf stood straighter. “I do, though I don’t need it. I’m a free man of the village. I hold the mill and twenty arpents of land clear of all duties except the tithe. My wife is dead, and I’ve given my son, Lambert, my property. I reserved only my sword and Vrieit, the best of my horses.”
The commander turned to Godfrey. “And you? Do you come to us of your own free will? Or are you simply this man’s servant?”
“I am here to attend my master, who gave me a place at his table and in his home.” Godfrey licked his lips. “But I come willingly in order to serve Our Lord by defending and protecting His pilgrims.”
“Well said.” Evrard tried once again to put these men at their ease. “Because of our great need, the time of probation has been shortened. You may stay with us one week, observing how we live, learning our rule and reciting the Office in the chapel with us. At the end of that time, you will be asked the questions and, if you agree to abide by our statutes, you may join us.”
Bertulf let out a sigh of relief.
“However,” Evrard continued, “our life is a hard one. We take the same vows of poverty, chastity and obedience as any monk. As you watch us, remember this. You’ll be asked to fight for no booty but the glory of Christ, and then, when you are more worn than you can imagine, to wake at night and pray. You must set your minds on God alone and ignore the needs and desires of your body. You must understand totally that your reward will not come in this life.”
He let his eyes meet Bertulf’s. The man looked back at him with bleak despair. It unsettled the master. He wondered what sins Bertulf was here to expiate. Perhaps this was one of those who saw the only hope for salvation in martyrdom. Well, the knights who were driven by desperate fear for the fate of their souls were often the best. This man was older, too, which meant they might be able to count on him to keep a cool head in battle. And if his horse were any indication, he would be a valuable addition to the sergeants. He might even rise to be undermarshal, in charge of the stables. Evrard hoped that Bertulf wouldn’t be driven to expiate his sins too recklessly. He sighed. Anyone could die for the Faith. It was much harder to find people willing to live for it.
“Very well,” he said. “Galdino, would you take these men to the draper to be fitted out?” He turned back to Bertulf and Godfrey. “We supply anything you might be lacking, but if you decide not to remain with us, the articles must be returned.”
The two men seemed relieved to be dismissed from his presence. Evrard rubbed his forehead. Even as the hours of sunlight lengthened each day, more tasks came to fill them. He longed for a day to spend sleeping. He knew it was Satan’s way of tempting him, but it was hard not to give in.
There was a tap at the door.
Evrard straightened. “Enter.”
The knight Baudwin and the priest, Durand, came in on the heels of the man assigned to announce them. Evrard greeted them. Once the pleasantries had been accomplished he asked for their report.
“The body has still not been identified,” Durand said. “We’re beginning to wonder if the man was a member of the Order at all.”
“He had a cloak of our issue, didn’t he?” Evrard asked.
Durand raised his hands in a gesture of doubt. “It appears to be,” he admitted. “But a white wool cloak isn’t impossible to find elsewhere. And, if he’s none of ours, we can turn the matter over to the bishop. He’s responsible for the investigation of deaths in the city.”
“What about the people who own the house where he was found?” Evrard asked.
“Haughty and stiff-necked as Jews,” Durand answered.
Brother Baudwin nodded agreement. “It’s always like that when noblemen have to turn to trade. This Englishman Edgar made a most improvident marriage. I’m amazed his family allowed it.”
“Do you think they killed the man and are trying for some reason to put the blame on us?” Evrard was perplexed by the whole situation.
Baudwin grimaced. “I’d like that to be the case, but everyone says they didn’t arrive until the day before the body was discovered, and he’d obviously been dead some time. But I think they know more than they’re telling us. These people have some strange friends.”
“Very well,” Evrard said. “Continue your investigation for now. Try not to be too obvious about it, though. I’ve learned that Abbot Suger is their protector, and his power stretches far these days.”
The two men rose and left.
When they were out in the street again, Durand turned to Baudwin.
“We must work harder,” he insisted. “Those people are hiding something. Perhaps they’re heretics or worse. I see no point in going all the way to Jerusalem to defeat infidels only to come home to find that that sort have taken over.”
Baudwin agreed. “English! Their king is sending hardly anyone to the Holy Land. Too busy trying to hold on to his crown. This Edgar could even be a spy.”
Durand thought about that. “For the English?”
Baudwin shrugged. “Or the Jews. He’s not what he should be, I know that.”
“Then,” Durand stated, “it’s our duty to find out what he is.”
Unconscious of the suspicions of Durand and Baudwin, Edgar was most concerned with the need to feed his family. The reserve that Hubert had left them wouldn’t last another winter. He was so preoccupied with the meetings before him that day that he didn’t notice how tense Catherine was.
“We’ll see Archer and then talk with Abraham,” he told her. “Spices will be hard to come by this winter, they think. I have to see about getting more now. Then there’s a meeting of the water merchants. We won’t be back until Vespers.”
“Good,” she said. “I mean, we’ll keep some pie warm for you.”
She kissed him quickly, then hurried Samonie and the children out, as well. That left her alone with Martin.
“I’m going to the counting room,” she told him. “If that man returns, take him to the hall and then come get me.”
“Should I give him some wine?” Martin asked.
Catherine hesitated. “Yes. I won’t be thought lacking in hospitality, no matter who comes to my door.”
“Cakes, too?”
“Yes, cakes, too.” Catherine laughed. “Such generosity may confuse him enough that he’ll forget the purpose of his visit.”
She then set about making sense of the notes and numbers scrawled any which way on the wax tablets Edgar and Solomon carried to record transactions before recording them on parchment.
It didn’t help that the warm weather caused the wax to soften and blur. But it was a task that Catherine had been charged with since she could hold a stylus. It was her facility with numbers that had caused her father to let her progress to learning to read, first in French and then Latin. But it was her mother who was overjoyed when Catherine desired to join the convent. And it was her mother whose heart had been broken when she left.
“Concentrate!” she told herself. “Is that IX barrels of wine or LX? It must be nine. Where would they store sixty?”
Soon she was involved enough in her work that neither the past nor the future could torment her. When the knock came at the door, she was so startled that she blotted the page.
“Mistress?” Martin’s face appeared around the door. “He’s back. I offered him wine and cakes, but he refused them.”
“Oh, dear.” Catherine’s heart sank. “I’ll come right down. Be sure you stand just outside the door in case I need you, Martin.”
Her hands were icy. Perhaps she should have told Edgar. Yet, if she faced Jehan alone, he would probably only shout at her. If Edgar or Solomon encountered him, she knew blood would be shed. Catherine rubbed her hands on her skirts, lifted her chin and entered the hall.
Jehan hadn’t even condescended to take a seat. He was in mail and helm, with his pilgrim cross sewn prominently on his overtunic. He was perspiring freely but whether from his constant anger or the heat, Catherine couldn’t tell.
One look at him and she did know that manners would be wasted.
“What have you come for?” she greeted him. “I thought you’d be halfway to Jerusalem by now.”
“I’m sure you wish me halfway to Hell,” Jehan answered.
Catherine couldn’t deny that. She waited out of his reach.
“No. Thanks to you and your sister, I couldn’t find a place in Emperor Conrad’s army.” He spat each word at her like venom.
“We had nothing to do with your idiotic actions!” Catherine retaliated. “You nearly got Agnes killed, camping at her gate, offering to prove her innocence in combat! Everyone thought she’d murdered her husband to be free to marry you! It’s not our fault if you ended by appearing to be a fool!”
“If you hadn’t shown up, I would have saved her!” Jehan roared. “It was you who made me look foolish. You and that apostate father of yours!”
“Mistress?” Martin’s timid voice came from the doorway.
“It’s all right, Martin,” Catherine told him, glad that Jehan now knew she wasn’t completely alone in the house.
Catherine flinched inwardly at his last accusation and prayed no sign of it showed in her expression.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “You were born a fool, and my father is even now on a pilgrimage to worship at the shrines of the saints for the health of his soul.”
Jehan smiled. It was the ugliest thing Catherine had ever seen.
“Is that so?” His grin widened. “Well, I’ve decided to change the direction of my pilgrimage. The king of Spain is accomplishing more than these dawdling knights of the north. When he takes a city, he keeps it. I thought I’d offer my services to him. On the way, I plan to stop at Arles. There must be a saint there that I should pay my respects to.”
“I wish you a good journey,” Catherine said calmly. Inside she was panicking. How had he learned that her father had gone to Arles?
She turned to call for Martin to see him out. In a movement too quick to see, Jehan caught her wrist, gripping it so tightly that her fingers went numb.
“Don’t pretend with me, you enginieuse!” He pulled her against him and growled in her ear. “I know what you are and what Hubert is. I can destroy all of you.”
Catherine tried to pull away from him without showing how frightened she was.
“That’s what you’ve always wanted,” she said. “So, if you think you know so much, why haven’t you denounced us already?”
He grabbed her other wrist, twisting her arm back. Catherine fought the urge to scream for Martin to run for help. She had to know what proof Jehan had.
“The time isn’t right,” he said. “You’d weave your sorcery on the judges, spin words around them until they were addled with a jumble of Latin. But I will trap you, and I want you to know it. I want you to wake up every morning wondering if this is the day when I destroy you and yours.”
Catherine exhaled in relief, despite the pain in her arm. He had nothing solid to attack them with, only guesses and hate.
“I shall add you to my morning prayers, Jehan,” she tried to overcome the shaking in her voice, “that you might soon win a martyr’s crown, as you deserve. If you only came to threaten me one more time before you leave, then you’ve accomplished your mission. I suggest you leave before my husband returns.”
“Your husband,” he snorted. “A cripple who couldn’t use a sword even when he had two hands. No, I came to do more than warn you of your impending fate. My journey will be more costly than I had expected. The months I spent in my efforts to save your sister drained my resources. You owe me, Catherine. I need enough to get me to Spain.”
She should have known. He wasn’t asking her to buy his silence. That would make him no more than a tradesman. He was demanding what he felt was his due. That had always been his worst trait. All his misfortunes were of Catherine’s making. And for that she owed him reparation.
He let go his hold on her. She stepped back, rubbing the bruised wrist. She lifted her chin and glared at him defiantly.
“You want me to pay you to leave me alone,” she spoke with scorn. “Why should I? Your hints and rumors can’t hurt me or my family. We’re good Christians and respected members of the community. No one will believe your lies.”
“Oh, yes they will,” Jehan said with confidence. “Hints and rumors are what people believe most readily. But, in return for the cost of my journey, I’ll give you time to repent before I show Bishop Theobald my proofs of your apostasy.”
It was so like Jehan to prefer slow torture to a quick kill. Catherine had once pitied him. Now her only feeling was loathing and a deep desire to be rid of him forever. She wanted to ask him if he had been the one who murdered the knight, but, if he didn’t know about it, then that would be just one more thing he’d add to his list of their crimes.
Reluctantly, she made her decision.
“Martin!” she called. “Will you bring my jewelry box?”
She hunted through her keys for the s
mall one that opened the box, thereby avoiding Jehan’s eyes.
“I have a gold chain that belonged to my mother,” she said. “I shall give it to you, in memory of the services you once performed for my grandfather and father, before you went mad, and as alms for the good of my soul.”
Martin came in carrying the box. It was not very big. Most of the jewelry had been taken by Agnes as her dowry. Edgar had carved the box for her, and she treasured it far more than the few pieces inside.
She took out the chain and handed it to Jehan, draping it over his outstretched palm.
“Go to Spain,” she said. “Earn a fief there and make a better life. There’s nothing for you here.”
Jehan dropped the chain into his purse.
“I may well find honor in Spain,” he said. “But there will always be something for me here.”
He took no leave, but walked to the door, his spurs scraping the wood floor and catching bits of straw and herbs as he went. Catherine didn’t move as he opened the door. Martin, who had been listening in the passage, immediately led him to the gate.
The boy returned to find Catherine sitting on a folding chair by the hearth. She was trembling.
“Shall I get you some wine, Mistress?” he asked.
“Yes, please, Martin.” She pulled her sleeve over the hurt wrist, wondering how she could explain the marks to Edgar. “Martin!” she called after him. “I’d like you not to mention our visitor to anyone. He’s going away for a long time, perhaps forever. There’s no point in worrying the others.”
Martin nodded and went to get the wine. He would obey Catherine’s instructions for now, but in his heart he feared that it wasn’t the last they would see of Jehan.
Eight
A few moments later
Pervenit ad nos quosdam judeorum ad christianam fidem conversos, denuo, instigante diabolo, ac judaismum fuisse reversos; guod quoniam ad ignominiam nominis Christi ac christiane religionis contemptum vehementer pertinere congnovimus, tante presumpcionis injuriam regii terrore precepti inhibendam esse decrevimus. Statuimus igitur et regia auctoritate sanctimus, ut quicumque decinceps judeorum, per baptismi gratiam in Christo renati, ad sue vetustatis errorem revolare presumpserint, in toto regno nostro remanere non audeant, et si capi poterint, vel capitali dampnentur judicio, vel membrorum porcione multentur.
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 11
