Catherine was already down when Samonie returned.
“Good morning,” she smiled. “I was hoping you’d gone out for some early strawberries to have with the porridge.”
Samonie showed her empty hands.
“I couldn’t find any,” she said. “The Île is full of people today. I’m surprised some aren’t pushed off the edge into the river.”
“No matter.” Catherine stirred the barley to keep it from forming hard blocks in the broth. “Honey will do. Perhaps you can see if Margaret needs help dressing the children.”
Samonie went at once.
Catherine continued stirring the porridge, staring into the pot as if the answers to all her questions could be revealed there. But the future was as murky as the congealing barley.
Secrets. Did all families have so many? Sometimes Catherine wanted to shout all of hers from the spire of Nôtre Dame, simply to be rid of the solid shadows that kept her from leading an uncomplicated life. They surrounded her and pressed against her throat, choking her when she wanted to speak. And now Samonie had secrets from her, too.
It was such a beautiful morning. Why did her heart feel made of lead?
On the other side of the river, in a small room over a bridle maker’s shop, Lambert was feeling much the same way.
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?” he asked Jehan. “How could my father have been so misled? He always spoke of Hubert LeVendeur with the utmost respect.”
“Don’t blame your father,” Jehan told him. “Better men than he have been totally ensorceled by Hubert and his family. He drove my friend Roger to his death and his own wife, Madeleine, to madness. I had prayed that his daughter, Agnes, would escape him, for her eyes were not deceived by his wickedness. But only last year he managed to have her sold into marriage in Germany so that now only I remain to stand against him.”
Lambert tried to put together all he had been told the night before. It was a lot to take in at once.
“I thought you said Hubert was gone,” he said. “That’s what the boy at his house told us.”
“They say he’s gone.” Jehan’s voice lowered. “But I believe he still lurks in Paris, perhaps in the lairs of the Jews, perhaps in secret rooms in his own home. He may even have mastered the trick of becoming invisible and be listening to us at this very moment.”
Lambert shivered and moved farther away from his new friend. It all sounded like nonsense. Christian converts returning to the Jewish faith like dogs to their vomit; plots to infiltrate the court and the abbey of Saint Denis with infidels; A family of heretics and magicians out to destroy all of Christendom, if Jehan were to be believed.
It sounded impossible. But in the past few weeks Lambert had seen and heard so many things he had never thought possible before. And both his father and Lord Osto were missing, along with the faithful Godfrey. No one else had been able to tell him anything. Could this peculiar man be the only one with the truth?
He wanted to discuss it with Clemence.
“I understand the need for haste,” he told Jehan. “But I must inform my wife of what is happening. She’ll be worried.”
“It will upset her more if she knows that you are going to face these monsters in their den,” Jehan answered.
Lambert’s eyes widened. “I am?”
“You must. They don’t know you. You can gain admittance to the house, find out their intentions.” Jehan chewed on a fingernail as he formulated his plan.
“Why would they tell me?” Lambert wasn’t sure this direct approach was the best one. “And what could I ask them, ‘Begging your pardon, did you happen to kill a castellan from Picardy anytime recently?’ I don’t think I’d be very good as a spy.”
“Wait! Do you have a cross about your person?” Jehan asked abruptly.
Lambert pulled out a small iron one on a chain around his neck.
“Good, that will protect you doubly.” Jehan smiled happily. “The cross for Our Lord’s guidance and iron to frighten away the demons.”
Lambert stood and edged toward the door.
“Please, I really don’t think I can do this,” he started.
Jehan’s muscular right arm fell on his shoulder and sat him back down.
“You shake like a heifer when she’s just seen the bull,” he sneered. “Are you a man or not? You came to Paris to find what happened to your father. I believe he was snared by these devils in human form. Isn’t it your duty to confront them? Perhaps they still hold him alive but in constant torture. What would he say if he knew you lacked the pendons to rescue him?”
A vision of his father’s face appeared in Lambert’s mind. Bertulf was laughing at him, as he had in the days when he had been teaching Lambert to ride. Then the face changed to one of horror and pain.
This Jehan might well be mad, but Lambert knew that he couldn’t turn his back on the only possibility he had been given.
“Very well.” He sighed. “I’ll return to the house at once. Tell me what I should say to them.”
Jehan’s arm lifted from his shoulder. The knight grinned down at him.
“Don’t worry, friend,” he laughed. “I won’t let you enter the hell mouth unprotected.”
This promise did not reassure Lambert at all.
Catherine had just finished dressing when the deputation of her neighbors arrived at the door. Martin let the women in and set up chairs for them in the hall before he went to tell her of her unexpected guests.
“Hersende is downstairs,” he said, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “And Domina Luca, the baker’s wife, is with her. Also, Dominae Alesia, Eremberga and Richilde.”
“Sweet Virgin!” Catherine exclaimed. “Whatever do they want?”
“I don’t know, Mistress,” Martin said. “Should I have asked them?”
“No, no. Just have your mother offer them some wine and sweets and tell them I’ll be down in a moment,”
Catherine rummaged on her dressing table for a hand mirror. None of those women had been inside her house since Agnes had moved out over five years ago. Catherine had a sick feeling that they hadn’t come to welcome her home.
She forced herself to smile and appear relaxed as she entered the hall. Samonie was pouring the wine and Catherine noted that all the women except Hersende had accepted a cup.
“Welcome!” Catherine said. “God save you all. I’m delighted to see you here.”
Hersende stood. “A blessing on the house and all within,” she said quickly and with no warmth.
“Thank you,” Catherine said before she could continue. “May I offer you some gastelet? Luca and her husband make them so well.”
Luca smiled nervously. The other women each took one of the small cakes from the platter Martin offered. Catherine took one, as well, and seated herself between the others and the door.
“I regret that I’ve been unable to offer you our hospitality before,” she told them. “I’ve been most remiss since our return from my sister’s wedding. Please forgive me.”
Hersende put down her cake and brushed the crumbs to the floor.
“Catherine, we’ve come not to chastise you for not entertaining your neighbors, but because some very disturbing information has reached us.”
The other women all nodded solemnly.
“We believe that it’s nothing but slander, of course,” Luca added. “But you know how the appearance of scandal can have the same results as the truth of it.”
“I know this all too well, Luca,” Catherine said. “I’m grateful for your bringing me word of this. Who is defaming us and what do they say?”
Luca twisted the end of her sleeve in her hand. “Rumor has no face, Catherine,” she said. “But it is whispered that your father’s departure was much later than he had intended. And that he is not on his way to Rome.”
“Really?” Catherine’s hands were icy. “Where do they say he has gone?”
“Into Spain,” Domina Richilde spoke up. “They say he’s gone to Cordoba to
study the wizardry of the Jews and Saracens and that, to gain entry into their circle, he had to bring them the blood of a Christian knight.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped.
“What!”
Hersende defended the statement. “Well, there were lights in the house long after Hubert told me he was leaving, and then there was that man you found dead.”
“Lights in the house?” Catherine said. “Why didn’t you mention this when we asked you before?”
“I didn’t remember then,” Hersende muttered. “But you must admit it doesn’t look good. Especially since Hubert spent so much time with Jews. You still have one of them in and out of the house as if he owned it.”
“He does own part of it,” Catherine stood. “Solomon is partners with my husband, as his uncle and my father were partners, as his grandfather and my grandfather were partners in Rouen. Our families have been trading together for almost a hundred years, and no one has ever questioned our fidelity to Our Lord or accused us of such nonsense as wizardry!”
Except one man.
Catherine blinked as the thought hit her. Only one man had ever insisted that she was an enchantress or that Hubert gained his wealth through sorcery.
Perhaps Jehan had not left Paris after all.
“Thank you for coming, my friends.” She swallowed. “I believe I know who has started this evil calumny. He’s someone who feels himself wronged by my father. This man has threatened all of us, including my poor children. He wears the cross of a pilgrim, but there is nothing in his heart but hatred.”
Richilde put her hand to her mouth. “Catherine, you should have told us! What if my Agneta were playing with James and this beast found them! I’m not going to let my child near here until this man is caught.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t …” Catherine tried to calm her, but the other women were adding their opinions. And, in honesty, what could she tell them? She wasn’t sure their children would be safe from Jehan. She didn’t know what atrocities he was capable of, goaded as he was by the demon within.
“Please!” she tried again.
“Someone should tell the provost!” Hersende shouted. “He should have his men out looking for this monster.”
“Our children need protection from such men!” Luca agreed. “Paris is overrun with them now, all because Louis has decided to take an army to Jerusalem.”
“And leave good citizens at the mercy of villains!” Eremberga stated angrily. “As well as tithing us to pay for his folly!”
“There’s wickedness and heresy enough right here!” Richilde added. “He has no business going so far. He should first silence those street preachers who say we should give all we have to the poor, or they’ll take it from us.”
Catherine stared in awed fascination as the women leaped from anger at her to blaming the men in power for causing their fears. They seemed to have forgotten why they had come. All were on their feet, speaking at once. Luca, now close to the end of a pregnancy, was in tears.
Samonie came rushing in, sure that Catherine was being attacked. Instead she found Richilde and Eremberga arguing about whose husband should go to the provost, Alesia and Catherine patting Luca’s back and urging her to lie down and, on one side, Hersende sitting next to the table, pouring herself another cup of wine.
“Saint Jerome’s naked dancers!” Samonie exclaimed. “Mistress, what should I do?”
Catherine gave her a look of confused panic. “I don’t know.” She waved her hands helplessly.
“What is going on?”
The voice from the doorway was deceptively soft, but carried authority. It penetrated the clamor and, as one, the women stopped and turned to see Margaret.
She stood quietly, her vibrant red hair in plaits on her shoulders. Her clothes were no better than those of the others. Yet she radiated an air of authority that Catherine felt could only come from knowing she was born into the nobility. Margaret didn’t know that she possessed such an air. It was as natural to her as it was to Edgar, who had learned to put on the manner of a merchant only with difficulty.
“Is there something I can do to help?” Margaret asked.
Richilde smoothed her skirts and gave a tiny bow. “I’m sorry you were disturbed, my lady,” she said. “It’s nothing. We’ll be going now. Thank you for the refreshments, Catherine, dear.”
Catherine felt as if she had just stumbled in and out of one of those antipodean countries that scholars speculated about, where people walked around upside down. As the visitors filed past Margaret, who smiled at them all in bewilderment, Catherine understood that the gossip on the street had not only been about Hubert. Each of the women knew that Margaret was not only the daughter of a Scottish lord, but the granddaughter of a count.
When they had gone, Margaret came over to help Catherine and Samonie pick up the cups and put away the chairs.
“Are they going to visit us often?” she asked.
Catherine shivered. “I don’t think so, ma douz. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find charms hung at all the windows on the street, to protect the neighbors from us.”
Margaret thought about this. “Do you think we could get one of our own to keep away unwanted company? Only put it at the back of the house. I’m afraid of the men who come to the garden at night.”
“What?”
Catherine sat with a thump on the last chair. Perhaps instead of sending Margaret to the Paraclete, she should go herself. She felt in dire need of a calm place to think.
Eleven
Paris, Tuesday, 13 kalends June (May 20), 1147; 18 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Plantilla, noble Roman, who was baptized by Saint Peter, dipped her veil in the blood of Saint Paul and still managed to die a natural death.
Et multi quidem signati sunt ipso loco, ceteros autem ad opus simul provocavimus, ut qui ex christianis necdum signati sunt ad viam Ierosolimitanam …
And there are many signs in that same place, and to others likewise we had preached the task before us, so that who among Christians are not yet marked for the road to Jerusalem.
—Bernard of Clairvaux
Letter 457
Edgar received all of Catherine’s news with alarm.
“I don’t know what worries me more,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “That people are lurking near our home by night, or that all the women of the Grève seem to think my sister is nearly a countess.”
“Would you prefer they thought her a serving girl?” Catherine countered. “Both of you are too wellborn for my family. Margaret has made no public renunciation of her birthright, as you did. Now that the count has acknowledged her as his granddaughter, she should be allowed to accept the benefits his recognition gives her.”
“I wish I believed they were benefits.” Edgar rubbed his forehead. “Very well. Perhaps that problem can wait a while longer. First, these midnight prowlers. I’ll have to get the guards back and this time not let them bring fishing nets.”
They were sitting in the garden. The roses were starting to bloom. The air was full of perfume and the humming of bees. Catherine had fresh mint mixed with the honey in her porridge. She took a bite, then prepared herself to confess that Jehan had also been to the house.
At first Edgar could only glare at her, stupefied at her actions.
“You met him alone!” he finally shouted.
“Martin was there.” She looked up at him quickly, then concentrated on her porridge bowl.
“Martin! And what could he do?”
“Run for help?” Catherine suggested.
“While Jehan strangled you,” Edgar said. “Which I’m sorely tempted to do myself. How could you have been so stupid?”
“Edgar, I’ve known Jehan most of my life,” Catherine protested. “He doesn’t want to kill me; he wants to humiliate me … us.”
“A fine excuse for clearing the house, just as if he was your lover,” Edgar snorted.
“Edgar!” Catherine stood. The porridge spilled onto her skirt and stuck
. “How can you even think that?”
“Catherine, right now I’m so angry I don’t know what to think.” Edgar’s voice lowered.
Catherine felt as if she’d just been dropped into an icy stream. His anger had passed into the cold depths that terrified her, all the more because it was so rare for her to be the object of it.
“I know I should have mentioned that Jehan was coming,” she said as steadily as she could. “But I thought he’d go away at once. All these trufeors made such a fuss about how eager they were to set off for the Holy Land. But none of them seem to be in a hurry to leave!”
“Catherine.” Only Edgar’s lips moved.
“You shouldn’t be bothered with Jehan, Edgar!” she went on. “He’s already half in Hell. When I look at him I can see the demons behind his eyes. No one of any sense would pay attention to him.”
“You pity him, don’t you?” Edgar shook his head in amazement. “After all he’s done.”
“Edgar, he has nothing.” Catherine looked up at him, pleading.
Edgar took her hands. “Catherine, he deserves nothing.”
Catherine nodded. “I suppose I should leave him to God. If he comes again, I’ll send for the priest.”
“No.” Edgar didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “You’ll send for me. But first you’ll bar the doors and take the children to the cellar to hide until I say it’s safe. We’ve underestimated his wickedness too often. Now he must be treated as the savage he is! Don’t you ever see him alone again!”
She gave a small cry as his grip tightened.
He looked down in surprise. “Catherine, your hands are freezing!”
“I was frightened,” she said quietly.
“Of me?” he asked. “But I’m only angry because I’m afraid of what he might have done to you, to our children. I love you.”
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 16
