“I know.” Catherine caressed his cheek with her numb fingers. “That’s the worst of his evil; the way it rubs its filth off on us.”
“It will wash.” He tried to smile, but settled for kissing her nose. “And as for Margaret, I don’t believe she cares what the people on the street think of her. She behaves the same way to everyone.”
“Just so they don’t start asking her to petition the count for favors,” Catherine said darkly. “Then they’ll find out just how much of a lowborn fishwife I am.”
Edgar got up and stretched. He felt as though he had spent the last few minutes wrestling with the devil. “I’m meeting Archer at the Parleoir just after Nones, and I want to be there before the bells stop. These merchants have to find out that I’m as serious as they are about the trade.”
As they went in, they met Martin coming for them.
“There’s a man to see you,” he said. “He was here a few days ago, asking for Master Hubert.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Edgar asked in alarm.
“I didn’t know you wanted me to.” Martin sighed; there were so many rules to remember! “I told him then that Master Hubert was gone and so he and the lady left, too.”
He went to the gate and returned a moment later with Lambert. The young man’s eyes darted from side to side as if wishing he could see behind his back. His left hand clutched something on a chain around his neck. He was so obviously terrified that Catherine’s first impulse was to sit him down and get him a bowl of hot milk and valerian.
“My name is Lambert,” he began. His right hand moved in a sign Catherine knew well.
“Greetings, Lambert,” Edgar said. Catherine could tell that he was still not under control of his temper. “Why do you feel you must ward off the Devil in our home?”
Lambert’s hand froze. “Sorry.” He thought quickly. “I’m a stranger in Paris. I find myself unable to judge the honesty of people here.”
Edgar nodded. “I have the same problem. Would you care to sit and tell us the reason for your visit?”
“Martin said that you came last week and asked for my father,” Catherine said. “He’s gone on pilgrimage, but …”
Lambert started violently at her words. Catherine wondered if he was afflicted with Saint Vitus. She smiled, trying to reassure him.
It had enough effect that he consented to sit and take a cup of wine.
“Master Hubert traded in horses from Spain with my father, and Lord Osto, our castellan,” Lambert managed to explain. “They were supposed to have come to Paris, where my father planned to join the brethren of the Temple. Lord Osto’s wife died suddenly, and he’s needed urgently at home before his lord gives his castellany to another.”
“I’m very sorry,” Catherine said, puzzled. “I don’t believe anyone by that name has been here … . oh, ‘to join the Temple,’ of course!”
Lambert nodded. “At the Temple preceptory they knew nothing of Lord Osto or my father. But then I learned of the man you found here.”
“We have no knowledge about the poor man,” Edgar said. “The body was much decayed, I’m afraid. He seemed to be of middle height, with light hair, greying. He could be anyone.”
“I saw the cloak and brooch the man was wearing,” Lambert said, “and they were unfamiliar to me. Lord Osto had dark hair, but there wasn’t … isn’t much left of it. And there would have been no reason for him to be dressed as a Knight of the Temple. It was a forlorn hope that you could help, but Master Hubert was my only connection. Lord Osto knew no one else in Paris.”
There was a clatter on the stairs, and James bolted into the room, waving a wooden lance, followed by the new puppy his uncle Guillaume had just sent him.
Lambert tried to grab his cross and wave his hands at the same time. His wine cup crashed to the floor.
“James!” Edgar said. “If you and the dog can’t behave better than that, you can both sleep in the shed.”
The idea seemed to please James, but not the scowl his father was giving him. His face crumpled into tears.
Catherine lifted him up and wiped his face.
“We have a guest, James,” she said. “You know better than to behave so.”
She set him down. James dropped the lance and put his hand over his heart, bowing and reciting the greeting he had been taught.
Lambert nodded back, seeming to forget the response. James glared at him.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘God save all here,’” he whispered loudly.
“Oh, James!” Catherine hid her face in her scarf and tried to stifle her giggles.
Edgar was not so amused. “You may now go upstairs and wait with your sister and your aunt until we send for you.”
James slunk back up as Catherine tried to apologize.
“It’s quite all right,” Lambert told her. “Children are the same everywhere.”
But there was confusion on his face. This was a family of demons?
“While we are most concerned with discovering the identity of the man so rudely left with us,” Edgar continued as if the interruption hadn’t ocurred, “my partner and I would be happy to ask among our acquaintances for word of your father and Lord Osto. Where can we reach you?”
Lambert stammered his reply. “I have n … no f … f … fixed place.” He took a breath. “I’ll return tomorrow, if you’ll permit.”
“Fine,” Edgar said. “This time leave a message with the boy at the door if we aren’t in.”
Lambert thanked them and stumbled out.
Catherine turned to Edgar.
“What a strange man! I don’t feel right letting him wander about alone. Perhaps we should ask Maurice if he can have refuge at the hospice of Nôtre Dame.”
Edgar shook his head. “He’s young and ignorant of the ways of the city, but older than I was when I came here. He’ll be back tomorrow, and you can feed him if it makes you feel better.”
The bells began tolling Nones.
“Cristes flæschama!” Edgar swore. “I’m going to be late.”
He gave her a lopsided kiss and ran out.
Lambert had gone out of the house at a run. As he reached the Petit Pont his steps slowed. He rubbed the sweat from his face, glad to feel that he hadn’t sprouted fur or donkey’s ears. All his limbs were still attached. He faced a nearby corner and felt cautiously beneath his tunic. Yes, everything was where it belonged.
Jehan had warned him that these demons would try to lull him by showing fair faces. But Lambert couldn’t get a sense of enchantment about them. Catherine and Edgar weren’t that attractive. He sensed no urge compelling him to worship at their feet. Neither had invited him to a moonlit carousal. And the child was very much like the little boys in his village, only somewhat more obedient.
But that could be part of their trickery. Perhaps to work the greatest evil one had to appear most ordinary.
Lambert started across the bridge to find Jehan. He had promised to report at once. But after that, he was going to Clemence. Knowing she was safe with the nuns was comforting, but he wanted her to be safe with him. Fulfilling her father’s desire that the two of them keep his castellany didn’t seem half as important at the moment as finding a place with a bed big enough for them both.
The bells for Nones woke Bertulf. Owing to the late nights they were being forced to keep and the fact they had not yet taken vows, he and Godfrey were given special permission to sleep well into the morning.
Bertulf pulled himself up and immediatly regretted it. Beer in Paris wasn’t like beer in Flanders. They made it sweeter here, and after a few bowls, his mouth felt glazed with honey and herbs. This morning his whole head felt that way.
Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good plan, after all.
Godfrey’s snoring hadn’t changed even through the ringing. Bertulf kicked his cot as he went by to the water basin. Godfrey moaned and pulled the blanket over his head.
“Master, I have a confession to make,” he announced as he lowered the covers
and squinted at the sunlight. “God never intended me to be a toper.”
Bertulf smiled.
“Ah, I thought it was my age.” He splashed cold water over his face and beard. “Now I know it was Providence. Thank you, Godfrey.”
“Must we do this again?” Godfrey tried getting up.
“We could try drinking more slowly,” Bertulf suggested.
“I think I might try spilling it all,” Godfrey answered. “The way my hands shake, it shouldn’t be difficult.”
They emerged into the courtyard, hoping that they hadn’t missed the morning meal. No sooner had their faces appeared round the doorway than they heard a voice calling for them.
“You two! Over here!” Brother Baudwin shouted. “Master Durand is waiting for your report.”
“Saint Paul’s bouncing skull!” Godfrey groaned. “He’ll be lucky if I don’t spew the report all over his boots.”
Master Durand’s expression was stern enough to control even Godfrey’s willful stomach.
“You’ve discovered nothing?” He raised his eyebrows in a manner more daunting than a raised sword.
“With all that’s happening in Paris,” Bertulf explained, “there’s no interest in the death of a stranger.”
Durand pursed his lips. “Perhaps you haven’t been paying close enough attention.” He leaned forward, fixing them with his glare.
“Master Durand,” Bertulf said with a touch of anger, “despite broad hints from us, no one has mentioned a dead knight of the Temple found in a merchant’s house.”
“Did you think of asking if this Hubert LeVendeur had been seen with a live brother?” Durand was barely containing his scorn.
“We did,” Bertulf answered to Durand’s chagrin. “Those who knew the merchant told us that he didn’t trade with the Temple, but sought out materials for Abbot Suger to adorn his church with, or rare spices and suchlike for the count of Champagne.”
“An unusual sort of trader, who has no specific commodity,” Durand commented.
Beside him, Brother Baudwin seemed perplexed. “Don’t the other merchants keep him from trafficking in their wares?”
Bertulf shrugged. “Apparently not. The man arranged for transport and buyers in distant lands. He was willing to work with Jews. He took less trade from the merchants of Paris than he sent their way. They found him useful as an intermediary.”
“So all you have discovered is that no one has any complaint against this man, who has now become a holy pilgrim?” Durand asked.
Godfrey finally spoke up, seeing that Bertulf refused to give information that might be injurious to Hubert.
“There are those who resented him,” he said. “Some who felt he was too friendly with the Jews. Others muttered that he must have used trickery and deception to manage so many lucky bargains.”
“But there was no proof, no specific case,” Bertulf added quickly. “Only tavern gossip. All wealthy men have enemies among those not as successful.”
Master Durand sighed. “That is all too true.”
He tapped his fingers on the table, considering the problem.
“Very well,” he decided. “Another day or two, no more. Search out information in the marketplace. Ask the traders coming in for the Lendit. Perhaps one of them knows of some dealings this Hubert LeVendeur had with the brethren of the Temple in Spain or the Aquitaine. There must be some connection, or the body wouldn’t have been in his home!”
“The Lendit?” Bertulf asked.
“It’s a plain north of the city,” Baudwin explained. “Between here and Saint Denis. There are two fairs held there, one starting on Saint Barnabas’s Day and ending just before the Eve of Saint John’s. They’re already preparing the ground to build the booths.”
“The fur and spice merchants would have dealt with this Hubert, as well as the vellum and parchment makers,” Durand added, “if he had commissions from both the count and the abbot. Seek these men out. Some live in Paris, others have already arrived to negotiate with the monks for the best site at the fair.”
“Perhaps the draper has need of more boot leather or material for clothing,” Brother Baudwin suggested. “These two can do him a service while they work for us. I understand that the king plans to leave before the fair begins. We go with him and so will need our goods beforehand.”
Master Durand seemed surprised at the intelligence of the idea. After a moment’s consideration, he gave his approval.
“You take them, Baudwin,” he ordered. “I have more important things to attend to.”
Outside, all three men took deep breaths, as if the air inside Master Durand’s room had been too stale to support life.
Baudwin led them to the supply rooms where a number of other sergeants and servants were hard at work. The draper was happy to give Bertulf and Godfrey some errands to perform. They left shortly after with a tablet listing the items that they were to find.
“This is better than the tavern,” Godfrey said as they rode into the city. “But I wish I’d had a day to let my stomach recover.”
“We don’t have any more days,” Bertulf told him. “Soon we’ll be asked to take the oath of the Temple and, if we haven’t found the murderer by then, what am I going to do?”
The Parleoir was busier than ever. While the merchants were as worried as their wives about the damage the king’s tithe would do to their profits, most hoped that the extra business would make up for it.
Archer wasn’t so sure. He was a miller, who belonged to the water merchants by virtue of the fact that his mills, along with the one he leased from Genta, were all on the Seine, two under the Grand Pont. He had a strong interest in the transport of grain into and out of the city and owned several boats that docked within the limits of the merchants’ purview.
“The army the king is collecting is undisciplined,” he complained to Edgar. “They’ll spread out over the countryside, trampling and devouring all in their path. At least when it’s two lords fighting each other, there’s usually someone to protest to. What will I grind into flour if the fields are destroyed? The harvests are bad enough as it is.”
Edgar gave a gesture of helpless sympathy. He had no idea whom one went to if the king’s men caused the damage. Solomon came to his rescue.
“Abbot Suger has been named regent,” he told Archer. “Apply to him if there’s a shortage of grain. If Paris has no bread, he’ll find it hard to control the citizens.”
“Of course!” Archer said.
Solomon could see the man’s mind working and knew the exact moment Archer remembered that the link to Abbot Suger was Edgar, who had inherited Hubert’s account with Saint Denis.
Archer smiled in a way that managed to include them both without showing any real friendship for Solomon.
“Perhaps the next time you have an audience with the abbot, I might come with you to make just that point.” His eyes were those of a hopeful puppy.
Edgar looked at Solomon. “We might be able to arrange a meeting,” he told Archer.
“Fine, fine.” Archer didn’t seem as pleased as Edgar had expected.
“Was there something else?” he asked.
Archer scratched at the side of his beard. “Well, it’s my wife.” He sighed. “Richilde went to visit your wife yesterday.”
“So I heard,” Edgar started angrily.
“Yes, yes,” Archer raised his hands in placation. “They seem to have sorted things out. But I understand that you’ve had some trouble. If thieves and madmen are roaming the Grève by night, we should all be alert to the danger.”
“In these times, there are thieves and madmen everywhere,” Edgar said. “I’ve arranged for men to guard my property. I suggest you do the same.”
Archer looked as though he wanted to protest. They were interrupted at that moment by Hugo, the money changer, who had come to the Parleoir especially to see Archer, he said, as he pulled the miller away.
Solomon waited in silence while Edgar struggled to control his temper.
>
“This is what I must spend the rest of my life associating with?” He grimaced.
“He’s no worse than the men of the king’s court, or the bishop’s, for that matter,” Solomon reminded him. “You might have spent your life rubbing shoulders with priests instead of sharing your bed with Catherine.”
Edgar gave a snort of laughter.
“You do have a way of making me see the advantage of my decision,” he said.
“And you probably wouldn’t have me to cheer your gloom,” Solomon added.
He grinned at Edgar, daring him to respond.
Edgar knew better. Instead he suggested a trencher of lamb stew and a bowl of beer. Solomon had no argument with that.
In the small attic room, Jehan was at the same moment staring at Lambert in horror.
“You let that woman give you wine!” he shouted. “Saint Lucy’s loosened eyes, man! Have you no sense! Didn’t I warn you?”
“I didn’t drink it.” Lambert tried to push himself farther back, but Jehan loomed closer.
Until now, Lambert had always thought “blazing eyes” a fanciful description by the jongleurs. Now he knew what they meant.
“The child startled me, and I dropped the cup before I took even one sip,” he explained.
“Well, thank the Virgin that happened,” Jehan said. “Or you might have fallen under their persuasion and even now be committing horrible acts of blasphemy.”
Lambert crossed himself.
“I remembered your warnings,” he insisted. “I was praying the whole time I was in the house. But the visit was to no purpose. The description of the man was nothing like Lord Osto. Perhaps he never went to see them.”
“I’m sure he did.” Jehan paced the tiny room, his boots thumping wrathfully. Below, a man shouted at him to stop the racket. Jehan stomped with greater fury.
“Catherine LeVendeur and her husband are capable of the most wicked treachery and deceit.” He fixed Lambert with his terrible eyes. “Why should she tell you the true appearance of this man they killed? She’s hoping the knights will bury his memory along with his body.”
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 17
