To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Lambert had momentarily forgotten that the reason he had brought Clemence all this way, subjecting her to untold dangers, was the fear that she might be forced into another marriage while he was gone. But if it was proved that Lord Osto had died, then it was certain a new castellan would be chosen. And it wasn’t likely to be he.

  “I agree,” he said with regret. “Your father must have justice. Perhaps it’s time we went to someone in authority to report our suspicions. Jehan says that these people have tendrils stretched everywhere in the city, but there must be some honest person they haven’t yet corrupted.”

  “The bishop?” Clemence suggested. “Or perhaps the brothers of the Temple. Your father was going to join them, after all. Mine may have decided to do so, as well. Perhaps he bought the white cloak and the brooch you told me about here in Paris.”

  “But I’ve been to the preceptory,” Lambert said. “No one there knew of him.”

  “You asked at that house about the description of the body,” Clemence said. “Did you also ask at the Temple? If both of them say the man was fair, then we know it wasn’t Father.”

  “True, I didn’t ask.” Lambert thought a moment. “And, if it was your father, then what has happened to mine? And to Godfrey? If Lord Osto had been killed, they would both have come home at once, wouldn’t they?”

  “Of course!” Clemence sighed in relief. Then another thought sent her into despair again. “Unless they were all slain, and only Father’s body has been found.”

  Lambert leaned against the stone wall separating them from the river.

  “I don’t know what to do, Clemence,” he admitted. “The only person who has offered to help us is Jehan, and so far, he’s been right. He said there would be proof in the house, and we both saw the knife. That shows they had some contact with Lord Osto, at the very least. I should have taken it with us.”

  “No, then how could we prove we’d found it there?” Clemence said. “Perhaps the Knights of the Temple would be a good place to start. The commander could get the provost to send his men to search the house. But it must be done quickly before they realize what we know and destroy the knife.”

  Her decisiveness sent new courage flowing into Lambert.

  “We’ll go now,” he said, taking her hand. “This very minute. We’ll find the truth, no matter what.”

  On the other side of the river, Bertulf and Godfrey were seated under a chestnut tree drinking a bowl of cider.

  “Not as good as what we get at home,” Godfrey pronounced.

  “I suppose they don’t even make proper cider in Jerusalem,” Bertulf said glumly. “I can’t fancy using dates or oranges or other foreign fruit. Drink up; who knows if we’ll ever have more.”

  Godfrey drained the bowl. He looked around. They were on the higher ground south of the river, and, between the buildings, he could see the vineyards that belonged half to the Jew, Abraham, and half to the canons of Saint Victor. He could hear geese honking as they were driven up the road for market. It was a fair enough land, but he missed his own village. He had vowed to follow his master even into the jaws of hell, but his heart would always remain in Picardy.

  “When can we end this pretense of trying to discover what we already know?” he asked Bertulf.

  “Soon, I hope,” Bertulf answered. “The army will be leaving and with it, the Knights of the Temple. I’ve made a decision, Godfrey and I want you to honor it.”

  “Anything, Master.” Godfrey sat up straight, his hand over his heart.

  “I don’t want you to take the oath to the Temple with me,” Bertulf said. “No, don’t protest. Such a promise should only be made freely and in deep faith. I cannot order you to come with me or hold you to a vow of loyalty. It’s too great a sacrifice.”

  “I wish to make it,” Godfrey insisted.

  Bertulf smiled. “No, you don’t. And I have a task for you that is just as important. I want you to return home.”

  Godfrey’s face suffused with joy, though he quickly tried to hide it.

  “But, Master …” he began.

  Bertulf continued. “You must go to Lord Jordan and tell him that Lord Osto and his friend Bertulf have renounced the things of this world to join the brethren of the Temple of Solomon and protect the pilgrims in the Holy Land. Tell him also that it is our wish that Lambert and Clemence be married and that the castellany be managed by Lambert until their oldest son comes of age.”

  “He won’t like it,” Godfrey said.

  “It’s the final request of ones who have gone to seek martyrdom,” Bertulf answered. “Father Mikel and all the men of the village will swear this was our intent. Lambert may not be nobly born, but he has good sense and understands what needs to be done. What he doesn’t know, Clemence can teach him.”

  “The son of a miller as castellan.” Godfrey shook his head. “You’re asking a great deal.”

  “That’s why you must be there to insist,” Bertulf said. “Will you go? If you don’t, then all this will have been for nothing.”

  Godfrey stood, then knelt before Bertulf, placing his hands together and raising them.

  “I will, my lord,” he swore.

  Bertulf bowed his head. His tears trickled through his beard and fell upon the cross sewn onto his black cloak.

  Edgar spent quite a while with Edana in the garden, alternately soaping and pouring water over her. Fortunately, the day was warm, and she enjoyed it. When he finally had her clean, dried and dressed, he went back up to Catherine to tell her of their strange visitors.

  “Well, it does sound as though the two of you looked like trolls rising from the earth,” Catherine said. “And, if the woman was anything like this Lambert, she would be easily unsettled. They probably both need a tonic to calm their humors.”

  “I didn’t see her clearly, but at first, I thought it was your sister come to visit.” Edgar deposited Edana on the children’s bed. All the excitement had worn her out, and she had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

  Catherine stared at him. She was now in her chainse, being sewn into a pair of tight sleeves over which the hemmed bliaut would fit.

  “Agnes?” she said in disbelief. “We may have made peace but I know she’s much happier having hundreds of miles between us. It couldn’t have been.”

  “Of course not,” Edgar said. “But there is a resemblance. I wonder who she was.”

  “From the impression you made, I doubt we’ll ever find out,” Catherine said. “Ow!”

  “I’m sorry, Catherine,” Margaret told her, as she wiped the blood off the needle. “But you should stop moving about so. When is Solomon coming?”

  “Solomon?” Edgar asked.

  Catherine tried to talk without moving her arms.

  “He and Astrolabe are coming to entertain the children while we’re gone tonight,” she told him. “It was their idea, so don’t scowl so. I don’t think they have much faith in the guards.”

  “I don’t like using our friends as nursemaids,” Edgar said.

  “Samonie doesn’t mind the extra work in feeding them,” Catherine said. “You should be grateful for their concern.”

  Edgar continued grumbling as he put on the long hose, chainse and loose tunic. He added rings with various stones, and a gold chain. He wondered sardonically if he should pin a brooch on the leather patch covering his stump. Finally, he called for Martin to help fasten the belt and pull his boots on. There were so many minor tasks that had become impossible since he had lost his hand. Having to get help for them only increased his ill temper.

  Just after Vespers Martin came back to tell him that the horse had been brought around. Edgar called to Catherine to hurry.

  She came down the stairs carefully, trying not to slip in her soft leather-and-silk shoes. Her hair had been woven into plaits with ribbons that hung down her back below her headdress. The long loose sleeves of the bliaut had been pleated with a hot iron. Along with the garnet earrings and pendant, she wore bracelets, rings and the ivory cross Edgar
had carved for her before their marriage. The kohl had been applied delicately around her eyes in a way that emphasized their vivid blue.

  Catherine stopped at the bottom of the steps, waiting for his comment.

  “Carissima! I believe you’re nervous.” He laughed. “You’re unusually pale.”

  “It’s the powder,” she explained. “Am I all right?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “More than that. You’ll outshine every woman in the room.”

  Catherine relaxed. “I know better than that, but I don’t want you to be ashamed of me.”

  His answer would have been more forceful if Catherine hadn’t pushed him away so as not to ruin hours of work.

  “Have Astrolabe and Solomon arrived?” she asked.

  “They’re in the hall, being lions for James to stalk,” Edgar said. “Neither seems to feel that our absence will spoil the evening.”

  Catherine grimaced. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy it more than we will.”

  She went in to pay her respects.

  Solomon was on his hands and knees, roaring at James, who was waving a wooden sword at him. When he saw Catherine, Solomon stood so quickly that he got a whack in the shins as James lunged.

  “Catherine! You look absolutely enchanting!” he said in surprise. “You’ll have King Louis forgetting all about Eleanor.”

  “Not likely,” Catherine laughed. “Everyone knows he’s besotted with her. Have you two nothing better to do than spend an evening in children’s games?”

  Astrolabe grinned. “An indifferent Jew and the son of a heretic? We don’t have many invitations to court.”

  “Genta would have nothing to do with me in any case,” Solomon said as he continued to fend off James’s attack.

  “Why not?” Catherine asked. “Did you try to seduce her?”

  Solomon gave a rude snort. “That one! Never. No, she’s rabidly against Jews. Her parents were converts, and she’s passed her life trying to distance herself from us.”

  “Really? I’d never heard that,” Catherine said. “Are you sure?”

  “Abraham knew Genta’s family,” Solomon said. “Her mother married a Lombard convert, Obizon, who was the old king’s physician. She converted then. Of course her family said Kaddish for her, although they always hoped she’d return to them. Genta makes a point of not even walking by houses where Jews live.”

  “Catherine!” Edgar called. “We have to leave.”

  “Thank you, Solomon, for telling me,” Catherine said. “At least I’ll know not to send her your regards.”

  After they had left, Samonie reminded Margaret that she was now responsible for the welfare of their guests.

  “As soon as Edana wakes, bring her down and join them,” she said. “You might even rouse her now. With this much sleep in the daytime, the child will be up with the owls tonight.”

  With some effort, Margaret got Edana up and brought her down to the hall along with a comb to try to smooth the little girl’s tangled curls.

  Both men greeted Margaret with delight.

  “Catherine has given me a letter for the Paraclete,” Astrolabe said. “I understand you wish to study with my mother.”

  Margaret nodded as she sat down with Edana on her lap and started the task.

  “Only for a year or two,” she said. “Catherine made me understand that I should be prepared to be a lady with her own court, if my grandfather decides to assist in finding me a husband.”

  Her face was hidden behind Edana’s head so neither man could see her expression when she said this.

  “I know my mother will be glad to have you,” Astrolabe said. “And two of my cousins are nuns there, as well. Both of them are very kind and gentle. They’ll see that you aren’t lonely.”

  Margaret continued combing, occasionally jerking Edana’s head back as a snarl refused to give. No one spoke for a while, except Edana, who protested loudly and tried to get away. Finally, Margaret finished and let the child free, whereupon Edana went straight for Astrolabe, who was picking at a dish of almonds.

  Margaret looked directly at Solomon for the first time that evening. It startled him how much she had matured in the past few months.

  “I miss my mother,” she said simply.

  “I do, too,” Solomon answered. “Every day. If only I had been stronger, or quicker … I should have saved her.”

  “I wasn’t reproaching you,” Margaret said. “More apologizing for my behavior in recent days. Catherine tries, but she doesn’t understand some things the way my mother did, especially about preparing to be a proper wife.”

  “If you mean seemly,” Astrolabe commented. “This isn’t the house to learn that. Despite her splendor tonight, Catherine will never adhere to rules. But if you mean honorable, I can’t think of a better home to be in.”

  Margaret smiled, the scar on her cheek creasing. “I know that. It’s only that I thought when we got back to Paris, everything would be much calmer. Instead our lives are as unsettled as ever.”

  “That seems to be our fate,” Solomon agreed. “You know I don’t like the idea of you going to a convent; but if you must, I’d rather the Paraclete than any. You’ll learn all the things you seem to think are necessary, and they won’t encourage you to take the veil unless that’s what you desire most.”

  Margaret rubbed her cheek. “It may be the best choice. Perhaps no one but Our Lord would want me now.”

  Solomon dug his nails hard into his palms to keep from reaching out and taking her into his lap to comfort as he had when her mother died. She might not understand his intent. He had a sudden fear that he wasn’t sure about it, himself.

  Astrolabe broke the tension.

  “Nonsense!” he said. “First of all, your beauty is obvious, as well as your breeding. And, secondly, the scar will fade with time and be only a line of white, hardly noticeable. Now, shall I go down to the kitchen and tell Samonie we’re ready to eat?”

  “Of course.” Margaret was the hostess again. “I’ll get the pitcher, soap and towel for our hands. Martin always spills.”

  Bertulf and Godfrey had returned to the Temple preceptory for Vespers. They found the courtyard bustling with people. Sedan chairs were lined up on one side and a number of horses were being held by squires and stableboys.

  “What’s happening?” Godfrey asked one. “Are we setting out at last?”

  “I don’t know about that,” the boy said. “My master is here to witness a gift to the Temple, that’s all I was told.”

  “In that case we should make ourselves scarce,” Bertulf suggested to Godfrey. “I don’t want to spend the evening as part of some procession or listening to speeches.”

  “Yes, I think I’d rather clean out the stables than that,” Godfrey agreed.

  The stableboy watched them as they crossed the courtyard and went into one of the buildings. Then he forgot all about them. He’d heard the king was going to be there tonight. He wondered if the pope would come, as well. Then his mind turned to the more important matter of whether or not anyone would remember to feed him.

  Lambert and Clemence were taken aback by all the activity.

  “Something’s happening tonight,” Clemence said, “perhaps we should come back in the morning.”

  “What if this means they’re leaving the city?” Lambert worried.

  “Then why are all the women here?” Clemence asked. “They’re dressed for a banquet, not to wave farewell.”

  This puzzled Lambert, as well. They stood by the gate out of the way of the horses and sedan chairs entering the preceptory. Clemence became very excited when a party rode up, the lady in a chair and other women riding pillion behind knights, many of whom wore pilgrims’ crosses on their tunics.

  “Look at how fine their clothes are!” she said. “Do you think one of the men is the king?”

  “I have no idea,” Lambert said.

  There was a man standing near them, observing the spectacle. He overheard the question.

  “No,
that’s his mother, Queen Adelaide,” he told them. “With her second husband and her maids.”

  “Do you know why they’re here?” Clemence asked.

  “No idea,” the man said. “But the queen doesn’t go out much, so it must be something important.”

  Lambert turned to Clemence. “We should go. I’m sure we won’t be allowed in tonight.”

  Clemence nodded. “Could we wait a bit longer, though, in case the king comes? I’ve never seen a king.”

  “He’s just a man,” Lambert said, not willing to admit that he was curious, as well. “But we can stay a little while longer.”

  Clemence asked the other watcher, “Do you know what the king looks like? Will you point him out to us?”

  “That’s him.” The man gestured. “The thin blond in the center of those riders.”

  Clemence looked. Louis, king of France, wasn’t much older than she was, a man in his mid-twenties. His fair hair hung down to his shoulders under the velvet cap he wore. She was disappointed that he wasn’t wearing a crown. She studied his face as he rode by. His countenance was serious and, although he smiled and waved at the people standing by the road, Clemence had the feeling that he didn’t see them. His mind was somewhere far away, Jerusalem, perhaps.

  “Queen Eleanor isn’t with him?” she asked.

  “No, she and her mother-in-law don’t get along that well,” the man said with an air of one who knew all the doings of the court. “They hardly ever appear together.”

  Clemence was about to ask another question when Lambert grabbed her hand and pulled her back into the shelter of the preceptory wall.

  “Look!” he told her. “Over there. Careful! They might see us.”

  Clemence craned her neck to see around the helpful man. Just behind the king was another group of people. Among them was a man with one hand. On the horse behind him rode a woman in a rose bliaut over a deep blue chainse.

  “What beautiful clothes,” she breathed. “I think the bliaut is pure silk. She must be very rich.”