To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “Never mind the clothes,” Lambert whispered in her ear. “Don’t you recognize them? That’s Hubert LeVendeur’s daughter, Catherine, and her husband. He was the one with the demon this afternoon.”

  “Really? He looks much better now,” Clemence said.

  “Darling,” Lambert said, “do you understand what this means? They not only have friends at the bishop’s court, but here, as well. Their influence stretches all the way to the king.”

  Clemence tore her eyes from the ladies’ attire. “Then we can’t risk telling Master Barre what we know. Oh, Lambert, where can we look to find help?”

  “Only to Jehan,” Lambert said. “Where he and I are staying isn’t fit for you. I’m taking you back to Montmartre for now. Then I’m going to report to Jehan at once and ask him what we should do next!”

  Thirteen

  Paris, the chapel of the Temple perceptory. That same evening.

  Prandia cum cena sic sat fiunt opulenta

  fercula post multa, post pocula tam numerosa

  limpha datur, modicum residetur dum biberetur.

  Thus the dinner and banquet were overly abundant

  After many courses, after just as many cups

  clear wine is given; they linger a while as they drink.

  —Ruodlieb. 11, 105–107

  “My feet are freezing,” Catherine whispered. “I should have known Genta would insist on a Mass before the donation.”

  “Would you rather a Mass or the bears?” Edgar whispered back.

  “At least I can sit in warmth to watch the bears,” Catherine grumbled.

  Then she swiftly crossed herself and murmured an apology to Christ for disdaining His offering.

  She and Edgar were standing toward the back of the chapel, now crowded with members of the Temple, the water merchants and courtiers. They made a strange mix, with the Knights of the Temple appearing the least genteel in their mail and white cloaks with no other ornamentation. All the others were festooned with fine mantles and jewelry.

  Catherine kept her toes wiggling in her thin shoes through which she could feel the cold stone floor. At last the service ended. Then the donation was read out and signed by the witnesses. The knights cleared a path to enable Queen Adelaide and her maids, King Louis and his men, Genta and Master Evrard to proceed out. At last the rest of the guests were permitted to leave.

  “Don’t try walking across the courtyard in those silly shoes,” Edgar told Catherine. “I’ll get the horse and come back for you. Stand here by the perron.”

  Dutifully, Catherine waited by the stone block used for riders to stand on while mounting their horses. She looked around at the rest of the company. The king had already left, but William, his butler, was talking with the queen, who had had the forethought to bring a rug to lay over the mud so that her feet were warm and dry while her chair was being brought to her.

  Archer’s wife, Richilde, bowed to her from the other side of the yard, as she listened to Thierry Galeran, one of the courtiers. It was clear that Richilde wanted Catherine to notice that she also had friends in high places.

  Catherine was regretting being there at all, when a voice greeted her. The man was standing directly behind her. She jumped when he spoke, nearly landing in the mud, herself.

  “Dex vos saut,” he said. “Lady Catherine.”

  “Good evening, Master Durand,” Catherine said. “I noticed you at Mass. I hope you’re keeping well.”

  Durand lifted his eyebrows. “Do you? Thank you. It surprises me that you’re here.”

  “Really?” Catherine raised her eyebrows back at him. “My husband and I have been eager for your report on the unfortunate knight. Have you discovered his identity?”

  “Not yet,” Durand answered. “When I do, you and your husband will be among the first to know.”

  He smiled thinly and continued on his way. Catherine shivered. She devoutly hoped he wouldn’t be at the banquet at Genta’s.

  Edgar soon returned, and they followed the procession to the suburb of Les Champeaux, where Genta had set up a large tent for the banquet. Outside, guests were being entertained by jugglers, tumblers and a fire-eater. From inside came the sound of musicians and the clink of dishes.

  “Want to wager what side of the salt we’ll be placed at?” Edgar said as he helped Catherine dismount.

  “If Margaret were with you, we’d probably have a salt cellar all to ourselves,” Catherine answered. “But as it’s only me, I suspect we’ll be at the foot and never see the seasoning at all.”

  Catherine was mistaken. They were placed at a side table above the saltcellar but only just. She and Edgar were given a silver escuelle to eat from and put the remainder of bread or meat bones in. A servant handed out silver spoons. Another pair came around with soap, water, basin and a towel for them to wash their hands.

  Then the bread was broken and sent around the table and the courses began to be carried in.

  “Where did she get all this meat at this time of year?” Catherine said in wonder as platters went by piled high with smoked pork, fowl and game.

  First they were given eels in saffron sauce, then chicken in cumin and garlic, then an assortment of vegetables with lentils and every fresh herb that grew in France, Catherine thought. Then the pork was sliced and handed out. After that there was quail roasted with its own eggs, and a swan. Servants circled constantly to fill the wine cups or replace napkins as they became too greasy to use.

  Catherine was already queasy when the washing water was brought around again and the escuelle removed before the sweets and the raisin wine were served.

  “We’ll have no chance to talk with Master Evrard,” she muttered to Edgar. “We’re trapped in our place, and if I even smell more food, I’m going to throw up.”

  “Breathe deeply,” Edgar advised. “I knew we would have little chance to gossip. But we can observe.”

  “I suppose,” Catherine said, as she signaled for more water to mix with the wine. “All I see are a lot of people in fine clothes that are rapidly becoming stained.”

  Edgar smiled. “Carissima, I know you prefer student debates to the feasts of the nobility, and I agree. But try to put aside your intolerance and notice what Genta is accomplishing tonight.”

  Catherine gave the cup to Edgar to sip from and tried to follow his suggestion. What did he want her to see?

  At the high table, Genta sat with Queen Adelaide and her husband, Roger, at her right. On her left was Master Evrard, looking about as uncomfortable as Catherine felt. There were other members of the court on either side of them. Interspersed among the coutiers were Archer and Richilde and Giselbert Engania, or Trickster, who was now master in the enamelers’ guild. His nickname, however, came from his youth when he had earned a few maille on the side from making dice that could be counted on to fall as they were told.

  It did seem an unusual combination for the high table. The nobility, of course, but why the tradesmen? And, as she looked around the room, she wondered why, other than Knights of the Temple, there were no clergy?

  “What is Genta doing?” she asked Edgar. “There’s no one from the king’s court except the butler. Louis didn’t even come to Champeaux after the donation. There’s no one from the bishop’s court or any of the monasteries. And Queen Adelaide is sending bits from her dish to a common guildsman.”

  “Well, it might be that these are the only people Genta knows,” Edgar said. “But I think she’s telling us something.”

  Catherine tried to think what it might be.

  “Well, it can’t be that she’s a heretic, or she wouldn’t be associated with the Temple.” She took the cup from Edgar. “The lower tables are almost all guild masters, merchants, the wealthy of the city.”

  “Right, and Genta counts herself among them,” Edgar prompted.

  “Edgar why don’t you just tell me your conclusions,” Catherine said. “I’ve had too much wine and food to think.”

  “Very well,” Edgar said. “I think
she wants us to know that she has power. The gift to the Temple was nothing, but it’s a way to remind the rest of us that she has a connection to Jerusalem and those who guard it. In the coming months much of our business will depend on the success of the army. Will the king bankrupt us or bring home booty as well as glory? Genta may be deciding to traffic in information.”

  “And by associating the gift with Queen Adelaide and the memory of old King Louis, she reminds us that she has the protection of the king, as well,” Catherine finished. “So everyone here is silently calculating what she can do for them and what they’ll have to pay for it.”

  “Exactly.” Edgar wiped some gravy from her cheek. “Your deductive skills aren’t as impaired as you think.”

  “But why were we invited?” Catherine wasn’t satisfied. “Is it just because she hoped Margaret would come, too?”

  “That I don’t know,” Edgar admitted. “I’m hoping that at some point in the evening it will be revealed. Look, the bears are being led in.”

  Catherine didn’t need to look. The smell of bear, mixed with lamp oil, meat and a hundred bodies was too much for her.

  “Edgar, I’ve got to get out of here at once.” She stood. “I hope Genta thought to arrange for privies. No,” she added as he rose. “I can go alone. You’ve held my head enough times.”

  Her lips pressed together and the napkin held over her mouth and nose, Catherine hurried out of the tent.

  Outside, there were attendants ready to point the way to a row of curtained cubicles. Catherine went into one, only to find nothing but a folding stool with a hole in the seat set over a bucket. The smell from that was worse than the bears. She slipped out the other side and made her way into a wooded area nearby.

  Away from the crush of people, she leaned against one of the trees, taking slow breaths of sweet air. She began to feel better but was unsure of what would happen if she moved.

  It was nearly dark. The wood was full of shadows and the reflections of the flicker of the torches around the tent. Mist was beginning to creep along the ground. Behind her, the darkness seemed populated by unearthly beings. Catherine stepped out of the concealment of the trees, closer to the light. A few feet away from her, one of the shadows moved.

  Edgar enjoyed the dancing bears. They stumbled about with an odd dignity that reminded him of his uncle Æthelræd. The trainers gave them stemmed goblets that they took in both paws to drink from. Then one put its paws on the other one’s shoulders, and they marched in step around the tent and out.

  It wasn’t until the minstrels had returned to sing an interminable lay that had something vaguely to do with Charlemagne but was mostly a series of verses detailing one single combat after another between Christian and Saracen knights that Edgar realized Catherine had been gone an unusually long time. Her stomach had always been sensitive, and several pregnancies had only increased the problem, so her nausea hadn’t worried him. The fear crossed his mind that perhaps the mokh hadn’t been as effective as they had been told. No, he realized, the unaccustomed rich food was enough of an excuse.

  He waited a few more minutes. Then, since the minstrels showed no sign of coming to a close, he got up.

  Outside he met Giselbert Engania.

  “Edgar!” the man said. “Quite a feast, isn’t it?”

  “Too much for me, Trickster,” Edgar said. “I’ve no head for so much wine anymore.”

  “And I thought the English were famous drinkers!” Giselbert commented. “I noticed that Catherine decided to leave early, but I assumed you’d stay the course.”

  “What?” Edgar gave Giselbert full attention. “Catherine only went out for some air.”

  “From the back of a horse?”

  Edgar’s hand caught Giselbert’s arm. “When did you see her?” he demanded.

  “Not long ago,” Giselbert told him. “I went out to relieve myself and saw Catherine come out of the woods with a man.”

  He paused there, for effect, but Edgar’s face had turned to stone.

  “And?” Edgar said.

  “The man was leading a horse. He mounted and pulled Catherine up behind him. They rode off toward Paris.”

  “You didn’t try to stop him?” Edgar said. “Or call out to her?”

  Giselbert shrugged. “Why should I? She didn’t seem in trouble. It wasn’t my business.”

  “Are you certain it was Catherine? The woods are dark.”

  “The torchlight shone on her face clear enough,” Giselbert insisted. “Her scarf had slipped back, so I could make out her features easily.”

  “The man, what did he look like?” Edgar’s hold on Giselbert’s arm tightened.

  “He wore a felt hat; I didn’t see his face,” Giselbert said. “He wasn’t dressed for the banquet, more like a squire. I assumed he was a friend of hers.”

  Edgar didn’t like the emphasis the Trickster put on the word friend. But he was too worried to be distracted by it.

  “Dressed like a messenger, perhaps?” Edgar said.

  “I suppose,” Giselbert answered. “But if there was a message, why didn’t the man ask for you in the tent? You needn’t pretend with me, Edgar. It’s not that unusual. She probably thought she’d be back before you missed her.”

  He didn’t have time to feel relief when Edgar let go of his arm because the next moment Edgar’s fist crashed into his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  “You idiot!” Edgar shouted. “She’s been abducted and you did nothing to save her!”

  “Don’t be so blind, Edgar.” Giselbert struggled to get up. “She didn’t call for help.”

  “Get out of my way,” Edgar shoved him down again. “Here, you! Bring my horse at once!” He called to a passing servant. “No, never mind. I’ll get him myself.”

  Giselbert sat on the grass, rubbing his jaw.

  “You’re the one whose slackbrained, Edgar! Or you’d know when you’d been cuckolded!” he yelled.

  “Or poes aler au lagon!” Edgar screamed back.

  As he watched Edgar gallop by, Giselbert was helped to his feet by the servant.

  “You’ll be in hell long before I will!” he shouted.

  Edgar was too far away to hear.

  The darkness soon forced him to slow to a walk. The path was uneven and hard to follow. He was close enough to Paris to make the ride in less than an hour in daylight. But from all he could see, he might have been at the edge of the world with no other soul within a day’s journey. He cursed himself for not having stopped long enough to take a lantern. But there hadn’t been time to spare.

  What could have possessed Catherine to go off like that without telling him? Edgar couldn’t think of a reason dire enough. Trickster must have been mistaken. Either the man who took her had forced her in some way, or, and now he slowed even more, the woman he saw hadn’t been Catherine.

  Should he go back? What would she think if she returned to the banquet only to find him gone and the only person to witness his departure a man whom he had just knocked down and consigned to perdition?

  As he dithered, Edgar heard the sound of a horse approaching from the opposite direction. He cursed himself again, realizing that he was out in the middle of the forest, in the middle of the night, dressed in gold and jewels, with only a meat knife to protect himself and his only hand needed to guide the horse.

  The glow of a lantern shone as the rider came around a curve in the pathway. Edgar waited. Usually brigands don’t carry light.

  The other rider came closer.

  “Edgar?”

  Edgar blinked. He couldn’t make out the face behind the light.

  “Astrolabe? Is that you?”

  “Thank the Virgin I found you!” Astrolabe answered.

  “What’s going on?” Edgar’s worry for Catherine expanded. “Are the children all right? Have you seen Catherine?”

  “They’re all fine, but you must come with me at once,” Astrolabe answered as he turned to lead Edgar home.

  “Tell me wh
at happened,” Edgar said.

  Astrolabe twisted in his saddle. “It started just after dark, when the guards came to the door to say that someone had tried to get into the garden but that they’d chased him off.”

  “Did they know who it was?”

  “They weren’t close enough to him to make out the face,” Astrolabe continued. “But, not long after, Abraham’s son, Joel, came with a message for Solomon. Solomon became very agitated. At first, I assumed there had been more trouble between the Jews and the pilgrims. Joel told him to come at once. Solomon asked me to stay and promised to send word as soon as he could.”

  “But what about Catherine?” Edgar demanded.

  “I’m coming to that,” Astrolabe told him. “I went back and helped Samonie and Margaret put the little ones to bed. Margaret was sure Solomon had gone out to get himself killed. It took some time to calm her. Then Joel returned, this time with a message from Catherine that I was to go and find you at Les Champeaux and bring you to Abraham’s house at once. Of course Margaret believed all her terrors had come true. I had to assure her that I’d return as soon as I’d taken you there with a full report, or I believe she would have insisted on going to Abraham’s herself.”

  This recital had Edgar’s head spinning. In part he was still concerned that something terrible had happened, but he was also growing angry. Catherine shouldn’t have been so thoughtless. Whatever it was, she should have come for him before leaving. He had no doubt that Giselbert Trickster was now regaling the party with the tale of how Edgar had gone chasing off after his adulterous wife.

  “Who is watching over my children and my sister?” he asked sharply.

  “Samonie and Martin are staying up until we return, and the guards are now at both doors,” Astrolabe answered. “They’ll be safe. Any possible danger is at Abraham’s, and since Catherine is there …”

  “Yes, we must hurry,” Edgar urged. “Hold the lantern out more. I’ll follow you.”