To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Soon houses began to appear from the darkness, first a few and then in clusters and finally they were back in the city, entering north of the main gate. A beggar trying to sleep against a wall pulled his feet in as they passed, and a pair of drunken young men tried to snatch the reins of Edgar’s horse. He kicked them off with an oath.

  The rue des Juifs was silent as they rode down it to Abraham’s home. The dull thud of the horses’ hooves in the mud echoed in the narrow passageway. Edgar had the sense that behind the shuttered windows everyone sat alert, ready to defend themselves or flee from an imminent assault.

  They arrived at the house. Before Edgar could raise the knocker, the door opened. Joel came out and took the reins as they dismounted.

  “Go upstairs,” he whispered. “I’ll see to your horses.”

  As they went up the steps the door at the top opened and Catherine came out. In two bounds Edgar was beside her, not sure if he wanted to kiss or shake her. She solved the problem by throwing herself into his arms and sobbing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she could speak. “I had to come. Solomon was afraid that if he came into the banquet for us, there would be too many questions. I didn’t dare wait.”

  “Catherine, I have questions,” Edgar said. “What, by the holy face of Lucca, is going on here?”

  “He couldn’t reach us,” Catherine sniffled. “One of our guards threw a rock at him. He barely made it to Abraham’s. He’s hurt and in such danger. What are we going to do?”

  Solomon came out on the landing, his face grave.

  “I apologize, Edgar,” he said. “Come in. He wants to talk to you.”

  Edgar followed him into the hall. At one side of the room a brazier had been lit, even though the night was warm. Near it a bed had been made up, and in it a man was lying, his head wrapped in a bandage. He gaunt face was hidden by a thick black beard liberally streaked with grey and it was a moment before Edgar realized who he was looking at.

  “Hubert!” he cried. “What are you doing back home? Jesus’ tears, man, don’t you know that if they find you here, you’ll be killed?”

  Fourteen

  The house of Abraham, the Vintner, sometime before Matins, Friday, 10 kalends June (May 23), 1147; 21 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Bobo knight of Provence, who conquered and converted Saracen pirates.

  . et ut fieri solet quod morbus obliquii ab uno serpat in omnes …

  … and, thus it is common that the malady of evil talk creeps from one person to another and then to all …

  —William of Malmesbury

  Gesta Regum Anglorum

  Book II, Part 201

  Catherine went to sit on the floor beside the bed. She took her father’s hand.

  “Edgar is right,” she said. “We would have found a way to come see you in Arles eventually. You shouldn’t have taken such a risk in returning to Paris.”

  Hubert squeezed her hand. “I had to come, my dear, but not for you. I know you would all be safer if I never went near you again.”

  His voice was weak. Edgar guessed that the blow the rock had struck wasn’t the cause of his frailty. Hubert looked to him like the hermits of the forests who survive on nothing but roots and rainwater. He had the pallor of a man who never so much as smells red meat.

  “You would be safe forever if you truly came back to us,” Catherine said wistfully.

  Hubert sighed and loosed his hand from hers.

  “That cannot be, my precious child,” he said. “No matter how much I love you, it’s only since I have returned to the faith of my ancestors that I’ve found peace. I’ve so many years to atone for, so many things to learn.”

  “They don’t seem to have agreed with you, Hubert,” Edgar said. “Have you been ill?”

  “No, not at all.” Hubert gave a wan smile. “But from the way my clothes hang on me, I don’t blame you for thinking it. I occupy myself so fully with my studies that I forget to eat, sometimes even to sleep. I feel as if a whole world were being shown to me, and I want to see as much as I can before I die.”

  Rebecca entered the room, followed by a servant with a tray.

  “You’ve all had a shock,” she announced. “I’ve made up a tisane to restore you. Husband, have you given Chaim a chance to explain why he’s here?”

  It was a moment before Catherine remembered that Chaim was her father’s original name, before he had been taken by a Christian family and baptized.

  “I was just coming to it, Rebecca,” Hubert said. “I’ve let myself wander far from the matter at hand.”

  “No wonder, with that bump on the head,” Rebecca said as she poured the cups of hot spiced wine. “Imagine being attacked outside your own house!”

  “As for that,” Hubert said, as Edgar began to apologize. “I’m glad you had the sense to hire guards. With all the evil roaming the streets these days, you need more protection than a few prayers and rowan branches at the windows.”

  “I’m not fool enough to let charms be my family’s sole defense. But you speak as if there were a specific evil, Hubert,” Edgar said. “What is so threatening that you’d risk your life to warn us of it?”

  “Nothing that would endanger you,” Hubert said. “There was something I had to leave behind last winter. Now I’ve found a safe place to put it. There was no one I could trust to send to retrieve it.”

  Catherine couldn’t accept the idea. “You don’t mean that there is a treasure in the house, after all?” she said. “I told everyone that it was only a rumor.”

  Hubert grimaced. “I’m sure no one believed you. Everyone thinks merchants hoard gold and jewels. But no one has given you trouble, have they? Is that why you have the guards?”

  “Not precisely,” Edgar hedged. “But why didn’t you warn us long ago? The house was broken into before we got back from Germany. We thought nothing had been taken, but perhaps this treasure of yours has been stolen.”

  “It can’t have been!” Hubert cried. “I hid it in the counting room and locked both the chest and the door.”

  Hubert struggled to sit, but Catherine pushed him back down.

  “I’ve been all over the counting room,” she told him, “And found nothing there. And, unless you left a dead Temple knight along with your treasure, someone else was in there.”

  “A what?” Hubert did sit up this time, closing his eyes at the abrupt pain in his head.

  “Catherine!” Rebecca scolded her. “Think what you’re saying! Chaim, drink this and calm yourself.”

  She moved Catherine away from the bed and bent over Hubert with the tisane. He sipped a little, then pushed it away. His heart was racing and his hands numb with dread.

  “What were the Knights of the Temple doing in our house?” he said. “Of all people!”

  “Hubert, we didn’t let them in,” Edgar told him. He proceeded to explain their discovery.

  “And we still have no idea who the man was,” he finished. “We thought it might be a Lord Osto, but …”

  “Osto? The Picard? What would he have been doing dressed as a brother of the Temple?” Hubert’s head was spinning. He had only been gone a few months, and it seemed that all he had left behind was in chaos.

  “I don’t know,” Edgar said. “A man came looking for Osto, but said our description of the body didn’t match. The knight was a man of about your age, I’d guess, or a little younger, with blond hair going to grey.”

  “Not Osto, then,” Hubert said. “He hasn’t had any hair to speak of since I’ve known him. But this makes no sense.” He pulled the blanket off and swung his legs over the bed. “I have to get home and see this for myself.”

  He was overpowered by the others in a moment.

  “Chaim! It’s the middle of the night,” Abraham reminded him. “You’ll stay with us, all of you, until dawn. At this hour only thieves, drunks and monks are abroad. Do you want to be challenged by the watch?”

  “Catherine and I need to get back to the children,” Edgar said. “We’ll risk the r
uffians. Astrolabe, will you come with us or stay?”

  “I’ll come,” Astrolabe said. “The three of us on horseback should intimidate even the watch.”

  Hubert was still resisting those who were trying to keep him in bed. At the mention of the children, he stopped struggling.

  “My grandchildren? They haven’t been harmed by this, have they?” he asked. “And poor Margaret! She’s suffered enough for us.”

  “The children were fine when we left, Father,” Catherine said. “But what you tell us, or rather, won’t tell us, makes me uneasy about being away from them.”

  “Yes, I would like to see them again.” Hubert sighed. “I never even learned if the new one is a boy or a girl.”

  Catherine winced. “The baby died, Father, in the winter. It was a girl.”

  Hubert fell back onto the pillow, his eyes closed.

  “I am so sorry,” he said softly. “I know well, that no matter how many survive, the ones taken from us leave an ache that lasts forever.”

  “Yes,” Edgar said. His voice was harsh. It was a subject he didn’t want to discuss. “We’ll return to see you early tomorrow, Hubert. If you tell us what we’re looking for and where you left it, we can give you a report then.”

  Hubert rubbed his forehead, dislodging the bandage. “Yes, very well. It’s a wooden box, the length of my arm and about two hands-breath in width and depth. I nailed it shut. I put it in the chest with the false bottom.”

  Catherine stared at him. “And which one is that?”

  “I showed you years ago,” Hubert said, then paused, rubbing his head. “Or maybe it was your mother. The one that holds the books. Surely you noticed how shallow it is inside?”

  Catherine felt exceedingly stupid. She had noticed, but it had never occurred to her to ask why. If thieves had searched the chest, she knew they would have seen the false bottom at once.

  “We’ll look there as soon as we get back,” she promised. “And bring you the box in the morning.”

  Solomon saw them to the gate.

  “Try not to be angry with him, Catherine,” he said.

  Catherine bit her lip. Edgar answered for her.

  “He’s put our family into danger and made it impossible to clear ourselves of suspicion because of the need to protect him.” He spoke quietly but with great intensity. “We have every right to be furious.”

  “I know,” Solomon said. “And he does, too. He’ll never find the peace he seeks unless you forgive him.”

  “A man who abandons his family and the true God needs more forgiveness than I can provide,” Edgar said.

  He turned away and, using his loop, pulled himself clumsily onto his horse.

  Catherine gave Solomon a pleading look as Astrolabe helped her to mount the horse behind Edgar.

  “Let’s not speak of it tonight,” she begged. “We need time.”

  Catherine held tightly to Edgar as they made their way through the dark streets and over the bridge, where they were challenged by a startled guard but quickly permitted to pass. Edgar’s tone brooked no opposition. Catherine could feel the anger in every muscle. Her own feelings were so confused that she couldn’t sort them out. She had longed terribly to see her father again, but he had changed so much that now he seemed a stranger.

  Hubert’s leaving had made it difficult for them. She knew how hard Edgar fought his own nature every time he dealt on equal terms with the merchants and craftsmen of Paris. They both hated lying about Hubert’s “pilgrimage.” They had only done so for the sake of love.

  Why hadn’t he told them about the treasure before he left? Why couldn’t he have trusted them with the knowledge of what it was. Had her father been taking church plate or relics in trade? Was there something else that would prove he had always been Jewish? How could they defend themselves without knowing that much? What if intruders had ransacked the house and found this thing? What they had found was bad enough. Why, she cried in her heart, why couldn’t he have remained a Christian for their sakes, if not his own?

  Hubert was having many of the same thoughts lying in Abraham’s house, instead of the one he had spent his whole adult life in on the Grève. He had felt the accusation in his daughter’s tone, hidden beneath her concern for him. It wasn’t even hidden in Edgar. He didn’t blame his son-in-law for his anger. The protection of the family was the most important thing, and Hubert knew he had jeopardized that.

  “I should have left it there,” he muttered. “Perhaps it never would have been found.”

  “That’s right,” Abraham said. “And it would have been lost to us forever. You’re doing a brave thing, Chaim.”

  Hubert turned his face to the wall.

  “I doubt that my daughter would agree with you,” he said. “But thank you, old friend, and good night.”

  Solomon had taken his drink over to a corner of the room and settled down on a pile of cushions. They assumed he was asleep, but his eyes were bright in the glow of the brazier, and he didn’t doze off until after the first roosters had welcomed the dawn.

  “Edgar, I’m not going to bed until we’ve checked the book chest,” Catherine said, as he waited for Astrolabe to help her down.

  “Hush, Catherine, you’ll wake the house,” Edgar said. “Do you want all the neighbors to hear?”

  “Oh, dear!” She said no more until they were inside.

  “Catherine! Edgar! Is he all right?”

  They looked up. There at the top of the stairs sat Margaret, her braids undone and her hair flowing loose so that she seemed surrounded by an auburn curtain. Her eyes were puffy from tears and wakefulness. Catherine ran up to her at once.

  “Oh, preciocissma!” she said as she took the girl in her arms. “Did no one tell you? Solomon is fine. Nothing has happened to him. Were you waiting all this time?”

  “Didn’t the messenger I sent tell you there was no need for concern?” Astrolabe asked. “He did come, didn’t he?”

  Margaret sniffed and nodded. “I thought you were just trying to keep me from worrying and coming over to see for myself.”

  “Yes, we were.” Edgar came up the steps and sat on her other side. “But only because there was nothing you needed to fret about. And now look at you, deorling, you don’t even have slippers on. Is Samonie in the children’s room?”

  “I’m here.” Samonie’s voice came from the landing above. “James and Edana are sound asleep; Martin, too, poor boy. And I’d like to go to my bed now, as well.”

  She came down the stairs, still holding the poker she had kept to hand all night to fight off villains.

  Edgar couldn’t help but smile.

  “Thank you, Samonie,” he said. “You’ve defended the castle bravely. Sleep all you need to. Catherine and I will get up with the children tomorrow.”

  Catherine moaned and yawned but nodded agreement.

  “Thank you, Master,” Samonie said. “But it is tomorrow. I’ll put the barley on to soften before I sleep. Master Astrolabe, there’s water to wash in the hall and a bed made up for you.”

  “I’m forever in your debt,” Astrolabe said, and vanished into the hall.

  Edgar took Margaret by the elbow and led her up to her bed. Catherine followed to check on the children before she snatched whatever rest she could before they awoke.

  Once Margaret had been settled, Catherine headed for the counting room, but Edgar stopped her.

  “It will wait, leoffest,” he said. “We’ve had a harrowing evening, and we both need sleep. No one will take Hubert’s treasure before morning.”

  Catherine was almost falling down with fatigue. Edgar closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

  “But Edgar!” Catherine couldn’t believe him. “How can you think of sleeping?”

  “I’m exhausted,” he said. “And so are you. Your father has caused us enough trouble for one night.”

  She felt shaky and ill from too much food, wine, fear and shock. She didn’t even have the energy to cry, much less argue. They went into t
heir bed chamber. As they took off their elegant, stained banquet clothes, she shook her head at their condition. She’d never wear those shoes again. Then, just as she got into bed, she brightened.

  “At least,” she murmured into the back of Edgar’s neck, “I didn’t have to sit through those damn dancing bears.”

  They thought they would be awakened by the happy squeals of their progeny jumping onto the bed. However, soon after daybreak and the opening of the city gates there was a pounding on their door.

  Catherine barely opened her eyes as she heard Martin trudging down to see who was disturbing them, but Edgar was alert at once and was throwing his tunic over his head and pulling on his brais before they heard the creak of the hinges and Martin’s querulous voice demanding to know who wanted them so early.

  Edgar was down the stairs before Martin even started climbing them.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “Some servant of the Lady Genta’s.” Martin shook his head. “Old poke nose wants to know if everything’s all right, as you left her gathering so suddenly.”

  “Origen’s lost genitals!” Edgar swore. “As if we didn’t have enough. Go on up and tell Catherine not to worry. I’ll deal with this.”

  He opened the door wide to reveal a smirking young man, still dressed as if for a feast. The servant bowed.

  “Greetings, Lord Edgar.” He smiled. “Mistress Genta sends her regards and asks if she can be of any service to you.”

  Edgar regarded him as if he were a particularly repellent form of slug.

  “Thank Genta for her concern and assure her that we are all fine,” he said. “The dinner, while sumptuous, disagreed with my wife. Of course my first care was to see her home safely. Give your mistress our apologies.”

  The man started to say more, but Edgar had endured enough and shut the door.

  He went back up to find Catherine in her shift in the counting room, taking books out of the chest.