To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “What did the man want?”

  Edgar told her.

  “Wonderful,” she said. “Now I’m an adulteress with no manners and a bad stomach.”

  “You don’t seem terribly upset about your ruined reputation,” Edgar said.

  “I’m more interested in this. I checked on Edana and James,” she assured him, as she saw him look up toward the children’s room. “They’re playing quietly so as not to wake Margaret. It was their own idea. I don’t question miracles. Now.” She got the last book out and bent into the chest. “Look! How could I have been so stupid all these years?”

  The bottom of the chest was not only several inches higher than the outside edge, but the board wasn’t even nailed down, only held in place by a wedge underneath. It was a simple matter to lift it.

  “How long do you think he’s been hiding this?” Edgar asked.

  “Maybe all my life,” Catherine said. “What could it be?”

  The box they had revealed gave no indication of its contents. Edgar lifted it out with a grunt. It was heavier than he had guessed. Catherine caught it before it slipped from his hand.

  There was no rattle. Whatever lay inside was either the same size as the box or well padded.

  “Can’t we get something to pry it open?” Catherine suggested.

  “No,” Edgar said. “It’s best to take it directly to your father.” He saw her consternation. “I know. I’m afire with curiosity myself, but we might damage whatever it is. And, if we’re caught with it, it’s better to be genuinely ignorant of the contents.”

  “Do you think it’s something forbidden?” she asked, staring at the uncommunicative wood.

  “Yes,” he said. “Or it would have been sent with the other valuables to your brother or to Saint Denis.”

  Catherine looked at the roughly made box. It hadn’t been scarred by infernal flames eating their way out. There was no feel of the supernatural about it. Yet her father had never told her of its existence and had put them all at risk by coming back from Arles to retrieve it.

  “Edgar, if I don’t find out what’s inside this box, I’m going to go mad.”

  Her consternation was so great that Edgar was forced to laugh. She seemed like a small child deprived of a present.

  “Very well, Pandora,” he said. “I’ll get a canvas bag to wrap it in and we’ll take it to Abraham as soon as Samonie is awake.”

  Catherine had forgotten her promise to let the woman make up the sleep she had lost on their account. She made a face and got to her feet.

  “Very well,” she said. “I’ll get James and Edana dressed and fed. Perhaps we’ll make so much noise, unintentionally of course, that Samonie won’t be able to stay abed but get up to see what’s going on.”

  Thus cheered, she went back up to see what noiseless disorder the children had managed to make.

  Edgar did try to be quiet as he crossed the hall to the stairs down to the kitchen, but Astrolabe was already up and gone. Surprised, Edgar went on down to find his friend stirring the barley broth for the morning meal.

  “I heard the scraping in the counting room,” he greeted Edgar. “Did you find the hidden treasure?”

  “We found something,” Edgar said. “At least the thieves didn’t take it.”

  “Do you think anyone was looking for it?” Astrolabe asked. “I had the impression that most people thought Hubert had a cache of jewels or rare spices. From the way he spoke last night, I don’t think that’s what he was hiding.”

  Edgar threw himself down on a bench in exasperation.

  “Astrolabe, I haven’t known what was happening in or around this house since we came home,” he complained. “The past three weeks have been nothing but one inexplicable event after another. I’m beginning to think that there never was a body in the house, just a phantasm left by Satan to lead us into disaster.”

  Astrolabe continued stirring.

  “Well,” he said after a moment’s reflection, “you know I’m not a scholar like my parents or you and Catherine. But I’d say the Devil works more often through people of weak faith rather than confronting the righteous directly. It would be easier for him to use a real body murdered by some poor damned soul than to fabricate one from æther. There, I got up most of the bits stuck to the bottom of the pan. Shall we eat?”

  Clemence had not taken kindly to being brought back to the care of the nuns on Montmartre.

  “Why can’t I come with you to see this Jehan?” she had asked.

  Lambert had spent most of the trip up the hill explaining to her why the place they were staying wasn’t proper for her. She hadn’t believed him, but since he was so earnest about it, she had finally acquiesced.

  Now she was sorry. Out there, all sorts of things were happening that could affect her life. All this talk about a body that might be her father. Didn’t Lambert realize what that meant? He thought only about the possibility that the two of them might be parted and she coerced into another marriage. That would be terrible, but not as bad as losing both her mother and her father within the space of a month.

  She couldn’t wait patiently. She didn’t want to wait at all.

  Her inner turmoil was not evident to the nun who came and asked her help with the alms again.

  Clemence opened her mouth to snap a refusal. Then she thought of her mother and followed obediently, offering this sacrifice for the peace of her soul.

  There were other women staying at Montmartre. Some of them had been among the party at the Temple the day before. Clemence wanted to ask them about it but was afraid of their taking too great an interest in her. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to care who listened to their gossip as they shoved broken loaves at the poor.

  “The spoons were all marked, you know,” one said. “And the butler had his eye out for anyone trying to slip away without giving theirs back.”

  “Too bad you missed your chance.” Another laughed. “I rather enjoyed myself. Genta doesn’t stint with the sauces. Everything spiced so that you wouldn’t know what meat it was. I’d like the use of her spice box during Lent. I can only think of so many ways to make eggs and fish.”

  “I thought it was overdone,” a third woman said. “Not the meat, everything. Genta tries too hard. She knows we wouldn’t have anything to do with her if it weren’t for the old queen’s patronage.”

  “Why not?” Clemence asked, forgetting herself.

  The three women turned to stare at her, and she blushed in embarrassment.

  The third speaker, an attractive woman with large green eyes and rosy cheeks, smiled at her.

  “If you’re going to stay in Paris dear, you should know.” She let her voice drop slightly. “Genta’s really a Jew at heart. Her parents had her baptized, since they were at court, but no one really trusts her.”

  Clemence nodded politely, puzzled. She hadn’t ever met a Jew that she knew of, but her father had dealt with them and never said anything bad. They were infidels, of course, but she’d never heard they were untrustworthy.

  She wished she were home.

  The women went on with their critique of the evening. The entertainment had been too long, especially the poet. The pages hadn’t circulated often enough with the soap and water.

  “And that poor woman who ran out sick,” said one. “I’d have sent a servant after her at once, to attend to her.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” the green-eyed woman smirked. “She wasn’t ill at all. Giselbert Trickster saw her leaving with another man. Her husband ran out after her, spewing flames, he told me.”

  “Are you certain?” the other asked. “She looked positively bilious to me. And you know how Giselbert likes to joke.”

  Clemence lost interest then.

  Despite the amount of clatter Catherine made, Samonie didn’t wake until the afternoon. A short time later, Catherine and Edgar set out for Abraham’s house. Edgar carried the heavy box in a bag over his shoulder.

  “I’m not leaving without seeing what’s in it,�
�� Catherine said. “I don’t care how dangerous Father thinks it is. I’ll be consumed by curiousity for the rest of my life, otherwise.”

  “He owes us that,” Edgar agreed.

  When they got to Abraham’s, they found a number of men and women standing by the gate. They were trying to appear as if they had all just happened to meet there and stopped for a chat. But the eagerness in their faces as they saw Edgar and Catherine ride up was unmistakable.

  “Good day, Isaac, Bella, Yehiel,” Catherine said to those she recognized. “How nice to see you again.”

  She stayed close to Edgar as they approached the door, which was opened at once. No one made a move toward them. They only looked on with reverence. It made Catherine acutely uncomfortable. Edgar also felt as if he were carrying some holy relic. He began to cross himself and stopped only just in time to avoid offending those watching. But it made no sense. What could be so holy to Jews? Solomon had often scoffed at the Christian reverence of the bones of the saints.

  Joel barely glanced at them as they entered. He reached out to take the box from Edgar.

  “No, thank you,” Edgar said. “I’m bringing this to Hubert myself.”

  Joel shook his head. “You shouldn’t be there when it’s opened. You’re idolaters.”

  Catherine reached out to take his hand. “We’ll be respectful, I promise,” she said. “Perhaps there will be a miracle and we’ll convert.”

  “Very funny. That this has survived is enough of a miracle for me,” Joel said, but he didn’t try to stop them from entering the room.

  They came into the hall to find Hubert sitting up in bed. Abraham stood beside him. Both were wearing velvet caps. Abraham and Joel were in their best clothing, reserved for holy days. Edgar swung the bag from his back and handed it to Abraham.

  It seemed incongruous to Catherine to see the fιnely-dressed men kneeling on the floor with crowbars, prying up the nails from a crude wooden box. She came closer as the lid rose but Rebecca held her back.

  “No, Catherine,” she said gently. “This isn’t something for a Christian woman to touch. Even we would not open it without covering our hands first.”

  The box was open now. Abraham let out a long sigh of pleasure.

  “The leather is still soft,” he said as he lifted the object in his arms. “You’ve kept it well.”

  “Will someone tell me what this thing is?” Edgar asked with impatience.

  For answer Abraham gently unwrapped the leather casing to reveal a scroll rolled onto two bobbins topped with gold finials. He laid his gloved hands on the cover but did not try to open it.

  “It’s a Torah,” Joel told them. “Very old, from before the time of Saadia Gaon. It was brought to France by Isaac, the emissary of Charlemagne to Haroun el-Rashid, the ruler of Baghdad. On his way back, Isaac stopped in Jerusalem and was given this for the brethren of Ashkenaz. We thought it had been destroyed when the Edomites pillaged our homes in Rouen.”

  “My father left it with Gervase, the Christian who adopted me,” Hubert explained. “He was a friend of my father’s and had promised to guard his possessions. I found it among his things when he died. Gervase had kept his oath and never opened the box. I didn’t know then what it was, but I brought it to Paris with me and showed it to my brother Eliazar. He thought it would be best kept hidden until a time of less uncertainty.”

  Catherine craned her neck to see better. She wondered if any woman was allowed to touch the Torah. Perhaps it was something like the shrine of Saint Cuthbert in Durham, where the saint refused to allow even devout women near his tomb.

  Edgar also stood back. “But Hubert, this is still a very unsettled time for Jews,” he said. “Why reveal it now?”

  “Joel and I are taking it back to Aries with me,” Hubert said. “I realize now that all times are uncertain and, if this is to survive, I couldn’t leave it in a place where it might be found, stolen or, worse, burned. Now you see why I was always so fearful of fire in the counting room. The responsibility weighed on me even more as I began uncovering the mysteries of the words of the Holy One. I had thought about sending it back to Rouen, but not with the war in Normandy. We are going to give this to the community of scholars in Arles to keep in the synagogue. They will guard it safely in a vault of stone.”

  Catherine hadn’t heard Solomon enter the room. When his arm went around her shoulders she turned to him and smiled.

  “You don’t have to stand apart from it,” she told him. “It’s your holy book.”

  “And yours,” he reminded her. “I’m not worthy to touch it. My sinful hands would turn black and shrivel to cinders.”

  Catherine looked away. Solomon rarely voiced such deep belief. His pain at his own failings hurt her as much as his refusal to become Christian. She squeezed the hand resting on her shoulder.

  Having assured himself that the scroll was still intact, Abraham took a length of silk from Rebecca and wrapped it carefully again before putting it into the leather bag.

  “Do you understand now why I couldn’t send anyone to do this for me?” Hubert asked them. “Three hundred fifty years our family has been the guardians of the Torah.”

  “I understand that you felt the obligation was yours alone,” Edgar admitted. “But you might have trusted us more.”

  Hubert sank down onto the pillows.

  “It wasn’t trust I lacked,” he explained. “I didn’t want the burden put on you.”

  Catherine had been thinking.

  “Father, you’re sure that you told no one that you had this book?” she asked. “Never?”

  “Your mother knew,” Hubert said. “I felt I had to tell her, but she was so horrified, I’m sure she told no one.”

  “I wonder,” Catherine said. “What if she had hinted something, say to her brother, Roger? And what if he had long ago confided it to his comrade in arms.”

  “Jehan!” Edgar exclaimed.

  “Jehan,” Hubert echoed. “But he’s long gone to fight Saracens.”

  “Not yet. He’s in Paris now,” Catherine said. “And I fear he’s seeking evidence of something in our house that will finally give him the chance to destroy us all. This may be it.”

  Fifteen

  That same afternoon, at a tavern near Montmartre.

  Israel, Torah and God are one.

  —The Zohar

  Vol III, 4b

  Jehan was not as angry with his failure as Lambert had feared.

  “You couldn’t have known how far their tendrils reach,” he said, mixing beer into his soup to cool it. “But now you must realize how difficult it will be to bring these monsters to justice.”

  “If we could only find a way to have someone in authority discover Lord Osto’s knife in their house.” Lambert munched sadly on a gristly sausage.

  “That’s the difficulty with these people,” Jehan agreed. “I’ve thought so many times that I had them, but they slip out of the noose like phantoms.”

  He took a long gulp of beer. “It’s up to us. If we could only get into the counting room. I’m certain it holds the answer.”

  “That must be the most secure room in the house,” Lambert said. “Lord Osto used his to hold valuables for half the village, and it was always locked and barred. Only he and his wife had the keys.”

  Jehan waved away that problem.

  “Locks are easily picked, if one has time enough and the trick of it,” Jehan confided. “It’s getting into the house and past the spells that guard the treasure that can be troublesome.”

  Lambert was confused. “What sorcery could they have that would defeat men of true faith? Our Lady and Saint Omer shield me, I know.”

  Jehan’s lined face creased in a grin.

  “The very thing!” he exclaimed. “I’ve waited long for a man of your conviction to aid me in my efforts. With certainty like yours, none of their enchantments can touch you.”

  “But your faith must be at least as strong as mine,” Lambert said. “You’ve even taken the cro
ss.”

  “Of course,” Jehan replied smoothly. “But my face is well-known to them. When I appear they are instantly on guard. However, if you could overcome your repugnance at being in a house where demons lurk and are even carried about like pets, you could be the one to help me obliterate them once and for always.”

  “Tell me what to do,” Lambert said. “I promise not to fail you.”

  His fervor brought Jehan close to tears. It had been so long since he had a companion to share the burden. Excitedly, he sketched out the plan.

  By that afternoon all Catherine wanted to do was fall facedown onto her bed and cry herself to sleep. But Samonie had been waiting for them to return so that she could go get the pork pies from the baker for their dinner. James and Edana were more energetic than usual, racing around the house and tripping in the rushes. Edgar had work to do making arrangements if they were to have anything to trade at the Lendit, so Catherine was, by elimination, the nursemaid.

  The day was threatening rain but the ground in the back garden was still dry, and so she took her lively children out. She started them rolling a ball back and forth, but they wanted her to join the game. Margaret came out to help, but she was as tired as Catherine.

  “Thank you for telling me why you went out so hurriedly,” she told Catherine as she kicked the ball toward James. “I hate it when you don’t trust me with your secrets.”

  “I always trust you, ma douz,” Catherine said as she lifted Edana to keep her from being knocked over. “But not all secrets are mine to share. Anyway, the scroll is out of our hands now. If it had been found here, we would have had no explanation, since my father didn’t trust me with all his secrets, either. It was wrong of him. I can’t protect him, or us, if I don’t know where a threat might come from.”

  They continued a while with the game. James preferred to run after the ball and carry it back so that he could aim it directly at them from close proximity. Catherine threw it nearly to the creek so that he would be some time getting it. While they waited, she sat with Edana in her lap.