Sometime later they were all relatively clean, the rushes swept to one side of the hall and a dinner assembled. Catherine and Edgar stood at either end of the table and gave thanks that the fire had not caused any serious damage.
They had just sat down when the knocker sounded again. Before Edgar could do more than swear, Catherine got up.
“I’ll see who it is,” she said. “Perhaps someone left a bucket behind.”
She pulled back the grill and looked out.
“Oh, Solomon,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”
“I heard that there were fires on the Grève and I came to be sure you were all right.”
He followed her in.
“By the smell of it, something was burning nearby,” he said. “Hubert was worried, too, by the way.”
“Hush.” Catherine looked to see if Clemence had overheard. “We’re fine, Solomon, just very tired. Here, you can share the loaf with Margaret. The children are already asleep.”
“Thank you,” Solomon said.
He started to sit next to Margaret, then noticed Clemence. He glanced at Edgar, who waved his hand in resignation.
“Our guest for the night,” he nodded toward Clemence.
“May the Lord protect you,” he said as he straightened. “My Lady … ?”
His look was full of admiration. Margaret suddenly had trouble swallowing her bread.
“This is Clemence, Solomon,” Catherine said. “She was caught out in the storm. She’ll be sleeping with Margaret tonight. I’ll explain everything in the morning. Please.”
Edgar noted Margaret’s stricken expression and bent over his own loaf, groping around in the sauce for a bit of meat. He prayed sincerely that this day was finally ended.
As soon as the Sabbath was over, Hubert started packing his bags.
“What are you doing, Chaim?” Abraham asked.
“The sooner I’ve gone, the safer it will be for everyone,” Hubert said. “Including you.”
“What about your daughter and her family?” Rebecca said sharply. “Don’t you think you owe them more?”
Hubert responded with equal annoyance. “The best thing I can do for them is vanish. Now that the Torah is out of the house, there’s nothing left that can make them appear to be apostates.”
“I suppose not,” Rebecca said. “Certainly the mokh wouldn’t …”
Hubert gaped at her. “Catherine is using a mokh? Why?”
“Because the midwife told her another child so soon could kill her,” Rebecca answered. “And from what she told me of her last delivery, I agree.”
“And that mesfaë son-in-law of mine can’t control himself for her sake?” Hubert exclaimed. “Some Christian!”
Rebecca laughed. “You haven’t rid yourself of all their attitudes, yet, Chaim. My impression was that it was Catherine who was fed up with abstinence, not Edgar.”
Hubert found that thought somewhat unpalatable.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Even if someone found the mokh, they wouldn’t know what it was.”
Rebecca laughed again, shaking her head at him.
“I could name you a dozen of your neighbors who would spot it at once for what it was,” she said. “Do you think Catherine is the only Christian woman who has come to me for instruction? And they talk with each other. How else would Catherine have known what to ask me for? I think that when you shed your old life, you lost your common sense!”
Hubert went on with his packing.
“Nevertheless,” he stated, “my presence is dangerous to them and to you. I’m leaving at dawn.”
“Alone?” Abraham asked. “With no guard? How far do you think you would get before you were relieved of everything you have, from the Torah to your boots and brais?”
“I’ve traveled these roads most of my life,” Hubert said. “I know how to avoid brigands.”
“What you carry is too precious to risk, Chaim,” Abraham said. “There’s a party of traders leaving at the beginning of next week. You and Joel won’t be noticed among them.”
“And until then?” Hubert asked. “Must I remain in hiding like some criminal?”
“To the Edomites, that’s what you are,” Rebecca reminded him. “And I don’t consider my home exactly a vile dungeon.”
Hubert hastened to placate her, saying that he wanted no better refuge.
“You can pass the time studying,” Abraham said. “Rabbi Jacob has loaned us some of his grandfather’s tractates to copy. Rabbi Isaac explains the meaning of the Bible carefully and clearly. It’s just what you need before going on to the Talmud.”
Hubert agreed with little enthusiasm. The subject interested him greatly, but he wasn’t sure Rabbi Isaac’s commentary would be enough to overwhelm the feeling of dread that had been growing in him ever since his return to Paris.
Lambert had passed a fruitless night, asking for Clemence at every church, convent and respectable inn. He’d even tried the Temple preceptory. The doorkeeper there had turned him away rudely, with the statement that no woman would ever be allowed past him after dark and precious few before then.
“Where could she have vanished to?” Lambert lamented to Jehan.
“The time has certainly come to fear the worst,” Jehan shook his head. “We can only assume she’s been taken by the demons.”
“I prayed we’d find her anywhere else!” His heart was pounding so fiercely that he could barely form the words. “And now we’ve wasted so much time! What might they be doing to her? We must go to the provost at once.”
“I’m reconsidering that,” Jehan said. “The guards have no weapons that will harm demons. Has Clemence any protection of her own?”
“She wears a cross of her mother’s that has an ampule embedded in it that holds one of the tears of the Virgin,” he reminded himself. “Caught in a vial by Saint John at the foot of the Cross.”
“Well,” Jehan threw up his hands, banishing all doubt, “if you had told me that at the first, I would have reassured you at once. Whom Our Lady protects needs no earthly guard.”
Lambert was comforted enough by this to be able to sit quietly while Jehan explained his rescue plan.
“The moon is entering the last quarter and, if we’re lucky, there will be clouds tomorrow night, as well, making the street dark.”
He sat on the deep windowsill and kicked his heels against the wall. It occurred to Lambert that he had never seen Jehan completely still. The man even tossed in his sleep.
“It should be no problem to evade their guards,” Jehan was saying. He stopped. “Are you attending to me, boy?”
Lambert jerked his attention back. “Yes, we evade the guards. How do we get around the sleeping household? Don’t we have to go through the hall to reach the steps to the counting room? Surely the servants sleep there.”
“No, the woman and her son sleep in an alcove in the kitchen,” Jehan explained. “We’ll have to be careful there. But the hall should be empty unless there’s a guest.”
“And if there is?” Lambert said after a moment. He was trying to keep his mind off Clemence’s peril, but it wasn’t working.
“If there is, don’t worry,” Jehan smiled in anticipation. “I’ll take care of it.”
The smile should have alerted Lambert, but he was too worried about Clemence to notice.
“Must I go back to Montmartre?” Clemence said the next morning. “Is there no one else who could take me in?”
They had finished morning prayers and broken their fast. Edgar had sent for the horse and was in a hurry to take Clemence back and get to the Parleoir in time to discuss some Spanish leather with the man who supplied the king’s soldiers with tack. Clemence sat at the table with Edana in her lap. Edgar shook his head. It seemed that Margaret and Edana between them had totally allayed Clemence’s fears. He hoped the girl wasn’t always so trusting.
“There really isn’t any other safe place for you,” Catherine said. “With Lambert belie
ving Jehan’s lies, it would be better if he didn’t find you here.”
“Yes.” Clemence spoke slowly. “He might believe that you’ve bewitched me. Perhaps you have.” She hugged Edana. “But if so, then I find enchantment very pleasant. I only wish you would tell me how Father’s …”
“Catherine,” Margaret interrupted, struck by a new idea, “I know Clemence isn’t used to rough quarters, but the felt maker has decided to rent a room on his second floor, just until the pilgrim army leaves. His wife doesn’t much like the idea of soldiers or students there. She’d be pleased to have a wellborn lady stay with them, and I think could be persuaded to bring her meals up so Clemence needn’t go out. And Willa would be right there to see that she’s well taken care of.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Clemence exclaimed. “And when I find him, Lambert could join me and not have to room with Jehan anymore. But what about …”
“That would be a blessing,” Catherine said doubtfully, not hearing the last words. “Edgar?”
She could tell that Edgar wasn’t pleased with this. Clemence would perforce still be under their protection until she was safely bestowed on either the nuns or her husband.
Edgar pulled at his chin, bending his mouth into an exaggerated frown. The three women stared up at him, four if one counted Edana. Blue, brown and light green eyes pled with him to agree. He decided to accept defeat.
“Very well,” he muttered. “If the room is decent and hasn’t already been promised, I’ll take Clemence there instead of to the nuns.”
“Thank you, my lord, thank you.” Clemence slid Edana to the floor and knelt before him. “I’m forever in your debt.”
“That’s no matter,” Edgar answered, embarrassed. “Margaret, do you know how much the price of the room is?”
There was a swift change in Clemence’s expression.
“Price?” she repeated. “Of course. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m afraid I have nothing to pay with, unless you’ll take my necklace as a pledge.”
She began to unhook it. Edgar closed his eyes and hit his forehead. Not even Catherine had been this naive.
“I’ll settle later with your husband.” He sighed. “Or your father. For now, let’s simply find you a place that will suit you.”
And, he said to himself, where you’ll be off my conscience.
He could have sworn he’d said nothing aloud, but Catherine’s look told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Seventeen
The courtyard of the Temple preceptory, Paris. Monday, 7 kalends June (May 26), 1147; 25 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Augustine, not the one who confessed; the other one, the first Archbishop of Canterbury.
Sensus vero rationalis in tribus existere dignoscitur, ingenio videlicet, ratione, memoria; quae in animalium capite distinctis, et ordinatis cellulis, ancipite, sincipite, occipite vigere et exercere propria creduntur officia.
Rational understanding is usually spoken of as including the threefold faculty of discernment, reason and memory. It is considered that in the heads of animals these three faculties occupy each a particular section, in the order of front, middle and back of the head where each exercises its particular function.
—Isaac of Stella
Sermon for Septuagesima Sunday
The ground was beginning to crust and dry from the storm of the previous Saturday. Bertulf and Godfrey had taken Vrieit out in the sun to brush and groom him. He glistened under their attentions, and his strong muscles were well defined beneath his coat.
“I never thought when he was born that Vrieit would be the one we took into battle,” Bertulf said sadly. “I had hoped to sell him to a great lord who would ride him only in jousts.”
“We trained him for what he’ll do best,” Godfrey said as he sponged stable mud from Vrieit’s legs. “I feel better knowing he’ll be with you. He won’t panic at the first smell of blood.”
“Yes, it’s good to know my horse is braver than I,” Bertulf said.
“You won’t know that until you face the enemy,” Godfrey said. “But I believe you have as much courage as any man I know, my lord.”
“Hush,” Bertulf said. “Here comes Father Durand. He’ll want to know if we’ve made any progress, I suppose.”
Both men bowed as the priest came up to them. He greeted them politely but, instead of asking about the investigation, his interest seemed to be totally taken up with Vrieit.
“A fine animal,” he commented, walking around the horse without taking his eyes off him. “How did you two come by him?”
“We bred him ourselves,” Bertulf answered. “From a Spanish stallion. Took years to produce him. He’s sturdy as a Norman pony but faster and, as you can see, larger, but still small enough to mount without a perron, if necessary.”
Durand whipped around. “You bred him?” he asked. “And where did you get the money to buy this stallion, to begin with? What right have you to own a horse like this? He’s clearly a mount for a nobleman, not a miller.”
Bertulf was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth to ask what business it was of the priest’s, who should ride nothing but a mare or gelding. Godfrey sensed trouble and answered quickly.
“We did indeed breed him,” he insisted. “With my lord, Osto. When Master Bertulf made it known that he was going to join the Knights of the Temple, Lord Osto would have him ride no horse but Vrieit. No other was worthy.”
Durand still seemed suspicious.
“A most generous gift. See that you treat him as he deserves,” he said. “And now, about the matter of our dead comrade?”
Both men felt their hearts sink. They had tried to make Durand understand that the search for the man’s identity was hopeless, but he refused to allow them to quit. For the next several minutes, they were forced to listen to a detailed explanation of what they must do next.
“Remember, this is not just the death of one man,” he told them, “He represents one less soldier that we shall have to protect Jerusalem and the pilgrim roads. Whoever killed him has also cost the lives of those he would have saved.”
“We wish for nothing more than that his murderer be brought to justice,” Bertulf said. “But without knowing who he was, it’s impossible.”
Durand couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from Vrieit. Now he turned to face Bertulf. “I’ve just remembered. There was a man here the other day, looking for a Lord Osto. We described the body to him, and he said it didn’t match. But it is odd to me that someone would be looking for your lord, when you say he’s still at home in Picardy.”
“We didn’t say that,” Bertulf replied. “He’s gone to Reims to meet with the count of Flanders and wait for King Louis.”
“Ah, you saw him on his way?” Durand lifted one eyebrow. “Should the young man return, I’ll pass the information to him.”
Finally, Durand left to torment some other servant of the Temple.
Godfrey was concerned.
“Who would be looking for Lord Osto?” he fretted. “And not Bertulf and me, as well.”
“I don’t know,” Bertulf said. “But it unsettles me. Perhaps it’s time to admit that Osto is dead.”
“What will happen to our village, then?” Godfrey asked. “At least as long as there was a chance of his returning, Lady Edwina could perform the duty. Now Lord Jordan is sure to give the keep to one of his men.”
“Edwina won’t let him.”
“She’ll only have dower rights,” Godfrey said. “Perhaps you should have let Clemence and Lambert marry before we left, although even that might not have been enough, but it would have made it harder to give Clemence and her inheritance to someone else.”
Bertulf ran both hands through what was left of his hair.
“Perhaps we should never have attempted such a wild scheme at all.” He sighed. “In the panic of the moment, I didn’t think it through. But here we are, and any way I foresee our stepping seems to land us even more deeply in trouble.”
“Or something just as sticky
,” Godfrey sadly agreed.
Edgar and Catherine conferred with the felt maker and his wife, who were awed to be hosts to someone like Clemence.
“Will she bring her own bedding?” the wife, Bodille, asked. “I’ve nothing fine enough. And dishes?”
“I’ll see that she’s supplied with furnishings suitable to her station,” Catherine said. “The main thing is that she be guarded from danger and the sort of people who are all too common in Paris now.”
“Don’t worry about that,” the felt maker said. “We have children of our own and apprentices. Between the heretics and the soldiers, it’s not safe to venture out even in the midst of day. We’ll see that she’s never unaccompanied in the streets.”
Clemence wasn’t quite as thrilled by that promise as Catherine and Edgar were. She didn’t relish being cooped up in this tiny house for the next few days. But it had been her choice, she reminded herself. And, when Lambert did come, these people would give them one bed, something the nuns would not.
And the only important thing now, she reminded herself, was to find Lambert and rescue him from the madman. If, she considered again, he was a madman. She liked Catherine, Edgar and their family. But she knew the Devil hides behind fair faces and manners. And there was still the mystery of how her father’s knife had come to be in their house. Somehow, every time she started to ask, they had changed the subject. There must be a way to find out without causing them to become wary of her. There might be an innocent reason, although she could think of none.
If only she could be sure! Without Lambert, there was no one else to trust, no one to turn to. Clemence realized that Catherine was still talking.
“Edgar has sent a messenger to the portress at Montmartre,” Catherine continued. “If your husband comes looking for you there, she’ll direct him to the felt maker.”
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 25
