To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “Nobility of spirit can transcend breeding,” Bertulf answered. “My friend was willing to earn a place for his son. Should that be denied because death intervened?”

  “It won’t matter to Archer’s punishment if he killed a knight or a miller,” Catherine said. “He can only hang once. I think we should accept the word of Bertulf that the body we found was that of Lord Osto. But you two must go to Commander Evrard and explain to him that we had nothing to do with his death.”

  “I agree with Catherine,” Margaret said. “Edgar, do you want Clemence forced to renounce Lambert and marry someone she doesn’t know, just because you wouldn’t keep silent?”

  “Of course not,” Edgar said. “I won’t interfere with your plans, Bertulf, although I’m not sure I agree with them. As long as the matter of Lord Osto’s body is cleared up, I consider the rest of your business none of mine.”

  “Thank you!” Bertulf smiled. “Thank all of you for your help and consideration. Clemence, isn’t that wonderful?”

  There was no answer. They all looked around.

  “Clemence?”

  Twenty-one

  At the same time, in the house of Abraham the vintner.

  Quod luctus dabat impotens

  Quod luctum geminans amor

  De f let Taenara commovens

  Et dulci veniam prece

  Umbrarum dominos rogat.

  That which his unchecked sorrow gave,

  and his love, doubling sorrow,

  Moved Taenara to tears

  And through his sweet supplication

  Begs mercy from the lord of shadows.

  —Boethius

  Consolation of Philosophy

  Poem XII, on Orpheus

  “It’s a relief to know that my accounts have been returned,” Hubert said to Solomon. “But I’d feel better knowing why they were taken in the first place and by whom. By the way, you should go through the book with Catherine soon, after things have settled and I’ve gone. The names of all our contacts are in it, along with what they trade in and how trustworthy they are.”

  “Once this business of the dead knight is completed, I will,” Solomon promised. “Now that we know who he was and how the body got there, it should soon be resolved. At least it should alleviate any suspicion on Edgar and Catherine.”

  “So Jehan had nothing to do with the man’s death?” Hubert asked.

  “I’m afraid not, Uncle,” Solomon said. “I wish I could say that he had. Which reminds me, did you ever see that daughter of Lord Osto’s?”

  “No, I only met him at the fairs. Why?” Hubert asked.

  “It’s amazing. She’s extremely pretty and, at first glance, she looks very much like your daughter Agnes.”

  On the Grève, a thorough search had been made in the house and down to the river. There was no sign of Clemence.

  “Would she have gone off on her own to look for Lambert?” Edgar asked.

  “She might have,” Bertulf answered. “She was always a willful child. But she knew she’d have more luck finding him if she stayed with us. Has your boy returned from asking at his sister’s, yet?”

  “Yes,” Catherine said. “Willa hasn’t seen Clemence. Have we tried Montmartre?”

  “She wouldn’t go back to the nuns,” Margaret said. “It’s too far, and she knows Lambert already asked there.”

  “Then the only other possibility is that she’s been abducted,” Bertulf said. “All of those people in the house, any one of them could have waited outside for Clemence and spirited her away for ransom.”

  “With no one noticing?” Catherine spoke firmly. “I’m sure she’s fine. It’s broad daylight, and the streets are crowded with penitents. Perhaps she joined one of the processions.”

  “Without telling us?” Bertulf asked.

  Catherine admitted that it was unlikely. “But she might have stopped to watch and been swept up in the crowd.”

  In the midst of their worry there came a pounding on the door. Martin went to open it, followed by everyone else. All of them were hoping that Clemence had returned.

  Instead they found a group of soldiers in the black cloaks of the Temple sergeants.

  “We’ve come to arrest dom Bertulf and Godfrey on the charge of abandoning their post and of insinuating themselves into the preceptory of the Temple with the intent to do evil,” their leader announced. “By orders of the marshal, they’re to come with us to answer the charges.”

  Bertulf shook his head, backing away.

  “I can’t come now,” he said. “I have to search for my … Lord Osto’s daughter.”

  “That’s not our concern,” the sergeant told him. “Our orders are to take you by force, if necessary.”

  “These men are guests in my house,” Edgar said.

  The sergeant looked at him. “Then perhaps you had better come with us, too.”

  Bertulf stepped forward, “No. We’ve caused these good people too much trouble already. Leave Lord Edgar be. I’ll go with you. Come, Godfrey.”

  “We’ll find her and bring her to you,” Edgar promised.

  “Just swear not to betray us,” Bertulf whispered.

  Edgar nodded his promise as the men were led away.

  “Will they be harmed?” Catherine asked.

  “They’ve done many foolish things,” Edgar said, “but nothing truly wrong, I hope. I believe that Bertulf can clear his name.”

  “And Archer?” Catherine asked.

  “That I don’t know,” Edgar said. “It looks bad for him. But our first duty is to find Clemence. If only I knew where to begin.”

  “I think you should see what you can do to help Bertulf,” Catherine said. “The rest of us will continue the search for Clemence.”

  A suspicion was growing in her mind that she knew what had happened to Bertulf’s daughter. If she were correct, it was imperative that Edgar not be nearby when Clemence was found.

  Clemence was terrified. She had only stepped out for a moment to clear her head. The closeness of the hall full of people was making her dizzy. The next thing she knew she’d been trussed up and covered with a bag smelling of mushrooms, then thrown in a narrow, deep cart. She’d wiggled and screamed as best she could through her bonds, but there had been too much noise in the street for anyone to hear. At least no one had come.

  Finally, she’d been taken out of the cart and carried for a while in a man’s arms before being dumped onto what felt like a lumpy mattress. To make things worse, the man seemed confused as to who she was. He kept calling her Agnes.

  “There, my darling,” he said as he swung her off his shoulder and onto the mattress. “You’re safe now. No one saw you leave your house. They’ll never guess where to look for you.”

  The sack came off, but the light was too dim for Clemence to see her abductor clearly. A finger stroked her cheek, and she shrank from it.

  “I knew you’d come back to me,” the man said. “You were never like the rest of them. You don’t even look like them. My sweet, pure girl. You’ve made me so happy.”

  Clemence struggled to spit out the gag and tell him that he’d got it wrong.

  “No, my dear, I can’t untie you yet.” He continued to stroke her cheek. To Clemence it felt like a file rasping her skin. “I know you’ve come back to me, but I must be sure of your change of heart. Don’t fret; I know it won’t be long.”

  Clemence opened her eyes wide, trying to make out the man’s features. It was no one she knew, she was certain. The cloth in her mouth was chafing her lips. The rope around her wrists burned, and the sound of water flowing nearby made her realize that she really had to go to the privy.

  As though he had sensed her thoughts, the man took another length of rope and tied one end to a post holding up the roof and the other to the bonds around Clemence’s hands. Then he untied her feet and set a chamber pot on the floor next to her.

  “I have to go for a while,” he said, patting her on the head. “I’m sorry about the ropes, but it’s onl
y until you regain your right reason. Don’t worry. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  After he left, Clemence kicked and pounded and made what noise she could with her mouth closed, but no one came.

  “I need to see Commander Evrard,” Edgar announced to the porter at the Temple preceptory. “It’s about the men from Picardy who were brought in a short time ago as prisoners.”

  “They don’t need an advocate,” the porter told him. “Lord Evrard is a fair judge.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Edgar said. “But unless I can talk with the prisoners, he won’t be able to get to the truth of the matter.”

  “Think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” The porter spat next to Edgar’s boot.

  “And I may well be justified,” Edgar said. “Why don’t you let the commander decide?”

  Shortly thereafter, Edgar was taken into a small room and told to wait while the prisoners were brought to him.

  At first, Bertulf wasn’t inclined to talk to anyone. Godfrey simply folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them, asking them to wake him when it was time for the trial.

  Edgar looked at Bertulf in annoyance.

  “You know, your accusation of Archer would be attended to more seriously if you admitted your real name,” he said.

  “That would defeat all I’ve done so far,” Bertulf answered. “If the judge is honest, then I’ll be believed. You saw how even his fellow tradesmen had to allow that this Archer had infuriated my friend.”

  Edgar crossed his arms on the table and leaned across it. “They didn’t have to allow anything, Bertulf,” he said. “They did it because they’re honorable men.”

  “All the more reason to feel confident that the murderer will be punished,” Bertulf answered. “But I can’t worry about that when Clemence is missing. Has no one reported seeing her?”

  “There are a thousand girls with brown eyes and blond hair in Paris,” Edgar said. “I didn’t know how many until we began searching for one.”

  Bertulf buried his face in his hands. “Nothing has gone right since I left Picardy. Perhaps it’s true that God is angry with both of us for trying to change our station in life. The priest did tell me that we should be content with what we were given. But I believe Lambert would make a fine castellan.”

  “Then you’ll tell the judge and the Temple commander that you’re really Lord Osto?” Edgar asked.

  “I’ve come this far,” he answered. “I don’t know if I can. Right now all I can think of is Clemence. If she’s been killed, then nothing else will matter, ever again.”

  Jehan returned to his room to pack up his things. Agnes was his at last! He would take her with him, far away, where none of her family could ever find her again. He was so filled with plans and joy that he had forgotten all about Lambert, who was waiting for him, sitting miserably on the bed in the little room.

  “Did you find her?” He jumped up from the bed, his heart leaping at the satisfaction on Jehan’s face.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Finally she came to me! I have to leave at once before her sister and father find her and try to pollute her heart against me once more. Returning the book made them understand that I was serious. I knew they’d let her go if I threatened them with exposure. I’m sorry, Lambert, I have no more time for your search. I have to buy provisions for the journey and hurry back to my love.”

  “Found her? How? Clemence has no sister,” Lambert said. “Where is she?”

  “Clemence? Oh, your wife. No, I know nothing about her.” Jehan was stuffing his clothes into a leather bag. “She’s probably gone back to the nuns.”

  “She hasn’t.” Lambert tried to make Jehan stop long enough to pay attention to him. “At Montmartre they said she’d gone to a felt maker’s house on the Île, but when I got there they said she wasn’t there anymore. Later, I saw that Edgar visiting the felt maker. Why would my Clemence be with him? Do you think they’ve stolen her?”

  Jehan finally focused on him.

  “I’m sure they did,” he said. “Just as they did my Agnes. You’ll have to be crafty to rescue her. I’m sorry I can’t help, but I must rush before they find out where Agnes is hiding and try to steal her back from me.”

  “Wait!” Lambert tried to keep Jehan from going. “You can’t abandon me. I have no one else!”

  Jehan’s expression changed. “Then you’re no worse off than I was. I would stay if I could. At least you know what you’re up against. I hope you find your wife. Good-bye.”

  Lambert flung himself at Jehan. “No! I’ve done everything you asked. You must help me!”

  The young man was no match for Jehan. The knight left him sprawled on the floor, weeping in anger and fear for Clemence. At last he pulled himself up and wiped his face on his sleeve.

  “Very well,” he told himself. “If I must face the demons alone, it’s time I started.”

  His first thought was to go to the wizard for another amulet of protection. Then he remembered the man’s insistence on payment. He had nothing left. His hand went to the iron cross at his neck. Christ would protect him, wouldn’t he? Lambert’s faith wavered. Perhaps he could sell his good boots for enough to get another invisibility charm.

  Lambert had never sold any of his possessions before, but Lord Osto had once mentioned that Jews took pledges in exchange for small loans. Jehan had gone on about the book they had taken being full of Jewish magic. That meant there must be some in Paris that he could take his boots to.

  In her determination to prove Archer innocent, Richilde had persuaded Genta to come with her to see Catherine. The two women were now seated in the garden, sipping beer and ignoring the tray of cakes.

  “Surely you don’t believe this preposterous accusation against Archer,” Genta was saying. “We’ve all known him for years. The mere fact that your husband could intimidate him is proof that he’s not dangerous.”

  “The man who died was hit from behind,” Catherine said. “It takes little courage to do that.”

  “My husband would never do such a thing,” Richilde stated. “He’s a member of the water merchants and takes his position seriously. He’s not some common ribaud to attack a man in the dark for such a petty reason!”

  Catherine put down her bowl. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Richilde. Archer isn’t the sort of man who murders. But a sergeant of the Temple has accused him. We can’t ignore that.”

  Genta put a hand on Richilde’s arm. “I’ve been making some inquiries about this Bertulf,” she said. “He hasn’t yet become a member of the Temple, and there is some question now if he’ll be permitted to take the vows at all. Who is he? Just some stranger. You say he’s a friend of your father’s?”

  Catherine sighed. “He has done business with my father,” she explained. “I’d never met him before, but Solomon remembers the horse Father sold him.”

  “And on his word you let the man be a guest in your house?” Genta’s eyebrows rose.

  “Not precisely,” Catherine said. Obviously Genta hadn’t heard that Bertulf had been taken back to the preceptory under guard. “However, I can see no reason for him to accuse Archer without some reason.”

  “To turn suspicion from himself, perhaps?” Genta suggested.

  “Possibly,” Catherine said. “But I doubt it. No suspicion ever rested on Bertulf. He didn’t need to tell us who the man in the counting room was.”

  “But if the information were discovered, wouldn’t it have been wise for him to have someone else to fix the blame on?”

  Catherine agreed. “But, as I don’t believe Archer could lie in wait for a man and drive a spear through his heart, I don’t think Bertulf would, either. If he had wanted to murder his lord, he would have had many chances along the journey. He could have waited until they reached the Holy Land and say they had been ambushed by Saracens.”

  “Still,” Genta said, “I think it far more likely that he did it than Archer. I’ve already spoken to Commander Evrard about this, and I will to Queen
Adelaide, if necessary.”

  “I wish you would,” Catherine surprised both women by saying. “Their authority may be able to get to the truth of the matter in ways we can’t. Despite Edgar’s anger, he has a high regard for Archer. Neither of us would be pleased to see him hang for something he didn’t do.”

  Abraham was puzzled by the young man standing before him.

  “I don’t know who sent you to me,” he told Lambert, “but I don’t give loans on boots. And I don’t know anyone who would take a cross as security, except from a bishop or abbot. But if you’re hungry …”

  “No, I need money for something else.” Lambert knelt before Abraham and raised his hands in supplication. “My wife is being held prisoner. I must save her.”

  “You want ransom money?” Abraham asked. “Have you no family to help you raise it?”

  Lambert sank down on his haunches. “Actually, no one has asked for ransom. But she’s missing, and I think she was taken by the family of a merchant here in Paris. If not for money, I don’t know why. My friend, Jehan, says it’s because they’re wicked and no one can comprehend what evil has in its mind.”

  “Jehan!” said a man seated at a table on the other side of the room. “You can’t mean the knight from Blois, can you?”

  “He is from Blois, I believe,” Lambert said. “Do you know him? I understood that he had no business with your people.”

  Hubert felt a strange thrill at being accepted as a Jew by this young man. He wasn’t sure whether or not he liked it.

  “The one I know hates us all passionately,” Hubert described him as Lambert nodded. “Yes, that’s Jehan. You can’t believe anything he says. He’s totally mad.”

  “What do you know of it?” Lambert challenged him. “Everything he’s told me so far has proved true.”