“Then why haven’t you gone to him for help?” Abraham asked.
Lambert started to explain, then stopped. These men were infidels and clearly Jehan’s enemies.
“He’s leaving Paris tonight and can’t help me further,” he told them.
Hubert sighed in relief. “I’m glad of that. I was afraid he’d never go until he took his revenge on us for not letting him marry Agnes. Thank goodness she’s safe from him in Germany.”
Lambert looked at him. “Agnes? The merchant Hubert’s daughter? You mean she doesn’t live here in Paris?” he asked.
“No, she married last year, to a German lord,” Hubert said. “Jehan was an embarrasment to everyone then insisting that she marry him. His actions might have caused her serious harm.”
“She’s not in Paris,” Lambert repeated. “Then whom did he rescue?”
“Young man, what are you talking about?” Abraham asked.
In confusion, Lambert explained. Hubert and Abraham gave each other a worried look.
“Your wife,” Hubert asked. “She isn’t the daughter of Lord Osto, is she?”
Lambert was too bewildered to prevaricate.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Clemence.”
“Heaven save us!” Abraham said. “Young man, I want you to go directly to the house of Catherine LeVendeur and her husband and tell them everything!”
“The thought of that poor child in Jehan’s clutches!” Hubert exclaimed.
“Chaim!” Abraham said. “The boy is frightened enough already. Will you go there at once?” he continued to Lambert. “Do you know the way?”
“Yes, I do,” Lambert put on his cap and turned to go. Then he stopped, the new information finally penetrating.
“Do you mean Jehan is the one holding my wife?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Hubert said. “Now hurry, before he gets away.”
Lambert did.
When he had gone, Abraham called Solomon to come up. He explained what had happened.
“I think you should go along after the boy to be sure he finds his way to Edgar’s house and is able to tell his story in such a way that they’ll understand the urgency.”
“Of course I will,” Solomon told the two men. “But I have no doubt that they’ll understand.”
At the Temple preceptory Evrard de Barre had been informed of the situation regarding Bertulf and Godfrey.
“Their story doesn’t have the ring of truth,” he said. “If their lord had been killed by a citizen of Paris, why not start the cry at once?”
“They say it’s because they were strangers and worried that they would meet the same fate as Lord Osto,” Durand replied. “But I agree that there’s something not right here. For instance, the man Bertulf says that the destrier they brought with them is his. But it’s not the horse of a miller turned soldier. What nobleman would let one of his villagers take his best horse?”
“A Christian one?” Evrard suggested. He brushed aside Master Durand’s expostulations. “Yes, it does sound odd. Even worse, Domma Genta has asked me to judge the matter, myself. It seems she’s a friend of the accused man’s wife. She hinted that if I don’t, she’ll ask the king why the Temple is taking in men without a complete examination of their character. As if we had time these days! That means another day borrowed from the work I have to do before I leave. I pray I’m never called upon to pay them all back.”
Lambert ran to the Grève, heedless of people and things in his way. Solomon was glad he didn’t have to keep track of him. He had enough to do helping people to their feet and picking up objects Lambert had knocked down in his hurry.
However, as he approached the door, Lambert’s pace slowed. After the rude way he’d behaved, why would they let him in or pay attention to his tale? Then he thought of Clemence. He realized that it hadn’t only been that there wasn’t any place suitable for her that had kept him from taking her with him to Jehan. It had been the man himself. Lambert had sensed the madness but had been too preoccupied to recognize it.
He lifted the dragon’s nose and sounded the bell.
Martin showed him in. Catherine was still trying to soothe and entertain Richilde and Genta. Lambert barely noted the other women present. He went straight to Catherine.
“Please help me,” he begged. “Do you remember me? My name is Lambert, son of Bertulf the miller. Master Abraham told me that my wife has been abducted by Jehan. He said you’d know what to do.”
Catherine tried to take all of this in. Quickly Richilde and Genta stood to go.
“Young man,” Richilde said, “your father has just accused my husband of murder. I see no need to stay in the same house with you.”
“My father?” Lambert gaped at her. “Murder?”
Genta put an arm around Richilde.
“Catherine,” she said, “if this is an example of the things that happen in your household, I’m not sure we’ll be seeing much of one another in the future.”
In the back of her mind, Catherine sent up a prayer of thanksgiving.
“I should be very sorry if that happened,” she told Genta. “Take care of Richilde. I’m sure this will all turn out well. The true killer will be uncovered and Archer exonerated, I’m sure. Now, Lambert. Why do you think Jehan has Clemence?”
“I don’t know,” Lambert replied. “But Master Abraham and his friend said you would understand.”
Solomon had entered as the women left.
“Clemence looks like your sister,” he explained. “I suspect that Jehan took her to replace Agnes.”
“Saint Radegunde’s pristine privies!” Catherine exclaimed. “I felt he must be in this somehow, but couldn’t find a reason or an opportunity. How did he know Clemence was even here?”
“She was? Why didn’t you tell me?” Lambert exclaimed.
“Jehan must have been spying on the house,” Solomon said. “You say he’s your friend?” he added to Lambert. “You poor fool! And you have no idea where he could have taken her?”
“No. He came to our room, said he was buying provisions and then leaving with ‘Agnes,’” Lambert said. “If only I had known!”
“Then he may not have gone, yet. Think! Where could he have left her?” Solomon insisted.
Lambert pressed his fingers to his forehead. “If not with the nuns on Montmartre, I don’t know.”
“He wouldn’t have done that,” Catherine said. “She’d have told them immediately that she was being abducted. It would have to be a secret place, where she wouldn’t be easily discovered.”
Solomon put his hands on Lambert’s shoulders.
“Now, I know this will be difficult,” he said, “but you have to try to remember every place you went with Jehan since you met him.”
“Every place?” Lambert thought of the midnight visit to the counting room.
“Yes,” both Solomon and Catherine answered.
“Very well,” Lambert closed his eyes to think better. He opened them again. “What was that about my father? Have you seen him?”
“Not now,” Catherine said. “First we must find Clemence before Jehan leaves the city with her.”
Edgar was relieved that the question of the body had been resolved, but annoyed with Bertulf for refusing to admit that he was really Osto. Still, it would be easier to convince Commander Evrard that the accusation against Archer was weak if it came from a miller. But if not Archer, then who? Edgar passed through the Rogation processions without even noticing them. His mind was on the things he needed to do once all this was ended. He hadn’t yet admitted it to himself but, deep down, he didn’t think he would mind being a merchant, as long as he could be a wealthy one.
Solomon met him at the door.
“Don’t take your cap off,” he greeted Edgar. “Do you know if the cry has been raised for the death of the wizard?”
“I’ve heard nothing,” Edgar said.
“Neither have I,” Solomon said. “But I think Jehan has stowed Clemence in the old man’
s hut.”
“Jehan!” Edgar blinked. “What has he to do with her?”
“Everything,” Solomon said. “We have to get there at once. And, if that’s where she is, then it’s because Jehan knew that the wizard wouldn’t be there. Do you know what that means?”
Edgar’s eyes began to light. Slowly, he smiled.
“We’ve got him!”
Catherine wondered if she should have told Lambert that his father was dead. He’d have to know soon. She hoped that Lord Osto’s faith in him was warranted. Lambert didn’t seem capable of the steady hand needed to maintain a castellany. Catherine had observed her brother at it many times. Even though a merchant’s son, Guillaume had been raised at their uncle’s keep and knew how to fight as well as administer a fief. Unlike Picardy, France allowed for noble blood on one side only, if the other side was at least respectable.
She told herself that it wasn’t her problem. She should be worrying about what would happen if Solomon and Edgar found Jehan with Clemence. She was glad they were there to protect Lambert. But she was afraid that they had confused Jehan’s weak mind with a weak body. Even though Jehan was much older than either of them, she had no doubt that he would defend himself fiercely if cornered.
Catherine had told Margaret about Lambert’s visit when she came down, hearing Solomon’s voice. Now she realized that the girl was fretting, as well.
“Jehan won’t beat Clemence, will he?” she asked, her hand rubbing the scar on her cheek.
“Of course not,” Catherine said. “He thinks she’s Agnes. He would never hurt her. Edgar and Solomon will find him before he realizes his mistake.”
The next question surprised her.
“What if Solomon kills Jehan?” Margaret asked. “He could get in trouble for the death of a Christian.”
Catherine remembered an earlier time when this had happened. Solomon had killed to save her life, but Edgar had taken credit for it rather than risk Solomon’s safety.
“Jehan isn’t much of a Christian,” Catherine answered. “And there will be three of them. I’m sure they can take him without serious harm to anyone.”
Margaret nodded doubtfully. Catherine decided that Margaret needed distracting.
“Why don’t you take Martin and go over to Willa’s,” she suggested. “You can collect anything Clemence might have left there. Take Willa some honey and cakes, as well.”
“Yes, I will,” Margaret answered. “But I fear they won’t help her. She seems weaker every day. I think it will take a miracle to make her well.”
“Then we’ll all pray for one.” Catherine kissed her and sent her on her way.
“You think Jehan killed the wizard?” Lambert asked as he trotted after Solomon and Edgar. “Shouldn’t we call out the watch?”
“It would take too long,” Edgar answered not wanting to mention his lapse in informing the watch. “You want to get to Clemence before Jehan comes back, don’t you?”
Lambert trotted more quickly.
“What if he’s in there with her?” he asked.
“We’re sending you in first,” Solomon answered, his breath coming in pants as they all sped up. “He doesn’t know you suspect him.”
“Me?” Lambert squeaked. “Face Jehan?”
“It’s your wife in there, isn’t it?” Edgar said.
Lambert’s fists clenched.
“Yes,” he answered, his face suddenly older. “And I’m going to get her out.”
Twenty -two
Still Wednesday, early in the evening. Vespers is sounding.
Filz Loois, a celer ne te quier,
Quant Deus fist reis por peuple justicier,
Il nel fist mie por false lei jugier,
Faire luxure, ne alever pechié.
Ne orfe enfant por retolir son fié …
“My son Louis, never seek to hide the fact
That God made the king to give justice to the people,
He never made him to judge the law falsely
to be debaucherous, nor to promote wickedness,
nor to steal the orphan child’s fief … .
—Le Couronnement de Louis
Laisse 13
“I still don’t understand how you decided this was the only place he could have taken her,” Lambert said when they stopped at the head of the path down to the wizard’s hut.
“Not the only, but the most likely. If no one else has been here, you’ll find out soon enough,” Solomon answered. “Now, quietly.”
He and Lambert started down the path. Edgar stayed at the top to watch for Jehan.
“If he’s down there, you’ll hear from us,” Solomon assured him.
They were halfway down when Solomon stopped and looked around, peering into the undergrowth.
“Did you lose something?” Lambert whispered.
“The wizard,” Solomon whispered back. “Jehan must have dumped him in the river. Damn.”
He held up a finger to remind Lambert not to say any more as they approached the hut.
The door was shut. The only sound that came above the running water was a rhythmic thumping from inside, interspersed by an occasional muffled squeak.
Lambert gave a shout, “Sweet Jesus, he’s raping her!” and broke the door open with one blow of his body.
They saw nothing at first in the dim light. Then there was a scrape from one corner and the squeaking rose to a muffled wail.
“Clemence!” Lambert cried. “What has he done to you?”
He pulled off the gag. Clemence took a long breath and then began coughing.
“My dearest!” Lambert cried. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
He felt her all over for signs of injury. While he did, Solomon took out his knife and cut the ropes around her wrists.
“Fi!” She cried. “Oh, that hurts. My hands, Lambert, rub them.”
“Anything, my love!”
Clemence tried to hold back her tears, but pain and relief were too much for her.
“I feared no one would ever come.” She sniffed. “That man! He kept calling me Agnes. He was so sure of it that I began to wonder if it weren’t my name after all. Oh, Lambert! I’m so sorry about your father. What are we going to do now?”
“My father?” Lambert stopped his rubbing to stare at her.
Solomon thought it would be better if he were elsewhere. He went back up the path to find Edgar.
“She’s in there,” he said. “Unharmed as far as I could tell. Jehan seems to have only tied her up.”
“That means he hasn’t come back, yet,” Edgar said. “He must be getting his horse and provisions.”
They both thought about that.
“We should take Clemence and Lambert and hurry home before he returns,” Solomon said.
“Then he would get away,” Edgar objected. “How can we prove he killed the wizard if we don’t have the body?”
“He still abducted Clemence,” Solomon reminded him.
“And if he finds her gone, don’t you think he’ll get out of Paris as quickly as he can?” Edgar asked.
“No.” Solomon ran his fingertip along the blade of his knife. “I think he’ll come back to your house, hunting for her. He thinks she’s Agnes, and you’re the ones keeping her imprisoned.”
Edgar looked at him. “That’s insane! After what he’s done, I don’t want to risk him near my family, ever again.”
“I agree,” Solomon said. “That’s why one of us should see that those two naive children get safely back to the house, while the other goes back to the wizard’s hut and waits for Jehan.”
“Then you take them back,” Edgar announced. “I have more scores to settle with him than you ever will. No, don’t use my hand as an excuse. I’ll have surprise on my side.”
“You mustn’t kill him that way,” Solomon told him. “Not lying in wait for him like a thief.”
“Why not?” Edgar asked. “He deserves no better.”
“Edgar”—Solomon put a hand on his shoulder—
“I’m not thinking of Jehan. There’s no death too vile for me to pity him enduring it. But you can’t have that kind of revenge on your soul.”
“How can you lecture me on my soul?” Edgar was too amazed to be angry.
“Because I know it,” Solomon said. “If you killed him in secret, in the dark, it would haunt you forever. And Jehan would have won after all.”
“So, what do you propose?” Edgar asked, irritated at his accuracy. “Do you intend to kill him in order to save me the guilt? I won’t have it.”
“No.” Solomon gave a humorless laugh. “Jehan would have joy in Hell knowing that I, and perhaps other Jews of Paris, as well, had been hanged for his death. On consideration, I think all of us should wait here for him and take him alive to the authorities. His crimes should be known to everyone.”
“And what of his accusations against us?” Edgar said. “How do we keep him from denouncing the family as secret Jews?”
“Now that the Torah is no longer in your house, what can he prove?” Solomon said. “Let him rant. It will only increase the perception of his madness.”
Edgar had to admit that Solomon’s argument made sense. But how he ached to drive a knife deep into Jehan’s heart and know that it had stopped beating forever. Then it struck him that his father had never hesitated to kill an enemy. But instead of ridding himself of them, from the blood of each man had arisen a thousand more who hated him.
“If you insist; we’ll do it your way,” he said. “But remember, I’m only agreeing with you because you’re right.”
“I understand.” Solomon grinned.
Willa wasn’t working when Margaret and Martin arrived. Her husband was stamping down the wool in the trough in her place, but jerkily, as if his legs weren’t well attached to his body.
“Thank God you’re here,” he said when he saw them. “I wanted to send for your mother, Martin, but my master wouldn’t let me go until the work was done. The king’s leaving within the week, and we must finish supplying his men with the hats we promised.”
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 33
