“Shall we get down and knock on the door,” he asked, “or wait until spring thaws us?”
Edgar dismounted and approached the nearest house. Before he raised his hand, the upper half of the door opened to reveal three frightened faces, two women and a man.
“We mean you no harm,” Edgar said quickly. “My companion and I seek shelter for ourselves and our horses for the night. We have food we can share with you and coin to pay for your trouble.”
The three looked at each other and shut the door. Edgar heard a low, intense conversation.
“I don’t think we need to worry about this lot,” Edgar called back to Solomon. “They seem to be trying to decide if we plan to slit their throats, not the other way around.”
“Well, tell them to be quick about it,” Solomon answered.
The door opened again, this time all the way. The man stood there alone.
“You are welcome to our poor shelter,” he said. “We have no space for horses, but”—he swallowed—“you may use the chapel. There is some straw and water, but we have no hay to give them.”
“Thank you,” Edgar said. “My friend and I will attend to them and then join you, unless you’d rather we stayed with our animals?”
The man’s face showed that he would much prefer that.
“No, of course not,” he answered, aware of the rules of hospitality. “Please return to share what little we have, my lord.”
The door shut on them again. Through the wood, Solomon and Edgar could tell that the argument had started again.
“Two women and one man.” Solomon tried not to smirk. “Being a hermit is suddenly much more appealing.”
“They may be brother and sisters,” Edgar suggested, annoyed at the slur.
“Even more interesting,” Solomon said as they entered the oratory.
The small building had two slits for windows on either side. In the far wall was a larger window, crudely covered with boards. It was nearly dark and the men could see little as they unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down. Solomon went out in search of a bucket and a source of water.
The hermit was waiting for him.
“I’m sorry we don’t have more to offer,” he said, handing him the water bucket. “We have few visitors and almost none on horseback.”
Solomon thanked him and brought the water in.
“These people are hiding something,” he told Edgar.
Edgar had made one pile of straw for the horses to nibble on and was spreading more against the far wall. “Such as… ?” he asked.
“How can I tell?” Solomon snapped. “They won’t let me see it. But I want to know what they have in that other hut. I’m sure I heard movement in there before the man stopped me.”
Edgar was tired and worried about his family. There was something strange about the hermits, but they didn’t seem threatening. He laid his bedroll on half the straw pile.
“Unless it’s a feather bed, I don’t care,” he said.
Solomon wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t convinced of the harmlessness of these people. The hermitage could be a blind, drawing travelers in so that they could be robbed or murdered in the night.
He doubted he’d sleep. But first, he had a more pressing need.
“What do we have to eat?” he asked Edgar. “From the look of this place, gruel is all they can offer.”
“I’ve cheese and dried meat in my pack,” Edgar said. “They probably won’t touch the meat, but the cheese should be welcome. We can spare it.”
But when they returned to the house, they found their gift rebuffed.
“We are fasting this month,” the older woman told them. “We have only grain and water. You are welcome to that.”
“You don’t mind if we eat our own food, do you?” Edgar asked.
In the flicker of the small lamp, Edgar could see the yearning of the younger woman for the cheese and meat, but she set her lips and shook her head when he offered it to her again.
They tried to make conversation, but the three hermits gave only short answers. Once they had eaten, the three bowed their heads and recited a Nostre Pere, then they bid them good night. Edgar nudged Solomon when he saw that each went alone to a narrow pallet against the wall.
“Makes our packs and blankets look luxurious, doesn’t it?” he said as they returned to the oratory to sleep.
“I’ll never understand you people,” Solomon said as they unrolled their blankets. “Why should the Holy One give us bodies if he meant us to abuse them? But as long as it’s dry and out of the cold, and we are undisturbed I’ve no complaints.”
They were awakened the next morning by the chanting once again of repeated Our Fathers. Solomon felt that their hosts had deliberately increased their fervor to a level that would make sleep impossible.
When Edgar and Solomon came out, the three were waiting by the door.
“We know you want to be on your way,” the man said. “Please take what you need.” He hesitated. “There’s a broom by the door. If you could remove the evidence of your animals?”
“Certainly.” Only the manners required of a guest kept Edgar from losing his temper. He told himself that these were holy people who had removed themselves from the world and that he was an intruder. He told himself this several times.
The men were soon on their way. Edgar looked behind and saw that the door to the hut was once again shut. He could almost believe that the people had never existed. There were stories about odd beings in the forests. He enjoyed them on a warm summer night in the comfort of Paris. He didn’t care to see them come to life.
“Strangest hermits I ever came across, even if they didn’t try to kill us,” Solomon echoed his thoughts. “Do you think they’re holding the young one against her will? She’d have eaten the cheese if the others hadn’t been there. Pretty, too. Or she would be if she were better fed.”
“She didn’t seem any worse off than the other two,” Edgar said. “They probably thought we were devils come to tempt them. Still, I’ve never seen a less welcoming group. No wonder they have so little, if they greet everyone like that.”
They rode for a while in silence.
“I would still like to know what was in the other hut,” Solomon said after several minutes of brooding.
Edgar shook his head. “Why? What has it to do with us?”
“Nothing, I hope.” Solomon urged his horse forward. “But there was something alive in there. I don’t like the feeling that, whatever it was, it now knows my scent.”
The hermits had waited behind their barred door for some time after Solomon and Edgar left.
“Do you think they suspected anything?” the elder woman asked.
“Of course not,” the younger answered. “We didn’t preach to them. We’re cowards, you know.”
“There’s a time for bravery,” the man told her. “I’m not eager to burn, are you?”
“Our poor friend must be,” the elder woman said. “We should have brought him in with us last night, no matter the danger.”
The man shook his head. “We’re just lucky that he saw them coming in time to hide.”
“He had had no business becoming involved with those Eonites,” the older woman said as they left the hut.
“It was a family matter,” the man said. “I think he is leaning toward joining us at last after his experience there.”
He tapped on the door of the other hut. “Are you all right? It’s safe to come out now.”
There was a rustling as a bedraggled, shivering man came out from under the pile of straw that had kept him from freezing. He limped to the door, his feet cramped with the cold.
The older woman gave him little sympathy.
“Maybe now you’ll learn that we are your only family,” she said. “Here, I brought barley in hot cider. Eat.”
At her castle in Flanders, Countess Sybil was preparing for her journey somewhat differently than Catherine had. She wasn’t concerned with places that would take her in. As
the wife of a pilgrim and as the daughter of King Fulk of Jerusalem, she knew that no monastery would dare turn her away.
But that didn’t mean she had no worries.
“Annora,” she called to her friend, “has word come yet from the lord of Guines?”
“Nothing,” the lady Annora answered. Her grey eyes reflected Sybil’s disquiet. “I’ve heard that he has been having trouble with the lord of Ardres. Do you think it might keep him from sending the help he owes you?”
“Those two have been fighting over the same worthless piece of land since they were children,” Sybil spoke sharply. Part of her anger was at the lords, part at herself for not having the courage to tell Annora that her sister was still missing. “They can go back to it once this danger is over. Annora, I must have more men to fight Baldwin, or there will be nothing left of Flanders by the time Thierry returns.”
“You’ve done all that could be expected of you,” Annora said. “It’s hard to raise an army when all the important vassals of the count have gone with him to the Holy Land.”
“And when those who remain prove themselves to be oath-breakers,” Sybil said grimly. “I’ve fortified the towns as best I can. Now the pope has insisted that the bishops and abbots come to Reims to debate church policy. Has it never occurred to him that I need those men to preserve order?”
Annora knew she wasn’t expected to answer that. She was younger than Sybil and still somewhat in awe of her. She had been sent to Flanders to stay with the countess when her sister Cecile entered the convent. When her father had died, he had left it to Sybil to find her a husband who would be an advantageous alliance with both Flanders and their small lordship in Normandy. Annora had made no objection. She was grateful that someone was watching out for her interests. Her only request had been to be allowed to examine the candidates for her hand before negotiations began.
She pushed a blond braid out of the way of the embroidery she was working on and made gentle noises of agreement as Sybil continued her plaint.
“One would think that all the prelates of Christendom would be prepared to excommunicate Baldwin.” The countess was preparing a list of items to take. She wrote with such force that she scraped the board beneath the wax and had to stop every few minutes to resharpen the point of her wood stylus.
“But no.” Her knife whittled the wood furiously. “Instead they worry about the color of a cleric’s coat or whether consecrated nuns are wandering about the countryside unescorted.” She stopped, aware that she had almost said too much. Better to wait until Cecile was found. She continued. “I tell you, Annora, the next time anyone preaches to raise an army to fight the Saracens, I’ll leave Thierry at home and lead it myself.”
“Like Queen Eleanor?” Annora asked with a smile.
Sybil’s sniff expressed completely her opinion of the piety of the French queen.
“Went to buy silk, she did,” Sybil continued. “What sort of woman takes her jewelry casket with her on a pilgrimage? She’ll return more laden than she left, I’ve no doubt.”
“I know it’s sinful of me, but I wish I had someone to bring me trinkets from the East,” Annora said. “Apart from Cecile, all I have is a cousin who is a monk and another whom we haven’t spoken to in years. Our family has sadly diminished.”
Sybil looked at her kindly. “Well, I shall do my best to assure that you are not the last. Even with these other worries, I do not forget that you need a good husband.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Sybil’s chamberlain, Eustace of Gramene.
“My lady,” he bowed. “We’ve made arrangements for your stay in Reims. I’ve told them to expect you just before Laetare Sunday, when the council is set to begin.”
“Excellent,” Sybil told him. “That will give us time to consult with Abbess Heloise and, perhaps, Countess Mahaut as well. Annora, how many servants will accompany you?”
Annora looked up, startled. How many should she take? What would be expected of her?
“My maid, of course,” she said slowly. “And my groom. Father Gun-drum is my usual confessor here, but I would imagine that we’ll have no shortages of priests.”
“That I am sure of,” Sybil answered. “That number seems quite reasonable. Very well, Lord Eustace, can we be ready to leave in time to arrive at the Paraclete by the kalends of March?”
“There will be no difficulty at all,” Eustace answered. “The weather has kept Baldwin from anything more than occasional sorties. Lord Anselm and Count Ingram can contain him until your return.”
“I suppose I should be grateful that the baby came in the winter, or I might not have managed to arrange the truce,” Sybil commented. “Odd that a man who would violate a sworn oath would also agree to keep his troops at home so that I could give birth.”
“His unpredictability is all the more reason why we need whatever sanctions we can get to demonstrate to him the consequences of his actions,” the chamberlain said. “My only concern is that you are too soon out of childbed to undertake this journey.”
Sybil lifted her chin. “It is my duty to protect Flanders,” she said. “I have placed myself in the hands of Our Lord and His Mother. They will take care of me as long as I trust in their mercy.”
Eustace smiled. “Of course, Lady Sybil. But I shall accompany you in case they need an earthly instrument for their work.”
As the countess turned away, Eustace gave Annora a wink.
Five
Near Nogent-sur-Seine, a few miles north of the Paraclete.
Tuesday, 8 kalends March (February 23), 1148. Feast of Saint Serenus, martyred because he wouldn’t let a roman matron stroll in his garden.
Le ior de la cendre, fait I’en I’entreual apres chapista: et apres midi la procession; et chante’n R. Afflicti et V.: et I’oroison de la messe:
et trouveroiz ce you darrenier dou messsel en i fueillet darrien, et ausins a toutes les autres processions fors dou dymanche et de morz.
On the day of the ashes, have an interval after chapter and, after sext, have the procession and sing the response “Afflicti” and verse [Domine Deus Israel] and the prayers of the Mass. And you will find this at the back of the missal on the last page and also those for all the other processions for Sunday and for the dead.
The Old French Ordinary for the Paraclete
Catherine walked alongside the cart. Her stomach couldn’t take the jolting any longer. Edana hopped happily beside her, and James was riding in front of the guard, Godfrey, asking him question after question about his military exploits. Godfrey was making up fabulous tales about the dragons he had slaughtered and the Saracen giant he had toppled in single combat. When James seemed doubtful, the other guards insisted to him that they had been there and that all the stories were true.
“Godfrey is the greatest warrior since Roland,” one of them said without a smile. “Except for me, of course.”
James tried to stand up in the saddle so that he could study this new hero.
Catherine wondered if the nuns would be able to endure the energy of her vivacious son.
The road was wider now, and they were going through more villages. Astrolabe and Godfrey assured her that they would be at Nogent before nightfall. Tomorrow they would cross the Seine and from there follow the River Ardusson all the way to the Paraclete.
Samonie poked her head through the curtains on the cart.
“I’m coming out to join you, Mistress,” she said. “I’m feeling much better, but the stench in there is making my head ache again.”
Catherine laughed. “I wondered how long you would last with only the dog to keep you company.”
“That dog has slept more of the journey than I have,” Samonie complained, climbing over the rail and dropping to the ground. “And he snores.”
“Dragon does not snore,” James shouted. “He roars!”
James commenced to demonstrate, raising himself up again in the saddle and pawing the air.
“Be careful, James!” Catherine
cried.
“I have him, lady,” Godfrey laughed. “You seem to be more a lion than a dragon, young man!”
His laugh faded as he turned and saw what was behind them.
James looked over his shoulder.
“Is it Papa?” he asked.
“No,” Godfrey answered. “My lady, get back in the cart. All of you. I don’t like the look of them.”
Catherine, too, had hoped that the rapidly approaching horsemen were Edgar and Solomon, but she knew the way they sat their horses, and these men, even at a distance, were nothing like. The question was, were they rushing somewhere important or were they coming to catch up with and attack them?
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