The Devil's Door (28 page)
“Everyone here says that,” Edgar said. “She’s alive?”
Samonie bit her lip.
“Just,” she said. “Constanza is starving her. If you have a plan, I will help you.”
“If I come back later in the day, will you let me in and give me a bed for the night?” Edgar asked.
“Yes, but you won’t be allowed near her,” Samonie told him.
Edgar knew that. There must be a way. He looked around wildly. Two of the women were anchoring bed linens with rocks to keep them from blowing away. He had an idea. Not exactly the sort of disguise a knight would choose, but, after all, he was just a simple wood-carver and philosopher.
“Can you leave the bed linens in a pile somewhere near the stairs tonight,” he asked.
Samonie looked puzzled. “I suppose I can see to it,” she said. “They are usually left in the washhouse until we put them through the mangle, but I could think of a reason.”
“Thank you,” Edgar said. “Now, how many sleep in the room where Catherine is being held?”
“Lady Constanza is up there now, since her husband is in their bed, recovering from his accident.” Samonie counted on her fingers. “Me, two other maids. But I think one of them has planned a tryst for tonight. We haven’t had many visitors since Lady Constanza’s daughter was killed.”
“Good. I’ll be back before sundown. Here, take the comb. A gift.”
Edgar took the reins of his horse, who had followed him down to the river with great docility. It would have been nice to leap into the saddle and gallop off, but Edgar settled for wading back across the river, dodging the flowing linen, and practically dragging the poor animal back to the Paraclete.
He did hug Sister Thecla, whirling her around until the old woman slapped him and told him not to act insane.
“She’s alive!” he shouted.
“Deo gratiae,”
Thecla murmured. “Where is she?”
Thecla murmured. “Where is she?”
“Still in the keep,” Edgar sobered. “And very weak, I fear. I have a plan to free her tonight. Will one of the lay sisters loan me some clothes?”
He explained. Thecla nodded slowly.
“It might work,” she said. “Rub dirt on your face or, better, ashes, to make yourself look older. And you’ll have to stoop. You’re too tall. In the dark, one would think your hair already grey. But still, what reason could you give for being about after dark?”
“I hope to go up after the torches are lit but before the household retires and the gates are locked,” Edgar said. “The laundresses are all women from the village. It shouldn’t seem too odd for one of them to be seen leaving with a bundle.”
“I think we should discuss this with the abbess,” Thecla said. “Perhaps it should be one of us who goes. I could be a senile old woman a lot more convincingly than you could.”
“Sister!” Edgar was shocked. “I would never let one of you take such a risk.”
Thecla looked him up and down.
“You, young man,” she said finally, “would have nothing to say about it.”
However, Héloïse did.
“It is a kind and brave offer, Sister Thecla,” she said. “But, Edgar is the one who should go. If we can teach him to move humbly and to wind his scarf properly, he might be able to get past the guards. Yes, you could do it more easily, but you couldn’t carry our poor Catherine out and you couldn’t defend her, if necessary.
“And also,” she added fondly, “we cannot spare you.”
“So, you think it will work?” Edgar asked.
“I think it’s the greatest example of sheer folly I’ve ever heard,” Walter said. “Dressing as a woman. How could you even consider it?”
“Didn’t Hugh of Crecy disguise himself as a prostitute to get back into his castle when it was under siege?” Edgar asked.
“Yes, but he …” Walter caught the amused expression of the abbess and blushed. “I’ll tell you the story another time,” he promised Edgar. “I withdraw my objection.”
“Then, if you will be so kind,” Edgar said to Héloïse , “show me how to drape this lovely widow’s head scarf.”
Catherine had decided to pretend to be worse off than she really was, in order to delude Constanza into watching her less closely. The trouble was, she was a lot worse off than she believed. The Lenten fasting, the rigors of the trip to Troyes, the stay in the forest, the normal loss of blood, added to a week with only a cup of water a day, had left her with little in reserve. She found it easy to hum psalms and wander in her speech. Over and over, a lullaby ran through her head. She hadn’t heard it since her sister, Agnes, was a baby. So long ago, when her mother was still alive to the world and to her. The tune was so clear, but she couldn’t remember the words.
“Lullay, lullah, lullay, lullah,” she sang, half asleep.
She was brought to complete wakefulness by a hard slap in the face.
“Stop making that dreadful noise, you horrid
jael!”
jael!”
Constanza stood over her, poised to strike again. Catherine only stared in dull confusion.
“I sang that to Alys,” Constanza said in a more normal voice. “I won’t have her mocked.”
Catherine could feel the marks of each of Constanza’s fingers reddening on her cheek. Why should a song have upset her so? The woman had beat and tormented her child, forced her into an unwanted marriage, perhaps killed her. What did a lullaby matter?
Nevertheless, Catherine sang no more.
She could feel the day ending. The light in the room grew dim. Unless, she thought, I’m going blind. They say that happens when you starve.
She was reassured when Samonie came in, bearing the oil lamp.
“There was a peddler here today,” she said casually. “I got a comb from him. Do you want to see it?”
“Not really,” Catherine answered, thinking of the last time she had braided her hair and how Edgar had held it for her so that it didn’t tangle.
“He was an odd-looking fellow,” Samonie went on. “Looked as if he’d fallen into a pot of lye and bleached himself.”
Catherine turned her head and reached out to the maid for the comb.
“Don’t tease me with hope, Samonie,” she said. “Hope can break the heart.”
“I don’t know how much hope I can give you,” Samonie told her softly, looking over her shoulder to check for listeners. “His plan is chancy at best. But I would try to stay awake tonight.
“My lady!” she said, quickly tucking the comb under Catherine’s head and then turning to face her mistress. “Do you wish me to help you prepare for dinner?”
Constanza swept in, looking unusually pale and tired herself. She snapped orders at Samonie and the other maids and found fault with everything they did.
“I have no idea why I’m bothering,” she complained. “Rupert just lies in bed, moaning on about his pain. Really, he was hardly scratched. No one except dreadful people like Marcella ever comes to visit. We haven’t had decent entertainment here in months. I swear, as soon as this business is over”—she nodded toward Catherine—“I’m going to spend a month in Paris. I’m going to see what the queen is wearing and hear some new stories and talk with people who don’t snivel.
“There, leave me alone!” Constanza pushed the maid away as she tried to adjust her robes. “Are you sure there’s been no word from Raynald or his father?”
“Yes, of course, my lady,” Samonie answered. “There’s been no one at all.”
“Questres!”
Constanza muttered. “They think I don’t know what they’re up to. Just wait. Well, hurry up! Do you want to eat or not?”
Constanza muttered. “They think I don’t know what they’re up to. Just wait. Well, hurry up! Do you want to eat or not?”
She swept out again, shooing the maids before her.
Catherine felt the comb under her cheek. She twisted until she could see it, tracing the pattern with her eyes, birds, leaves, twisting vines and, yes, here in one corner, or was it just fancy? No, she would believe it. The vines twisted into two letters, a
and an
and anHe hadn’t believed her lost or dead. He had forgiven her for leaving the convent where he had thought her safe. He wasn’t going to let her die abandoned here in the tower. But how could he get up here? There was no safe way. She had to do what she could. Once again she began working at the rope.
Hours passed. The noises from below were more raucous now. Someone must have ordered another cask of wine opened. That might help Edgar or it might make things worse if he were found above the first floor and challenged by a drunken guard. It was almost full darkness, one star twinkled through the narrow window. There was no one about. She would have to try. It was maddening to think of him so close.
She slid the ropes over her hands and tried to get out of bed. That didn’t work. Her head spun so that she couldn’t find her footing. She sat on the floor with a thump.
Sister Bertrada always said you had no fortitude,
the voices taunted.
the voices taunted.
Catherine gritted her teeth and began crawling across the floor to the staircase. The rushes crackled under her hands and knees. Her head was hanging. She didn’t hear the person enter, didn’t realize anyone was there until she ran into the skirts.
She looked up. Looming above her was a tall dark figure with a hood. It held a large bundle in its arms. As her arms gave way and she fell to her elbows, the form bent. She had a glimpse of a face streaked with black. Death had come for her.
“Catherine.”
Odd, Death spoke to her in Edgar’s voice. Maybe it wasn’t so fearsome after all.
“Catherine,” he said again. “I’m going to wrap you in this blanket and carry you down. Don’t wiggle.”
It wasn’t as easy as he had planned, making a woman look like a sack of laundry. Edgar threw the blanket over her and tried to lift her to throw over his shoulder. He looked down. Her feet stuck out. He tried to cover them and felt her arm flop loosely down his back. He pulled at one corner and her feet showed again. Edgar sighed. There was nothing for it. He would have to go as fast as he could and pray they met no one.
He started down the staircase.
They made it as far as the Great Hall. Edgar could see the passageway out into the courtyard. The door had not yet been barred for the night. He hurried out and started down the outer stairs.
“You!” someone shouted. “What have you got there? Halt! Stop at once!”
The voice came from behind him, but now there were stirrings from below. The space from the bottom of the stairs across to the gate seemed a thousand leagues. A man ran up the stairs and faced him.
“Thief! Put that down at once,” he commanded.
Catherine was roused by the noise and motion. Still confused as to what was happening, she tried to twist around.
“Catherine! Hold still!” Edgar yelled.
But it was too late. Her foot had connected with the man’s chest and he went tumbling backwards into the manure pile next to the keep.
Edgar kept heading down, tensed for the blow from the guard above them. But instead, he heard a cry of anger and intense pain and, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, slippered footsteps followed him.
“Here,” Samonie said, reaching for Catherine. “Swing her around, we’ll drag her between us.”
“What happened to the guard?” Edgar panted as he did as she ordered.
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