The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (13 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Walter stood and bowed.
“I’m most happy to be here,” he said. “Unfortunately, she hasn’t been taught the language, but she has been studying since the betrothal was signed and I’m sure she’ll soon be able to speak with you. One of the maids she brought is fluent in both French and German and can be trusted to keep the meaning whole.”
“Where is she at the moment?” Maria asked.
Walter explained. “She would be most happy if Lord Gerhardt himself came to welcome her. Tomorrow perhaps?”
He caught the look the three exchanged. What was happening here? This was all wrong. If the wedding were set for Ascension Sunday, then they should have known she’d arrive by now. It was barely two weeks away. Walter vowed that he would not leave Agnes among them until he knew she would be safe.
Hermann answered for he three of them. “Of course. We’ll all come to greet her. Her coming has been greatly anticipated. My sister has been making preparations since quinquegesima.”
Walter wondered if Gerhardt had been told of them.
“You will remain with us for the night?” Maria asked.
“No, I thank you, but I must return before dark to report to Lady Agnes,” he answered. “She has had a long journey and is understandably curious about her new family.”
“Of course. Please tell her that we are eager to meet her and to give her every comfort and honor,” Maria told him. Hermann and Folmar nodded agreement.
“We have a small house in the city,” Hermann said. “You’re welcome to stay there. We’ll arrive by Sext tomorrow to visit our new sister and to entertain her and her party in the evening. I suppose it would be more appropriate if she stayed with the nuns until the wedding, but we have prepared a room for her and her maids if she prefers.”
“I’ll ask her,” Walter promised.
He waited some time more for his host to reappear but there was no sign of Gerhardt, although Ulrich vanished at one point, presumably to hunt for him. Finally, Walter took his leave. The others walked him to the gate. As he left he thought he saw a man in grimy leather and a straw hat emerge from one of the outbuildings.
“I don’t like it,” Walter muttered to himself as he rode away. “It seems that poor Agnes may have been given to a lunatic.”
The convent of the Paraclete. Monday, 2 nones May (May 6), 1146; 22 Iyyar, 4906. The feast of Saint John at the Latin Gate.
 
 
Magisterium habetis in matre quod omnia vobis sufficere … que
non solum Latine, verum eciam tam Ebraice quam Grece
non expers litterature …
 
 
You have in your mother all the master that you need, who is not only learned in Latin, but also Hebrew and Greek.
 
—Peter Abelard
Letter Nine
To the nuns of the Paraclete
 
 
A
bbess Heloise was in her room writing. She had intended to work on her weekly talk to the nuns, this one an explication of a particularly obscure phrase in Isaiah. Instead she found herself opening again the casket containing the letters from her once-husband, Peter Abelard, along with copies of her replies. Peter was dead now. They had sent his body home to her, acknowledging that no one had more right to it. The letters were all she had left, all that proved that his love for her hadn’t died when he became a monk. Over and over she read them, even when she vowed not to, for the pain of loss was as great as the joy of memory and both fought to control her soul.
She was so deep in the past that it was some time before she was aware of the commotion outside her door. Several people were talking at once and at least one voice was male. Alarmed, Heloise rose from her stool and went to see what was happening. There was a group over by the guest house. When they saw her, a woman broke from the others and started running toward her.
“Catherine!” Heloise cried.
Catherine hugged her before remembering her manners. Abashed, she knelt for a blessing.
“I wish you a thousand,” Heloise said. “From the look of it, you have already been much blessed.”
She nodded toward the guest house, where Edgar and Hubert sat on a bench by the door. The nuns were bringing them water to wash with. But it was obvious to Heloise that they were prompted by more than the rules of hospitality. She could see what the real attraction was.
“Want up!” Edana only had to ask once. There were forty pairs of arms willing to hold her.
“Oh, Mother.” Catherine laughed. “I mustn’t let them give Edana everything she wants. She’s spoiled enough already! What she needs is a dose of Sister Bertrada’s discipline.”
“Sister Bertrada uses her cane more for support than to ferule the novices these days,” Heloise said. “You’ve been away a long time.”
Catherine bent her head. “I’m sorry, Mother. We were in Spain when the news came of Master Abelard’s death and then my confinement with James was strict. I had lost so many before him. But I should have come after Edana was born. I’ve been very remiss. Forgive me.”
“Nonsense,” Heloise told her. “I wasn’t chastising you, simply stating a fact. You are all more than welcome any time.”
“Thank you, Mother, I know that.” Catherine paused. “It’s partly why I’ve come. But we can discuss that later. I want you to meet the children. They aren’t perfect but they’re ours and I’m terribly attached to them.”
“As it should be.” Heloise walked with her to the guest house. “It seems strange to me now that I could have left my poor Astrolabe for his aunt to raise. How young I was then! Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed with him in Le Pallet and never returned to Paris.”
She dismissed the thought as soon as it had been spoken. “Our Lord knew best, of course,” she added. “This was where He wanted me to be all along.”
“Do you think, Mother, that I was never meant to take the veil?” Catherine asked.
“The mind of God isn’t open to me, Catherine.” Heloise smiled. “But I suspect that you too have followed His design.
“Now,” she added in a much different voice, “this boy, with his mother’s curls and his father’s eyes, would you be James, sir?”
James stared up at her, transfixed by her enormous brown eyes. For the first time in his young life, he was speechless. Edgar came to his rescue.
“James has come specifically to present you and the sisters with a gift, haven’t you?”
James nodded. Edgar handed him the box. He held it up.
“Father made this for you,” he said with some prompting. “It’s a pyx and I helped.”
Heloise opened the box and admired the craftsmanship, all the more because Edgar had accomplished it with only one hand.
“When I begin to lament the work to be done here and feel I can never finish, I shall look at this and remember what can be done with faith and perseverance,” she told him.
“Not to mention the patience of those around the artisan,” Hubert added. “To endure his swearing while he worked.”
Edgar joined the laughter. He wasn’t comfortable with praise or with notice of his missing hand. Enough that he had to live with it.
They were given dinner in the guest house, with Abbess Heloise and several of the other nuns present. Sister Melisande, the infirmarian who had taught Catherine about medicine, was called halfway through the meal to attend to Sister Bertrada.
“Is she very ill?” Catherine asked. Bertrada had been the bane of her life, but now that she was free of the nun’s sharp tongue and hard cane, she was more charitable.
“Bertrada is dying,” Heloise said simply. “She’s been failing for some time. The pain in her joints is extreme, so that every step is agony for her. But she still attends the singing of the Office. We’ve made a room for her next to the chapel so she won’t have far to go, but each day it’s harder and now she has no appetite. I don’t think it will be long before she’s released from her bodily prison at last. If you can bear it, Catherine, I think she’d like to see you.”
“Me?” Catherine was astonished. “But I was such a disappointment to her.”
“Why ever do you think that?” Heloise said. “She told me many a time that you were the brightest, clumsiest girl she’d ever taught and that one day you would fly from us because our walls were too narrow for your spirit.”
“Not my spirit, Mother,” Catherine said sadly. “The soul feels neither walls nor bars. It was my perverse will that sent me back into the world. Is it wrong to have found such happiness there?”
“I would reassure you,
ma douz
.” Heloise patted her cheek. “But
I truly don’t know. I can only believe, as I said before, that we are following the path we were meant to be on.”
“Well, I do wish I could see a little farther down it.” Catherine sighed. “Every year, the way seems much more twisting, with side roads that become deer trails that lead nowhere. And now, I’m responsible for so much more than my own life.”
“So am I, Catherine.” Heloise echoed her sigh. “It makes me wonder if hermits are so much holy as selfish. Some days a solitary hut in the woods seems like Heaven.”
There had been a time when Catherine would have agreed with her wholeheartedly. But her life was so entwined with those of her family that to be pulled from them now would cause her to shrivel and die.
She let her mind wander to Agnes, facing a new country as a stranger with no one tied to her at all. It would have been proper for Catherine to accompany her sister, despite the rift between them. Catherine felt a stab of guilt. With all her heart she wished Agnes well.
 
Agnes wasn’t thinking of Catherine at all. Now that the moment had come to meet her betrothed, she was terrified.
“Do you think this is elegant enough?” she asked her maids. “They’re wearing the sleeves longer in Paris, but I haven’t seen anyone in
bliauts
of this cut in Trier. What about the jewelry? I don’t want Gerhardt to think I came to him in poverty but I don’t want to appear too haughty, either.”
“I think you should dazzle him with everything you can,” Laudine advised. “The diadem of emeralds and gold with the pearl drop in the center of your forehead is splendid and emphasizes your eyes. Do you want some kohl, as well, to darken the lids?”
Agnes dithered about it all day but when Walter and Hermann came to escort her over, she had manufactured an air of calm. The gasp fromWalter when he saw her told her she had done well.
“My lady Agnes.” He bowed. “May I present Hermann of Haupt-mergen, the brother of Lord Gerhardt.”
Hermann bowed also, and Agnes extended her hand.
“
Ich grüeze iuch,
” she said carefully. “I am happy to be here at last and hope that we may become friends as well as relations.” She looked at Walter, who translated the rest.
“As I told you, she is eager to learn German,” he added to Hermann, “but has had little time to do so before the journey.”
“I’m sure she will have no trouble. Of course, we will all be delighted to help her.” Hermann offered his arm and led Agnes into the spring twilight.
She could feel the eyes on her as she crossed the open marketplace to Gerhardt’s town house. She was too nervous about tripping on the cobblestones to look around. Her slippers were soft leather and silk and not intended for outdoor use. She tried to concentrate on the discomfort instead of the way her heart was pounding in her throat.
Walter was amazed at how composed she was. He would much rather face an army of Saracens than enter into marriage with a stranger. He hoped Agnes would allow him to remain until King Louis called him back to join the expedition. After the reception he had received that afternoon, he suspected that she might need a friend as well as a translator.
Walking at her left side, Hermann was enchanted by his choice. Agnes’s grandfather’s emissary had not lied about her beauty or poise, and her voice was sweet and low as a maiden’s should be. How could Gerhardt resist her?
The page opened the doors to the hall where Gerhardt waited, surrounded by fifty friends and relatives all eager to catch his expression on first sight of his bride. One of them watched with greater intensity than the others. What would happen if Gerhardt actually went through with the wedding? Could he be so faithless? And, if he were, then should he be allowed to live?
The object of all this attention was outwardly as still and composed as Agnes pretended to be. But Gerhardt’s gut was in knots and his thoughts a jumble of terrors. He tried to take a breath as the door opened but it became a gasp that stuck in his throat so that his first view of Agnes was through a spasm of coughing.
“Aaah!” The assembly exhaled together.
Agnes kept her eyes lowered modestly. She bit her lips to keep them from trembling. What if he were ugly? What if he were cruel?
The procession stopped. She could delay no longer. Agnes faced her betrothed.
She saw a man of about thirty, tall and blond, with light eyes,
the sort that changed color according to his moods. He was handsome in her eyes and his expresion was kind, if sad.
Agnes smiled a genuine smile, not just with her lips, but her whole being.
Gerhardt smiled back before he could stop himself.
What have you sent me, Lord?
he thought in alarm.
What sort of test is this for me to overcome? She’s lovely, all that they told me. How can I keep my oath with her beside me in my bed?
He didn’t hear the introductions. He was aware of nothing but her face until Maria nudged him. There was a ribald chuckle from someone.
“Oh, yes, my sister, Maria,” Gerhardt presented her. “And my son, Peter.”
Peter bowed to Agnes and offered his arm.
“Father said I might serve you at dinner tonight,” he announced. “Will you permit it?”
Walter repeated his words in French.
Agnes nodded. “I would be honored,” she said.
Forty-nine guests found their places at the tables. One slipped out unnoticed. This French woman was a danger to them all, he feared, but mostly to Lord Gerhardt. She had to be removed before she could lead him to destruction.
 
Catherine found it easy to slip again into the pattern of life at the Paraclete. But it was more difficult to explain to Mother Heloise what she wanted.
“A haven, Mother,” Catherine said nervously. “I’m afraid for the safety of my family. For the past year I’ve been feeling that people in Paris were changing, becoming harder, more suspicious. Ugly, anonymous accusations forced Father to break off his partnership of twenty-five years with the Jew Eliazar. But it isn’t just directed at him. There’s talk of heresy; apostasy everywhere. The parvis of the church always seems to have at least one person shouting the need for repentance and reform at the top of his voice. And Edgar …” she faltered.
“Edgar hasn’t been accused of heresy, surely!” Heloise exclaimed.
“Not exactly.” Catherine avoided looking into Heloise’s eyes. “It’s his hand. People see it missing and always assume that he did
something terrible and was punished for it. Mother, he was trying to save a life!”

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