The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (28 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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After he had gone to bed Peter had listened for the sound of footsteps. Sometime after midnight he was rewarded with a creak and a click that said the front gate had been opened. But when he went down to follow his uncle, he heard voices coming from the hall and realized that Folmar had been letting someone in.
Cautiously, he tiptoed down the stairs and stood in the shadows by the door. The voices were soft and he nearly stopped breathing in the effort to make out words. One thing he noticed immediatly was that the guest was a man.
He heard the glug as Folmar poured wine for his visitor.
“Thank you,” the man said. “It’s been a long ride from Köln, and the road was dusty. We need rain soon.”
“The grapes like a dry summer,” Folmar answered. “It was wet enough at Easter.”
Peter tried not to yawn. He’d stayed awake half the night for talk of the weather? The guest continued, his voice taking on a different tone.
“Even though the perfectus is lost we must continue with our plans,” he said. “Right now the people are attacking the Jews. With all the attention on them, and with the armies of pilgrims passing through, we’ll be able to convert many to our way. We need your help, Folmar. Now that Gerhardt is dead, the link is gone.”
“Yes, Gerhardt is dead,” Folmar answered. “And so is your messenger. What if Gerhardt died because of something your man spilled
before his throat was cut? The archbishop may know all about us and only be waiting to spring his trap.”
“Not after all this time,” the stranger said. “Your brother was a martyr, but only because of the passion of his wife. Obviously, the woman was enraged by his saintliness and decided to kill him so she could be free to marry a man who would indulge her filthy lusts.”
Peter just managed to keep from a cry of surprise. What could they mean? He wished the stranger would be more specific about the lusts.
“I wish I were as sure as you,” Folmar said.
The voices were coming closer. Peter edged farther into the dark corner.
“If your faith were perfect, you would be,” the guest told him. “This is no time for uncertainty. We are on the brink of the millennium and only those who have purified themselves will be among the saved.”
“Yes, I know.” Folmar said. “Thank you for coming and bringing the news. I’ll do what I can.”
“No, Brother,” the man said. “Do what you must.”
To Peter’s relief Uncle Folmar didn’t go upstairs immediatly after letting his guest out. Instead he went back to the hall. There was the sound of more liquid being poured. Hoping that Folmar would drink his wine downstairs, Peter hurried back up to his alcove, drawing the curtain closed behind him.
He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep after what he had heard. His nonentity of an uncle was involved in some dangerous plot. That was amazing enough. But how could his father have been part of it, as well? Something was wrong here. It was up to him to find out what. The problem went round and round in his head until, only a few moments later, he was asleep.
The first thing in the morning Peter had left his uncle and taken his worries to the only one he felt sure he could trust.
He only hoped God would tell him clearly what he should do.
A street corner in Köln. Tuesday, 7 ides of August (August 7), 1146; 27 Av, 4906. Feast of Saint Victorix, Roman soldier, then bishop of Rouen, who protected virgins and widows from the influence of heresy.
We cried out to our God, saying, “Alas Lord, God, not even fifty years have passed, as the number of a jubilee, since our blood was shed on the day of massacre in witness to the Unity of Your Revered name. Will you forsake us eternally, O Lord?”
 
—Ephraim of Bonn
Sefer Zekirah
 
 
T
he thin man in the dingy grey robe could hardly be seen for the crowd around him, but his voice pierced through to every corner of the square.
“Why do we send the best of our knights, who are the finest fruit of our orchards, all the way to the Holy Land to fight the infidel, while we allow the infidel in our midst to grow rich? The Jews laugh at our piety as they take in our coins and give us less than a tenth the value of the treasures we’re forced to pawn. Shall we continue to allow this blasphemy?”
His audience roared a negative.
“That monk does have an air of authority about him,” Lanval told his wife, Denise, as they made their way past the gathering. “Look how he’s able to draw together so many people with his words.”
Denise wasn’t so impressed. She watched Radulf for a while, noting the passion with which he exhorted the populace to forego killing Saracens long enough to first take revenge on the Jews in their midst. She wondered what they had done to him to cause such animosity.
“He has an air of madness.” She sniffed finally. “His words are nothing to me. What do I care about the conversion of the Jews to a religion already so corrupt? I shouldn’t like to be forced to undergo baptism. I only wish I hadn’t been given it the first time.”
“Denise!” Lanval looked to see if anyone had heard her. “Not here!”
“Husband, if not here, then where? When?” she answered. “We came all this way to find others like us. I grant you that it’s gratifying that there are so many with us in this city now. I’m awed by the
holiness of our
perfecti
, especially the bishop. But we still hide in cellars and meet in secret. Why don’t we have the courage of the first Christians, to proclaim our faith openly and die for it, if we must?”
That had been bothering Lanval as well, but he didn’t want to admit it. “Astolfo says that the
perfecti
will know when the time is right. We must wait until then.”
They watched the preacher for a while longer. Denise noted that not everyone was listening with rapt attention. There were those who edged around the crowd with an expression of disgust, or fear. Others stood for a while and then laughed at Radulf before returning to their business. But there were still many who nodded grim agreement to every word. What would they do when the words stopped?
Denise had been watching the faces. Anger made them ugly. Suddenly, she realized that, in the midst of them, there was one she knew.
“What’s Andreas doing there?” she asked her husband.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Perhaps trying to gauge the danger to us.”
“I don’t see how that can be, when almost no one knows we exist,” she argued. “We should be up there preaching just as this Radulf is.”
Lanval disagreed. “I think that our leaders are right,” he said. “There’s no reason to proselytize openly yet. If these people run out of Jews to torment, they may start on us. It frightens me.”
“Lanval,” Denise said. “Sometimes I doubt that your faith is complete.”
“I know, my love,” he said. “Sometimes I do, too.”
 
Hubert had found out more than he needed to know about Lord Gerhardt. Unfortunately all of it was approbation.
“I’m sorry; he was a good man,” Hezekiah said. “Always honest and respectful in his dealings with us. He didn’t play dice or visit the brothels. At least no one ever caught him at either. The people who live in his house are sickly looking, but it’s to his credit, too, that he would take them in.”
“What people?” Hubert asked. “What house?”
“Just a place near the quay,” Hezekiah told him. “The sort a man would buy who was tired of staying at inns when he came to town. There are ten or twelve people who stay there. Some may be servants; they dress very plainly. I don’t know what they are to him Not family, I’m sure. They aren’t lepers, at least. The burghers wouldn’t allow it, even if Gerhardt were holy enough to risk associating with the unclean.”
“Interesting,” Hubert said. “Can you direct me there? I’d like to pay them a visit. I wonder if this house belongs to his son now, or if he donated it to these people.”
“You shouldn’t face them alone,” Hezekiah warned. “I’ll have my friend Matthias go with you. He lives across the square from them, but he’s traveled much in France so you’ll have no trouble speaking to him. And, if anything were to happen, you’d want a citizen of Köln with you.”
“Todah robah
, old friend,” Hubert said. “Please send word to this Matthias that I would like to meet him as soon as possible. I need to return to Trier soon. I’ve been too long away and had no messages from my family.”
“Simon will be going in a few days,” Hezekiah said. “He’s waiting for a boat that can sail his English wool and hunting dogs upriver. He’d be glad of your company.”
“Simon has returned safely?” Hubert’s face lit. “Mina will be so relieved. She tried not to show it, for the children’s sake, but she’s been worried.”
Matthias sent back that he would be happy to meet with Hubert. Hezekiah confided that they’d all been curious about the lodgers in Gerhardt’s house but no one had had a reason to confront them while the lord was alive.
So, the next morning Hubert was introduced to a strapping young man with brown hair, light eyes and a chin that could chisel stone. Matthias greeted Hubert enthusiatically.
“There’s been gossip about these people for months,” he told them. “But one doesn’t like to interfere when they are doing one no harm. There are too many others that one has to guard against.”
“It’s a sad truth about our trade,” Hubert agreed. “From brigands on the road to the ones in our own guild, one must always be ready
for attack. I wouldn’t ask you to help me in this but I must know who these people are.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Matthias said. “I’ve had my suspicions, lately. There seem to be more of them staying there in the past weeks and the new ones much poorer than the first. I wonder if it isn’t one of those places that takes in runaway serfs.”
“
Stadt luft macht frei,”
Hubert said. “It’s almost the only German I know.”
“Yes, they’ll be free if they can stay here a year and a day and if they can support themselves,” Matthias said. “But we don’t need the streets filled with foreign beggars and this lot doesn’t look strong enough for hard work.”
They had reached the gate by this point and were about to knock.
“Remember,” Hubert told Matthias, “I’ve come from Rouen by boat and only just learned of Gerhardt’s death. But don’t tell them I’m a merchant. Perhaps they’ll think I have something to do with alms-giving and let slip who they are.”
“I know what to say,” Matthias told him. You don’t need to worry. Just stay close and look wealthy.”
The gate was opened by a young man. He was pale as a recluse who never saw the sun. He seemed unsure about what to do with the two well-dressed men before him.
Matthias didn’t give him time to think.
“We’ve come to see your master,” he ordered the man. “Take us to him at once.”
He entered the courtyard before the door could be shut in his face.
“Who are you?” The young man held onto the door handle. “What do you want with us?”
“To see the leader of your group, as I told you,” Matthias answered. “This gentleman has come all the way from Normandy to visit. Where is your hospitality?”
“Don’t confuse the poor lad.”
Hubert looked over the young man’s shoulder. At the doorway stood a woman of about his age, certainly not more than midfifties, wearing a simple blue
bliaut
over a white
chainse.
She wore no jewelry, but her presence was enough to convey a sense of dignity and status.
“Lady,” Matthias removed his hat and bowed. “We have come only to consult with the master of this house. Can you help us?”
The woman seemed amused. “This house has no master,” she said. “But I am mistress here. If you have a question, I’m afraid there’s no one else to answer.”
Matthias explained to Hubert.
“Is this a religious house?” he asked, confused.
“Of course,” she answered. “Lord Gerhardt established us only a few months ago. Didn’t you know that?”
Hubert tried to cover his ignorance. “I didn’t realize that it had been formally instituted. Are you followers of Robert of Arbrissel, then, that an abbess governs both men and women?”
“We have our own Rule,” the woman said severely. “May I offer you refreshment while you explain the purpose of your visit?
They accepted and were led into the house. Hubert looked around curiously. The walls were completely bare, with not even a cross or a bright cloth hanging. All the windows were open to entice a breeze through. The effect was oddly soothing, but strange.
They were given water scented with rose petals and small honey cakes. The woman who served them seemed familiar to Hubert.
“Didn’t we meet on the road outside Trier?” he asked.
Denise nearly dropped the tray. She looked first at the woman and then nodded.
“You were kind to stop your journey to help my friend,” Hubert continued. “We wanted to show our gratitude, but you had gone on.
“No thanks were necessary,” Denise answered. “No earthly reward matters to us.”
“A noble sentiment,” Matthias said. “Not enough of our so-called religious adhere to that belief in these corrupt times.”
Denise’s eyes lit. “Oh, no, there are many who feel as I do!”
“And,” the woman broke in, “we shall be happy to tell you of them, if you’d care to hear. But I’m sure you didn’t come here to convert, since you didn’t even know of our order.”
Matthias inclined his head. “I fear that I have not been given the temperament for the monastic life. However, my friend is most interested in Lord Gerhardt’s beliefs and why he founded this house for you.”
The woman raised her eyebrows as she studied Hubert.
“Lord Gerhardt is dead,” she said. “Only he could say what his beliefs were. He did express to me his intention to retire to this house when the time was right.”
“Did he feel that would be soon?” Matthias asked at Hubert’s prompting.
“Let us say that I was most surprised to learn of his marriage,” the woman told them. “I was under the impression that he was waiting only until he felt his son old enough to assume the responsibilities of his position before he retired from the world.”
Hubert wanted to know more, but the woman was not forthcoming with information, not even, he realized, her name. All he could do was thank her for her hospitality and ask if he might visit again.
“All who come in the spirit of charity are most welcome,” the woman told him as she signaled for Denise to take them to the door.
When they were back out on the street, Hubert thanked Matthias for his help.
“Did you learn what you wanted to?” Matthias asked him.
“Not really,” Hubert said. “These new religious houses are everywhere, lately. It could be just what it claims.”
“Or that woman could be using Lord Gerhardt’s piety for her own ends,” Matthias said. “The place certainly didn’t have the feel of a monastic house.”
“Yes, it did,” Hubert disagreed. “Any number of these small convents are very sparse as to furnishings.
“That’s not what I meant,” Matthias said. “The bells rang None while were were there and yet I heard no chanting of the hour. The abbess, if that was her true rank, didn’t even seem aware of the time. I know of no religious house that doesn’t observe the Hours.”

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