The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (34 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Maria noticed the monk as he entered the hall.
“That was generous of you,” she told Peter. “It will save your uncle Hermann the trouble of going up when he returns.”
“There’s hours of light left,” Peter said casually. “I think I’ll go out for a while.”
“How far?” Maria asked.
“Oh, just down to the village,” Peter told her. “I want to see if the potter has a pitcher to replace the one I dropped last week.”
It seemed reasonable, but Maria sensed an eagerness in the boy that couldn’t have been caused by a desire to atone for an accident. However, she was feeling more indulgent lately with the vision of a fine dowry from Margaret’s grandfather glittering in her mind.
“Very well,” she agreed. “If you see either of your uncles, you might remind them that they haven’t ordered the vats prepared for the new harvest, yet.”
“Yes, Aunt.” Peter ran up to his father’s old room and rummaged in a linen casket until he found the mysterious paper. Then he splashed some water on his face and swished his hands through the basin, wiping them on the back of his tunic.
Maria was consulting with the cook when he raced back through the hall.
“Back before Vespers!” she called after him.
He barely heard her.
When he reached the village, he noticed that there was some commotion over by the well. Several men were milling about, seeming both pleased and sheepish. He knew all of them but one and considered going over to see what it was all about but was afraid that if he did, he’d miss Margaret. He didn’t want her to think he’d forgotten their meeting.
 
The bells ringing for Vespers clanged on Hubert’s ears like hammer blows. How could poor Mina bear the sound? He entered the gateway to her street and cringed as people peeked out windows and then stepped back into the shadows.
The door was open and the area resonated with the prayers of lamentation. Hubert almost went away but Mina came out of the back room and saw him standing on the threshold. She held out her hands to him and, gratefully, he entered.
He took his place among the other mourners and bowed his head. After a few moments he began to sway back and forth with the others to the rhythm of the prayers.
“
Baruch atta Adonai
,” he murmured. “Forgive me, Lord of the universe. Forgive me for my ignorance. I can’t even speak to you in the language you gave us. But accept my prayer for your martyr, Simon, and for his family. Hover over them and protect them in these dark times. Let his sons, Asher and Levi, grow strong in the Torah and become filled with wisdom. Let his daughter be above rubies to her husband and may they never suffer the sorrow their mother has now.”
He closed his eyes and let the words around him flow into his heart. After some time he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up. Mina smiled down on him, despite her face streaked with tears and her rent veil.
“He would not have wanted you to bear guilt with your grief,” she said. “The Holy One, blessed be He, has given Simon an honored place in the garden, along with your mother and sisters. We should rejoice that they are now saints.”
“It’s so, Hubert,” one of the men agreed. “You can’t spend your life saying, ‘If I had done this, then that wouldn’t have happened.’ Simon doesn’t blame you, and neither do we.”
Hubert covered his face with his hands. When he dropped them, his cheeks were wet.
“Thank you, thank you all,” he said. “I came to try to give Mina some comfort and I’ve found it for myself, instead.”
He stayed with them until the stars came out. Mina lit the Sabbath candles and the
shabbas goy
appeared at the door with a torch to lead the men to their homes.
“Will you stay and eat with us?” Mina asked.
“My daughter will be worried if I don’t return soon,” he said. The room was still filled with family, ready to see that Mina wouldn’t have to bear her grief alone. They didn’t need him. Catherine, and most of all Agnes, did.
He let himself in to their lodging and was surprised to see everyone still up. Edana was dozing in her mother’s lap, but James sat by the cold hearth and watched the adults with wide eyes. Walter and
Edgar were lacing up their boots, as if preparing to go out. When he entered, everyone looked up. He saw the disappointment on their faces when they realized he was alone.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why aren’t the children in bed? Has something happened to Agnes?”
“You didn’t take Margaret with you, did you?” Edgar asked, going back to struggling with his bootlacings.
“No, I was at Mina’s. Why?” Hubert said, cold creeping into his stomach.
“Margaret went out sometime this afternoon and never came back.” Catherine’s voice broke and she hid her face in Edana’s hair.
“We’ve asked all over town,” Walter added. “Someone thought they saw her on the river road. We’re riding that way now.”
“Stay with Catherine,” Edgar said. “One of us will return if there’s news.”
Hubert nodded numbly and sagged onto a stool. None of them voiced what they were all thinking. Margaret was a dutiful child. She would never run off without telling someone. Margaret was also almost a woman and more men than Peter had noticed.
For the second time that night, Hubert began to pray.
Trier. Early in the morning of Saturday, 9 kalends September (August 24), 1146; 13 Elul, 4906. Feast of Saint Eptadus of Autun, who ransomed Arian captives of King Clovis and sent them home free and unconverted;
Parashat Ki Teze
.
 
 
Olimbrius et autre gent
qui o lui erent a torment
Quand il voient de sa char tendre
De totes pars le sanc espandre,
Lor ex et lor chieres covroient
Car esgarder ne le pooient.
 
 
When Olimbrius and the other people
Who were with him at the torture
Saw how her tender flesh
was covered all over with blood
They covered their eyes and faces,
For they could not bear to look.
 
—Wace
Life of Saint Margaret of Antioch
 
 
“
T
hey’re hiding something,” Walter told Edgar. “And they’re frightened.”
“I know.” In the light of the full moon, Edgar’s face was grey from worry and lack of sleep. “Something happened to her after she reached this village. Something bad enough that no one will tell us what it was.”
Walter didn’t answer. From the way the men’s eyes had darted when he questioned them, refusing to look at him directly, he feared the worst. There was no point in his telling Edgar this. Edgar’s mind already saw the horrors that might have happened.
“What next?” he asked instead.
“Hermann is lord of this village,” Edgar said. “If he can’t get these men to talk then I’ll ask him to have their homes taken apart, log and stone, until there’s no place left small enough to hide her.”
Walter mounted his horse and Edgar the mule and they both set out for the castle. Behind them a group of villagers gathered. As soon as Edgar and Walter were out of sight, in silent agreement, the group headed for the church. The moon cast long shadows from behind so that it seemed as if there were phantoms walking in front of them.
“Are you sure the girl was Jewish?” one man said. “What if it’s the same one?”
“I saw her with the Jews in Provins,” Andreas answered. “And again in the town here. The old man who lives with them stayed in a Jewish house when he was in Köln. These people are only pretending to be like us, the better to destroy us. You did the right thing.”
“Walter of Grancy is no Jew,” the man said, doubt creeping into his voice.
“Ah, but he’s been taken in by them, ensorcelled,” Andreas whispered. “Just the way your poor lord was by that woman. The merchant’s daughter, they say, but he’s dark and she’s fair as you are. Who ever heard of that?”
“Well, there was Johann from Pfalzel,” another spoke up. “His mother was from the south, but he was blond like his father.”
“Of course,” Andreas said. “Children are in their father’s image. Everyone knows that. But I’ll wager this one was born dark like her sister and wove spells to change her looks so that she could ensnare your lord. And the red-haired girl did the same.”
“How do you know what the sister looks like?” the man asked. “I thought you only passed through here once before.”
“Isn’t that your wife calling you?” Andreas said. “I told you, I saw them in Provins, and then again here, when I stopped on my pilgrimage to venerate the Holy Shroud.”
“Even if they are all Jews and possessed by the devil and we did well to destroy this girl,” a third man broke in, “we still have to get rid of the body before those at the castle find out. If you’re right, then they’ve all been magicked as well and won’t reward us for killing her.”
They had reached the church door by now. The bar was still in place.
“We’ll throw her in the river,” Andreas told them. “If she’s ever found, no one will know where she went in. Now, hurry, before those men bring down help.”
The bar was lifted and the men crowded into the little church. One took out his flint and struck it until the lamp by the door was lit. They all looked toward the altar where they had left the girl arranged like an offering that afternoon.
It was empty.
All but Andreas crossed themselves.
“Who’s been in here? Tell me,” he demanded.
There was a mumbled argument. Then one man spoke for them all.
“None of us,” he said. “We all went back to finish the drinks we were in the middle of when you pointed her out to us.”
Andreas ignored the reproach. “One of you came back and removed the body.”
“No, then we all went back home to wash off the smell of blood,” the man insisted.
“And the shame,” a voice murmured.
“Someone came back for her,” Andreas insisted. “You heard that the Jews will pay well to have the bodies of their baptized dead returned so they can wash off the sacrament.”
“They will?” the argumentative man said. “I didn’t know that.”
“Andreas, no one among us wanted anything more to do with this,” the spokesman said. “We all had chores to finish. No one was about until those men came and called us from our families to help in their search.”
“I suppose Satan flew by to claim his own,” Andreas sneered.
There was some agreement to this, but the naysayer shook his head firmly.
“Everyone knows the devil can’t enter a church.”
“Are you sure?” someone asked. “I thought he just couldn’t stay for the elevation of the host.”
“That’s demons,” the other corrected him. “Satan is so wicked that the holiness inside the building would break him into slivers.”
Andreas lost patience.
“Look, you left the body here and barred the door,” he said. “It’s not here now, so someone came and got it. We have to find it.”
“Why?” came a voice. Andreas could tell whose.
“Because …” Then he thought. Why indeed? No one in the village would confess if there were punishment in the offing and everyone would if there were ransom money. The girl’s body could stay wherever they had hidden it for now. After all, he had bigger things to do.
“Very well,” he said. “Someone has taken care of the problem for us. Now, go home. You’ve done a good day’s work, ridding the world of another one of them.”
They dispersed quickly but, as they went, Andreas caught one querulous comment.
“I thought we were only going to baptize her. What was the point of killing her, too?”
Andreas shook his head. He had thought this preaching would
be profitable work and less dangerous than the company of heretics, but if these and the men in Köln were the kind of people he had to rely on, it might be safer to go back to slitting throats on dark pathways.
 
To Agnes, it seemed forever before the bells tolled for Compline and the castle settled into silence. All evening she had been sure that someone would come and find the door unlocked. Then, as dusk came, it was hard not to leave too soon and run the risk of being discovered. She had schooled herself to calmness for so long that it wasn’t until there was a chance of freedom that she realized how desperately she wanted it.
She kept herself awake during the dark hours by trying to think where she would go. Not to her family. That’s the first place they would look. Not to Jehan, that would be the second place. Also, she told herself, if she appeared and begged him to ride off with her, she would probably have to marry him and that was too high a price for her liberty.
In the end, she decided to wrap up the bread, cheese and fruit left in her room and head south, following the river until she heard French again. After that, she would have to trust to the Virgin and the saints to protect her.
The door creaked as she pulled it open. Agnes was sure there would be a burst of activity as everyone leaped out to capture her.
There was only the sound of a dog far across the fields, howling at the moon.
The passageway was lit by a single torch left at the top of the staircase. Slowly she felt her way down the steps and into the main hall. Here the moonlight was bright enough to make her way around the sleeping forms of the attendants. She knew the main gate would be shut and barred but she also remembered a small door at the back that led into an herb garden and from there it was only necessary to find a break in the withy fence. Then she would be safe from discovery amidst the burgeoning vines.
She left the hall and reached the anteroom where buckets and drying racks were kept. The little door was only latched. She reached out to open it.
At that moment there came a clamor at the gate that nearly
caused her to faint. Someone was pounding and calling, demanding entrance. Now the noises she had dreaded were echoing throughout the castle. For a moment, she was tempted to open the door and run, but she would be seen in the moonlight from any window. Instead, she crawled beneath the drying racks that were laden with herbs, and hid in a corner. If only no one thought to check on her in her room, she might still get away when the commotion was over.
 
At the gate Edgar and Walter waited impatiently. At last they heard a shutter open and a voice called down.
“Saint Lazarus’s stinking corpse! What do you want at this hour?”
“It’s Walter of Grancy, and I want to be let in and then I want you to fetch your master. It’s urgent.”
The shutter slapped shut.
“Do you think he’ll get Hermann?” Edgar asked.
“We’ve woken the whole castle,” Walter said. “I imagine Hermann will be down at once. I would be in his place.”
After a few moments, the gate was lifted and Walter and Edgar rode into the courtyard. Hermann was standing at the door to the keep in his bare feet, wearing a short tunic that he had thrown on but not taken time to belt.
“Walter!” he yelled. “Are you drunk? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
Walter and Edgar dismounted and hurried to him.
“I want to see your nephew, Peter,” Edgar said, his face grim.
“Peter? Why?”
Walter edged between Hermann and Edgar. His hand was heavy on Edgar’s shoulder.
“The Lady Margaret is missing,” he explained. “She was last seen coming in this direction.”
“She isn’t here,” Hermann said. “We haven’t seen her.”
“Perhaps you haven’t,” Walter said. “But we know how taken the boy is with her. It’s not like Margaret to vanish. She’s a shy creature who wouldn’t go off alone without telling anyone unless she thought she wouldn’t be alone for long. Peter was our first guess.”
Hermann closed his eyes. “Yes, it’s just the sort of stupid thing they would do at that age. Ulrich! Go see if Lord Peter is in his bed.
If he is, then bring … no, he is the master here, ask him to come down.”
He turned back to Walter and Edgar.
“I remember that Peter did go out for some time this afternoon,” he said. “And he was unusually rude during dinner. I thought that it was only the strain of his new position in the household.”
Walter translated for Edgar.
The soldier soon appeared followed by Peter wrapped in a sheet and with his hair tousled by sleep.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did Margaret send you?”
Walter explained. Halfway through Peter let out a groan.
“It’s my fault!” he said. “I asked her to meet me in the village. She didn’t come and I thought she’d decided not to see me. I should have asked someone. I should have looked for her! Guards! I want every man on this estate out with torches hunting for her at once!”
The soldier glanced at Hermann but before he could answer Peter shouted at him.
“Don’t look to my uncle! I am master here! Gather the men to start the search.”
The man left at once.
Peter stood in the door way, stunned at the response to his assumption of authority. Then his lower lip began to tremble.
“They will find her, won’t they, Uncle?” he asked.
“Of course,” Hermann answered. He was glad that the boy hadn’t asked if they would find her alive.
At that moment Maria and Folmar arrived, rumpled but dressed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Maria said.
“Margaret is lost,” Peter told her. He was still trying to keep back tears.
The whole story had to be explained again.
Folmar listened with growing concern. “Peter, was there a stranger among the villagers when you were there this afternoon?”
“Yes, a tall, lean man, with a face like gnarled wood,” Peter answered. “I watched them a long time while I was waiting. He seemed to be the center of the conversations.”
“What is it?” Edgar asked.
“I’m not sure,” Walter answered. “Peter says there was someone in the village today, a stranger.”

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