Read The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Online

Authors: Sharan Newman

The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (4 page)

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Edgar came to his senses again quickly with the first person who bumped against him and then noticed his missing hand. The sneers of strangers was something he would never become used to. They all assumed that he was a thief who had been justly punished.
“Out of the way, you stinking
mesfetor!
” The new soldier of Christ shoved Edgar aside. “Clear a path for honest men.”
“
Mesel
!” Edgar shoved back. “Who do you think you are?”
The man spun around to retort and Edgar realized that he was in the middle of a well-armed circle of people who had just been exhorted strongly to kill the infidel. Perhaps he should have simply stood aside.
“What did you steal?” a woman jeered. “The church plate? Why couldn’t you work like the rest of us?”
Edgar ignored her. The circle closed in. He swung at the first man that came for him. Someone picked up a rock.
“Hold! Hold there!” The voice came from above. It was that of someone used to being obeyed. “What’s this? Attacking fellow Christians? Shame on you all!”
For a moment it crossed everyone’s mind that the voice came from Heaven. There was a sigh of relief as they realized it was a man on a black war horse. This did not slow their obedience. Men on horseback wielded justice that was more sure and certain than divine retribution.
As the crowd fell away, Edgar looked up at his rescuer. The sun in his eyes made it hard to make out his features. Then the man leaned down, offering him a hand up.
“Walter of Grancy!” Edgar exclaimed in delight. “Saint Alban’s persecuted priest! I am glad to see you!”
Walter, as tall as Edgar and twice as thick, easily lifted his friend up behind him on the horse. Edgar noticed that Walter, too, wore a cross.
“I’m going for the soul of my Alys,” Walter said. “If I couldn’t save her life, at least I can help make her place in Heaven more secure.”
“A noble reason,” Edgar said warmly. He and Catherine had helped Walter find the one who had killed Alys six years before and they had become friends.
“Don’t give me my palm and crown, yet.” Walter laughed. “I’ll enjoy bashing a few Saracen heads. I’ll need to, just to keep me in a charitable mood toward my fellow pilgrims, especially that one.”
He indicated another mounted man not far away. Edgar’s jaw dropped.
“Raynald of Tonnerre!” he gasped. “I can’t believe it. But he’s a murderer!”
Walter shrugged. “All the more reason to go to the Holy Land. How else could anyone expiate such a crime?”
Edgar could think of a number of ways, including the one his own father was enduring now, that of becoming a lay brother and working at the most menial tasks under the stern eyes of an English abbot. In comparison, dying in battle was infinitely preferable.
“Still,” he said aloud. “I imagine that it’s the only way that would be acceptable to Raynald and his father. Is Count William going as well?”
“No, just both his sons,” Walter told him. “Now, how did you come to be at the center of a mob of angry peasants?”
Edgar explained, now ashamed of his momentary ardor. “Catherine, who didn’t you … ?” he finished, then looked around. “Catherine! Walter, I thought she was right behind me. Saint Ethelwold’s mighty organ! I’ve lost her. How could I be such an idiot?”
“I’m sure she’ll tell you.” Walter laughed. “Well, where was she when you last saw her? As I remember, we need only look for a spot where everyone seems to be tripping over something.”
“Yes, that would be Catherine,” Edgar said, not laughing. “But in this chaos how can we tell? Oh,
leoffest,
I hope your name saint is watching out for you.”
 
Catherine had actually got well out of the pathway for once. However, she was soon joined by a collection of beggars who saw that she had more food than she needed.
“Please, kind lady,” a woman pleaded. “For Christ’s pity, help me feed my child.”
Catherine gave her half the cheese.
“I’ve had nothing since Thursday.” A man whose body was covered with open sores edged closer. “And no one will give me a place to rest.”
Catherine tossed her bread to him and prayed he would go away.
Another woman only stared at her with eyes much too large for her thin face. Beneath her rags, Catherine saw that she was close to the end of her pregnancy, if she survived that long. She handed over the remainder of the cheese and her linen scarf.
That left only one man, who had seated himself next to her. He was as thin as the others and pale as a prisoner.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. “I have no more food to give. I thought that here, of all places, there would be alms enough.”
“There are never alms enough, good lady,” the man looked at her with compassion.
There was something about him that made Catherine embarrassed that she had offered him charity. His clothes were as ragged as any of the poor but he had an air of calm, even contentment, that she had rarely seen in any human outside of the cloister.
“But we give so much,” she said. “One would think that there should be no one hungry, except when all are.”
“When the vessels of the Mass are bedecked in gold and jewels and women wear
bliaux
of silk trimmed with fur, then the poor will be with us,” he said sadly. “But it need not be so.”
Catherine looked guiltily at her clothes, then remembered that she was wearing wool and linen. But the man saw her expression and smiled.
She looked at him suspiciously. “Are you a follower of Arnold of Brescia or a Patarene?” she asked. “Would you have all people hold property in common, with no kings or lords?”
“Perhaps I’m nothing more than a monk who believes we should all live as monks.” He was laughing at her, she could tell, although his face remained kind.
“If you’re a monk, then why have you no tonsure?” she countered. “And, if we were all cloistered and celibate it would be but a short time before there was no one left on earth. Then where would we be?”
“In heaven, my lady,” he stood. “Of course. May the Lord be with you.”
“And with you,” she responded automatically.
After he had gone, she sat for some time, going over the conversation in her mind.
“
He’s a heretic,
” one side assured her.
“
But he said nothing counter to the Faith
,” Catherine answered.
“
Saying that all men should live as monks? That property should belong to everyone? That’s not heresy?
” The voices were shocked.
“
Many of the fathers of the Church said the same
,” Catherine reasoned.
“Catherine! Thank God!”
Catherine looked up with a start. Edgar jumped down and took her in his arms.
“I was so worried,” he said, holding her tightly. “I thought you’d been crushed. Instead I find you sitting alone, talking to yourself.”
“Well, you abandoned me in the crowd,” she explained. “Do you want me to talk to strangers? Where did you go?” She looked up then and recognized the man on the horse. “Walter! How wonderful to see you again. Will you dine with us tonight?”
Walter grinned and nodded.
Edgar stepped back but kept hold of Catherine’s hand.
“You are all right, aren’t you?” he asked. “I’m so sorry. I should have watched out for you.”
Catherine brushed his cheek with her hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “I was only afraid for you.”
He pulled her close again. “The worst thing that could happen to me,” he said, “would be losing you.”
Above them, Walter turned his face away. He knew exactly what Edgar meant.
In the moment Catherine forgot all about the man who was not a beggar.
 
Their room at the inn was only a curtain across one end of a loft that didn’t deaden the noise from below in the least. However, it was private. When Catherine and Edgar went up they found that Solomon had returned some time before, bringing Astrolabe, who had not procured a bed with the other clerics. They were playing some sort of clapping game with the children that even Willa, the young servant who took care of the little ones, was enjoying.
Catherine scooped up her baby daughter. She had been away from her all day and that was too long, although she had to admit that the freedom weaning had given her was nice.
“Edana,
ma douce
, have you been good today?”
Edana giggled something unintelligible. Catherine looked to James for a translation.
“She says she was very good, Mama,” James told her, “but that’s not true. She chewed on the soldiers Papa made for me. They’re all wet and bitten now.”
“Edana!” Catherine wasn’t as upset as her son would have liked. “Well, she is getting her back teeth. I should have left a strip of leather for her. Papa will fix the soldiers or make you more. You know that, James.”
The little boy pouted but didn’t complain any more.
Solomon sat next to Margaret, who leaned on his shoulder. She was his special pet and they were devoted to each other. Catherine knew that her cousin had promised Margaret’s mother, Adalisa, to care for the child always and the affection he had for her made Catherine sure he would keep that vow. Edgar assumed that it was because Solomon hadn’t been able to save Adalisa from her attackers, but Catherine always wondered if there wasn’t more to it. She also wondered what Solomon would do in a few years, when it was time for Margaret to marry.
She sat on the blankets and studied them all. This disparate collection of people was the whole world to her. Despite everything, she couldn’t understand how Agnes could leave her family and home for a strange land. Catherine couldn’t imagine even a day away from those she loved.
There were rumors that King Louis’s mother was going with him, as well as his wife. Perhaps Queen Adelhaide could understand Catherine’s feelings, even if Louis was not only all grown up but an anointed ruler. If Queen Eleanor went on the expedition, as well, would she take her daughter, Marie? After so many barren years, how could she leave her only child behind?
Then again, how could she take that child into such danger?
Catherine smoothed Edana’s dark curls. Despite the uproar below them, the child was soon fast asleep. Catherine kissed her.
Why were there never any clear answers any more? Everything had been so simple once and she had been as certain as that strange man in the field this afternoon. Now every decision came with a
doubt. She prayed all the time, but if the saints were guiding her steps, they were being deeply obscure about it.
 
At another inn, Agnes ate in a private room with the men from Blois who had taken the cross and the women who had come to support them. Jehan was attentive as usual.
“Your grandfather sent word with his men that we are to accompany you back to Paris and then to Trier,” he told her. “We have close to a year before the expedition can leave. I’m at your service until then.”
“Grandfather is most generous to take such care of me,” Agnes said.
She ate in silence until Jehan spoke again.
“Did you know your sister and that crippled husband of hers are here?” he asked.
Agnes dropped her spoon into the soup.
“Whatever for?” she asked. “Are they following me?”
Jehan shrugged. “I have no idea. Perhaps they’re going to Jerusalem to ask God to give that English
mesel
a new hand.”
Agnes retrieved her spoon and tried to concentrate on her dinner. Seeing Edgar’s handless arm had been a shock to her. That sort of thing happened to warriors and thieves. In some part she felt it was a just punishment for making Catherine change her mind about staying in the convent. He had stolen her from God and also deprived the family of all the prayers she would have said for them. Catherine’s return to the world had driven their mother mad. It had uncovered all the secrets of their father’s past that should have stayed buried.
It was all Edgar’s fault.
And yet, she remembered how Catherine had defended him, how he had stood always close enough to her to touch, if she needed him. Agnes found she couldn’t swallow the thick soup because of the lump in her throat. In her heart, she wanted to love and be loved like that.
And all she had was Jehan.
 
At the edge of the field, now empty but for a few cooking fires and the detritus of thousands, sat a group of people huddled near their
small fire. They chewed bravely on dry bread that they had soaked in beer until it was almost edible. Among them was the man who had spoken to Catherine that afternoon.
“Lanval.” His wife’s voice quavered with worry. “You weren’t out preaching today, were you? I thought we agreed only to approach those who seemed open to our belief and speak with them privately.”
BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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