The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (6 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Hubert gestured to a pile of writing tablets on the table before him. Lists and numbers were scrawled over every clear space.
“Agnes couldn’t have picked a worse time to be married,” he said. “Especially so far away. Look at these prices! Everything needed
for a journey is being bought up by the pilgrims. And everything I sell is being condemned as frivolous luxury. I had a man today tell me I should give him a bolt of my best Scottish wool because he was off to die for my sins! I told him I’d do my own penances and he’d best look to his own sins. He can die in clothes he can afford.”
Edgar fought back the urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny. He sometimes forgot that their livelihood depended on trade. His own father had thought it shameful but Edgar had come to the conclusion that it was no worse than depending on the kindness of kings or the loyalty of peasants, and more reliable. Usually.
“Will there be a problem getting everything Agnes needs?” he asked Hubert.
“There’s always a problem.” Hubert took another draught of beer. “But I think I can manage, if she makes no more extravagant demands. At least you and Catherine made no nonsense about pearl earrings and gold-plated wedding coffers.”
“Gold-plated?” Edgar was interested at once. “Does she want a design on one? Precious stones added? I might have time before she goes.”
“No, you won’t.” Catherine’s voice came from the doorway. “You promised to finish the gold pyx for Mother Heloise. I would very much like to visit her this summer. She’s never seen the children.”
“Oh, yes.” Edgar grimaced. “It’s ready, all but the handles. Those will take a few more days. I don’t have any solder made. I’d prefer to deliver it to the nuns myself, so I see no reason why we can’t plan on a few days at the Paraclete, if they can accommodate us all.”
“I wish I could go that far with you, to pray at Alys’s grave,” Walter said softly. “It’s been some time since I was last there, although I send the nuns ten chickens every month to remember her in their prayers.”
Hubert tried to remember who Alys had been. Walter’s sister? No. Something Catherine had told him. Of course, the poor woman who had been beaten to death.
“I’m sorry, Walter, I’d forgotten.” Catherine was ashamed of herself. “How could I! I know the sisters would never forget to pray for Alys, even if you sent them nothing.”
It hurt her to see how Walter still grieved for the one woman
he had loved. Alys had been married to someone richer and of a higher rank than Walter but her husband hadn’t cared for her at all. And she had died without ever knowing that she mattered to anyone or what it felt like to be loved.
And what of Agnes? Could she be going into just such a trap? What did anyone know of this man she was going to marry?
Catherine forced down her fears and handed Walter a cloth. He wiped his eyes and gave it back.
“They say God knows best, but I expect him to do some explaining when I face him,” Walter muttered and sniffed deeply.
“I think we’re the ones who’ll have to explain ourselves,” she told him. “But I do hope a few things will be justified. I’ve listened to the masters lecture and I’ve read the fathers of the Church, but none of them have really explained to me why there is such suffering in the world. How could we have sinned so badly?”
Walter shrugged, embarrassed. His theology was much more basic than Catherine’s. God was his Lord and must be obeyed. As with an earthly lord, Walter felt that God might sometimes make a mistake. That made no difference to obedience, however. Walter owed unquestioning service to his lord, right or wrong, and expected a reward for his loyalty. Instead of booty, his prize from God was to be eternal happiness in Heaven. He only hoped that would include being with Alys again.
Catherine realized that she had taken Walter far beyond his depth. She smiled an apology and turned the conversation to the weather.
“They say the summer will be hotter than usual.” She led them into the hall where the table had been set up and a soup of egg, barley and fresh greens was being poured into bowls. There was some rye bread from last week’s baking to dip in it.
Margaret and the children were already seated. That is, Margaret was seated with Edana wriggling on her lap, and James was crawling under the table, chasing his new puppy, Dragon.
“I hope you don’t mind the children,” Edgar said. “We don’t make them eat upstairs unless Hubert is entertaining other merchants or noble guests. Oh, sorry. I don’t mean that you’re not …”
Walter laughed. “You know me better than that. I’m flattered to be allowed to join your family meal.”
“Wait until you’ve survived one,” Catherine said, as she retrieved her son with one hand and the puppy with the other and bade them be still for the blessing.
That was the last moment of quiet for the rest of the evening.
 
Agnes was alone in the room assigned to her in the convent guest house. Most women visiting Paris had relatives or friends who took them in. The guest house was normally only for the families of the nuns. It was plain: a bed, a small table, a brazier if the night were frosty, a few hooks and a cross on the wall.
Agnes had brought her own mirror.
She stared into it now, her image wavering in the uneven silver and the flame of the oil lamp.
They all hated her. She knew that. Much as she despised Catherine for accepting her Jewish ancestry, much as she was revolted by her father’s apostasy, it still bothered her that they now disliked her so much.
If only they had begged her forgiveness. She’d have given it gladly. Perhaps her poor mother could even have been brought home again. If Hubert denied his parentage and became a good Christian, Madeleine might regain her senses and everything at home could be as it had been when Agnes was a child.
Agnes suppressed such an impossible hope. She must deal with what was. They were afraid of her, too. Of what she could do to them. That made Agnes most angry. How dare they think she would betray her family! Everyone knew that was worse than any crime. The Savior had said that one must leave father and mother to follow him, but there had been nothing in the commandment about giving them over to the authorities.
Catherine wasn’t the only one who had studied religion.
The face that looked back at Agnes was distorted more by anger than by the faults in the mirror. She schooled it to an impassive expression.
It was essential that she be able to hide her feelings, her fears. No one must ever guess that her heart contradicted her words.
There was a knock at the door. Agnes went to open it, expecting to see one of the sisters.
“How did you get in here?” she gasped.
Jehan pushed his way in before she could slam the door.
“Don’t scream,” he begged. “It would cause scandal for both of us.”
“Are you planning on doing something that would make me want to scream?” Agnes said coldly.
“No, I swear,” Jehan answered. “Please, I bribed the portress, told her I was your brother. She didn’t believe me, but she took my coin.”
“Wonderful. Now she believes I’m entertaining a lover. How long do you think she’ll keep silent? What if Lord Gerhardt learns of this? He might consider that enough to break our contract.”
Agnes moved as far away from him as possible, close to the narrow window that overlooked the street. There were people walking by if she needed assistance. Jehan guessed her thoughts.
“Agnes!” Jehan fell to his knees. “You know I would never do anything to dishonor you! I only want you to give me your blessing before I leave for the Holy Land.”
“You couldn’t ask for that in public?” Agnes’s voice could have withered oak. “Why do you think I went to Vézelay? You have it already. Now go.”
“Please, my adored one!” Jehan’s posture would have astonished Catherine, who had never seen him do anything but sneer.
Agnes sighed. “Jehan, you know that I have only feelings of friendship for you and those are rapidly fading.”
“What if I gain a castle at Antioch?” Jehan pleaded. “Would you come then and be its lady?”
“No,” she answered. “I’m officially betrothed. I’ve agreed to the marriage in front of witnesses and I have no intention of breaking my vow. Please, please, Jehan, get up. Don’t I have enough grief in my life without the burden of your affection?”
The soldier stayed on his knees, head bowed.
“I wanted to heal the pain your family has caused you,” he whispered. “Whatever it is.”
Despite her resolve, Agnes pitied him. She stretched out her hand, then pulled it back. She didn’t dare give him any encouragement.
“Please go,” she said instead. “I wish you well on your pilgrimage. May you gain glory, a fine castle and a beautiful bride. I can give you nothing, not even hope.”
Jehan threw back his head. Agnes was afraid for a moment that he would howl like a wounded wolf. But he simply got to his feet, gave her a look that would haunt her for weeks and then a warning that would haunt her even longer.
“There will come a day, Agnes,” he told her, “when you’ll wish you’d been kinder to me tonight.”
Agnes barred the door behind him. She spent the rest of the night on her knees, praying for guidance.
 
Catherine was braiding her hair for bed.
“Edgar, do you think the trestle table will support Walter?” she asked. “Perhaps we should have given him a more solid place to sleep.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll hear the swearing from here,” he answered. “Hurry up. I’m cold.”
She smiled.
“You know,” she said as she took a maddeningly long time to tie her sleeping cap, “Agnes and I always slept in our shifts when we were girls. Now I wear just a cap. Doesn’t that seem strange?”
“Are you coming to bed or am I coming out to get you?” Edgar tried to look threatening. Catherine laughed.
“Since I’m cold, as well, I’ll come to you,” she said and blew out the candle.
Sometime later Catherine snuggled against her husband.
“Are you asleep, yet?” she asked.
“Mmmf,” he answered.
“Good. We never have time to talk. I’m worried about Agnes. I don’t think she has any idea of what it will be like for her in Trier. What if this Gerhardt is cruel to her?”
Edgar put out his left hand to cover her mouth. When the stump hit her face, he was jolted to wakefulness by the realization.
“
Carissima
!” he cried. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“Of course not,” she lied, hoping her lip wouldn’t swell. “I gather that you’d rather discuss this in the morning?”
“No.” He yawned. “I’m awake now. But I don’t see what we can do. Agnes has made her choice.”
“I know,” Catherine said, drawing his arm close around her. “I was just remembering how hard it was on our journey in England when I realized that I was responsible for James and Margaret, too. Without enough English, I never really understood what was happening. I felt so helpless. Germany might be the same for Agnes. And if Gerhardt isn’t kind …”
“It won’t be like England,” Edgar reminded her. “For one thing, there’s no war there, as far as I know. She’ll have maids and retainers to care for her. And Walter won’t leave her unless he’s sure she’ll be safe.”
“I suppose,” Catherine was getting sleepy now. “I just don’t want Agnes hurt. Whatever she thinks of me, she’s still my little sister. I feel responsible for her.”
“Then why don’t you pray for her.” Edgar yawned. “Silently. Now, go to sleep,
carissima.
I love you.”
He rolled over onto his side. Catherine adjusted her body to fit against his, draping her arm across his chest.
“I love you, too,” she murmured. “Good night.”
In her narrow bed at the convent Agnes lay awake through the night, all alone.
 
Gerhardt von Trier gazed down at his budding vines and across the Moselle. He had given up arguing with his family about the marriage. But they hadn’t given up on him. The constant reproaches were wearing him down. When his own son begged him for a new mother, it was difficult to deny him. Perhaps there was a way to please everyone and still keep his vow.
He was tempted to simply run away before the girl arrived. He could deed the land to Peter with Hermann as guardian until his son was of age, then let them sort it out with this French bride. But Gerhardt came from a long line of warriors. Like Agnes, he had vague connections in the distant past to some intimate of Charlemagne. It had been drilled into him early that his heritage made it impossible for him to act the coward.
He wished his parents had been goatherders.
There was too much else to do for him to have to be troubled with this, Gerhardt thought. Bishop Albero was being ridiculous in his demands on the countryside. Gerhardt had consulted with his neighbors on this. For once they were all in agreement. Even the burghers in the town, even the Jews were in accord. The bishop was taxing everyone into poverty and for what? Was he building a great cathedral? No. The one that the Emperor Constantine had built was still in use. What did he need the money for, except to gouge as much as he could from his lands? He wouldn’t even pay to have the city walls repaired. The burghers had been forced to do it themselves. And they had to pay to defend the city in Albero’s constant feud with Graf Heinrich of Luxemburg. Gerhardt wanted that resolved soon. It was unnerving to be no more than an arrow’s flight from an enemy.

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