Read To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Online

Authors: Sharan Newman

To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (35 page)

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Muttering that the heart of Paris was hardly a desert, Baudwin followed after Master Durand, wondering what damning evidence could possible be found in so short a time. Once again, he was thankful that thinking wasn’t required of him, only obedience.
 
Samonie returned the next morning, summoned by Martin, who gave a garbled account of what had happened the previous night. It was intriguing enough to have her set off at once with him for home.
Their way was hampered by the number of Rogation processions in the streets. They were larger this year because of all the pilgrims and poor, who followed the priests and monks from church to church, begging God to save their bodies as well as their souls.
Samonie fell in behind one that was crossing the bridge, adding her prayer for Willa’s recovery. A night listening to her daughter’s coughing had only increased her worry.
The first thing she saw when she entered the house was Godfrey, sitting in her kitchen, dipping bread in a bowl of gruel.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped.
He looked at her in anger, gruel dripping down his chin.
“Where were you last night?” he countered. “I waited in the garden until all hell broke loose.”
“And then invited yourself to breakfast?” Samonie came in and snatched the bowl from under his fingers. “Martin told me that there
were trespassers in the garden and that they’d been let into the house. How could you do that after all I’ve done for you?”
“I had no choice!” Godfrey reached for the bowl again. “If you’d been there, then Master Bertulf and those men from the Temple would have just found us thumping each other and gone quietly away. Instead …”
“What, you brought friends to watch us?” Samonie was furious. “My family has been harrassed and threatened because of you and your ‘Master Bertulf.’ How dare you sit there eating their food?”
“Mother, Mistress Catherine wants to see you,” Martin tugged at her arm.
“I’ll not protect you anymore, Godfrey,” Samonie said as she went out.
“You won’t have to,” Godfrey said sadly. “There’s nothing left to protect.”
 
The air was full of voices as Samonie came into the hall. Catherine and Edgar were there, along with Godfrey’s friend, Bertulf. But the rest of the street seemed to have congregated there, as well. What had happened?
“First the body, then a fire, then thieves and all sorts of commotion,” Archer was complaining to Edgar. “You scandalize the whole community!”
“And someone dumped a ladder over my wall last night,” Pagan, the grain merchant added. “It smashed my vegetable plants!”
At that Edgar raised his eyebrows at Catherine. “Ghosts don’t need ladders,” he mouthed at her.
“What’s that?” Pagan said. “Are you going to pay for the damage or not?”
“Of course, Pagan.” Edgar smiled at him. “And you may keep the ladder, as well. Now, Archer, I understand your concern, but I think we’ve sorted out the problem.”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Archer answered. “I’m not impressed with your station,
Lord
Edgar. You gave up any right to respect when you left your own land.”
“This is my own land,” Edgar said, indicating the house around them.
Catherine looked up quickly. His voice was soft. She needed to intervene before Archer felt the full fury of Edgar’s anger.
“Well it’s not your private kingdom, my lord,” Archer said. “What you do affects all of us, and I’m not having my business soured or my family threatened because of your doings. Old Hubert wouldn’t have stood for it, either.”
Edgar nodded very slowly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have,” he said. “And neither shall I.”
Before Archer knew what was happening, Edgar had spun him around and was propelling him toward the door.
“Edgar, no!” Catherine and Archer’s wife, Richilde, came from opposite sides of the room to stop Edgar from throwing the miller into the street. Pagan and Giselbert reached him first. One man grabbed Edgar, the other caught Archer before he fell.
“Edgar, don’t let passion rule you,” Pagan said. “Archer is an ass, but he’s right this time. We all need each other to survive.”
Giselbert kept a tight grip on Archer as he feigned dusting him off. “What are you thinking of?” he chastised the miller. “Insulting a man in his own house! He may have been born to the nobility, but he’s trying to be one of us. Do you want him to believe we’re all as arrogant and selfish as they are?”
“He laid hands on me,” Archer protested.
“One hand, Archer,” Giselbert pointed out. “Do you want people to know that you picked a fight with a maimed man, and lost?”
This calmed Archer more quickly than any appeal to reason.
Pagan and Catherine had managed to soothe Edgar’s anger, as well.
“Edgar,” Catherine said sadly, “you’re acting just like your father.”
That comment had an instantaneous effect. Edgar settled down at once. With great effort, he then went over to Archer and held out his hand.
“I ask your pardon,” he said. “Your fears are understandable. I can only assure you that all these disturbances don’t involve anyone else. Your family is in no danger from these men.”
He indicated Bertulf and Godfrey.
“There has been an unfortunate occurrence here,” he continued. “But I believe that it will soon be resolved.”
“I should hope so,” Archer said grumpily. But he shook Edgar’s hand.
Behind them, Bertulf had been observing Archer’s behavior, first with amusement and then with a growing horror. Slowly, he rose, pointing a finger at Archer.
“That’s the one!” he cried. “I knew I could mark his voice if I heard it again! That’s the man who killed Lord Osto!”
Archer gaped at him. “What? Killed? What are you talking about? Who’s Lord Osto?”
“Take him!” Bertulf ordered. “Don’t let him escape. I heard them that night. This man fought with my lord in the tavern, and then came back and drove a spear through his back when the poor man went out to relieve himself.”
Archer’s jaw dropped. “That’s nonsense! How can you …”
He turned on Edgar. “This is your doing, isn’t it? You paid this man to accuse me!”
“Archer, I swear,” Edgar said. “I know nothing about this. But it seems that you do.”
“Pagan, Giselbert! Stand up for me!” Archer pled. “How can you stand silent? You know I never killed anyone.”
“Of course he didn’t.” Richilde went to stand beside her husband. “This man is a foreigner and a stranger. How can anyone take his accusation seriously?”
Giselbert joined her. “I’ll stand with you, old friend. Archer has a terrible temper, we all know. But if he struck a man, it would be in anger and to his face, not when his
brais
were down and his tunic up.”
“How certain are you of this accusation?” Edgar asked Bertulf.
“I’ll stake my life on it,” Bertulf answered. “It was our second night in Paris. The Sunday after Easter. We’d found Hubert’s house empty, but that afternoon his servant, that woman there”—he pointed to Samonie—“was in the garden. She remembered us, and my servant, Godfrey, had apparently come to know her quite well on an earlier visit.”
They all looked at Samonie, who stared back in defiance.
“Anyway,” Bertulf continued, “later that night, Lord Osto went down for a pitcher of wine while I stayed up in the loft, resting. But I heard this man clearly.” He nodded at Archer. “He began by taunting my lord for his accent and the cut of his boots. Lord Osto took offense, as any man would, but one doesn’t charge a bull in his own field. He endured the gibes with saintly patience.”
Pagan was listening with interest. “Wait now, I remember that night,” he said. “Archer was much the worse for drink. He never liked Lowlands men. But as I recall it this man, Lord Osto, took him by the throat and threatened to make him eat his words with a sauce of horse dung.”
“One can only be saintly for so long,” Bertulf admitted. “After that, this Archer left. Soon after that, Lord Osto must have gone out. When I came down and saw he wasn’t there, I sent Godfrey to look for him. He found Lord Osto dead in a ditch across the road.”
“I didn’t do it!” Archer insisted. “I couldn’t have. I’d been long gone by then. You remember, Pagan.”
“I remember that you backed down when the knight threatened you,” Pagan said. “You were very angry, but I’d have said too drunk to do any harm. You left soon after.”
“And waited outside for Lord Osto,” Bertulf repeated.
“No!” Archer shrieked.
“You should have waited and come home with us,” Pagan said to him. “Then we could be sure.”
“What I don’t understand, My 1 … Bertulf,” Catherine broke in, “is why you didn’t start the cry when you found your lord dead.”
“For the same reason Lord Osto shouldn’t have let himself be drawn into a quarrel,” Bertulf explained. “We were strangers. I didn’t know who had been involved in the murder. It might have been everyone in the tavern. I had no one to stand with me in the accusation.”
“Where was your servant?” Edgar asked. “Did he hear nothing?”
Godfrey stared at the floor. “I was tending to the horses,” he muttered. “And was delayed. I should have been there with him.”
“You can’t take any blame,” Bertulf assured him. “We were careless
of danger, when we should have been watchful. But now I do cry out, and against this man.”
He pointed again at Archer.
Edgar wanted nothing more at the moment than to get all these people out of his home.
“Bertulf,” he said, “your accusation will have to be investigated and other witnesses found. Then the matter will have to be taken to the authorities. Who will swear to Archer’s compliance when summoned?”
“I will,” Pagan said.
“And I,” Giselbert agreed.
The other neighbors in the room added their voices.
“Very well,” Edgar said. “Tomorrow is a feast day, but on Friday, we’ll bring the matter to the provost. Archer, you might spend the time finding someone besides your wife who saw you at home before Lord Osto was killed.”
“My doorkeeper can vouch for me, too,” Archer muttered, as the neighbors led him out.
Slowly the room emptied. Even though Archer feared for his life, Edgar was sure that he wouldn’t try to flee. If he did, his property and that of all the friends who stood with him would be forfeit.
When they were alone Bertulf apologized once more to Edgar.
“I should never have brought you into this mess,” he said.
“It was my fault, Master Edgar,” Samonie said.
Edgar turned to her in astonishment. He hadn’t even seen her enter. “You let them into the counting room, didn’t you?”
Samonie nodded. “They didn’t know anyone else,” she explained. “When they came to me, I first told them to take their problem elsewhere. But then they told me why the body must seem to be Lord Osto’s and how they needed time to prepare the deception.”
She appealed to Catherine.
“Mistress, I know how good you’ve been to me,” she said. “But if Willa had come to you and said that she wanted to marry a lord, you would have told her she was mad.”
“Only because I know a lord’s family wouldn’t have permitted it,” Catherine said.
“And I know it all too well,” Samonie agreed. “And yet Willa’s father is better born than any of you. Her blood is noble, only her birth was base. Her father doesn’t even know she exists, and wouldn’t admit to her if he did. After all, I was only a kitchen maid.”
Catherine was beginning to understand.
“So you helped them for the sake of Bertulf’s son,” she said.
“Lord Osto was willing to pretend to be less than he was,” Samonie answered. “I’ve only known one other man in my life who would do that. He was also willing to see his fief governed by a man who had once been his dependent, one who wasn’t even a knight. I’ve never known any man who would do that. Of course I helped. My fondness for Godfrey had nothing to do with it, whatever he may think.”
“And that’s why you wouldn’t tell us?” Catherine asked.
“There are some things, Mistress, I can’t expect you to understand,” Samonie said. “Even you, Master Edgar. You were willing to give up your birthright because you carry your belief in your own nobilty inside your soul. It can’t be removed. But would you stand by to see your patrimony taken by one of your serfs and him set up in your place?”
She could see by his face that Edgar found the idea preposterous.
“As Christians we’re taught to believe that the last shall be first and that all souls are equal,” Bertulf reminded him.
“In the eyes of God, of course,” Edgar said. “Even within the Church to some extent. Our friend Maurice is the son of peasants. But for those who must rule others, blood is essential.”
“Nobility of spirit can transcend breeding,” Bertulf answered. “My friend was willing to earn a place for his son. Should that be denied because death intervened?”
BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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