Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (17 page)

“That’s not true, Catherine,” Margaret assured her. “You won’t threaten them. Edgar would. Do you really need the belt? The keys and purse will thump against your stomach.”

“That’s all right,” Catherine said. “It will serve the little fiend right, considering how much he’s been thumping me. Can you lace up my shoes for me? I don’t know where the maid has gone. I don’t think she likes serving me and the lady Annora, too.”

Margaret obligingly knelt and threaded the laces through the leather loops. She noted with concern that Catherine’s feet were swollen again. This wasn’t something she knew much about, but Samonie had impressed her with the notion that Catherine should not be allowed to stand for long.

“Are you sure you want to come down with me?” she asked.

Catherine was about to tell the truth, then she saw Margaret’s expression.

“Of course I do,” she said. “I’m going mad trapped in this little room all day. And it’s not as if I hadn’t met the count before.”

As they left the room, Catherine noted with surprise that a guard had been posted at the bottom of the stairs. Was it for their protection?

“I really don’t see any need to have armed men in a convent guest house,” she muttered to Margaret.

The guard stepped forward, his hand held up to stop them. The torchlight shone on his face.

“Astrolabe?” Catherine immediately looked around to see if anyone had heard her. She lowered her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t get into any trouble,” Astrolabe said. “Margaret? What are you doing here? I thought we’d left you with my mother. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, except I don’t want to go live in Carinthia,” Margaret answered.

“Nor would I,” Astrolabe admitted, looking puzzled. He turned to Catherine. “I’ve been talking with John. We have a plan and need your help, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Do I have to wear tight sleeves and shoes and stand a lot?” Catherine asked.

“Neither of those.”

“I like it already,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

Astrolabe grimaced, then bent down to whisper in her ear.

“Beg in the street outside the house of the bishop of Tours.”

Catherine did not have time to react before she was ushered into the presence of Countess Mahaut, Count Thibault and his niece, the abbess Marie of Saint-Sulpice.

She tripped on the fresh rushes on the floor and would have landed on her nose if Margaret hadn’t steadied her.

“My dear!” Countess Mahaut cried. “Geoffrey,” she signaled the page. “Get a chair for the lady at once! Are you all right?”

Catherine felt her face flame. “I am quite well, my lady countess, thank you,” she said. “I’m grateful to you for bringing my sister-in-law to join me. She has told me how much she enjoyed the journey in your company.”

Catherine allowed the page to seat her at one side of a long table set up for all the guests. Now that she had managed to be sure all eyes were on her, she was grateful to be ignored for a while.

Astrolabe came and stood at attention behind her. He handed her the scarf she had dropped.

“Did you really slip, or did you do it on purpose to keep anyone from noticing me?” he asked.

“I’ll never tell,” she answered.

Margaret was seated much farther up the table than Catherine. This was to be expected, but it left Catherine with no one she knew to speak to. At first she felt uncomfortable sharing her trencher with a stranger, but the young man seemed so intent on catching the eye of the woman across from him that she soon realized that he was paying no attention to the food. So she concentrated on getting out as many of the chunks of fish that she could find. If only this were a meat night! Catherine craved red meat and the count’s table was one place she might get it.

In the meantime, she studied the people at the table across from her. Of course there were a number of clerics, given the nature of the council and the fact that Count Thibault was paying for the food. She had no trouble spotting Bishop Henry of Troyes, seated next to his sister. Margaret was at his right. She was eating little. Catherine wondered if she could hide away a few crusts in her sleeve so that Margaret could have something when her appetite returned.

At the count’s right was Abbess Marie. Mother Heloise had said that she was a highly effective abbess. Henri of Tréguier would have had no luck if he had tried to rob Saint-Sulpice of a few nuns. It was good that she was taking an interest. There were still women at Sainte-Croix who needed rescuing.

There were a number of bishops in attendance and at least one cardinal. Catherine was glad she hadn’t had the task of assigning their seating. According to John, the primary reason many of them were in Reims, apart from the pope’s order, was to establish their own primacy over other bishops or to defend it against one of the other bishops. The determination of the bishop of Dol not to submit to the archbishop of Tours was not unusual.

It seemed forever before the trenchers were cleared and the washing bowls brought round. Then the entertainment began, a rather lugubrious minstrel intoning the martyrdom of Saint Ursula. Despite having rinsed her fingers and wiped her face, Catherine felt greasy, overly hot and sleepy from the strong wine. It was unfortunate that this was the time that the man beside her should remember his manners.

“Good evening,” he smiled at her. “I’m Gui of Valfonciere. It’s near Rouen, do you know it?”

“My father was born in Rouen,” Catherine answered, trying not to stare at the blob of fish sauce on his chin. “But I have never been there. I live in Paris.”

“All the time?” Gui seemed puzzled. “Your family holds land that near the city?”

“As far as I know,” Catherine said, “the only land we have is that on which our house sits.”

Gui squinted at her over his wine cup. “Then why are you here?” he asked.

A wickedness seized Catherine.

“To eat dinner,” she answered. “And you?”

Gui blinked a few times. “I owe service to the duke of Normandy and to the archbishop of Rouen. Archbishop Hugh ordered me to come with him,” he answered. “That’s him, over there, next to Lady Annora.”

“Oh, you know her?” Catherine asked.

“Of course. She’s my cousin,” Gui answered. “But then, almost everyone is, aren’t they?”

He leaned closer to her.

“Are you my cousin?”

Catherine leaned away. “I doubt it,” she told him.

Gui shook his head. “Then I don’t understand why you are here.”

Teasing someone far gone into his cups was losing its appeal. Catherine wished the nobility would rise so that she could leave.

“I am in the party of the countess of Flanders,” she told Gui. “She was kind enough to invite me to eat here tonight.”

Gui clonked his cup on the table.

“But then you must be someone,” he insisted. “Everyone here is important, or a cousin.”

“Sorry,” Catherine said. “I’m very sure I’m not either.”

Finally, Count Thibault stood, signaling that the guests might leave. Catherine knew that she still had to wait awhile before her turn came.

Gui rose when Archbishop Hugh prepared to leave.

“Umm,” he looked at Catherine. “Annora doesn’t seem to have noticed me. You won’t tell her I was here, will you?”

“If you don’t wish it, then I won’t,” Catherine answered. “But why not?”

“Oh, you know how families are,” he said. “My father, her father, words spoken in anger, a matter of land donated without permission. That sort of thing. We aren’t speaking at the moment.”

“Perhaps you could make it your job to mend things between you,” Catherine suggested.

“Not with the dragon of Flanders guarding her.” Gui stopped, all color draining from his face. “I didn’t say that. Yes, my lord. I’m coming at once.”

He hurried away.

Catherine was relieved to be done with him. At the moment, all she wanted was to get back upstairs and into bed, even though she knew the room would be crowded with women, most of whom would not be ready to sleep.

Margaret and Annora were by her side as she walked slowly toward the stairs.

“Are you well, Catherine?” Annora asked. “You seem tired.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Catherine answered. “The dinner was excellent. The singer was a bit too slow for my taste, that’s all.”

“You can’t expect anything lively in Lent with bishops underfoot,” Margaret commented. “At least you didn’t have to sit at the high table with everyone looking at you.”

“That’s true,” Catherine admitted. “Which reminds me, I have some sweets for you. I saw how little you ate.”

Margaret said nothing but squeezed Catherine’s hand.

“I’ve been given permission to stay with you, if there’s room in the bed,” she said.

“We’ll make room, won’t we?” Annora smiled at Margaret.

Catherine stared at her. “Thank you, Annora,” she said. “I hope we won’t be too cramped.”

“It will be nice,” the woman answered. “Like when I was a child and my sister…my sister and I and our friends would all be put in a featherbed and have to signal when we should roll over together.”

Catherine smiled. “Yes, my sister and I used to do the same.”

“I wish I had a sister,” Margaret sighed. “Not that some of my brothers aren’t nice but…”

“It’s different.” Annora finished. “I miss her terribly, you know. Even though I didn’t think I’d ever see Cecile again once she entered Saint-Georges, I still knew she was there if I needed her. It’s lonely now.”

Catherine opened her mouth to mention Gui but remembered his warning. It did seem that Annora had deliberately ignored him at dinner. Still, she was sure he was wrong. Annora would probably be delighted to forget old feuds just to have family around.

Or perhaps it was just that she was missing her own family so much.

Where was Edgar now?

Edgar swore silently at the man across the room, who was snoring loudly enough to rattle bits of thatch down from the roof. He couldn’t believe that anyone else was asleep. Yet no one was throwing anything at the snorer. Edgar stuck his fingers in his ears and tried praying that the man would strangle on his own tongue.

But it wasn’t just the noise that was keeping him awake. For several days now, Edgar had felt uneasy about Catherine. There was something he should have told her, something he had seen or heard that wasn’t right. But he couldn’t remember what. He told himself that it was just his worry and guilt at leaving her with another baby coming, but the disquiet wouldn’t be quelled.

The next day on the road, just north of Toulouse, he finally admitted his concerns to Solomon. Edgar wasn’t surprised at the reaction.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Solomon said. “Catherine and all the children are safe at the Paraclete. Heloise is not going to let anything happen to them.”

“I know that,” Edgar snapped. “It doesn’t change the feeling. There’s something wrong. I know it.”

Solomon gave him a sidelong glance.

“You aren’t getting like your Uncle Æthelræd, are you?” he asked. “It made my flesh creep the way he could see what was happening miles away. You start in with visions and I might send you home.”

Edgar had to laugh at his nervousness.

“No chance of that!” he chuckled. “You’re more likely to start having visions than I am.”

They rode on for a few moments in silence. The path was steep and slick with spring rain. The horses had to be guided carefully over loose scree. From the woods on their left came a sound of scrabbling. For a moment, everyone froze, hands to swords. Then one of the men whistled and a dog appeared, a fresh rabbit in its mouth. They all relaxed.

“But I know there’s something,” Edgar continued, “something that wasn’t right.”

Solomon rolled his eyes.

“I know you,” he sighed. “You’re going to gnaw on this just like that dog and get far less pleasure. If you ever come up with something, you can tell me. Until then, keep it to yourself. It’s nothing to do with me.”

Edgar shifted in the saddle. He hadn’t ridden so much in years.

“But I think it is,” he insisted. “You know it, too. Damn! It’s right at the edge of my mind. Think. Our journey to the Paraclete. What happened?”

“You nearly tore the town of Nogent apart looking for your family.” Solomon was tiring of the game. “Perhaps you noticed something odd there.”

“Perhaps.” Edgar lapsed back into brooding.

After a moment, Solomon moved forward in the line to talk with his friend Isaac of Troyes. Edgar alone was not a stimulating companion.

Catherine woke up the next morning to discover that the bed had not been big enough to hold Margaret, too. The girl was curled up on the floor in Catherine’s cloak. As Catherine leaned over the edge of the bed, Margaret opened her eyes and smiled.

“The narrow cots of the convent are looking more appealing,” she said. “Although they are cold. Are you going to talk to my grandfather today?”

Catherine nodded and stepped over her, then wove around all the luggage to reach the curtained corner where the chamber pot resided.

“Oh, excuse me!” she said to the woman squatting before her.

“You’d better find another,” she warned Catherine. “I’ve got a dreadful constipation.”

There was a rustling around the room as several of the women dove for their medicine chests.

“Olive oil and dust from the tomb of Saint Martin,” Annora called from the bed. “My mother swore by it. I know I have a vial here someplace.”

There were various other suggestions from around the room, but the one most welcome to Catherine was the location of another chamber pot.

She returned to find that most of the women were now out of bed. The bedding and the portable beds had been folded up against the wall so that there would be space for everyone to dress.

“What have you come to plead for?” one woman asked her. “It must be serious to travel now in your condition.”

“It’s a matter of duty,” Catherine answered.

The woman nodded and didn’t press her. Everyone understood duty, especially to family or one’s lord.

“I’m here with the countess of Nevers,” she said. “Now that her sons have gone with the king and Count William has become a Carthusian, the governance of the county has been laid on her.”