Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur) (40 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur)
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“I always knew you wanted me.” Gaucher stumbled, then caught himself. “But why here?”
Griselle laughed. Catherine shrank into the darkness, even though she was sure she couldn’t be seen. The light, frivolous sound terrified her.
“Oh, my Lord Gaucher,” Griselle replied, “I know how you like it, at least with women. It’s more exciting in a forbidden place, isn’t it? A church, for instance, or a shrine, before a holy object. Wouldn’t you like to have me on the floor of the cave with the Blessed Virgin staring down on us? Once more before you give her back?”
Catherine heard Gaucher stumble again. His chain mail rattled against the rock.
“You’d like to keep that on, too, wouldn’t you?” Griselle’s voice was as tempting as a serpent’s. “You want to see the marks of the metal rings branded into my flesh.”
“Oh, yes,” he breathed. “How … how do you know that?”
She laughed again. Catherine shuddered and forced herself to continue after them. They had reached the top of the stairs and come out onto a narrow plateau. Catherine stayed on the final step and peered around the edge. Griselle had undone the brooch holding her cloak, then let the garment fall. She stood in the lamplight clad only in a short shift. It was untied at the neck and open so that her breasts were half uncovered. Her long blond hair fell loosely around her like Danae’s shower. Catherine blinked. Griselle was really quite attractive.
“I know everything about you, my dear.” Griselle set the oil lamp on the ground next to Gaucher and smiled at him invitingly. “I’ve heard it over and over. I know all your appetites,
your pleasures—just as I learned those of your friends. But they were so ordinary, no imagination. You were the one who knew how to make things interesting, weren’t you? I heard you were always the best.”
He moved toward her, reaching out to pull the shift from her shoulders. “After tonight, you won’t need to rely on the word of someone like Mondete,” he murmured. “I knew you’d come to me one day. There’s never been a widow as pious as you made out to be.”
“Yes,” she breathed, moving closer to him. “I was just preparing myself for you.”
The shift fell to the ground as Gaucher pulled her against him, holding her tightly as he kissed her. When he let her go, Catherine saw the marks of the chain mail across her chest. What was the woman doing, letting him hurt her like that? Was she mad?
Gaucher reached around Griselle and began to lift her by her buttocks, but she pushed away. Catherine noticed that her right hand was closed as if she were holding something.
“At the shrine,” she told him. “I want to do it just the way you like it best, with Our Lady watching. Which cave is she in?”
“I’ll take you there,” Gaucher said and lifted her so that her arms and legs were around him. He staggered a bit as he walked, but he didn’t drop her as they entered the cave. A moment later he came back alone, wiped his brow, picked up the lamp and went back inside.
Catherine stood frozen in shock and embarrassed fascination. So this was how Griselle had lured the knights to their death. Rufus certainly; even Hugh might have found her too much to resist. She may have thought Norbert too old for her charms and so resorted to poison. But how could she have allowed herself to do anything so disgusting with those men?
But what about Rigaud? From what had been said, it didn’t make sense that the monk would have followed her to an assignation. How had she convinced him to assume such a position for her?
The lamplight shone from the cave. Shadows reached out
as someone moved back and forth between the lamp and the door. There was a loud moan, but not of pain. Catherine did not want to go any farther. She did not want to see what was happening in there. She wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to tell her confessor what she’d already observed.
But wasn’t it her duty to prevent a murder, even if the would-be victim wasn’t likely to thank her for intervening? Catherine moved toward the cave, wishing with all her heart that she had never believed in her dream, wishing even more that she could somehow get through this with her eyes closed.
Gaucher was a horrible person, but she couldn’t allow him to be killed, especially in a moment of sacrilege. Catherine forced herself to the entrance to the cave. She swallowed hard, stepped into the light … and gasped.
Inside a cave in Najera. The middle of the night.
 
Peccator, ama misericordiam, quia si non amas, non mereris.
 
Sinner, love mercy. For if you do not love it, you do not deserve it.
—Hugh of Saint-Victor
De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei
Libri II Pars XIV cap. V
 
 
C
atherine paid no attention to the bodies writhing on the floor. They were mere movements in the dark. The lamp had been placed on a ledge before the statue, and the light shone steadily upon the dark face of the Virgin. She was about three feet tall. On her head was a golden crown, encrusted with jewels. Her cloak was covered with pearls, its edging of gold thread. Even though the statue had been hidden in the cave for many years, everything about it was as bright as if newly made.
But it wasn’t the panoply that made Catherine gasp. It was the face of the Virgin. The carving was from a deep brown wood. Instead of being lost in the splendor of the robes, the contrast between the bright gold and the dark face only drew the eye to the tender simplicity of her expression. In her arms was the Child Jesus; a boy of three or four. The mother and son were looking directly at her, and Catherine had no answer to the question in their eyes.
Her thoughts were jerked back to earth as Griselle cried out and Gaucher laughed. There was a scuffle and then he gave a sudden yelp of pain.
“You
bordelere!
” he screamed. “That hurt! What was that? What did you stick me with?”
“Get off me, you pig!” Griselle shouted back, pushing against his weight. “Nothing half as painful as what you did to her, I promise. I know all about it. They held her down for you, didn’t they? She had no way to protect herself. And before you were through, her body was a mass of cuts from the rings of your mail shirt. And when he tried to save her, you tied him
up and made him watch. And when she was dead, you started on him.”
Gaucher got up, rubbing his shoulder. “You’re mad! What are you talking about?” His voice shook. He knew.
Griselle scrambled to her feet. “I’m talking about Bertran, my husband. The child you tortured and mutilated. You and your brave friends, all soldiers for Christ. My beloved didn’t live long enough to avenge what you did to him and his mother, but thanks to God’s mercy, I have fulfilled his oath.”
“You?” Gaucher’s voice was barely audible. “You did it? Norbert, Hugh, Rigaud, Rufus? You killed all of them?”
“No, my dear Lord Gaucher,” Griselle purred. “I have killed all of
you.
You are the last, and the worst. And you will be dead by morning.”
Catherine saw the shadow that was Gaucher stiffen.
“Poison,” he said. “On the brooch.”
“Much kinder than what you did to her,” Griselle answered. “But I had no more time. And now I will take back the Lady you stole from Saragossa. My duty will then be finished.”
She crossed in front of him to reach for the statue, but Gaucher grabbed her by her flowing hair and pulled her to the ground, beating at her with his free hand. Griselle twisted in his grasp, clawing at his face, both of them growling like wild beasts.
The statue gazed down on them with ethereal serenity.
Something inside Catherine snapped. “No!” she screamed, falling upon the struggling pair. She pounded on Gaucher’s back, kicked with her bare feet at Griselle’s flailing arms. “Not here! Not in front of her! Stop! Stop this now!”
Under Catherine’s blows, Gaucher’s grip on Griselle’s hair slackened. She twisted in his grasp and bit his unprotected thigh. The knight threw back his head and roared, pulling harder. Neither gave any sign of noting Catherine’s presence.
“Very well,” she told them. “Kill each other. But not with Our Lady watching you. You can’t shame her like that.”
There was a stone jutting out of the wall that gave Catherine a step up to the ledge. She stood on it and took the statue from the niche, the wrappings clinging to its feet. It was
heavier than she had expected. The gold must be solid rather than plate. She took a length of the wrapping cloth and tied it around her neck, making a sling to hold the statue. She nearly lost her balance coming down, but caught herself.
Cradling the statue in her arms, Catherine circled Gaucher and Griselle. As she passed, she brushed Griselle’s foot. The woman looked up. Gaucher followed her gaze. They both saw what Catherine carried.
“Thief!” Gaucher shouted, dropping his hold on Griselle. “It’s mine!”
“Never!” Griselle screamed. “Catherine, run!”
Catherine obeyed.
Outside the cave, the night was as black as the moment before Creation. Catherine paused, uncertain of which way the stairs lay. Behind her, Gaucher gave another roar and Griselle a scream. Then there was a brief silence, broken by the clink of mail as the knight rose to follow her.
Catherine turned the wrong way.
She kept her hand on the rock wall, afraid to trust her feet not to stumble in the darkness. But she couldn’t find the opening leading down. Although her heart was drumming loudly in her ears and her frightened breathing all too clear, Gaucher seemed not to have discovered which way she had gone. He shouted again, ordering her to return.
The wall of stone turned a corner. Catherine reached out to feel how far the new wall went. Her fingers dislodged some pebbles that bounced to the ground with a rattle.
“There,” Gaucher said quietly from not far away. “I’ve got you now. Give it back to me and I won’t hurt you. That’s my redemption you’re holding. I must have it back.”
“Catherine, don’t.” Griselle was standing behind him. “Would you let him buy his way into heaven? Bertran’s mother bought that statue with her life’s blood. I must have it to avenge her death. Give it to me.”
The stones on the Virgin’s crown were cold against Catherine’s throat. “
Maria Mater
,” she begged aloud, “what should I do?”
Climb.
The sandstone was pocked by the elements with hollows that could be used as hand- and footholds. Catherine didn’t question, but felt around until she found something that she could hold onto, a hole to put her foot into. The statue hanging from her neck made it hard to get close enough to the rock. If she could only get a bit higher; there must be another ledge she could rest on until help came.
A hand grabbed at her foot. She shook it off in another torrent of pebbles. Gaucher swore furiously as he slid back down. Catherine continued to climb.
Finally, her hands felt a flat place above. Now all she needed to do was to hoist herself up onto it.
The wind was stronger up here. It whistled through the pores in the rock. The statue hanging across her chest and stomach made it impossible for her to pull herself all the way over the edge. She tried to adjust her burden with one hand so that it swung around behind her back. There. That was better. She put both hands on the ledge, braced her feet and knees in ridges in the wall and strained to lift herself.
She had just thrown one knee over the edge and was bringing the other leg up when the sling became unbalanced. Catherine felt the shifting and reached around to catch the statue as it fell out.
As it slipped through her grasp, she managed to take hold of the upraised hand of the child. The weight pulled her around so that she was now hanging over the side of the rock face, the statue dangling from her outstretched arm. Catherine could feel herself slipping back over the edge, the statue pulling her down. Below her, she could just make out the faces of Gaucher and Griselle turned up to her, arms reaching to catch the treasure.
“Catherine.” The voice came not from below, but somewhere to the side. Catherine tried to turn to see who it was, but the statue began to swing alarmingly with the movement.
“Good. A little more and I can reach it,” Brother James said. “I’m only a few feet from you, but the path narrows here. I can get hold of the statue, though, if you swing it harder to your left.”
Catherine didn’t think to ask how he had appeared, as if
by divine intervention, so near her. But despite her precarious position, she wasn’t any more inclined to obey the monk than she was the two shouting at her from below.
“You only want her as a prize, just like they do,” she panted, managing to grip the hand of the Child Jesus more firmly.
“No, not like they do,” James insisted. “Not like Chaim and Eliazar either. Can’t you understand? I gave up vengeance when I converted. I gave up everything. I only want to save you. Please, child, even if you despise me, you must trust me.”
Still she hesitated. The sweat on her palm was causing the wood to slip. She slid forward in her attempt to hold on and had to scrabble back to avoid going over the edge.
“I’m afraid,” Catherine said at last. “If I try to swing her and I can’t reach you, she’ll fall and break.”
“Better a piece of wood and metal than you, child,” James said softly. She could hear the tears he was forcing himself to swallow. “Catherine, I couldn’t save my mother. Don’t punish me more by preventing me from saving you, too. Please, if you can’t move the statue to where I can reach it, then drop it to the jackals below. Our Lady wouldn’t want you to die for her image. It’s but a thing of this world, nothing more.”
The darkness was not so thick now. Catherine could tell that others had arrived below. Someone had pulled Griselle away and wrapped a cloak around her, from which she struggled to break free. But Gaucher had found the toeholds in the rocks and had begun to climb, inching up toward her. In a moment he would be able to pull the image out of her grasp. Catherine closed her eyes and with an effort that wrenched all the muscles in her shoulder, swung the statue over to where Brother James waited, leaning with both arms stretched forward over the path on the other side. He caught the hem of the Virgin’s cloak as Catherine let go.
She was left hanging halfway over the edge, her shoulder aching too much for her to pull herself all the way back up. But she was no longer in danger of falling.
Dawn was approaching. In the grey light, Catherine saw Gaucher’s face as he realized that the treasure had been taken
from him. Hatred flared from his eyes as he struggled to reach her anyway. Then a spasm shook his body and the hatred turned to terror. One hand went to his throat and he gave a series of ever-shorter gasps as he fought to make his lungs work. He clawed the air with both hands, then fell back onto the ground, where he continued jerking as people gathered around in a futile attempt to help him.
The first light of the sun hit the red cliffs.
Catherine looked down. The town of Najera was far below her, the river still in predawn shadow. She hadn’t realized how far up she had climbed. She hadn’t known how small the shelf was that she lay upon … or that the only way down was either by the footholds she had used to climb up or a ridge no wider than the span of her hands.
On the other side of the ridge stood Brother James, holding the Black Virgin. He put the statue down next to himself and reached out to her.
“It’s not far, Catherine,” he said. “Only a few steps and I’ll have you.”
She looked down. She saw the distance between herself and Brother James. She shook her head. Her stomach pitched and rolled. She closed her eyes and concentrated. This was no time for morning sickness.
“
Leoffaest
.” Catherine’s eyes opened and she lifted her head. “
Leoflic Catherine, min lif.
” Edgar had come up behind Brother James. “Stay where you are,
carissima.
I’m coming for you.”
“But you can’t …” Catherine remembered the steps at Le Puys all too well. In her mind she saw his face again, drawn with terror at being up so high. She couldn’t ask him to confront that again. She’d spent much of the trip trying to protect him from doing just that.
He didn’t hesitate, though. He stepped firmly on the strip of crumbling rock and walked to her as steadily as if crossing a street in Paris. He knelt next to her and took her in his arms. Catherine began to cry.
“You know,” he said, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, “there are those who might suggest that I should beat
you for being here at all, for risking yourself so rashly. It isn’t just your own life anymore,
deorling
.”
“I know. It was stupid,” Catherine admitted. “I felt as though I were meant to come. When I heard Griselle, I thought she was calling me, but it was Gaucher she wanted. She didn’t even know I was there.”
She pressed closer to him. “I was right, you know,” she said. “Griselle killed all of them. I don’t know how, but she did.”
“Later,” Edgar told her. “First we get you back to the hostel and to bed. Can you stand without getting sick?”
“I think so.” She took a breath and got to her feet. “What’s going on down there?”
Edgar didn’t answer. Instead, he took her by the shoulders and led her confidently back to the pathway and down to the church.

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