The Wandering Arm (37 page)
“Samson.” Catherine hated to interrupt a family discussion but she felt the situation warranted it. “How did you know what Natan hid?”
“Because it was mine!” Samson said. “I had made the arrangements. All Natan was supposed to do was bring the goods down from Normandy. But that stiff-necked bastard wouldn’t carry anything unless he knew what it was. And then he wanted a bigger share, because of the risk, he said.”
“And so you killed him,” Catherine said. “You poisoned him because he wanted more money.”
“No,” Samson said. “I killed him because of her. That oily sneering Jew polluted my sister with his filth. And you let him! You encouraged him, you … you … heretic!”
Lucia stared at him with loathing. “You couldn’t even fight him like a man,” she said. “You had to poison his beer and send him out into the night to die alone!”
“I didn’t want him to go that easily,” Samson told her. “It should have taken weeks. I had a special keg just for him. He thought I’d gotten it from Abraham. That stuff wasn’t supposed to kill so quickly. I must have put in too much.” He seemed more angry about that than anything else.
“I’ll see you hang for this, Samson,” Lucia said. “I’ll let them leave you on the gibbet by the road until the crows have feasted to bursting on you.”
“No, you won’t, Lucia.” Samson started toward her. “You’ll be swimming in the molten lakes of Hell with your lover long before then.”
He moved toward Lucia, his hands stretched out to clench around her neck. Catherine tried to move around him but one arm shot out to stop her. She realized that he was strong enough to hold her down with one hand and strangle Lucia with the other.
Lucia screamed and dropped the box as Samson reached for her.
“Samson!”
Catherine sighed in relief. It had been so long since she had heard the noise from the corner that she wasn’t certain he really had followed them. Samson swung around to face his new attacker, brushing against one of the pillars as he did so. He pulled his knife out of his belt.
“Is this your new lover?” he asked Lucia. “I should have guessed. I saw the way he looked at you. Even better, then. They’ll find your bodies here in the morning and he’ll be the one who’s accused.”
“You aren’t going to touch them,” Solomon said, stepping between Samson and Catherine.
“And how will you stop me?” Samson laughed. “With your fists?”
“No,” Solomon said. “With this.”
The knife gleamed in the lamplight. Samson stared at it in disbelief.
“Jews aren’t allowed to carry weapons,” he said.
“Yes, I know,” Solomon answered easily. “I’m under the protection of the king. But I decided I would forgo the honor and learn to defend myself. Now, would you like me to show you what I’ve learned, or shall the four of us go back outside and send for the watch? I’d pick the latter, Samson. You can’t kill the three of us at once.”
“Oh, can’t I?” he said.
He took a step back and shoved with all his might against the pillar behind him. It seemed to Catherine that it took forever to fall and yet she was incapable of moving while it did.
The pillar crashed down, bringing the floor above with it. Lucia screamed. Solomon leaped to one side to avoid being crushed and landed in front of Samson. Behind him the space where Catherine and Lucia had been standing was covered in debris. Dust rose in the light of the lamp Catherine had left hanging on the wall.
Samson stood staring in awe at the damage he had wrought. Solomon never found out what he was thinking at that moment. He didn’t give Samson a chance to tell him. With one long sweep of his arm, Solomon drove the knife into Samson’s gut, just as he had been taught, below the rib cage and up to the heart.
Samson looked down at the knife, puzzled. Then he toppled over, falling with solid finality. Solomon moved back to avoid being crushed. For a moment all he could do was wonder how in the world he would get the knife back. Then his brain cleared and he turned his attention to the pile of rubble behind him.
“Catherine!” he screamed.
There was no answer.
The crypt of the church of Saint-Étienne, a moment later
Absistamus … poenarum exhaustim satis est, via facta per hostis.
Let us depart … The punishment is complete; a way is
created through the enemy.
—Virgil, Aeneid Book IX
S
olomon. began to pull at the pieces of wood and concrete that had fallen, calling all the while.
olomon. began to pull at the pieces of wood and concrete that had fallen, calling all the while.
A voice came down from above. “Anybody hurt?”
Solomon looked up. A pale face peered over the edge of the hole.
“There are two women trapped under here!” he shouted. “Get help.”
“Probably no use.” The man did not seem inclined to move. “Kin of yours?”
“My cousin,” Solomon said. “Now either you go get help or I’ll climb up there and break your neck.”
“No need to get in a state,” the man said. The face vanished.
Solomon had no idea if the man had gone for help or simply vanished. He had no time to consider. His hands were scraped and full of slivers. Each board he moved shook the ones underneath and he feared that he might send the rubble down to crush Catherine and Lucia, if it hadn’t already.
“Catherine!” he called again, his voice hoarse with dust and emotion. “Catherine! Answer me!”
How long had it been? Why was no one coming to help?
“Catherine, listen to me!” he shouted. “I’m sorry I teased you. I’m sorry I laughed when you fell in the mud last week. I’m sorry I pushed you out of the tree when you were five! I promise I’ll never make fun of you again! Just let me know you’re alive!”
Nothing.
He went on moving the pieces. In the lantern light he didn’t notice the foot, grey with dust. He grabbed it and recoiled when his fingers met soft flesh instead of rock.
The foot wiggled.
“Catherine? Lucia?” Solomon worked his way up the leg, removing the debris more carefully. The boards and cement slabs lay at odd angles, leaning against each other instead of on top of the body. As he reached the knee, Solomon noticed the material of a second
bliaut
draped over it. The women had fallen together, huddled to fend off the world crashing down on them.
bliaut
draped over it. The women had fallen together, huddled to fend off the world crashing down on them.
“Catherine! Lucia!” Solomon called again. “Can you hear me?”
He felt their skin. They were alive, at least, but unconscious. Carefully, he lifted off the tented fragments covering their heads.
Lucia and Catherine were curled face to face under the pillar Samson had pushed over. Between them, standing upright, was the box holding the arm of St. Aldhelm. The box itself had split and the reliquary had cracked. One piece of bone, a fingertip, pressed against the pillar, keeping it from crushing the women beneath.
“That’s impossible,” Solomon said.
Gently he pulled Lucia and Catherine out of the rubble. He left the arm where it was.
As he lifted her, Catherine stirred and began to cough. “Edgar?”
“He’ll be here soon,” Solomon told her. “Are you all right? Can you move your limbs?”
“I don’t know.” Catherine tried to get up. “Dizzy. Let me sit here. Where’s Lucia?”
“She’s here next to you, still unconscious,” Solomon said. “I can’t find any injuries, though.”
“What happened?” Catherine rubbed her forehead. “Lucia and I, we found the arm. I wanted to take it to Edgar, then something … someone …” The memory returned. She looked around in panic. “Samson! Where is he?”
“Dead,” Solomon said. “Don’t worry about him anymore.”
Finally, there came the sound of footsteps clattering above, then leaping down the steps.
“Catherine!”
She reached out her arms to him.
“Damn you, Catherine.” Edgar sniffed as he gathered her up. “Don’t you ever do this to me again.” He turned to Solomon. “I thought Catherine was taking a long time in the privy,” he said. “And went to see if she’d fallen in. I ran into some idiot in the court who said there were two women trapped in the crypt. Who else could it be?”
He rubbed his cheek against the head lying on his shoulder. Catherine looked up and smiled.
“We found your saint for you,” she said. “He saved our lives. Strange that one never receives the miracle one expects.”
Edgar felt her forehead. “Is she delirious?” he asked.
Solomon only pointed to the arm balanced between the floor and the pillar.
Slowly Edgar lowered Catherine to the ground and stayed there on his knees.
“Halig Aldhelm, giefe thane for mines wifes lif.”
Solomon was still trying to wake Lucia. “Is anyone else coming?” he asked Edgar.
“I told the man to go to the tavern and tell everyone to come help,” Edgar answered, without taking his eyes from the arm. “They should be here soon. Funny. I thought it would glow or something.”
“I don’t know why Lucia won’t come round,” Solomon worried. “She doesn’t seem to have been hit on the head. I can’t find any injuries at all. Her breathing is regular. It’s as if she’s asleep.”
“Kiss her,” Catherine said.
“What?”
“It works in the old tales,” she told him. “If there are miracles, why not magic?”
It was clear that she was still dazed by her experience. Nevertheless, Solomon bent over and gave Lucia a kiss.
Her eyelids fluttered open. “Natan?”
So much for magic.
Solomon helped her to sit. She looked around, confused as Catherine had been. She saw the body.
“Samson,” she said. “What happened to him? Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Solomon answered.
There was a clatter above and the rumble of voices. Edgar pulled himself away from Saint Aldhelm and turned his attention to the body.
“Samson killed Natan?” he asked Solomon.
“Yes, he confessed to it,” Solomon answered.
“What about Gaudry and Odo?” Edgar asked. “Did he murder them, too?”
“I don’t know. I suspect so, but on orders from someone. We’ll probably never know for certain.”
Edgar saw the pool of blood seeping out from under Samson’s body. “How did he die?” he asked.
“Knife,” Solomon answered.
“He was going to kill us,” Catherine added. “Solomon stopped him.”
“Thank you,” Edgar said.
“It was no trouble,” Solomon said. “Can you help me turn him? I’m fond of that knife.”
They managed to roll the body over and retrieve the knife.
“You’re not supposed to have this,” Edgar said.
“So Samson told me,” Solomon said.
Catherine understood. “So you couldn’t have killed him,” she told her cousin.
“That’s right,” Edgar said, taking the knife. “I did it. He attacked my wife and I had to stop him.”
Solomon’s lips tightened. He understood, too. “Of course,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what Samson was or what he did. He could be the devil himself, but people would only see a Christian body and a Jew with a knife.”
“That’s right,” Edgar said. “And today is Palm Sunday. Feelings are strong enough at this time of year without adding to them.”
“I know,” Solomon said bitterly. “I was born here, remember.”
“Even though he was my brother, for what he did to Natan, I would have preferred him to hang,” Lucia said sadly.
When the others arrived, they were shown the arm, still supporting the pillar. They each fell to their knees and gazed at it with reverential wonder. All but Hubert, whose only emotion was simple gratitude that Catherine had survived unhurt.
“Someone is protecting you, child,” he said. “I don’t care who, if only they continue to do so.”
Lucia directed the men from the tavern to take Samson’s body to their mother.
“I’m going with it,” she told Catherine. “I’ll explain as best I can what happened. She’ll have to know what he was doing before she’ll keep silent.”
“Tell her you what you think best,” Catherine said. “I’m sorry it came to this.”
“I wanted the truth,” Lucia answered. “You didn’t create it; you only helped me find it. You needn’t reproach yourself.” She left.
Catherine reproached herself anyway.
“I shall enjoy telling Archdeacon Giles how Saint Aldhelm revealed himself to us,” John said after a few minutes of silent contemplation of the relic.
Edgar was worried. “But what if he sees it as a sign that Aldhelm wants to remain here?” he asked. “I’m not sure that it isn’t.”
“I suppose the answer will come when we try to remove the arm,” John said. “If it won’t be budged, then we’ll have to leave him here, no matter how we feel about it.”
“We should have someone fetch the archdeacon now,” Edgar said. “We need him to witness what has happened. If this doesn’t prove the authenticity of the relic, nothing will.”
Maurice was standing in the middle of the crypt, surveying the damage in the dim light. “I’ll go,” he offered. “Who else should I bring?”
“No one,” John answered quickly. “If word of this gets out, there will be a thousand people in here by morning.”
“I doubt even Saint Aldhelm could survive that,” Maurice said.
Edgar bristled and thought to tell Maurice all the things the saint had survived in the past. He stopped. There was no doubt in his mind that Aldhelm would be safe. But the more people who knew about his, the harder it would be to see that he was returned home.
Solomon went over to Hubert. “I’ve had a look at the pillar,” he said. “It’s fallen on a niche in the wall. The arm isn’t supporting it at all. There shouldn’t be any trouble removing it from underneath.”
“Shssh!” Hubert moved him away from Catherine. “So you don’t think this was a miracle?”
“The Almighty One, blessed be he, saw fit to save Catherine and Lucia,” Solomon answered. “I believe he used the means to hand, that’s all, and within the natural laws he devised.”
“So you don’t intend to ask for baptism?” Hubert smiled.
“That is not something to joke about,” Solomon said. “You should know that better than anyone.”
Hubert closed his eyes and the terror of being dragged through the streets and forcibly baptized returned as if it hadn’t been more than forty years before. No, it was nothing to joke about.
“Don’t tell Catherine and Edgar,” Hubert said. “It won’t convert them, either.”
“I know that,” Solomon answered. “They wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Even when they see where the pillar is, it won’t matter. They need this to be the work of Saint Aldhelm. How could I destroy Edgar’s faith?”
Curious faces kept appearing over the edge of the fallen ceiling but no one else came down. Catherine didn’t think about it until she heard the altercation.
“Don’t you know who this is?” The voice was Maurice’s. “He’s archdeacon of Rouen. Let him pass!”
A lamp glowed on the steps. Maurice appeared, leading Giles du Perche. Lucia followed them.
“There’s a giant at the end of the ambulatory,” Maurice said. “He refused to let us come down.”
“I told Goliath what had happened,” Lucia said. “He’s very upset. He loved Samson and trusted him. But even love won’t condone what Samson did. Goliath wanted to do something to begin to atone for it.”
“That was right,” John told her.
“Then Goliath didn’t know what Samson was doing,” Catherine said. “I’m so glad. I like him.”
Lucia came over to her and spoke quickly. “Of course he knew about the trading going on,” she said. “He helped with that. He wanted to make enough to build a new brewery. But he had nothing to do with Natan’s death, or the others. He swore it and I believe him. That’s all that matters to me.”
John and Maurice were shining their lanterns on the arm, which was still upright, one finger apparently keeping the pillar from collapse.
“You see?” John said. “Catherine and Lucia were under that. Saint Aldhelm prevented them from being crushed.”
“I see,” Giles said. “But I don’t understand what the arm was doing here or how these women knew where to find it.” He looked at Edgar with suspicion. “Perhaps you knew where it was all along,” he suggested.
Catherine gasped, afraid of what Edgar might do. But before he could do more than glare, Lucia came forward. She bowed to the archdeacon.
“My lord,” she said, “I alone knew where the arm was. I knew my brother, Samson, was hiding some treasure that he had come by unlawfully, although not what it was. I couldn’t betray him but it would have been wrong to allow him to profit from his theft. So I gave the box to Saint-Étienne to protect. Catherine and I came here to retrieve it so that it could be returned to your lordship. My brother followed us and tried to take it back. Saint Aldhelm intervened on our behalf, as you see.” She blessed herself. “I swear it, by Our Lord, the Virgin and all the saints.”
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