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

Authors: Sharan Newman

To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (11 page)

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Edana stood on the stool and pulled at the bandage.
“Yes, sweeting.” Catherine picked her up. “You’re much better. We’ll look at it later. I thought Papa told you to finish eating before jumping around.”
Edgar examined the handle. “It looks the same,” he said. “There’s a star pattern etched here like the other. Why?”
Catherine told him. “I don’t see how it could have fallen into the basket. I picked the greens on my way out yesterday. I was nowhere near the kitchen. Samonie!”
The housekeeper’s head appeared around the door.
“Do you still have the knife that Astrolabe found?” Edgar asked.
“It was on the counter,” Samonie answered. “I was using it to slice cheese. But I didn’t see it after that Bertulf left yesterday. I suspect him of making off with it. Fine thanks for your charity.”
“You mustn’t condemn him, Samonie,” Catherine said. “I found it upstairs.”
“What?” Samonie stared at the knife.
Catherine shook her head. “Perhaps one of the children took it and dropped it in the basket. Were one of you playing with this?”
Both James and Edana denied touching the knife, and neither was good at lying.
Catherine fretted over it all morning. What was bothering her the most was that the knife had been in the basket with the
mokh
. Could it be some sort of warning? Perhaps her interpretation of the theology on the duties of marriage had been too facile. What if the knife had not been put there through human intervention?
It was an odd sort of way for a Sign to be manifested, but what did she know of the Ineffable?
Catherine shivered. That worried her more than the dead knight. She wasn’t going to be easy in her mind until this mystery was solved.
The chapel of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon, Paris preceptory. Tuesday, 3 ides of May (May 13), 1147; 11 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Servais, Bishop of Tongres, on whose tomb it never snows.
 
Si aucun chevalier seculier, ou autre home, se veaut departir de la masse de perdition, et abandonier cest siecle, et eslire la vostre comunal vie, ne vos assentez mie tantost a lui recevoir … Esprovés l’esperit se il vient de Dieu.
 
If a secular knight or any other man wishes to leave the expanse of perdition and abandon this world and choose your common life [of the Temple], you shouldn’t agree to admit him at once … test his spirit to see if it inclines to God.
 
—Rule of the Order of the Temple, Part 55
 
 
B
ertulf and Godfrey rode to the gate of the preceptory, Vrieit on a lead behind them. The sun of the day before had been covered by thick clouds, and a mist hung around them, making their beards glisten and their noses red.
“Should we both dismount?” Bertulf wondered aloud. “Knights are supposed to be humble.”
“They also have to be nobly born,” Godfrey said. “You stay where you are, and I’ll knock. No, even better. You get on Vrieit. Show them what you have to offer.”
“Yes, that might be better.” Bertulf got off the palfrey. “Here, shouldn’t we move a bit away until we get him saddled?”
They moved into the shelter of a shed that had been left open and empty. Quickly, they unwrapped the fine leather saddle and the bridle with its iron bit. The blanket was of English wool, woven in their own village. Bertulf felt a pang as he remembered how the weavers had given it to him as their contribution to defeating the Saracens. He brushed away a tear. He mustn’t even dream of ever seeing his home again.
As they were working they were startled by the creak of the gate and a pounding of hooves. Both men looked out from their hiding place. The formidable wooden gates were wide-open. A procession was leaving the Temple. Dozens of knights in shining white cloaks, followed by others in brown and black. It seemed as though all the soldiers of Christ were setting forth. As they passed, the sun broke through the mist; and Bertulf crossed himself in awe. The knights shone like angels going to battle Satan. He almost thought he saw
the Archangel Michael at their head, brandishing the sword he had used to kill the dragon.
Godfrey nudged him.
“Is there anyone among them who might know us?”
Bertulf turned to him with wide eyes. “I … I don’t know,” he said. “I was so dazzled by their glory, I forgot they were just men. Oh, Godfrey! What were we thinking of? We’re country people, horse breeders. We were only trained to fight off bandits and
ribaux
, not an army. Why would they want us?”
“You’re blinded by the white cloaks,” Godfrey said as he rechecked the girth. “Under them they’re human like us, and most of them have reasons far worse than yours for joining the brethren. You’ve heard that one can lift an excommunication by pledging oneself to the Temple?”
“You can? When was that enacted?” Bertulf was shocked.
“Not long ago,” Godfrey said. “They must be in desperate need of men who can fight.” He finished fastening the last buckle. “There, now you’re ready to face the brothers.”
“Wonderful,” Bertulf said sadly. Then he brightened. “With any luck, we just saw all of them leave.”
 
Coming from the market, Catherine was caught on the wrong side of the road when the knights went across the Grand Pont on their way to the bishop’s palace on the He. The men in their white cloaks, most now adorned with the red cross of pilgrimage, made a stirring sight, and the citizens of Paris lined the street to see them pass. They were accompanied by their sergeants, men not of the knightly class but warriors all the same. These wore black cloaks on which the red crosses front and back were equally impressive. Behind them, the squires in a variety of browns were less impressive. The troop together was an army in itself. The way everyone cheered one would think that Edessa was already freed from Saracen rule.
Catherine had to admit that she couldn’t imagine a force strong enough to resist these warriors. When one added the armies of the king of France and the Holy Roman Emperor, they would certainly sweep through the Holy Land in a wave of righteousness that would
put the sacred places of Our Lord’s life forever in the hands of the faithful.
Catherine crossed herself and murmured a prayer for their success. She could see in the faces of those around her that to them these were heroes as great as any who ever rode with Charlemagne or Arthur.
Who would want to kill such a man? What could be gained by the death of one who had renounced his patrimony, family and friends to become a soldier of Christ?
As she made her way through the crowd and back to the house, Catherine mused on the problem. The men sent to investigate the death had not reappeared. Perhaps they had found their answers elsewhere. So much was happening now that the loss of a man known to no one might not seem very important. Even she had had little time to spend searching for the answers. Most of her day was taken up with children, the house, and helping Solomon and Edgar in their efforts to organize the goods and plan the next trading journey.
But at the back of her mind it was always there. Not just the fear that the body had been left with them as some sort of warning, but that some poor soul had died without the last rites. His family could offer no prayers for him; they likely had no idea he was dead. Somewhere a woman might be waiting for word, watching the road every day in the hope of seeing him again. And somewhere a murderer was walking around free.
Catherine resolved not to let obligations to her family cause her to ignore the stranger who, even in death, was still in their midst. She pushed open the gate to their house and stepped back into family turmoil.
“
Deorling
!” Edgar greeted her. “We can’t find the bundle of silk ribbons that your father brought back from Marseille last year. Do you know what happened to them?”
“They were all sold at Provins,” she answered as she took her basket of cheese and vegetables out to Samonie.
Solomon’s head appeared over the railing. “Did we sell all the amber beads that I bought in Hungary, as well?”
“No,” she called back. “They’re in the iron box we left at Saint Denis. Must you have them today?”
The head vanished, so she presumed the need wasn’t urgent.
“Mama, Mama!” Edana was at her skirts, almost tripping her. “James broke my doll again.”
“Your father will glue it.” Catherine patted her cheek. “Come along. You can help me gather some greens to have with the cheese-and-turnip pie tonight.”
“Lady Catherine.” Martin picked up Edana and carried her as they went into the kitchen. “There was a man here earlier. He said he wanted to speak with you. I told him Master Edgar was at home, but he didn’t want to see him.”
“Did he give you his name?” Catherine asked. “Edana, if you pull Martin’s hair, he’ll drop you.”
“He wouldn’t say,” Martin complained as he loosened the child’s fingers from his hair. “And I
did
ask him. He was familar, though; I think he’s been here before, a long time ago. He wore a mail shirt.”
“Well then, we can rule out the clerics we know,” Catherine said. “What did he look like?”
“Taller than me, but not so tall as Master Edgar,” Martin answered quickly. “Dark, although his hair was running to grey and his face lined. He wasn’t as old as Master Hubert though, I think.”
Catherine stopped so abruptly that Martin ran into her, causing Edana to grab at her neck, tearing Catherine’s
bliaut.
“It’s all right, sweeting,” she said absently. “Don’t howl so.”
The description of the man sent chills through her. It couldn’t be. Why would he have returned to Paris? And, even more, why would he come to see her?
And yet, if the man had been Jehan, it would explain a lot of things, including the body. He hated her family passionately. He had long hoped to marry Catherine’s sister Agnes, but that had been thwarted when Agnes had found a better match. But he had resented Edgar and Catherine for years before that. Through a series of misadventures, mostly of his own making, his life had gone awry, and he blamed them for every piece of ill luck that had come to him. He had
vowed to destroy the family altogether. And Catherine feared that he knew enough about them to be able to do it.
But Jehan was supposed to have gone on the expedition to the Holy Land in the army of Emperor Conrad. He should be far away by now.
The knot in the pit of her stomach told Catherine that he might be all too close.
Her hand tightened on the handle of the basket. She took a deep breath to calm herself. There was no point in becoming frightened until she knew for sure.
“Does my husband know about this visitor?” she asked Martin.
“Oh.” He grimaced. “I forgot to tell him. Mother sent me on an errand and …”
“Good,” Catherine said. “We won’t bother him with this. Did the man say when he’d return?”
“Tomorrow, after Nones,” Martin was relieved that his lapse wasn’t serious. Doorkeeper was a new task for him, and he had a hard time remembering all the rules.
“Good,” Catherine said. “Solomon and Edgar should be gone by then.”
Margaret was helping Samonie chop the turnips. They were the last of the winter store and withered to the texture of oak. The force needed on the cleaver sent pieces flying across the room.
Catherine handed over the basket and took Edana from Martin. “Samonie, would you like to take Margaret and the children and go see Willa tomorrow afternoon?”
“I thought we were going to clean out the root cellar,” Samonie said. “You’ve been after me all week to make time for that.”
“Oh, yes,” Catherine said. “Oh well, we’ve all summer to do it. Let’s wait until it’s so hot that spending a day underground sounds pleasant.”
Samonie shrugged, but her eyes were suspicious. She’d known Catherine too long not to doubt this sudden change of plans.
“Please, Samonie,” Margaret said. “We’ll help Willa with the felt. Edana likes the splashing.”
“I don’t mind,” Samonie answered, looking at Catherine. “You’re mistress here.”
She nodded to Catherine, who smiled thanks. Both of them knew who really kept the household functioning.
“Martin will stay here in case I need anything done,” Catherine added. “With all of you gone, I may have the quiet I need to make some sense out of the lists Solomon and Edgar have been making. They’ve written and rubbed out things so often that the wax looks like a chicken has been scratching at the tablets.”
That settled, Catherine let herself relax. Nothing would happen until the next day. Perhaps her fears were nonsense and the man was simply a friend of her father’s who had come by to pay his respects to the family.
She firmly ignored the warning voice in her head.
 
The evening was calm. They ate in the garden, sharing the pie with the guards when they arrived. Edgar was beginning to think of dismissing them. There’d been no more trouble, and he paid the men three pennies a night just to sit by the stream and fish. Now that Solomon was there, the two of them could keep watch.
As they were finishing Astrolabe appeared with a pitcher of fresh beer flavored with early strawberries. Soon after James and Edana fell asleep on their parents’ laps.
“Are you staying the night?” Catherine asked Astrolabe.
“If I might,” he answered. “Maurice found a bed for me yesterday, but it’s been taken tonight by some messenger from Rome.”
“Is the situation there any better?” Edgar asked.
“Not enough to allow Pope Eugenius to return,” Astrolabe said. “The dissenters have resurrected the Senate, they say, and mean to found a new Republic.”
“Amazing,” Edgar commented. “And Arnold of Brescia is leading them. Who would have believed when he studied here that he could do such things?”
“I remember the discussions he would have with my father,” Astrolabe said. “Poor Arnold wanted to reform all of Christendom. Father suggested that he start with himself.”
Catherine joined the laughter. The intensity of the monk from Brescia had always frightened her a little. Arnold didn’t have the humor that saved Abelard from total pomposity.
“I saw the Knights of the Temple ride through town today,” she mentioned. “With their
gonfanons
waving and in full armor. Does that mean the king is finally setting out?”
“I think it was just another convocation,” Astrolabe told them. “But the rumors are that they’ll be leaving soon. All the groups are to convene at Metz.”
Catherine sighed. “I wish they’d hurry. The streets are always crowded, and bread is dear with so many needing to be fed.”
BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
13.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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