To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (13 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“I wish you a good journey,” Catherine said calmly. Inside she was panicking. How had he learned that her father had gone to Arles?
She turned to call for Martin to see him out. In a movement too quick to see, Jehan caught her wrist, gripping it so tightly that her fingers went numb.
“Don’t pretend with me, you
enginieuse
!” He pulled her against him and growled in her ear. “I know what you are and what Hubert is. I can destroy all of you.”
Catherine tried to pull away from him without showing how frightened she was.
“That’s what you’ve always wanted,” she said. “So, if you think you know so much, why haven’t you denounced us already?”
He grabbed her other wrist, twisting her arm back. Catherine fought the urge to scream for Martin to run for help. She had to know what proof Jehan had.
“The time isn’t right,” he said. “You’d weave your sorcery on the judges, spin words around them until they were addled with a jumble of Latin. But I will trap you, and I want you to know it. I want you to wake up every morning wondering if this is the day when I destroy you and yours.”
Catherine exhaled in relief, despite the pain in her arm. He had nothing solid to attack them with, only guesses and hate.
“I shall add you to my morning prayers, Jehan,” she tried to overcome the shaking in her voice, “that you might soon win a martyr’s crown, as you deserve. If you only came to threaten me one more time before you leave, then you’ve accomplished your mission. I suggest you leave before my husband returns.”
“Your husband,” he snorted. “A cripple who couldn’t use a sword even when he had two hands. No, I came to do more than warn you of your impending fate. My journey will be more costly than I had expected. The months I spent in my efforts to save your sister drained my resources. You owe me, Catherine. I need enough to get me to Spain.”
She should have known. He wasn’t asking her to buy his silence. That would make him no more than a tradesman. He was demanding what he felt was his due. That had always been his worst trait. All his misfortunes were of Catherine’s making. And for that she owed him reparation.
He let go his hold on her. She stepped back, rubbing the bruised wrist. She lifted her chin and glared at him defiantly.
“You want me to pay you to leave me alone,” she spoke with scorn. “Why should I? Your hints and rumors can’t hurt me or my family. We’re good Christians and respected members of the community. No one will believe your lies.”
“Oh, yes they will,” Jehan said with confidence. “Hints and rumors are what people believe most readily. But, in return for the cost of my
journey, I’ll give you time to repent before I show Bishop Theobald my proofs of your apostasy.”
It was so like Jehan to prefer slow torture to a quick kill. Catherine had once pitied him. Now her only feeling was loathing and a deep desire to be rid of him forever. She wanted to ask him if he had been the one who murdered the knight, but, if he didn’t know about it, then that would be just one more thing he’d add to his list of their crimes.
Reluctantly, she made her decision.
“Martin!” she called. “Will you bring my jewelry box?”
She hunted through her keys for the small one that opened the box, thereby avoiding Jehan’s eyes.
“I have a gold chain that belonged to my mother,” she said. “I shall give it to you, in memory of the services you once performed for my grandfather and father, before you went mad, and as alms for the good of my soul.”
Martin came in carrying the box. It was not very big. Most of the jewelry had been taken by Agnes as her dowry. Edgar had carved the box for her, and she treasured it far more than the few pieces inside.
She took out the chain and handed it to Jehan, draping it over his outstretched palm.
“Go to Spain,” she said. “Earn a fief there and make a better life. There’s nothing for you here.”
Jehan dropped the chain into his purse.
“I may well find honor in Spain,” he said. “But there will always be something for me here.”
He took no leave, but walked to the door, his spurs scraping the wood floor and catching bits of straw and herbs as he went. Catherine didn’t move as he opened the door. Martin, who had been listening in the passage, immediately led him to the gate.
The boy returned to find Catherine sitting on a folding chair by the hearth. She was trembling.
“Shall I get you some wine, Mistress?” he asked.
“Yes, please, Martin.” She pulled her sleeve over the hurt wrist, wondering how she could explain the marks to Edgar. “Martin!” she
called after him. “I’d like you not to mention our visitor to anyone. He’s going away for a long time, perhaps forever. There’s no point in worrying the others.”
Martin nodded and went to get the wine. He would obey Catherine’s instructions for now, but in his heart he feared that it wasn’t the last they would see of Jehan.
A few moments later
 
Pervenit ad nos quosdam judeorum ad christianam fidem conversos, denuo, instigante diabolo, ac judaismum fuisse reversos; guod quoniam ad ignominiam nominis Christi ac christiane religionis contemptum vehementer pertinere congnovimus, tante presumpcionis injuriam regii terrore precepti inhibendam esse decrevimus. Statuimus igitur et regia auctoritate sanctimus, ut quicumque decinceps judeorum, per baptismi gratiam in Christo renati, ad sue vetustatis errorem revolare presumpserint, in toto regno nostro remanere non audeant, et si capi poterint, vel capitali dampnentur judicio, vel membrorum porcione multentur.
 
It has come to our attention that certain jews, having converted to the christian faith, deny it at the prompting of the devil and have returned to judaism. And we have become aware that this is a disgrace to the name of Christ and that they are strongly contemptuous of the Christian religion. Such great presumption being hurtful to the realm we issue a decree to prohibit it. Therefore we decree and we sanction by the authority of the king, that whosoever of the jews, successively having been reborn in Christ through the grace of baptism, should presume to return to the ancient error, may not dare remain anywhere in our kingdom, and should they be captured, either be condemned to death by law or be punished by being torn limb from limb.
 
—Edict of Louis VII, 1144
 
C
atherine took the wine Martin brought her and carried it up to the counting room. She found that the blot had dried on the page, so she scraped it off, rubbed the spot clean with a bear tooth and redid the numbers. She tried to concentrate on the rest of the records, but her mind refused to focus on them. All she could see was Jehan’s sneer.
Once he had just been one of many knights without a fief, fighting in tournaments and private feuds, carrying messages for her grandfather or Abbot Suger, guarding the goods that her father transported. Then, one incident at a time, he had grown to be her private demon. The hatred he bore for her and Edgar had assumed the posture of some epic nemesis. He carried resentment with him like an aura that made his very appearance sinister. Catherine had long believed him insane. Now she wondered if he might not also be possessed.
Was his malevolence so great that he would kill a man and try to put the blame on them?
Oh, yes.
Catherine shivered and downed the last of the wine.
 
Edgar and Solomon were having their own problems. Abraham the vintner had told them that the casks they had sent him hadn’t been properly scoured and would have to be purified again before he could use them. The buyer had found someone else to sell him saffron. Now they were in the middle of a shouting match at the Water Merchants’ Hall, the
Parleoir de Borjois
. It was a huge building with an inner courtyard supported by marble columns. It had been built so long ago
that no one knew who had made it or why. But the merchants had it now, and they found the court a fine place to debate.
The provost was doing his best to maintain order.
“My good men!” he shouted over the din. “The king has only proposed that we increase the tolls for goods coming from Normandy and England. He wants the surplus to be used to buy grain to store in case this year’s harvest is as bad as the last. Then the poor won’t starve this winter.”
“The king is starving the poor through his Jerusalem tithe!” a voice called back. “Why should we pay for his folly?”
There were mutters of agreement.
“Do you want people saying that you got rich through provisioning the army of Our Lord?” the provost pled.
“They’ll say it whether we do or not,” another merchant complained.
The muttering grew to shouting again.
Solomon and Edgar stood in the back under the portico, watching the debate.
“I shouldn’t be here today,” Solomon said. “The king will get his way, as usual, and the merchants will need someone to blame.”
Solomon wasn’t a member of the water merchants. One had to be Christian to swear the oath all of them took when they entered. But Jewish traders often attended the meetings, and usually no one questioned their presence.
“You can’t go,” Edgar told him. “I don’t know these people the way you do. Until I learn whom to trust, what their weaknesses are, how they bargain, you have to make sure they don’t try to cheat us.”
“You can’t trust any of them,” Solomon said. “Their weaknesses are greed and their own distrust of each other, and they all want to buy low, sell high and be the only one allowed to trade in some commodity. Now you have all the knowledge I hold.”
“What was I thinking of?” Edgar sighed. “I know less of the art of exchange than James. These men can tell me anything, and I’ll be as trusting as a lamb, and as easily slaughtered.”
“No, you won’t,” Solomon reassured him. “They can’t pass off
shoddy goods on you. You know the look of real amethyst and amber. You know when something is well made and, even though you know nothing about the quality of wool, your English accent will make them believe that you must.”
Edgar considered the men around him. He knew some of them already. They were the upper echelon of those who traded in Paris. Only the water merchants were permitted to take boats up the Seine beyond Mantes and unload them in the city. Most of them specialized in only one kind of goods: leather, wine, beef and pork, salt or furs. They were fiercely protective of their rights and monopolies.
Hubert had won their trust by dealing in a variety of items that complemented their goods without infringing on their trade. He brought fine wine from Clos du Val, but only in small amounts for the table of the bishop and the king. He brought unset jewels and rare spices from Spain and the East and amber from Russia. And he used his contacts with the rich abbeys and the court to secure commissions for his fellow merchants of the guild.
But Hubert was gone now. Would his old affiliations carry over to his son-in-law, a foreigner not born to the trade?
As he worried over this, one of the other merchants caught his eye and started toward him. Edgar straightened and prepared himself for anything.
“Edgar!” the man greeted him with a smile. “Good to see you back!”
Quickly Edgar nudged Solomon, who stretched out his hand to the man.
“Archer! We’re glad to be back,” Solomon said. “Edgar and I are impressed with the growth of the association in the year we’ve been gone.”
“Ah, Solomon, yes, well.” Archer hesitated. “The king’s expedition has been good for trade, so far.”
It was clear that he wanted to speak to Edgar alone. Solomon took pity on him and excused himself.
“I’ll be at the Blue Boar when you finish,” he whispered to Edgar.
Archer heaved a great sigh when Solomon had gone.
“Sorry,” he said. “I never know what to say to them. Solomon
seems almost a Christian, and his uncle Eliazar was a decent man, but you hear so many things …”
Edgar stared at him, waiting.
“Yes, well,” Archer started again. “You know Genta, don’t you? A very respectable woman, raised at court. She has several mills and ovens in the suburbs of Paris.”
Edgar nodded, more to encourage the man to continue than from any memory of the woman.
“So, it seems that she’s decided to donate some property to the Knights of the Temple next Thursday. There will be a ceremony, of course. She tells me the king and dowager queen will be there,” Archer looked to see if Edgar were suitably impressed. “Afterward, there will be a feast. She asked me if you and your wife would care to attend.”
Edgar was surprised. In the time they had lived in Paris with Hubert, no one had asked them to any festivities. It hadn’t occured to him that anyone would. What had changed?
“Thank you,” he told Archer. “Please tell Mistress Genta that, unless my wife knows of other plans, we would be happy to celebrate her gift to the Temple.”
“And, of course, your sister is most welcome, too,” Archer added.
Edgar froze. Archer licked his lips nervously. So that was how it was. Edgar wondered how many people had learned of Margaret’s ancestry.
“My sister has been ill,” he said. “We shall have to decide if she’s well enough for an evening out.”
“Genta has hired musicians and a dancing bear,” Archer coaxed.
Edgar forced a smile. “I’m sure Margaret would enjoy that if her health permits. I’ll send word to Genta when we’ve discussed the matter.”
He gave a curt nod and left the
Parleoir.
All the way to the tavern he was muttering to himself. His face was so angry that a beggar with her hand out scuttled across the road to avoid him.
Solomon wisely waited until Edgar had sat, drained a wine cup and refilled it before asking what was wrong.
“I don’t suppose your indignation is over the fact that Archer is uneasy around Jews.” He gave Edgar a wry smile.
“You would make anyone uneasy,” Edgar answered. “Including other Jews.”
Solomon shrugged his admission of the fact. Edgar took a deep breath to calm himself. The tavern was windowless. The only light came through the open door, dim in the late afternoon and often blotted by passersby. It was hard to see who else was there, but Edgar peered into the gloom and found no one he knew. He lifted the cup again.
“
Wæs hael
,” he said without much enthusiam.
“
Drinc hael
!” Solomon raised his beer. “Now are you going to tell me what’s making you so angry, or just drink yourself under the table?”
Edgar explained about the invitation. In this case he felt Solomon would understand his feelings better than Catherine would. He was sure of it when he saw his own anger reflected in his friend’s expression.
“Margaret shouldn’t have to associate with people like that,” he said. “She’s not in trade.”
“Archer said Queen Adelaide would be there,” Edgar considered. “Perhaps even Louis and Queen Eleanor. They are certainly fit for Margaret to meet.”
Solomon snorted in disgust. Edgar laughed.
“Anyone would think you were the girl’s grandmother!” he said. “When did you become a prude?”
“When I promised to care for Margaret.” Solomon didn’t share the laugh.
“Well, I agree with you, although not for the same reasons,” Edgar said. “I don’t want her used by those who wish to reach Count Thibault. And I don’t want people speculating about how she came by her scars.”
Solomon nodded grimly.
“Then we won’t mention this at home?” he asked.
“Not tell Catherine?” Edgar stared. “Are you mad?”
Solomon sighed. “At least not Margaret,” he conceded.
 
 
Catherine jumped when she heard the steps in the courtyard. Then Edgar’s voice called out to her, and she felt such relief that she ran to him and embraced him as if he’d been gone a week.
“
Carissima
!” he exclaimed, returning her affection with joy. “Does this mean the children are out?”
The noise from the hall dispelled that hope.
“Don’t you want to have your family about you?” she teased.
“Not every minute,” he whispered. “Can we send them to bed early?”
Catherine smiled at him. With a twinge, Solomon turned away. It was a source of both wonder and pain to him that they could still look at each other like that after so many years together.
Catherine led them into the hall, where James and Edana were racing around the room shrieking at some imaginary monster. Margaret sat by the window, well out of the way, with her embroidery on her lap. Martin was trying to set up the tables for the evening meal without much success.
“James!” Catherine said sharply. “Edana! Come here and greet your papa like children and not wild animals.”
Edana stopped at once and ran to him, her arms out to be held. James made one more circuit of the room, and then trotted over. He stopped in front of Edgar, put one hand over his heart and bowed.
“God save you, Papa,” he said. “Did you have a good day?”
Catherine’s lips twitched. She and Margaret had been training him for days on this.
With no trace of humor, Edgar acknowledged his son’s obeisance. “God save you, as well, James. My day was satisfactory. I hope to learn from your mother that you have been dutiful and not led your little sister into misdeeds.”
James looked up at Edgar with exasperation. “Papa, you know Edana won’t do anything I say!”
“Just like her mother.” Edgar gave Edana a squeeze. She giggled and patted his cheek, confident of her power to turn away his wrath should she ever deserve it.
“All is well here?” Edgar looked at Catherine. “Those men from the Temple haven’t returned?”

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