To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (19 page)

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

Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
5.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
They emerged into the courtyard, hoping that they hadn’t missed the morning meal. No sooner had their faces appeared round the doorway than they heard a voice calling for them.
“You two! Over here!” Brother Baudwin shouted. “Master Durand is waiting for your report.”
“Saint Paul’s bouncing skull!” Godfrey groaned. “He’ll be lucky if I don’t spew the report all over his boots.”
Master Durand’s expression was stern enough to control even Godfrey’s willful stomach.
“You’ve discovered nothing?” He raised his eyebrows in a manner more daunting than a raised sword.
“With all that’s happening in Paris,” Bertulf explained, “there’s no interest in the death of a stranger.”
Durand pursed his lips. “Perhaps you haven’t been paying close enough attention.” He leaned forward, fixing them with his glare.
“Master Durand,” Bertulf said with a touch of anger, “despite broad hints from us, no one has mentioned a dead knight of the Temple found in a merchant’s house.”
“Did you think of asking if this Hubert LeVendeur had been seen with a
live
brother?” Durand was barely containing his scorn.
“We did,” Bertulf answered to Durand’s chagrin. “Those who knew the merchant told us that he didn’t trade with the Temple, but sought out materials for Abbot Suger to adorn his church with, or rare spices and suchlike for the count of Champagne.”
“An unusual sort of trader, who has no specific commodity,” Durand commented.
Beside him, Brother Baudwin seemed perplexed. “Don’t the other merchants keep him from trafficking in their wares?”
Bertulf shrugged. “Apparently not. The man arranged for transport and buyers in distant lands. He was willing to work with Jews. He
took less trade from the merchants of Paris than he sent their way. They found him useful as an intermediary.”
“So all you have discovered is that no one has any complaint against this man, who has now become a holy pilgrim?” Durand asked.
Godfrey finally spoke up, seeing that Bertulf refused to give information that might be injurious to Hubert.
“There are those who resented him,” he said. “Some who felt he was too friendly with the Jews. Others muttered that he must have used trickery and deception to manage so many lucky bargains.”
“But there was no proof, no specific case,” Bertulf added quickly. “Only tavern gossip. All wealthy men have enemies among those not as successful.”
Master Durand sighed. “That is all too true.”
He tapped his fingers on the table, considering the problem.
“Very well,” he decided. “Another day or two, no more. Search out information in the marketplace. Ask the traders coming in for the Lendit. Perhaps one of them knows of some dealings this Hubert LeVendeur had with the brethren of the Temple in Spain or the Aquitaine. There must be some connection, or the body wouldn’t have been in his home!”
“The Lendit?” Bertulf asked.
“It’s a plain north of the city,” Baudwin explained. “Between here and Saint Denis. There are two fairs held there, one starting on Saint Barnabas’s Day and ending just before the Eve of Saint John’s. They’re already preparing the ground to build the booths.”
“The fur and spice merchants would have dealt with this Hubert, as well as the vellum and parchment makers,” Durand added, “if he had commissions from both the count and the abbot. Seek these men out. Some live in Paris, others have already arrived to negotiate with the monks for the best site at the fair.”
“Perhaps the draper has need of more boot leather or material for clothing,” Brother Baudwin suggested. “These two can do him a service while they work for us. I understand that the king plans to leave before the fair begins. We go with him and so will need our goods beforehand.”
Master Durand seemed surprised at the intelligence of the idea. After a moment’s consideration, he gave his approval.
“You take them, Baudwin,” he ordered. “I have more important things to attend to.”
Outside, all three men took deep breaths, as if the air inside Master Durand’s room had been too stale to support life.
Baudwin led them to the supply rooms where a number of other sergeants and servants were hard at work. The draper was happy to give Bertulf and Godfrey some errands to perform. They left shortly after with a tablet listing the items that they were to find.
“This is better than the tavern,” Godfrey said as they rode into the city. “But I wish I’d had a day to let my stomach recover.”
“We don’t have any more days,” Bertulf told him. “Soon we’ll be asked to take the oath of the Temple and, if we haven’t found the murderer by then, what am I going to do?”
 
The
Parleoir
was busier than ever. While the merchants were as worried as their wives about the damage the king’s tithe would do to their profits, most hoped that the extra business would make up for it.
Archer wasn’t so sure. He was a miller, who belonged to the water merchants by virtue of the fact that his mills, along with the one he leased from Genta, were all on the Seine, two under the
Grand Pont.
He had a strong interest in the transport of grain into and out of the city and owned several boats that docked within the limits of the merchants’ purview.
“The army the king is collecting is undisciplined,” he complained to Edgar. “They’ll spread out over the countryside, trampling and devouring all in their path. At least when it’s two lords fighting each other, there’s usually someone to protest to. What will I grind into flour if the fields are destroyed? The harvests are bad enough as it is.”
Edgar gave a gesture of helpless sympathy. He had no idea whom one went to if the king’s men caused the damage. Solomon came to his rescue.
“Abbot Suger has been named regent,” he told Archer. “Apply to him if there’s a shortage of grain. If Paris has no bread, he’ll find it hard to control the citizens.”
“Of course!” Archer said.
Solomon could see the man’s mind working and knew the exact moment Archer remembered that the link to Abbot Suger was Edgar, who had inherited Hubert’s account with Saint Denis.
Archer smiled in a way that managed to include them both without showing any real friendship for Solomon.
“Perhaps the next time you have an audience with the abbot, I might come with you to make just that point.” His eyes were those of a hopeful puppy.
Edgar looked at Solomon. “We might be able to arrange a meeting,” he told Archer.
“Fine, fine.” Archer didn’t seem as pleased as Edgar had expected.
“Was there something else?” he asked.
Archer scratched at the side of his beard. “Well, it’s my wife.” He sighed. “Richilde went to visit your wife yesterday.”
“So I heard,” Edgar started angrily.
“Yes, yes,” Archer raised his hands in placation. “They seem to have sorted things out. But I understand that you’ve had some trouble. If thieves and madmen are roaming the Grève by night, we should all be alert to the danger.”
“In these times, there are thieves and madmen everywhere,” Edgar said. “I’ve arranged for men to guard my property. I suggest you do the same.”
Archer looked as though he wanted to protest. They were interrupted at that moment by Hugo, the money changer, who had come to the
Parleoir
especially to see Archer, he said, as he pulled the miller away.
Solomon waited in silence while Edgar struggled to control his temper.
“This is what I must spend the rest of my life associating with?” He grimaced.
“He’s no worse than the men of the king’s court, or the bishop’s, for that matter,” Solomon reminded him. “You might have spent your life rubbing shoulders with priests instead of sharing your bed with Catherine.”
Edgar gave a snort of laughter.
“You do have a way of making me see the advantage of my decision,” he said.
“And you probably wouldn’t have me to cheer your gloom,” Solomon added.
He grinned at Edgar, daring him to respond.
Edgar knew better. Instead he suggested a trencher of lamb stew and a bowl of beer. Solomon had no argument with that.
 
In the small attic room, Jehan was at the same moment staring at Lambert in horror.
“You let that woman give you wine!” he shouted. “Saint Lucy’s loosened eyes, man! Have you no sense! Didn’t I warn you?”
“I didn’t drink it.” Lambert tried to push himself farther back, but Jehan loomed closer.
Until now, Lambert had always thought “blazing eyes” a fanciful description by the
jongleurs.
Now he knew what they meant.
“The child startled me, and I dropped the cup before I took even one sip,” he explained.
“Well, thank the Virgin that happened,” Jehan said. “Or you might have fallen under their persuasion and even now be committing horrible acts of blasphemy.”
Lambert crossed himself.
“I remembered your warnings,” he insisted. “I was praying the whole time I was in the house. But the visit was to no purpose. The description of the man was nothing like Lord Osto. Perhaps he never went to see them.”
“I’m sure he did.” Jehan paced the tiny room, his boots thumping wrathfully. Below, a man shouted at him to stop the racket. Jehan stomped with greater fury.
“Catherine LeVendeur and her husband are capable of the most wicked treachery and deceit.” He fixed Lambert with his terrible eyes. “Why should she tell you the true appearance of this man they killed? She’s hoping the knights will bury his memory along with his body.”
“Perhaps, but what can I do about it?” Lambert said. “I’ve no proof that Lord Osto and my father even came to Paris. No one reports having seen them here.”
Jehan reached over and grabbed the young man by the strings of his tunic.
“What kind of men do they grow in the north?” he growled. “You mewl like a lamb that’s lost its mother. You need proof? Well, I tell you it’s in that house. All you have to do is find it. Now, are you going to go back to that wife of yours and tell her you’ve failed?”
“Uggleger … argle!” Lambert choked.
Jehan released the strings. Lambert coughed until he could breathe normally again.
“I only asked for your advice.” He coughed again.
“Return to the house,” Jehan ordered. “Pretend to make friends with Catherine and Edgar. Tell them you know no one in Paris; all the things you told me. That should be easy for you. But you must also stay on your guard. Lull them into speaking in front of you without caution. And, no matter what, don’t trust them!”
“How can I avoid taking hospitality from them?” Lambert asked. “If I’m to feign friendship.”
That gave Jehan pause. “Hmmm, you’ll need to find something else to counter enchantments and prevent poisoning.”
“Come with me,” he said suddenly. “I know of someone who can help us.”
They clattered down the stairs and out into the crowded street.
“Follow closely,” Jehan spoke softly in Lambert’s ear. “I mean to follow an indirect path, to confuse anyone who might be spying on us.”
Although the sun was warm on his back, Lambert shivered.
Jehan led him through the narrow streets, up and down, doubling back often almost to the river. They circled around the Jews’ cemetery and past rows of vines covered with leaves and the promise of wine. They stumbled over bits of masonry from ancient buildings and once cut through a small church. Finally, Jehan stopped at a low door on a narrow street off the
rue de la Bucherie
. The house was built on the bank of the Biévre, one of the streams flowing into the Seine.
Jehan knocked softly. After a few moments, the board over the grille moved a fraction. Lambert thought he had a glimpse of a rheumy
eye peering at them. Then there was the sound of a bolt being drawn, and the door opened only enough to let them enter.
Lambert found himself in a room not much higher than the door. Both he and Jehan were forced to stoop. It was dark, smoky and stifling. The only light filtered in from a slot cut in the wall on the far side. It was some moments before Lambert could make out the person they were visiting. He thought it was male, but very short. The house was the right size for its owner.
“So,” the man said, squinting at Jehan. “Back, are you? The charms I gave you must have worked, or you wouldn’t have returned alive.”
Jehan snorted. “Well enough, for what they were,” he said. “But I survived through my own strength. This boy needs something to protect him in a stronghold of evil.”
Lambert could only make out the movement of a head in the gloom. He knew that he was being examined.
“In case they try to poison or ensorcel me,” he explained to the man.
“Of course.” Their host turned and began to rummage in a box next to the wall. He pulled out several small bags and laid them on a bench.

Other books

Panther Protection by Gracie Meadows
Doctor Who: The Romans by Donald Cotton
Crash Ride by T Gephart
Deep by Linda Mooney
Breathe into Me by Fawkes, Sara
Following Ezra by Tom Fields-Meyer
Fatal Lies by Frank Tallis