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

Authors: Sharan Newman

To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (3 page)

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Not even the one who loved him best would be able to recognize him. Edgar hoped that person would never see what the poor knight had come to.
“Perhaps he’s wearing a ring or some other token that will identify him,” he suggested. “But we can let his brothers of the Temple search for that. Come, my love.”
“Wait. Something’s odd.” Catherine stepped in and knelt by the body. She swallowed hard to keep her stomach in place. Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the bloodstained cloak and tunic.
“That’s strange,” she said. “Edgar, come look. All this blood, but there’s no tear in the material. And no stain spread out on the floor, either. Someone must have put this man’s body here after he was killed.”
“That is strange. But if you can’t find a wound, how can we be sure how he was killed? The blood may not be his.” Edgar’s curiosity overcame his desire to get both of them away from this ugly death.
“Edgar, he didn’t come up here to die of old age. There must be a wound someplace,” Catherine said.
She looked at her husband. “Do you think we should turn him over? He might have been struck from behind.”
Her face showed how little she wanted to touch the man further.
“I suppose that it might be a good idea to find out all we can, in case we’re questioned,” Edgar answered grudgingly. “Here, I’ll do it.”
He put his right hand under the body and tried to push with it and his left arm. But he couldn’t get enough leverage to turn the man over.
“I’ll help; it was my idea.” Catherine put out her hands and stretched her neck as far away as she could. “Oh, Saint Lazarus, please don’t let him squish!”
He squished.
The knight’s arm flopped forward as they rolled the body but,
mercifully, stayed attached. The back of the cloak was also stained but whole. When they peeled it off, though, they had no doubt about how the poor man had met his fate.
“What could make a hole that size in a mail shirt?” Catherine asked. “A spear?”
“No, more like a pointed stake, I’d say. Something about as big around as one of our tent pegs,” Edgar answered. “But it may have been tipped in iron. And it would have taken great force to drive it so far into his body.”
They stared at the hole in the man’s back, now black except where the maggots crawled.
Catherine felt suddenly sick. She stumbled out into the hallway and threw up over the railing.
“Oh, God, the mess to clean,” she moaned.
She unwrapped her scarf and wiped her mouth with the ends. Her long black braids fell loose down her back.
“
Leoffest.
” Edgar turned her about and held her.
Gratefully she inhaled the scent of his body: sweat and wool and life.
“It’s strange,” she babbled. “We often see corpses in this state, hanging from gibbets at the crossroads or washed down the river. I hardly notice them anymore, except to say a quick prayer for their souls. It’s as if the familiarity makes them no more than part of the landscape.”
Edgar patted her back. “I know. This is different. This is our home. It’s been violated by the death of a stranger.”
He stopped in doubt. “At least I think he’s a stranger.”
Catherine turned her head and kissed the bottom of Edgar’s chin. He bent so she could kiss his mouth. The living taste of him steadied her. Then she remembered what her own mouth must taste like. She turned her face away and closed her eyes, clinging to him until her breathing was even again.
Then she took one more deep breath and stood on her own.
“Whoever he is,” she announced, “the man doesn’t belong here. We need to place him in the care of his own people. Immediately.”
She stopped. Her voice had begun to tremble again.
Edgar took her hand and led her back down the stairs.
“We’ll go back to Willa’s, wash, eat if we can and then hunt for someone in authority to report this to,” he decided.
“Do you think we’ll be suspected?” Catherine asked.
Edgar paused mid-stair and gaped at her. “You are upset!” he exclaimed. “How could we have killed a man in Paris when we’ve been gone for nearly a year?”
“Of course.” Catherine was surprised at herself. “That was stupid of me.”
Then she realized that she hadn’t been thinking about herself and Edgar but about her father, who had come and gone, and Solomon, who might have been in Paris, after all. With all the fervor of the preparations for the king’s expedition, there were many who felt it only right to attack the Jews at home first before the Saracens abroad. Neither Solomon nor Hubert ever announced his faith to strangers. But neither would deny it if challenged. And she doubted they would allow a challenge to go unanswered.
Yes, it was all too possible that her father or her cousin might have had a reason to be compelled to kill a soldier of Christ.
 
Willa was surprised to see them so soon. She had all of the children in the trough helping her stomp down the felt. When she looked up and saw their faces, she stumbled and nearly fell out into the street.
“I need to wash before I touch anyone,” Catherine greeted her. “Is there a basin I can use?”
Willa stepped out at once and ran in to get water and a cloth to dry their hands with.
“In a minute, James,” Edgar said, as his wet son tried to climb up his leg. “Just as soon as Mama finishes washing my hand.”
Catherine dampened the cloth and rubbed it over the edges of their sleeves, as well. She had images of tiny vermin hiding in the robes of the knight’s body and leaping onto her.
When Catherine had finished, she picked up Edana and let the child rub her soapy hands where she liked. Willa waited patiently for them to tell her what had upset them, but Margaret had no servile scruples.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Has something happened to Solomon?”
Edgar reached out to her, letting James slide back down to the ground.
“No,
deorling
,” he assured her. “There’s still no word from him. But we had a nasty surprise. It seems that someone has decided to use our house to dispose of a body.”
“Again?” Margaret shook her head.
“Margaret!” Catherine was shocked. “No one has ever died in our house before.”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, bodies seem to fall on you a lot,” Margaret said.
“Not in years,” Catherine insisted. “And your brother found this one first. Anyway, it’s no one we know. What we need to do now is find someone in charge of the Knights of the Temple. It’s their body we think; they can come and fetch it. Is your mother here, yet, Willa?”
“No, Mistress Catherine,” Willa said. “Should I send her to the house when she arrives?”
“Goodness, no.” Catherine thought a moment. “Edgar, it will be days before the house will be livable. I think that, once we’ve reported this, we should go back to Guillaume at Vielleteneuse. We can have Samonie arrange to have the house cleaned and aired, just as it should have been all along.”
Edgar gave her an incredulous glance. “You want to go away without finding out who that man was and why he was left in our home?”
“Don’t you think that the care and safety of the family is more important than some stranger who was simply dumped on us?” Catherine glared back at him.
Looking at her, Edgar realized suddenly what the real problem was. Catherine was terrified. Not for the children or themselves. There was no reason to feel that they were in danger.
But Edgar saw it in her eyes. Catherine believed that the knight had been left in their house for a purpose, not just because it was unoccupied and convenient. As much as she wanted to deny the possibility, Catherine feared that the dead man had something to do with
her father, because of his apostasy. Did she really think Hubert could kill to protect his secret?
For that matter, Edgar wondered, did he?
“Catherine?” he asked.
“Not now,” she answered. “Please.”
She took his hand in both her own.
“Please,” she repeated.
He smiled at her and squeezed her fingers in understanding.
“Very well,” he said. “We have more than enough to do now.”
“That we do.” Catherine took a deep breath. “Willa, may we change here? I don’t want to appear before the master of the Temple with cobwebs in my hair and gore from one of his men on my robes.”
Willa shook her head. “Only you would have such a dilemma, Mistress,” she said. “I already miss life in your household. It’s so much duller being married.”
Edgar and Catherine exchanged glances. Neither one of them would have ever thought their married life dull.
 
Accordingly they presented themselves at the gate of the Temple preceptory outside Paris that afternoon just as the bells were ringing for Nones. They had come on horseback to indicate they weren’t commoners or beggars, but Catherine was nervous all the same. She had resolved to let Edgar speak for them both. When she told him that he only nodded, his expression showing his disbelief. He knew well how hard it was for Catherine to hold her tongue. This only strengthened her determination to behave for once as a proper matron.
The gate was opened by an old man in the black tunic of a sergeant. His white hair hung in strands around his dark, weather-beaten face. Edgar’s eyes widened as he realized that the man had only one arm.
“I lost this at the end of a Saracen sword, fighting for the faith,” the gatekeeper said. “Gape if you want. I’m proud that I gave it for Our Lord.”
“It wasn’t that,” Edgar said. He held up his arm to show the man the emptiness at the end of it. “I only wish my loss had been in as good a cause.”
Catherine wouldn’t let that stand.
“You were trying to save a man’s life,” she started. “That’s every bit as noble as …”
“Yes,
carissima
,” Edgar interrupted. “But it has nothing to do with our mission. We need to speak with the commander here on a matter of grave importance.”
“The commander’s at his prayers,” the gatekeeper told them. “And you couldn’t bother him in any case. He’s preparing to return to the Holy Land as soon as possible on the king’s business.”
“Then the Marshal,” Edgar insisted. “Or the chaplain. We’ll wait until they’ve said the Office. Tell him that Edgar, son of the Lord of Wedderlie, wishes to speak with him.”
He drew himself up and looked down on the sergeant with all the force of confidence coming from noble birth. Catherine watched him with admiration. Edgar hardly ever felt the need to play the lord, but when he did, he was to her mind, superb.
The gatekeeper seemed to be impressed as well, though not daunted. After all, noble birth was one requirement for entry into the Knights of the Temple. He grudgingly showed them into the gatehouse and bid them sit and wait until the service was over and he could fetch someone.
“He didn’t even ask what our business was,” Catherine commented, once the man had left.
“It’s not his place to,” Edgar said. “I wouldn’t have told him if he had asked.”
Catherine didn’t respond to that, even though the tone was chillingly like that of Edgar’s older brother, Duncan, who now held the lordship of their land in Scotland. She told herself that he must appear to the gatekeeper to be equal in rank to the knights. Otherwise, he might not let them in to see the Commander.
It was sometime after the Office had ended that they heard the door to the gatehouse open. Catherine had grown bored and was dozing on Edgar’s shoulder. She sat up at once when the sergeant entered.
“You are to see the Marshal,” he told them. “He will receive you in the chapter house.”
“Thank you,” Edgar said, and rose, offering Catherine his arm.
They followed a path that separated the knights’ cloister from the stables and were led into a small room adjoining the church. A moment later a man entered, his white cloak proclaiming his noble birth. He was only a little above middle height, but he was built like a bull, with powerful arms and a thick neck. His legs were bowed from life on horseback. He seemed too big for the room. Catherine shrank back to give him space, but Edgar led her forward and bowed.
“My lord Marshal,” he said. “I am Edgar of Wedderlie and this is my wife, the Lady Catherine, granddaughter of Lord Gargenaud of Boisvert, in Blois. We returned to our home in Paris yesterday after an absence of nearly a year. Although the house had been closed while we were gone, when we entered we discovered that someone had left the body of a man dressed in the manner of your Order. Murdered, we believe.”
“What?” Whatever the Marshal had been expecting, it wasn’t this. “One of ours? Murdered? Who? How?” he sputtered.
“We have no idea,” Edgar answered. “We only ask that you send some men to claim the body of your fellow and give him a burial with such rituals as you accord your own.”
BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
3.33Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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