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

Authors: Sharan Newman

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BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“How do you know this man is one of ours?” the Marshal asked. “There’s been no one missing as far as I’ve heard. An empty bed in the dormitory would have been noticed.”
Edgar paused. Catherine forgot her promise and answered for him. Edgar hid his smile. He wasn’t surprised.
“The man wore a mail shirt and the white cloak of the Knights of the Temple, with a brooch showing two knights sharing a horse,” she said. Then she added, “But perhaps we were wrong, for his cloak had no red cross on the shoulder such as you wear, only a small dark one held in place by the brooch. Or is the red cross only granted to those of you in authority?”
The knight put his hand to the embroidered cross on his left shoulder almost as if caressing it.
“My mother made this at my request when I converted to the Order,” he said. “But Pope Eugenius only gave us permission to carry
the red cross on our cloaks a few days ago. Not all of the knights have added them, yet. Yes, the man certainly seems to have dressed as we do. What are his features?”
Catherine shivered as she remembered the distorted face.
“Time has erased his features,” Edgar said. “His hair was light, though not as blond as mine. He was no longer young, I think, but I could be wrong. His size was a bit taller than you and of more slender build. Can you remember anything else, Catherine?”
She tried to recall anything beyond the torn face and gaping hole in the man’s back. Something.
“He was accustomed to riding,” she said suddenly.
“Meaning?” The Marshal seemed skeptical.
“He wore leather
brais
,” she said slowly, thinking. “But the inside of the leg was worn the way it is when it’s always rubbing against the side of a horse. That makes the leather shiny from oil and sweat. Walking causes leather to chafe and become rough, not smooth. That’s why I assumed he was a knight.”
The two men were silent a moment. The Marshal looked to Edgar for confirmation.
“I didn’t notice,” he admitted. “You can examine his clothing when you have the body retrieved. It would be best if you sent someone at once, with canvas to wrap him in. I would judge the man has been there for some time.”
The Marshal went to the door and called to a guard waiting outside.
“I’m still not convinced that your inconvenient guest is a Knight of the Temple, but I shall send some of the servants to collect him,” he announced. “Direct them to your home, or lead them if you will. I’ll tell the commander of this. He may wish to question you himself.”
“We shall be at Vielleteneuse for a few days,” Catherine told him. “While the house is being cleaned. My brother, Guillaume, is castellan there. If you send a message, we can return to Paris within the day.”
The Marshal agreed to this. “The body has been there a while, you say?” He rubbed his chin. “There weren’t so many of us here before fourth week of Lent. We gathered all men of fighting age from the preceptories in the west to come to Paris for the pope’s blessing.”
“Were there many new converts?” Edgar asked.
“Several,” the Marshal said. “But most were known to someone among us. All together we in Paris are one hundred thirty, by count.”
“Then, my lord,” Catherine told him, “someone should count again. For either you have one man missing or there was once one knight too many.”
The keep at Vielleteneuse, where Catherine’s brother, Guillaume, is castellan. Monday, 3 nones May, (May 5), 1147; 3 Sivan 4907. Feast of Saint Hilarius of Aries, known as much for his erudition as his piety.
 
Impavidus profecto miles, et omni ex parte securus, qui ut corpus ferri, sic animum fιdei lorica induitur. Utrisque nimirum munitus armis, nec daemonem timet, nec hominem.
 
Truly this dauntless knight is confident in every way, his body armored in iron, his soul in the breastplate of faith. Armed thus inside and out, he fears neither demons nor men.
 
—Bernard of Clairvaux
In Praise of the New Knighthood
 
 
“
W
hy doesn’t it surprise me, Catherine, that you would return home to find a corpse?” Guillaume gestured for the page to bring him more meat. “As a child, if you didn’t trip over trouble, you always set out to find it.”
“Guillaume, you’ve teased your sister enough,” his wife, Marie, warned. “The unfortunate man’s death isn’t her fault. And the inconvenience has at least allowed us to have her family here for a while.”
“It does seem strange to me that Edgar and I have encountered so many instances of people who have been killed,” Catherine mused. “But I’ve decided that it must be God’s will that we take an interest, for we have also been responsible for the innocent being saved from wrongful punishment.”
“Including your own sister,” Edgar added to him.
Guillaume shook his head. “I find it hard to see you as an emissary of divine justice. But who am I to try to understand God’s intentions?”
Marie brought the conversation back to the mundane.
“We have missed you,” she said to Catherine. “When your father came and told us he was going on a pilgrimage and not planning on coming home, we feared that you would elect to stay in Trier with Agnes.”
Catherine broke the crust from her trencher bread and gave a piece to Edgar.
“We couldn’t do that,” she assured Marie. “Paris is home. Once Agnes’s problems were taken care of it was only a matter of everyone being well enough to make the journey back.”
“Ah, yes.” Marie lowered her voice. “Poor dear Margaret. The
things these foreigners are capable of! It’s a miracle they didn’t rape her as well. Do you think the scar will fade? You know how men are about such things.”
Catherine could feel Edgar tensing beside her.
“Margaret is still a beautiful girl,” she said. “If her desire is to marry, we’ll have no trouble finding her a suitable husband.”
“Of course,” Marie nodded. “And should she choose the convent, God won’t care what she looks like.”
Edgar made a sudden movement that knocked over his wine cup and sent it clanging to the floor.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Very clumsy these days.”
The page went running for more wine. Marie’s forehead furrowed in confusion.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“We’re just very tired, Marie,” Catherine answered quickly. “The long journey and then the shock of finding that body has worn us both. Perhaps you would excuse us for the evening?”
“Of course.” Marie stood and went to embrace Catherine and Edgar. “It’s wonderful to have you with us. Please stay as long as you wish. You can tell the children are enjoying being together.”
There was no doubt of that from the ruckus overhead, as James and Edana were making friends with their cousins. Added to the squeals of excitement was the barking of Dragon, the dog James had left behind when they went to Germany. Small enough to carry the year before, Dragon was now almost as tall as James. The boy refused to believe it was the same animal and was still looking for his puppy.
“They’ll be perfectly happy sleeping like kittens, all piled together,” Marie said. “Our nurse will watch them. You take the alcove between floors. No one will disturb you, I promise.”
They thanked her and made their way upstairs.
 
Edgar held back his anger until they were safely in the alcove.
“My sister is not some disfigured peasant girl!” he fumed. “How dare Marie talk about her like that!”
“Of course not.” Catherine tried to take the bolster he was pounding flat. “Marie didn’t mean to be cruel. You know she’s very fond of
all of us. She has a good heart and is truly worried about Margaret’s future.”
Edgar fell back on the pillows. “Isn’t it enough that we should endure the stares and gibes because of my hand? Why should my poor sister have to be tormented, as well?”
There was no answer to that beyond platitudes, and Catherine had learned long ago not to offer any.
“It’s not a bad scar, anyway,” she temporized. “It will soon fade to almost nothing.”
She finished undressing and climbed over Edgar to sleep next to the wall. He reached out to pull her close. Catherine nuzzled against him and ran her hand down his side, luxuriating in the feel of his skin.
“
Carissime
?” she whispered. “Don’t you think enough time has passed by now?”
With a groan Edgar rolled away from her.
“Don’t, Catherine,” he begged. “You know the midwife said to wait at least a year. Another child so soon could kill you.”
“I feel fine,” Catherine protested. “Except for having to lie next to you instead of underneath.”
Edgar sighed. “We can’t risk it.”
“What about the marriage debt?” Catherine countered. “I don’t want to drive you to collect elsewhere.”
“I’m not planning on taking a concubine,” Edgar snorted. “Remember, if I hadn’t met you, I would have become a priest and been celibate for life.”
“The whores of Paris survive on the revenue of priests,” Catherine reminded him.
“Catherine,” Edgar warned her. Then he put his head back and closed his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Just thinking of what I’m missing,” she answered.
“You don’t usually do that while you’re thinking,” he said.
“Shall I stop?”
He turned and kissed the top of her head. “Well, not … right away. But it isn’t fair to you.”
She moved closer and slid one leg over his.
“Never mind,” she whispered. “I’ll find something better soon, but for now this will have to do.”
 
Early the next morning a messenger appeared at the keep.
“The commander of the Knights of the Temple in Paris wishes to speak with you,” he told Edgar.
“Have they discovered the name of the man found in our home?” Edgar asked. “Was he one of your Order?”
“I wasn’t told.” The messenger was clearly annoyed at this. “I am to wait and escort you back with me as soon as you can be ready.”
“We’ve only just come from Mass,” Edgar said. “Come in and break the fast with us. We’ll have our horses saddled and leave as soon as we’ve eaten.”
When the man had given his horse to a groom and washed the road dust from his hands and face, he found the hall of the keep loud with debate.
“But we’d love to have them!” Marie shouted, hoisting, Mabile, her youngest, to her hip. “Who would notice three more children in this troupe?”
Edana was howling and clinging to Catherine’s skirts.
“She doesn’t know you!” Catherine shouted back, not because she was angry, but to be heard over the din. “She’s afraid we won’t come back.”
Edana shrieked even more at this.
“Edgar, I’m not a child!” Margaret, normally sedate, was adding her opinion. “I want to return to Paris with you.”
“Edana, wouldn’t you like to stay here with your cousins!” Marie coaxed. “Evaine will let you play with her dolls.”
“Mama!” Evaine, at seven, wasn’t interested in sharing.
“Margaret, there’s nothing for you to do in Paris.” Edgar tried to draw his sister from the melee.
“Yes, there is,” Margaret said. “Willa told me that my grandfather is there. She saw him in the Easter procession. I want to meet Count Thibault at last.”
By some quirk of sound, Margaret’s soft sentence rose above the
rest of the noise and was heard clearly by all. Everyone except Edana turned to stare.
“Count Thibault?” Guillaume repeated. “Of Champagne? Your grandfather? You can’t mean that Thibault. He’s so powerful that he refused the throne of England.”
Edgar shrugged uncomfortably. “It seems my stepmother, Margaret’s mother, Adalisa, was a by-blow of the count’s early years. Margaret’s grandmother was of a good family, and Adalisa was acknowledged although she rarely saw her father. But no one ever told the count that he had another grandchild.”
“We saw the countess last year,” Margaret said. “She was kind to me. I’m sure she spoke to him. She said the count would want to know me, and I very much want to know him. So I’m going back to Paris with you.”
“Saint Librare’s well-soaked head!” Guillaume exclaimed. “If this is true, Edgar, why haven’t you sent her to Champagne to be reared? They can give her a better chance in life than we ever could.”
The messenger coughed, reminding them that a family quarrel is best not shared with strangers.
Edgar took a deep breath. “James, you and your sister will stay with Aunt Marie and Uncle Guillaume until we can all move back into our house. It should only be a few days. Margaret, you may come with us. I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting with Count Thibault. Now, if the horses are ready, we must go. Kiss the children good-bye, Catherine.”
To his amazement, everyone did as he ordered. Edgar felt as if he had stopped a flood with only an upraised hand. How remarkable!
He puzzled over this all through the ride into the city. His voice had never been the deciding one before, not without serious argument. Had he changed? Or had the absence of Hubert left a hole that he was supposed to fill? Edgar had often resented his father-in-law’s authority, but now that he had been left in charge of everything from the business of trade to the welfare of the family, the enormity of the responsibility rushed over him. All these lives were now under his protection. What if he should fail?
Hubert’s decision to leave suddenly seemed less bizarre.
 
 
The messenger led them directly to the Temple preceptory and they were ushered at once into the presence of Evrard de Barre, Master of the Knights of the Temple in France. He wasn’t much older than Edgar, in his mid-thirties, perhaps. But the weight of duty and the years fighting in the Holy Land had aged him. His dark hair was streaked with grey and his face lined.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he greeted them. “Please be seated. You are Edgar of Wedderlie, I believe?”
Edgar nodded and introduced Catherine and Margaret.
“Catherine and I found the corpse,” he added. “My sister has nothing to do with this.”
“Yes, of course.” De Barre didn’t proceed to the problem but stood and walked around his chair, tapping on the back of it as if sending a code. He then placed both hands on the wooden slats and leaned toward them.
“The body of this unfortunate was brought to our chapel yesterday,” he began. “Your housekeeper supervised my men most assiduously.”
Catherine hid a smile. Samonie was not impressed by rank. She also was fiercely protective of the family. She would have been sure that the body was all that de Barre’s men took from the house.
“But who was this man?” Edgar asked. “And why was he left in our home?”
De Barre took his hands from the chair and raised them in a gesture of frustration.
“We don’t know the answer to either of those,” he admitted. “By his dress, the man was a knight of our Order, or at least intending to be, but the state of his corpse made it impossible to recognize him, and every man in Paris has been accounted for.”
“There were no marks or tokens that might give him a name?” Edgar asked.
“None,” de Barre said. “His mail was good quality, as was his cloak. He had no weapons or jewelry, but the murderer probably stole them.”
Edgar ignored the question in the last statement. It was beneath him to deny a theft he hadn’t been directly accused of.
“He had no helm, either,” Catherine said. “Whoever killed him probably knew that the repair of the mail shirt would raise too many questions and so left it. But I wonder why he didn’t take the cloak. It hadn’t been damaged by the weapon that killed him. Blood washes out, and wool is easily mended.”
She looked at the two men, neither of whom had an answer.
“By the look of him,” she continued, “he must have been dead a week or more, perhaps since shortly after Easter. There was no blood on the floor or the stairs, so the body must have been hidden in another place for at least a day or two until the blood dried. Perhaps the cloak was used to wrap him in for moving. But it still would have been hard to carry such a burden far without a cart. If only we knew where he was killed.”
BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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