Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (16 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“Brother Aelred is at his meditations now,” he told them. “But if you’ll come to the porter’s lodge, I’ll have someone tell him you’re here. Who are you?”
They told him, and then dripping, torn, bruised and caked with mud and twigs, they followed him to meet their old friend.
Some of the faces of the monks they passed on their way seemed familiar to Edgar, but he couldn’t put a name to any of them. He wondered if, like Abbot Bernard, Aelred had convinced his friends and relations to join the monastery when he did. Or the men might be boys who had studied with him at Durham. It bothered Edgar that among the monks there might be people he had once known well. And now they were strangers with totally different lives.
“Edgar! My dear boy!” He was suddenly enveloped in a bear hug. “You’re looking well, albeit a bit worn from the journey.”
“Aelred?” Edgar stepped back to look at him. “I hardly know you. I mean, you look well, too, but so different. Much thinner, of course.”
Aelred laughed. “Once I got out of King David’s kitchens and stopped sampling everything that went to his table, I was amazed to find how many more notches I had to put in my belt.”
Edgar smiled back. But the change was more than weight alone. Aelred was only four or five years older than he, but there were lines in his face that made him seem of another generation. There was a streak of grey in his hair. Edgar wondered if his friend now regretted his decision to join this most rigorous of orders. And yet, there was also a lightness about him that Edgar had never seen before.
Some of the twigs had attached themselves to the monk’s robe. Edgar tried to brush them off. The robe was slightly damp and the bits stuck. Aelred stopped him from fussing.
“These aren’t courtier’s silk, Edgar,” he said. “They won’t be spoiled by a little dirt. I am so glad to see you.”
Edgar’s smile faded. “I wish I could say that I’ve come all the way from Paris just to see you,” he said, “But Uncle Æthelræd and I need your help. You’ve heard about what happened to my brothers?”
“Yes.” Aelred became serious at once. “I was terribly grieved for your family. Do they know who did it?”
“We haven’t a clue.” Edgar sighed. “That’s why we’ve come to you.”
“Me?” Aelred seemed shocked. “What would I know? I’ve spent the past year on a journey to Rome. I’ve only just returned, like you.”
Æthelræd had kept silent during the greetings but now he came forward.
“Aelred, I’ve known you all your life.” He loomed over the monk. “And there’s no man in all of Northumbria who keeps his ear closer to the ground. If there’s any gossip at all about this, you will have heard it.”
Aelred’s welcoming expression faded. “Not anymore, Æthelræd. I have no time for such things, now. I’m the novice master here and there’s some talk of sending me to Lincoln to be abbot of a new daughter house. Moreover, Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux has asked me to write a treatise that is straining my meager scholarship to the full.”
Edgar gently pushed his uncle away from Aelred. He stood close to his old friend and put an arm across his shoulders.
“Aelred, please,” he begged. “Someone is trying to destroy my family. The only clues we have lead to Hexham and, perhaps, to Durham. You know both places well. You know the situation there. Is there anything my brother Duncan might have done to cause someone to wish to take revenge on us all?”
Aelred looked at him for a long moment.
“Edgar,” he said at last, “is there anything Duncan might not have done?”
Edgar felt a coldness at his back.
“You do know something, don’t you?”
Aelred sighed. “I might. Come with me. We can’t talk standing out here.”
He led them to a small room in the gatehouse. There was only a rough wooden bench to sit on. Someone had left a pitcher and three bowls on the windowsill, and Aelred poured them each some water. To Edgar it seemed a mockery of the service the monk had once performed at court.
Æthelræd sniffed suspiciously at the bowl.
“Water?” he said. “What have you come to, Aelred? Your father would have given us wine and meat.”
Aelred refused to take offense. “My father was from another time, my friend, when priests kept wives and gave their benefices to their sons. But even he converted in the end and died a monk of Durham.”
Æthelræd subsided, glumly staring at the water as if expecting a sea monster to rise from it.
Edgar would not be put off with reminiscences.
“Duncan, Aelred,” he said. “Tell us what he’s been up to.”
Aelred took a deep breath and let it out.
“I got most of this from Archdeacon Rannulf,” he warned them. “William Cumin drove him from the cloister when Rannulf and the others refused to elect him bishop. It may not all be true.”
“Aelred …”
“Very well, Edgar. It is said that Duncan is the man that Cumin put in charge of subduing the town and collecting the rents and tithes from the dependent villages. He and his men have been given free rein to terrorize the people as they wish. The stories of torture, rape and sacrilege are too horrible to mention.”
“Really?” Æthelræd asked, interested.
“I don’t understand,” Edgar said. “There’s no question that Duncan is capable of such things, but what have his actions in the service of his lord to do with the death of my brothers?”
“It is said,” Aelred continued, “that Duncan has been particularly harsh concerning the property of Roger de Conyers, the only local lord who actively opposes Cumin. Roger has power and friends north of the Tyne.”
Æthelræd could stand it no longer.
“Aelred, I don’t believe it,” he interrupted. “Roger de Conyers is a man of honor. If he struck back, it would be at Duncan, not his family. Have any of Conyers’s family been ambushed and murdered by Duncan?”
“No,” Aelred conceded. “Only the buildings burnt, the livestock stolen and the tenants tortured and killed.”
“That’s war,” Æthelræd said. “It happens everywhere. This murder is different.”
Aelred stroked his chin, rubbing at the stubble. “The only real difference is that the one responsible hasn’t claimed credit for the death of your brothers. It’s not as if they were killed unarmed or unprepared. Someone should be bragging of this.”
“What about one of Conyers’s men?” Edgar asked. “Could Duncan have singled someone out for particular ill-treatment?”
“I don’t know,” Aelred answered. “You’ve been away, Edgar. You don’t know what it’s been like since King Henry died. With Stephen and the Empress battling for the crown, there’s no order anywhere. Minor barons build castles and ravage the countryside and no one stops them. The chancellor of Scotland usurps the see of Saint Cuthbert and holds the monks prisoner in their own cloister and only one lord of the county is brave enough to fight him. I only thank God my father died before this final insult.”
His voice broke. Edgar stood and patted him clumsily on the back.
“I’m sorry, Aelred,” he said. “I forgot how devoted your family is to Cuthbert.”
“My ancestors cared for him for hundreds of years,” Aelred answered. “We were the priests of Cuthbert, not Durham, and I would have been, too, if my birth hadn’t denied me the right. I still serve him as much as my father and grandfather ever did.”
“I’m sorry.” Edgar meant it. “I believed that you had changed your allegiance when you changed your name. Forgive me.”
Aelred forced a smile. “I’m more English than you, Edgar. Don’t forget that Cîteaux was founded by an Englishman, for all it seems so French. Half the monks here are Saxon. We don’t forget our race; we have only found a greater brotherhood in God.”
Edgar sat back down, abashed. “I shouldn’t have come to you with this, Aelred. I can see you’ve left all that behind.”
The monk gave Edgar a long appraising stare. Then he smiled. It changed his whole face and Edgar realized that the alteration he had marked at their meeting was not so much of the body as of the spirit. At Durham and at the court, Aelred had performed his duties meticulously but without joy. Here, he was happy.
Edgar and Æthelræd got up to leave, but Aelred stopped them.
“Tonight is the vigil of Saint John, who knew the truth before it was revealed to the world,” he reminded them. “Stay with us and join our prayers. Tomorrow, with the abbot’s permission, I will go with you to Durham.”
“Aelred!” Edgar was astounded. “But why? You have no obligation to us.”
Aelred’s smile trembled. “I think I do. When I entered Rievaulx, I left someone behind without preparing him properly for my loss. I’ve regretted that and think that perhaps I’m finally strong enough to face him.”
Edgar understood. “Robert stayed behind at Wedderlie. He won’t be at Durham.”
“Oddly, I have a feeling that he will,” Aelred answered. “But, in any event, I also owe Saint Cuthbert the same devotion my father and grandfather gave him. If the death of your brothers is a part of this desecration of Cuthbert’s church, then it is my duty to help you discover how and why.”
Edgar closed his eyes as relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized the burden he was carrying until it was lightened by Aelred’s offer to share it for the sake of old friendship.
“Thank you, Aelred,” he said. “Thank you.”
 
Catherine was finding living at Wedderlie extremely frustrating. She was used to considering herself a well-educated woman and enjoyed showing off her knowledge. But half the people she met here weren’t
impressed by Latin and considered her rather dull to speak no English. It was a new and unpleasant feeling, although the convent voices reminded her that humility was a lesson she needed badly.
She was sure that there was something strange going on in the village. How could she find out what was happening if she had to pass every question through Margaret? And what could she ask? Why is everything so orderly here? Why do I never see anyone working alone? Even in the gardens behind their huts the women were always in pairs. The men went in a group to the fields. Were they afraid of something? If so, what? The younger men and boys had taken the sheep to the hills for the summer and the guards were mostly with Waldeve, but the few men left were enough to fight off thieves or wild animals.
Or was there something worse lurking in the forest?
Catherine wondered what the hour was. She had heard bells when James had wakened her, but in this light, they could even have been for Matins. There were sounds from below of people stirring, but Willa still slept in her corner. They had the women’s room to themselves now and it was restful but lonely. Catherine had too much time to ponder while she fed her son. Despite the disapproval of other women it gave Catherine great satisfaction to have him curled up against her and to know that she was still his source of sustenance.
But now he was asleep again and she was alone with her thoughts. Her mind strayed to another niggling worry.
What was the matter with Solomon?
He had spent the past few days either roaming alone out in the countryside, something Catherine felt wasn’t safe despite Margaret’s explanation of the monster, or sitting at a table making lists in that odd half-French/half-Hebrew script of his. He rarely spoke to her, never teased her and only seemed to come alive while playing with the children. When she asked him what the problem was, he only shrugged and said that he didn’t like waiting for people to make up their minds.
Catherine had to be satisfied with that and it was true that Robert seemed to be taking a long time in contacting his friends about the trade agreements. But she had known Solomon too long not to recognize when something was gnawing at him.
Last year he had been much involved in Saracen magic and divination. Far too much, in Catherine’s opinion. He hadn’t mentioned
it in a long time and Catherine hoped he’d gotten over his obsession to know the future and the pattern of existence. Perhaps this strange place had caused it to surface again.
She shivered, but not from cold. The castle was stone only in its foundations and ground level. The upper parts were of wood and the summer sun warmed the rooms quickly. There was something wrong at Wedderlie. Even with Waldeve and his sons gone, the place had an air of watchfulness and anticipation. Not just the keep but the village, as well. What, or whom, was everyone expecting?
James woke again, this time ready to play. Catherine considered waking Willa to take care of him, but the girl looked too peaceful to disturb. She had walked back and forth with him on many a fretful night while Catherine slept.
She left the soiled swaddling in a bucket and wrapped him more loosely from the waist up, leaving his arms free to explore. The first thing he did was grab and yank at her hair.
“Ow!” Catherine said. “No more of that, young man. Now, you’ve eaten well, but I’m starving. Let’s go see if there’s any cheese or bread in the kitchen.”
She carried him down the rickety stairs. In one corner of the hall, Solomon slept deeply on his back, his mouth hanging open. Catherine hurried by him and on down to the stone portion of the keep, where the kitchens were.

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