Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (32 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“Horns? That’s a new one,” Solomon made a note to ask Catherine or Margaret about it, when there was time. “Where did they get that from?”
“I have no idea,” Samson answered. “All I know is that when my family came here, the Saxons insisted that they couldn’t be Jews because their books said all Jews were horned.”
“I don’t suppose it was a reference to sexual ability,” Solomon said wistfully.
“Sorry.” Samson grinned again.
They walked back to the monastery, ignoring the sidewise glances of the other men.
Despite the hardness of the pallet and the snores from all around him, Solomon slept better that night than he had since they came to Britain. He hadn’t admitted to himself how alien he felt among these people. Samson was a revelation. He was decidedly English and yet undoubtedly Jewish, as well. He felt as comfortable in Britain as Solomon did in France. That wasn’t saying much. No place was completely safe. But it eased Solomon’s mind to be with someone who knew the language and the customs here. He began to feel better about their chances of survival.
 
Catherine didn’t share his optimism. She was worn from worry and travel and the need to produce enough food for her continually ravenous son. She realized that Willa had been taking on too much, as well. The girl seemed to have grown taller in the past few weeks and, while thinner, her body had curves in it that alarmed Catherine. Willa was almost a grown woman. Men would certainly regard her as one and, as a servant, easy prey.
Catherine let her head fall back against the wall. She closed her eyes. Every time she had ever resented her parents forbidding her to go someplace, all their lectures about not wandering off alone, came back to her now. She vowed to apologize to her father the moment they reached home.
But just now Willa was in no danger from lascivious men. She and Margaret were asleep in the corner, curled together, spoon fashion for warmth, as Catherine and her sister, Agnes, had once slept. Willa’s braid had fallen across Margaret like a rope binding them together. Every now and then she half woke, coughing, and then settled back again.
Catherine was exhausted but not able to sleep, yet. She watched the other women in the room as they soothed children and set out blankets to mark the boundaries of their space. Catherine realized that she had done the same.
How odd, she thought. Even without walls, we need to create a sense of a home.
Catherine knew that if they stayed more than a day or two, each small space would develop its own personality, revealing the nature of the woman who controlled it. She wished she could speak with them. She felt how foreign she looked to them and knew they were
curious about the girls with her, so clearly not her own and the baby that so obviously was. The curiosity could easily turn to fear and animosity if it came about that one of them had brought the fever with them. The spotted sickness could kill a child or leave him blind or deaf or with a hundred other infirmities. Catherine had no illusions about what she would do to someone who brought such a danger near her James, and none about what these women would do to her if they believed her family had contaminated theirs.
Willa was still coughing when morning came. Catherine kissed her forehead and was relieved to find it cool. The two spots on her face were only those that come with the change from girl to woman.
“I feel fine,” Willa insisted. “Mother told me I’d had the spotted sickness when my brother did. They say if you survive, you can’t get it again. My throat just feels sore from the coughing.”
Catherine decided to find a leech at the monastery anyway.
“Sister Melisande used to make a tonic for the cough,” she told Willa. “Perhaps someone here has a similar draught.”
There was no one at the monastery but they were directed to a woman nearby who was reputed to have skill in such things. Mindful of her fears the night before, Catherine collected Margaret and told Solomon where they were going before they went to see her.
They found the woman in her garden, hoeing. She was not much older than Catherine and had a baby a little younger than James in a basket on the ground next to her. Margaret explained the problem. The woman laid the hoe aside, dusted her hands on her apron and beckoned Willa to come closer and open her mouth in the direction of the sun.
Willa coughed again as the air hit her throat. The woman listened and peered inside her mouth for a moment. Then she said something to Margaret, picked up the baby and went into the house.
“She says it looks like a dry cough, from dust or demons in the wind. She’s going to get something for it.”
The woman returned with a small covered clay pot. She gave it to Catherine, all the while explaining to Margaret.
Finally, Margaret turned to Catherine. “She says to give her a spoonful of this morning and evening. Afterwards draw a cross on her forehead and say, what was it?”
The woman chanted a few lines. Margaret listened, then repeated, “‘Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, cast the demons to the four winds and heal this child.’ Then say a paternoster.”
Catherine listened and nodded. “I can remember that.
Thanc ∂e
,” she said to the woman, who smiled and nodded back.
Catherine opened the pot and sniffed it. Honey with herbs steeped in it, something pungent. Much like what she had been given as a child.
“We have nothing to pay her with,” Catherine told Margaret. “But I can finishing the hoeing, if that will be enough to repay her.”
Margaret’s eyes lit up. “May I help? That would be fun.”
It was settled that the payment was satisfactory and the woman returned to her house while Margaret and Catherine hoed and weeded. Willa took a dose of the medicine and was told to sit and watch James.
The task soothed Catherine’s rumpled spirit, reminding her of the days when someone else was responsible for her. The familiarity of the work also comforted her and she was almost sorry when they had finished and the woman had sent them off with a gift of a thick slice of ripe cheese.
They returned to the monastery to find Solomon and his new friend, Samson, in discussion with another man. Margaret took one look at the newcomer and ran for him with a cry of delight.
“Alfred!” She said as she leapt upon him. “Did Father send you? Are we going home? Is everyone all right?”
The old man returned her hug with some embarrassment.
“I’m glad to see you, my lady,” he said. “Though heartily grieved at the news of the tragic death of your mother. Fortunately, no one from the village was killed in the attack, although some were wounded and will be some time mending. I was telling Solomon that I was sent down to find your father, as we’ve had no word from him. Many of us would like him to bring our men home so that repairs can be made before winter sets in.”
Solomon greeted Catherine, commenting on the smudge of dirt on her nose. She rubbed at it with her sleeve as he explained what Alfred was doing in Jarrow.
“He’s going on down to Durham with a party from King David that’s on its way to York. We should be able to accompany them in safety.”
“Oh, Solomon.” Catherine was radiant. She bounced the baby on her hip. “Do you hear,
mon doux
? We’re going to find your father at last.”
James gave her a big, toothless smile. She was sure he understood every word.
 
In Paris, Catherine’s uncle Eliazar and his wife, Johanna, sat alone in their chamber. Outside there were the sounds of people enjoying the warm summer evening. From a tavern in the next block, they could hear swearing that might soon erupt into fighting. Johanna put her hand on Eliazar’s knee.
“You needn’t worry so,” she said. “This will pass; it always does.”
“Not always,” he answered.
“In Rouen or Speyer, not Paris,” she argued, but her voice held a note of uncertainty.
“Things have been different ever since King Louis burnt the church in Vitry last year,” he muttered. “People need a reason to excuse him. He’s the king, after all. There have always been those who say that he and his father have been too lenient with the Jews.”
Johanna snorted. “We pay him to be lenient. How else do they think he can give his fancy wife all the baubles she wants?”
“My dearest.” Eliazar cut off her argument. “The truth doesn’t enter into this. Hubert and I have been treading an icy path ever since we became partners. It was only a matter of time before someone started asking questions.”
“But he’s been to the bishop’s palace twice now and was able to satisfy all their doubts.”
“This time.” Eliazar sighed. “Johanna, my pearl, we must consider leaving Paris, for the good of all of us, Solomon, Hubert and dear Catherine and her family. You know our friends have also complained that we spend too much time with these Christians.”
Johanna looked around at the house she had lived in for thirty years. Then she turned back to her husband and tried to smile.
“I’m your wife,” she said. “My home is where you are. And until the Temple is rebuilt and Jerusalem free, I suppose one place is as good as another.”
Eliazar kissed her. Then they both sighed. Now they would need to find a place to take them in.
“Perhaps when Solomon returns, he’ll tell us if England would be suitable.” Eliazar ran his fingers through his beard. “I’ve heard there’s talk of new settlements in the north of the country.”
Johanna shivered. “I know we have many friends from Normandy
who’ve gone, but unless Solomon tells us it’s a second Eden, I’d rather go somewhere not quite so full of blonds.”
 
Now that Cumin had the backing of the earl of Richmond, there was an increased air of confidence among the soldiers, along with increased activity. Rumors were so thick that they contradicted each other in midair. If Edgar had given credence to all of them, he would have expected to see an army of thousands, led by the earl, King David and his niece, the empress Matilda, marching across the bridge, heralded by the archangel Michael waving a flaming sword, with perhaps all the knights of Arthur bringing up the rear. There was even speculation that Cumin had obtained a special salve to protect his men from the elf darts that had been plaguing them with fever since the siege in the marshland.
“I want an ointment against human arrows before I join this army,” Robert said sourly.
He and Edgar were back in the tavern along the road up to the castle. Through the open door, they could see as much as they desired of the activity going on among the defenders.
Edgar got up to refill his bowl. At least the beer here was as good as he remembered it. He had never adjusted to the flavoring the French used in theirs. He stuck his tongue in the foam and suddenly was overwhelmed by a vivid image of Catherine using the point of her sleeve to strain out the pieces of herbs and other flotsam from her beer. It was one of her more irritating affectations. In retrospect it seemed almost erotically endearing.
He was shaken from his maudlin memories by the arrival of his father. Both Edgar and Robert came to attention at once. Waldeve had never before bothered to seek them out. If he wanted them, he would send for them and woe to the son who took his time about appearing.
“Father?” Edgar tried to smile.
“I’ve finally found a use for you two,” Waldeve growled. “You! Beer! Now!” he shouted over his shoulder.
The bowl was in his hand as soon as he reached it out. Waldeve drained it and held it out for a refill. When that was poured, he drained it, as well. Only then did he direct his attention back to Robert and Edgar.
“I told the bishop that both of you would carry messages for him to Bishopton. Word is that Saint-Barbe is there now and the
barons of the district are falling over each other to be the first to pay him homage. They trust you there, God knows why. They’ll believe what you tell them.” Waldeve wiped his mouth and signaled for more beer. “Don’t think you’ll have a chance to do anything heroic, though. I’m sending guards with you and not for your protection.”
Robert stood. “Perhaps I don’t wish to be your page, Father,” he said with dignity.
Waldeve glared at him. “Perhaps you’d prefer eating for the rest of your life toothless and tongueless.”
Robert didn’t back down. “I’ve done with you, Father. I’ll make my own way now. I’ll sell the house in Berwick that Mother left me and go up into the high lands to farm.”
Edgar was astonished to see a flicker of panic in Waldeve’s face. It passed quickly.
“I see,” he said. “Then I’ll give you another option. Do as I say or I’ll have that crippled dog of yours hanging from the eaves along with the men who defied William Cumin.”
Robert looked down. Lufen was gone. She had been investigating the mouse hole in the corner a moment ago. Waldeve moved aside and Robert saw the dog in the arms of one of the soldiers. Another half brother of his, by his looks. He lunged across the table at his father. Edgar stopped him before his body landed on the old man’s swiftly drawn sword.
“Robert, he feeds on your hate,” he hissed in his brother’s ear. “Look at him. You can almost see his strength grow.”

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