Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (34 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“I thought that if I just saw him, everything would be like it was.” Robert sighed and emptied the cup.
“He’s different now, Robert,” Edgar said softly. “I noticed it as soon as I saw him among the monks. I don’t know if he’ll ever be completely happy in this life, but he may at least find peace in the cloister.”
Robert wouldn’t be convinced. He put down his cup and got up again.
“I don’t believe he can ever find peace or happiness without my friendship, and I’m going to tell him so tonight.”
Edgar gave up and went to get more ale. His brother and his friend would have to make their own way through this thicket. He was all out of advice.
 
 
Apart from the difficulty of keeping up with men on horseback, the small party from Wedderlie, along with Samson, had an uneventful trip inland.
Away from the coast, the day was cool, but not chilling. The trail was gentle through the woods. Occasionally, they passed through a clearing where peasants had built a cluster of huts, surviving by making charcoal until they had burnt enough of the trees to plant crops. The inhabitants stopped work when they arrived to greet them and trade news of the world. Catherine and Solomon stayed back at these times, not sure how foreigners would be welcomed.
They parted from the king’s couriers a few miles east of Durham and a much smaller group headed for the town.
The holdings appeared more often now. Some almost attained the status of villages. But there were also signs of recent strife: burnt buildings, fields half trampled, doors shut tight in the middle of the day. Even though the travelers appeared harmless, no one approached them, but watched stolidly as they passed, clutching a hoe or sickle like a weapon.
Once in a while, one of the English speakers would be sent to ask for directions and information. They always did so at a safe distance and with their hands visibly empty.
Samson came back from one of these encounters looking worried.
“These people say that all the bridges over the Wear are blocked and guarded and the one land gate has been shut and obstructed with stones and piles of refuse,” he told them. “Only those with passes are admitted to the town.”
“How do we get a pass?” Catherine asked.
Samson twisted his face, trying to come up with the best way to put it.
“It seems,” he said carefully, “that the only way to get the pass to enter is to be inside first and take it with you when you leave.”
“What?”
“That’s what they say,” Samson defended himself. “Apparently only those whom Cumin trusts are allowed out or in again.”
“Then we’ll just have to order the guards to send for Edgar and have him vouch for us,” Catherine said. “We haven’t gone through all this just to be turned away at the gate.”
Solomon hid his smile. Catherine occasionally teased Edgar for his lordly arrogance, which didn’t assert itself often. But she was the daughter of a rich merchant and the granddaughter of a minor lord of Blois. Standing in the road in borrowed clothes, her shoes worn and her hair a tangle, the poise that only came with knowledge of privilege was a startling contrast.
“We’ll rely on you to do the ordering,” he told her. “A pity you left your crown and scepter in Paris.”
 
Durham, when approached from the east, wasn’t as looming and impressive as it was to those who came upon it from the west or south, but the first sight of the cathedral and fortress on the escarpment were still formidable enough to daunt Catherine more than she would admit. It seemed as if it had risen from the rock, its golden brown stones simply brushed free of dirt as they broke from the earth and reached toward the sky.
“Edgar used to live there?” she asked Solomon in wonder.
“He stayed there four years, didn’t he?” Solomon tried to imagined being imprisoned within that stone. He shuddered, then added hopefully, “So he should know all the possible ways out.”
“That’s true.” Catherine hadn’t considered that point. “But all I care about now is finding the way in.”
“I suppose it’s time for you to impersonate Empress Matilda,” Solomon suggested.
“This is no time to scoff,” Catherine answered. “But what if they don’t speak French?”
This turned out to be the case. Either that or, as Catherine suspected, it was convenient for them to pretend ignorance. Alfred and Samson both tried to convince the soldiers to send word up to the castle that the family of the lord of Wedderlie had arrived. This pronouncement was met with stark disbelief and jokes that would have scandalized Catherine if she had understood them.
The gestures were clear enough to make her furious. James sensed her mood and woke suddenly, shrieking in fear. The sight of the baby provoked more mirth among the guardians of the gate. This only heightened her wrath.
“Pigs!” she shouted at them. “Ugly donkeys!”
Still they laughed, the smirking, arrogant beasts! Catherine pointed her finger at them, narrowed her eyes and intoned loudly,
“Ut bufones evolent ex ano tuo quandocumque bumbulum facis!”
Solomon pulled her hand down, ignoring the mocking guards.
“It won’t upset them a bit if you curse them in Latin, Cousin,” he said.
“It will if Saint Genevieve grants my plea,” Catherine said darkly, scowling at the men, who only laughed the more.
Solomon couldn’t help joining them, though he knew the risk he was running.
“My dear, I’m shocked!” he said, over James’s crescendo. “Asking your saints for petty revenge? Most unchristian. Come away, Catherine,” he added more gently. “We can’t overpower them. We’ll have to outwit them. That shouldn’t be hard.”
“Come where?” Catherine didn’t realize how close she was to breaking. The journey was telling on her.
“Samson says that the church of Saint Giles is only a little ways from here. There’s a hospital there that will shelter us until we can arrange to get a message to Waldeve.”
Solomon took the reins of the mule on which Willa and Margaret were riding, although in Margaret’s case riding meant lying sound asleep across the mule’s neck. Willa, ever watchful between coughing spasms, saw that she didn’t fall off.
As they approached the hospital gates Solomon and Samson, after conferring, put themselves on either side of Catherine.
“Cousin.” Solomon cleared his throat. “Just for the increase of our knowledge, what exactly did you wish upon those vigilant guards.”
Catherine blushed, a deep red that rose from her neck to her forehead. “Nothing,” she said.
“Catherine?”
She mumbled something. Solomon leaned closer.
Catherine was now flaming like a sunset. She spoke toward the ground but both men were close enough to hear.
“I said, ‘May toads fly out your assholes every time you fart.’”
“Catherine!”
She pushed ahead of them and pounded with the door ring much harder than was necessary.
Behind her Solomon beamed with pride as Samson collapsed in laughter.
 
There was laughter among those assembled in the courtyard of Roger Conyers’s keep, as well. The lords and their retainers were
confident that now that a true bishop was in Durham, all would soon be well. Then they could turn their attention back to the war between Stephen and Matilda, knowing that the taxes would once again flow from the North.
Edgar had been steadily refilling his ale mug since the afternoon and was in serious danger of sliding under the table and being swept out with the refuse in the morning. He was tired of playing soldier. He didn’t care who won the crown of England. He was beginning to wonder why Saint Cuthbert didn’t settle the contest for the bishopric with some old-time smiting. He had realized sometime during the sodden evening that he had forgotten the shape of his son’s face. In a tide of self-pity, he attempted to get his horse and set out for Lindisfarne. He was astonished to find that his body hadn’t followed his command and that his feet were still under the table.
Robert paid him no attention. As the light of day turned opalescent, he left the rowdy diners and made his way to Aelred’s outdoor chapel.
The boulder was easy to locate. It was at the rear of the bailey, hard against the wall. There wasn’t much space between it and the deep motte, which at this point was being used as a midden. The odor of it wafted through the night air.
Aelred was standing before the painted cross, tears streaming down his cheeks as he prayed with closed eyes. Robert hesitated, not wanting to interrupt his devotions but also because he needed a moment to fix the image of his friend in his memory forever.
There was a soft “amen” and Aelred’s eyes opened. He held out his arms to Robert who came to him and embraced him, laying his head on Aelred’s shoulder as he sobbed out his loneliness and grief.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Aelred crooned as he smoothed Robert’s hair. “Please understand, please forgive me.”
“But why?” Robert cried. “We were inseparable. Never an argument, no attempts at preferment. No jealousy or pettiness. Of all the men I knew at court, you were the best, the noblest, the truest friend.”
“No, your love has erased the memory of my faults.” Aelred lifted Robert’s head and moved a step away. “I was none of those things. I was vain and proud and weak, very weak. And, oh, Robert, it pains me to tell you, I was ashamed of our friendship, of the … passion I felt for you.”
Robert straightened and lifted his chin. “Edgar told me that Saint Augustine of Hippo believed that true friendship only happened between men.”
“That’s so; he did say that.” Aelred nodded. “But we went beyond friendship to an attachment of the flesh that enslaved us.”
“No!”
“Yes,” Aelred said softly. “How could I worship God when all I saw was your face, when all I longed for was your body?”
“Why not?” Robert pleaded. “Every day I thanked God for sending you. I worshipped him all the more because I had you as a friend.”
“Oh, Robert, I wish I could have your sort of faith!” Aelred stepped back farther and laid a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “All I can tell you is that I was lost in disgust and shame. But I loathed myself, not you. You were the most selfless friend I ever had. And I was taking you to Hell with me.”
“If so, I went gladly,” Robert interrupted.
Aelred shook his head. “Don’t you see that made it worse? Please, my dearest friend, believe me when I say that my prayers now are that you should forget me and start life afresh. I must try to forget you or at least make my body forget you, for the sake of my soul, and yours.”
“Damn my soul!” Robert threw Aelred’s arm off him.
Aelred smiled, “Oh, no, never that, Robert. We shall meet again in Heaven, where our impure desires will no longer exist. If my prayers and penances have any effect, that is what I wish most. And I wish it with all my might.”
In Robert’s heart a great iron door slammed shut, with a finality that surprised him. The hope that he had kept burning for nearly ten years was extinguished forever. He felt no more grief or yearning, only a vast hollowness. Still he made one last feeble attempt.
“I could join the White Monks, too,” he said bravely. “I know it means chastity and a hard life, but I would be near you. That’s all I want.”
“Oh my dear!” Aelred started to hug Robert again, but curbed his impulse. “I think you believe that. Perhaps you could, but I’m not yet that strong. As it is I sit in icy water for hours at a time to discipline my stubborn flesh. Don’t you understand, it’s because I love you and desire you that I mustn’t see you? Not for a long time, perhaps
never. One day God may grant me grace enough to sit with you and not want to lay with you, but that day hasn’t come.”
“Aelred?”
“One more thing, then we’ll turn to the business at hand,” Aelred took a deep breath. “I was upset when I learned that Edgar had married rather than continuing in the Church. But I reasoned that he had decided to marry rather than burn. Only that option was never open to us. I knew that I must be celibate or burn. I don’t believe I had really admitted it until then. That was the darkest day of my life. But God gave me comfort and is teaching me the worth of spiritual friendship. I don’t deserve it, but your blessing would be a gift I would treasure forever.”
He stopped speaking and Robert waited. “Are you finished?” he asked when Aelred said no more.
“Yes.”
“Good,” Robert said dryly. “My foot is asleep.” He balanced against the boulder and shook it, keeping his face down until he had mastered himself.
“I’m not reconciled to your conversion,” he told Aelred. “But I believe now that you are sincere. I thought for a long time that your sudden decision was because you had become enamored of one of the monks at Rievaulx. I know better now. I’ll not try to see you again. And of course I give you my blessing, worthless though it may be. I will never forget you, no matter how hard you pray that I should. And I shall never have another friend that I care for as I do you.” He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “Now what does Bishop William want me to say to the monks of Durham?”

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