Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (35 page)

Read Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Online

Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
8.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Aelred was relieved by his friend’s acceptance of his decision and said so.
“You should know me better than that, Aelred,” Robert said. “Growing up in my father’s house taught me to take any blow and remain standing. We’ll speak of it no more.”
“Thank you, Robert.” Aelred became again the official of the Church. “Here are the instructions for the monks. The first is for Brother Lawrence … .”
Robert listened and remembered. He repeated the messages faultlessly and bid Aelred good night without trembling. Then he went and dragged his baby brother out from under a table, brushed him off and put him to bed.
 
 
At the hospital of Saint Giles, Catherine was grateful to find a real bed instead of a straw pallet. She was also amazed that there was a physician there who wasn’t even a monk. Master Herbert spoke good French and bad Latin so that, by using both, Catherine was able to explain her worry about Willa’s persistent cough and James’s perpetually red bottom.
“Let the infant lie naked as much as you can and rub oil on the rash,” he dismissed the second complaint. Willa’s long convulsive sounds made him grave at once.
“A dry cough,” he muttered. “No phlegm. Raw throat. She may need bleeding.”
“No,” Catherine disagreed. “She has reached the age of womanhood and her purgations are regular. I believe the change from her native climate has upset her humors. What would you recommend to increase the heat and moisture in her body?”
“Ah, yes, well, it’s possible that is the case.” Herbert was used to dealing with townspeople or suffering pilgrims, none of whom ever dared to contradict him. Even Bishop Geoffrey had listened respectfully, right up until his death. What did she think she was, an abbess? Catherine answered the question on his face.
“I assisted in the infirmary at the Paraclete,” she explained. “Sister Melisande explained about the different kinds of coughing. We normally saw the cold and moist kind that comes with winter. But I know about this one, too. The honey and herb only soothes her for a time. She’s getting little sleep. Do you think we should add strong wine?”
Master Herbert thought a moment. “Yes, and warm it. Give her a small cup morning and evening. I’ll consult my books for other options. Also, I know she’s a servant, but she needs rest and shouldn’t be allowed near the other children until we’re sure this is an illness peculiar to her.”
“I understand,” Catherine said. “As my servant, I’m responsible for her welfare. And, as for your fee, whatever is reasonable, I shall pay.”
Master Herbert suppressed a grin. This bedraggled refugee woman, speaking as if she ran a county! “I promise my fee won’t be beyond reason, my lady.” He bowed in what was intended as mockery, but she responded to the gesture so naturally that he was forced
to revise his estimation of her again. One never knew whom one would encounter in these days of turmoil!
Catherine busied herself taking care of her charges. The thought of having to survive without Willa’s help was dreadful. She bent over the girl’s bed and tucked the blanket under her chin. Willa tried to apologize.
“No,
ma doux
.” Catherine kissed her forehead. Still no fever. “I’m sorry to have brought you along on this nightmare. You’ve been brave, uncomplaining and indispensable. Your mother will be very proud of you.”
Willa started to thank her, but the cough interrupted. Catherine went to make the wine, honey and horehound drink strong enough to let the girl rest the night. She repeated the prayer the woman had told her as she stirred.
The next morning Catherine awoke refreshed and ready to battle the guards at the gate, physically if necessary, to reach Edgar. She sat up in the bed and stretched, shaking out the damp spot where James had lain against her. She unwrapped the soiled swaddling and pulled off his long tunic, setting him naked on a blanket on the floor. After a complete investigation of his fingers, toes and penis, he rolled himself over, almost sitting up.
Catherine was sure it was a good omen.
She had just managed to get him, herself and Margaret dressed and ready for the day when there was a clatter and a blare of horns outside the building. Soon there was the stomping of heavy boots in the corridor.
“Now what?” Catherine sighed.
She checked to see that Willa was still sleeping, then she took James and Margaret out to see what was happening.
A crowd had gathered alongside the road. Catherine hadn’t realized that there were so many people in the town. She pushed their way through until she found Samson.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Where’s Solomon?”
“I saw him a few moments ago, but lost him in the crowd. The word is that the new bishop is coming to take back the city,” Samson told her. “He’s bringing an army to do it. He’ll need one.”
Catherine felt a tug on her skirts.
“I can’t breathe down here,” Margaret complained. “And I can’t see.”
Samson crouched down next to her.
“I’m not as tall as these Saxon men, but if you sit on my shoulders, you should be able to see everything. Will you permit me, Lady Margaret?”
Margaret gave him her hand. “You have my permission to lift me.”
He swung her up and she held on to his ears, using them to direct him.
“Careful!” he cried. “I’m not a donkey!”
“Sorry!” she said from her perch. “Look at the sumpter horses, all draped in gold cloth! Which man is the bishop? Why isn’t he wearing his mitre? Are these the soldiers who are going to fight Father? They don’t look so fierce to me.”
She kept up a running patter as the procession went past.
“There are a lot of them. I see Bernard de Balliol’s standard. He visited us once. Now, that’s strange, those horses look like ours, too. Do you think they all had the same sire? I’m sure that’s Barnabas, Robert’s horse.” She lifted herself up to see better. “It is! It is! Robert! Over here! Robert! Edgar!”
Catherine’s head came up at once. “Edgar! Where?”
Margaret was beating the top of Samson’s head in her excitement. Robert heard her and spotted her at last, then pointed her out to Edgar.
“Margaret!” Edgar nearly fell from his horse in surprise. “Margaret, where’s Catherine?”
“Here!” a voice called. “Get out of my way!”
He looked down. A ripple passed through the crowd and emerging from it. Like Venus from the waves, only dirtier and fully clothed, was Catherine, James in her arms.
It was one of those moments when the earth becomes silent. Edgar no longer noticed the procession he had just halted, or the people in the crowd. He slid from his horse and onto the ground, his knees having refused to support him. Catherine knelt, too, facing him.
“You’re alive,” he said.
She nodded. “I’ve taken good care of your son.”
He touched James’s head in wonder. “I thought you were dead.”
“I feared you were, too.” She felt tears start.
“I won’t ever let us be parted again.”
“No, you won’t.”
They came together, their foreheads touching first, then their lips, both of them supporting their child safely between them. There were those among the people who watched who said that one ray of sunlight shone just on them. Later some reported that an angel had hovered above the family. That is the way legends begin.
The hospital of Saint Giles, outside Durham. Friday, 13 kalends September
(August 20), 1143. Feast of Saint Oswin, last king of Deira, who
disbanded his army rather than shed blood and was martyred for it.
 
 
I ne can ne i ne mai tellen alle the wunder ne alle the pines ðat hi diden
wrecce men on this land. And ðat lastede tha xix wintre wile Stephne was
king, and œure it was uuerse and uuerse … . Tha was corn dœre and frec
and cœse and butere; for nan ne waren sum rice man. Wrecce men sturuen
of hungœr … And hi sœden openlice ðat Crist slep and his halechen.
 
 
I can not tell all the wonder and all the suffering that these men did
wreak upon this land. And it lasted the nineteen winters that Stephen
was king and it grew ever worse and worse … . Corn was dear then
and meat and cheese and butter for no man was wealthy. Wretched
people died of starvation … And they said openly that Christ slept
and also his saints.
 
—
Anglo Saxon Chronicle
, 1137
 
 
E
ventually Catherine and Edgar were recalled to the fact that they were blocking the road. The first notice was when Robert’s horse nudged the back of Edgar’s neck, causing him to yelp at the sudden coldness. He was deeply embarrassed when he saw all the eyes concentrated on them. He stood quickly, helped Catherine up and took the baby from her. They moved out of the way of the procession and those watching moved their attention elsewhere.
“We’re staying in the hospital here,” Catherine explained. “Willa isn’t well and, Edgar, I’m so sorry, Adalisa is dead.”
“I know,” he said. “The brother from Lindisfarne told me,”
“Our message got through? And you didn’t come to us at once?”
“The brother only arrived a few days ago,” Edgar explained. “I couldn’t get permission to leave. Oh,
carissima
, it’s a long story. Do we have to tell it all now?”
They entered the building where the chaos was almost as bad as in the street. People were scurrying about, trying to arrange lodging for the bishop’s party. There was an air of rejoicing. Like the barons, the people of Durham were sure that William of Saint-Barbe would soon restore the natural order. Knowing the disposition of those in Cumin’s party, Edgar wasn’t so sanguine.
Catherine threaded the way back to the single cot where Willa lay. She was sitting up now and offered to take James.
“No, thank you, Willa,” Edgar said. “I need to hold him myself for a while, to be sure he’s whole and well.”
“You should go out and sit in the clean air,” Catherine added, “as Master Herbert directed.”
Willa went out and Catherine and Edgar sat themselves on a hard bench against the wall. Catherine put her arm about Edgar and laid her head on his shoulder. As far as she was concerned, natural order had already been restored.
Edgar held James out at arm’s length. The baby grinned, drool running down his chin. His small feet kicked under his long tunic.
“I can’t believe it,” Edgar said. “I left him looking like a bundle of washing and come back to find him almost a person. Fat enough, too. Although, looking at you, I’m afraid you starved yourself to feed him.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Catherine said. “He takes what he wants and I get the scrapings. No, it was Solomon who went hungry to be sure the girls and I had enough. We owe him.” She raised her head. “Edgar, there’s so much to tell you. I’m beginning to think I know who’s responsible for all the attacks on us and your family. It just seems impossible.”
“You should hear Robert’s solution. Yours can’t be stranger than that,” Edgar answered, never taking his eyes from James. “He thinks Father has planned it all.”
“He does?”
“There are a hundred flaws in the theory,” Edgar said. “Why would a man kill his own future?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine said slowly. “It sounds like the work of a madman, but Edgar, that’s what I’ve been thinking, too.”
Edgar stopped bouncing James and turned his full attention to her.
“You can’t mean that.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she answered. “Let me tell you what’s happened.”
As she did so, Edgar grew more and more still. He put James back on his lap so he could keep his arms around both of them. He had thought the fire was the greatest danger they had faced. It was good that he hadn’t known how treacherous the journey had been. Fear for them might have been too much for his reason.
“Oh, Catherine, what have I brought you to?” He kissed her again.
“Nothing I didn’t accept when we married,” she said firmly. “Now, let me finish. It was the horses that made me suspicious. Margaret insisted that the men who killed Adalisa rode horses that belonged to your father. And Solomon says that Adalisa recognized one of the men. She died before she could say who, and when the tide turned and the beach was searched, the bodies were gone. But I think they were Waldeve’s men. Are you listening to me?”
This last was because Edgar had been using the end of one of Catherine’s braids to tickle James with.
“Yes, I’m listening,” he answered. “I’m just not sure I can credit it that you and Robert came up with the same improbable conclusion. I need time to let it sink in. Even if it’s true, what can our next move be? It’s a serious thing to accuse one’s father of a crime like this. I don’t even think there’s a word for it.”
“I know.” She put her head back on his shoulder.
For a long time neither of them spoke. The wonder of their reunion was slowly replaced by the security of familiarity, of knowing that they fit together as they always had. James had caught the end of the braid and was now using it to soothe the spot on his gums where a tooth was about to break through. His eyes slowly drooped and when Edgar next looked down, he was asleep.
“Catherine, how long do you think he’ll be like this?” He whispered.
She looked around the room. “Long enough, but there’s no private place here.”
“Outside? In the woods, the cemetery? Anywhere!” His breath was warm against her cheek. Catherine felt her body start to melt.
“Edgar, believe me, if I knew of such a place, I would race you there.” Catherine kissed the underside of his chin, then his throat, longing to work the rest of the way down.
“Wait, Catherine, stop,” Edgar forced himself to say. “If that’s the case, then we’ve got to get up and do something to distract ourselves. Now.”
Catherine tried to catch her breath. “Uh, yes, what else? Oh, Margaret! We left her outside with Samson.”
“Who’s Samson?” Edgar asked. “Is he trustworthy?”
“I suppose so; he’s a friend of Solomon’s. Only he’s English, no Norman, no Jewish. Well, he seems like all three. He speaks English and French with equal facility. Solomon and I think he may be a distant cousin, perhaps on our grandmother’s side.”
“Catherine,” Edgar said. “You’re babbling.”
“It’s either that or go tell the monks that we need a place to transact a payment of the marriage debt,” she retorted. “Or use the floor here and risk being interrupted by the bishop.”
“Babble away, then, if you must.” He smiled. “I’ve rather missed it.”
They were standing now, Edgar letting the baby dangle from
one arm in a way no woman would risk. Catherine knew his hold was firm. She found she couldn’t think of anything more to say. She just looked at them, loving them both beyond all measure.
“Margaret,” Edgar reminded her.
“Outside.” She gestured vaguely.
There was no one out front in the road. After some blind alleys Edgar and Catherine found Margaret, along with Solomon, Samson and Willa, waiting for them in the garden.
“We thought you’d be longer about it,” was Solomon’s blunt salutation.
Edgar cuffed him with his free hand. “I decided it was more important to see for myself that you weren’t too aged by the charge I left you.”
His face grew serious.
“
Todah robah
, my friend,” he said. “I can never repay you for the care you took of my family.”
“My family, too,” Solomon reminded him softly. “I only wish I could have protected Margaret’s mother, as well.”
“She was the only mother I remember having, although, now that I think of it, she and my brother, Alexander, were the same age. I shall miss her. She didn’t deserve such a death, or such a life,” Edgar said.
“She was cruelly treated by Waldeve,” Solomon said, more to himself than Edgar.
Catherine glanced at him sharply. Edgar saw the look and raised his eyebrows questioningly. She shook her head.
“Speaking of brothers.” Edgar filled the silence. “Has anyone seen Robert?”
“Not since we first saw you,” Solomon told him. “Alfred followed him, hoping he would be able to get past the guards to your father.”
“Alfred?” Edgar was surprised. “He’s here, too? Robert told me the villagers were scattered over the countryside.”
“Apparently the damage to the keep was worse than the damage to the village,” Catherine said. “Isn’t it usually the other way around?”
Edgar suddenly smacked his forehead with his palm. “Father!” he cried. “I’d forgotten. I have to go up to report to him. Robert doesn’t know all that Conyers and the bishop told me. Catherine, I promise I’ll return this evening.”
“Don’t worry.” She smiled as she took James from him. “When you do, I promise there will be a place, a private place, waiting for you.”
They ignored the hoots from Solomon.
“Now,” Catherine said when he had gone. “You two can help me find one.”
“Catherine, you’re asking for a miracle,” Samson protested. “Every private room, every curtained bed will be taken by the clergy or the lords.”
“Then find me a stable,” Catherine said. “If it was good enough for the blessed Virgin, it will be fine for us. We spent the first night of our marriage in a hayloft.”
“I remember.” Solomon grimaced. “I had to sleep under a tree.”
Samson chuckled. “You may have to again. Come along, friend. I’m sure it’s some sort of
mitzvah
to help perpetuate the race.”
“Not of Edomites,” Solomon grumbled.
“Who knows? Maybe they’ll see the light one day and come to the True Faith.” Samson led Solomon, still muttering, out of the garden.
Margaret and Willa had watched the proceedings with interest.
“Are you going to give James a baby brother?” Margaret asked.
Catherine blushed. “Probably not tonight.” She sighed.
“Edgar must be different from Father,” Margaret continued, considering. “Mother didn’t like sharing the bed with him. She said I should enter a convent rather than marry. What do you think?”
Catherine thought it was a decision she wasn’t qualified to make for Margaret. What she said was “God knows what’s best for you. Why don’t we leave it in his hands for now?”
That seemed to satisfy the child, to Catherine’s relief. Time enough to be concerned with Margaret’s future. They didn’t even know if they could convince Waldeve to let them take her, or if she wanted to go. Although, it struck Catherine that she hadn’t asked to be taken up to see her father. She wondered if he had expressed any concern for her at all.
“Margaret, how would you feel about coming back to Paris with us, if your father approves?” she asked.
Both Margaret and Willa’s faces glowed like summer dawn. They hugged each other.
“Oh, please!” Margaret said. “Willa has told me all about the
city. I want to see the pigs with bells and the martyrs’ hill and the
pet du diable
and the donkey bishop and everything.”
Catherine raised her eyebrows. “There are other things in Paris,” she said. “The king’s palace, churches, schools.” She stopped herself.
Goodness! she thought. I sound just like Sister Bertrada!
Margaret paid her no mind. She and Willa began planning what they would do first when they returned. Catherine let them. After all, Cumin would have to surrender now that the real bishop had arrived. And, horrible though it was, they couldn’t do anything to see that Waldeve was punished for his crimes, beyond informing his lord. Edgar couldn’t be expected to participate in the trial of his own father, could he? They might be home well before Michael-mass.
That thought cheered Catherine enough to soothe the edge of constant fear that had been with her since they left France.
 
Edgar caught up with Robert before he was given an audience by the bishop. He bent to catch his breath.
“Have you seen Father?” he asked.

Other books

Worth the Risk by Claudia Connor
Catch Me If You Can by Juliette Cosway
Mistletoe Menage by Molly Ann Wishlade
Fearless by Katy Grant
Renegades of Gor by John Norman
Shuttlecock by Graham Swift
Death of a Valentine by Beaton, M.C.
Secrets Remembered by Raven McAllen