Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (39 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

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Edgar cautiously sat up. His head ached and he was nauseated. He swore to himself that if they ever returned to Paris he would never leave again and that it would be a long time before Catherine and James ever left his sight.

“I’m not going to sit here debating imponderables,” he said. “Father may want us held captive but I’m not going to wait for him to decide what to do with us. I’ve got to get back to Saint-Giles and find Catherine.”

“Edgar, she’s not there.” Robert caught Edgar as he tried to stand. “The place was cleared out. She’s probably with the other villagers. Or Solomon will have taken them with him.”

Edgar had to be content with that for the time being.

Robert wasn’t as indifferent to his situation as Edgar supposed.

“We can get out of here and go hunt your family again,” he said. “But we need to evade the guard.”

“How?” Edgar asked.

“I’m working on a plan,” Robert told him.

“Is there any reason you can’t work on it in the tavern?” Edgar wanted to know.

“None at all, if they’ll let us,” Robert said. “It might help matters.”

“Then let’s go,” Edgar said. “I can make my legs take me that far.”

Their guards seemed perfectly happy to follow along.

“Catherine, look what James can do!” Margaret proudly moved out of the way to show the baby sitting upright, only slightly supported by a rolled up tunic at his side.

He grinned soppily at them all, showing the tooth that had just broken through his upper gum.

Catherine looked up from the grain she was grinding between two stones. She wiped the sweat from her face with her loose hair and smiled back at them. It amazed her that despite the primitive living conditions, all three children were thriving. After hearing one of Willa’s coughs, Godric had brought her a wad of herbs stuck together with something that smelled vile. Willa had gagged but swallowed it, and within a few hours the cough was fading. Obviously this place was sanctified.

She went back to her work. In the heat, none of the people there were wearing more than their tunics. Some of the younger children went about naked, their pale northern skin slowly turning to tan. Their host only appeared from time to time, but his voice could often be heard from his little oratory raised in prayer or song. Catherine wondered if the others found it as comforting as she did to know that they were a part of his constant devotion.

She examined the results of a whole morning bent over the stones. It was barely a few handfuls of flour and all of it coarse. Godric had given them all a barrel of grain but it hadn’t been ground. Catherine wondered why there was no mill nearby. The river was
certainly strong enough. Perhaps it was too unpredictable. With those high cliffs, it might be inclined to flood.

Her mind went back to the wind-powered mill that the men at Lindisfarne had been struggling with. The design was impractical but if it could be made more secure to the ground and still be turned to catch the wind, she brushed back her loose hair again, what a blessing it would be to the women who still were forced to make flour with a hand quern.

Catherine knew it was Sunday only when the priest came to say Mass in the chapel. The man seemed awed by the number of people attending and made several mistakes, once reversing the order of the ceremony. Catherine was tempted to correct him, but held her tongue. With maturity comes wisdom.

The priest also brought news from the outside world. Saint-Barbe had been forced back to Bishopton and the town of Durham was open once again. At that, several people immediately began to prepare to return.

Catherine wasn’t sure what to do. All this dashing about meant that Edgar might not know where to find them. And where was he? Had he gone to Bishopton or was he still at Durham? If Aelred had told him where they were, wouldn’t it be best to stay there? It was so easy to miss someone.

It was late the next afternoon before she had made up her mind to stay where they were, if Godric would permit it, when Alfred appeared. Margaret ran to him and leapt into his arms. He carried her over to Catherine.

“Alfred says that Edgar and Robert are waiting for us at Durham,” Margaret said. “We should come at once.”

Catherine thanked the man with her small English and went to once again gather up their things, stuff them in a sack and prepare to set out.

Godric was unavailable but they left a message with one of the local people to give him their thanks and tell him where they had gone.

Alfred led them through the thicket and onto a road.

The sun slipped lower. It seemed to Catherine that they had been walking a long time. She wondered if Alfred were taking them by a more-traveled route. Finally she became worried.

“Margaret,” she said. “Would you ask Alfred if he’s sure we’re on the right road?”

Margaret did. It was then that two things happened. The first was that four men came round the bend in the road ahead. The second was that Alfred drew his knife. Catherine prepared to run. Alfred was no match for four young thugs.

Margaret gave a gasp and then a cry of disbelief. Catherine saw that Alfred’s knife was against her throat.

Twenty

A camp in the forest near Durham. Tuesday, 2 kalends September (August
31), 1143. Feast of St. Aidan, missionary, founder of Lindisfarne, friend of
kings, whose prayers could turn the course of the wind.

Maledictus sit ubicunque fuerit, sive in domo, sive in agro, sive in via …
sive in silva, sive in aqua, sive in Ecclesia. Maledictus sit vivendo,
moriendo, manducando, bibendo, … Maledictus sit in totis viribus coporis.
Maledictus sit intus et exterius. Maledictus sit in capillis, maledictus sit
cerebro.

May he be cursed where ever he may be, whether at home, in the
fields, in the road, … the wood, the water, or the Church. May he be
cursed living, dying, eating, drinking … . May he be cursed in every
part of his body, inside and out. Cursed in the blood; cursed in the
brain.

—Tenth Century Excommunication Formula,
Capitularia regum Francorum

C
atherine cursed herself roundly for her stupidity. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that this kindly old man had been a servant of Waldeve’s for all his adult life? She had been so careful not to trust a stranger, so sure of her judgment. Now they were all going to be killed because she hadn’t the sense to stay put.

What she didn’t understand was why they weren’t dead already. There was one slim hope that they were being held for ransom, but that made no sense, for Waldeve was the only one in Britain who could pay it.

At least no one had tried to harm them, although a couple of the men were giving Willa looks that made Catherine want to grab a knife and destroy any chance of their accomplishing what they were so obviously thinking.

She wished Margaret would tell them what the men were saying, but Margaret had retreated into herself. The shock of having her old friend threaten to kill her on top of the calamity of her mother’s murder was more than the child’s mind could bear. She lay in Willa’s arms, sucking her thumb and keening softly. No one disturbed her.

“Mistress?” Willa said over Margaret’s steady sorrow. “Do you think someone will come save us?”

“I don’t know, Willa,” Catherine answered. “I don’t see how, since no one knows where we are. It may be that Alfred is under orders simply to hold us for some reason. We may soon be taken on to Durham or back to Wedderlie.”

“But why are they holding us at all?” Willa asked. “Are we important? I mean, you and Margaret and James.”

“I don’t think so.” Catherine had been trying to puzzle that out. “Unless Waldeve plans to send to my father for a ransom. I’m sorry,
but I don’t understand this any more than you do. There’s really only one thing we can do for now.”

Willa nodded. “I haven’t stopped praying since we came to Britain.” She sighed. “Do you think we’re too far away for the French saints to hear us?”

“Of course not, silly.” Catherine was certain of this. “In Heaven they can hear you anywhere you pray.”

Willa was comforted by this, but Catherine wasn’t so easy in her conscience. Perhaps she had done something so bad that she didn’t deserve the intercession of the saints She couldn’t think of anything so awful that retribution would fall on these children.

James wiggled in her arms. Now that he was beginning to want to move about, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep him quiet while he was being held. Catherine realized that she had been clutching him over her breasts, using him as a shield. It was irrational to think that the fact that she had a baby would keep these men from hurting them. She knew all too well that the bodies of women and children were left behind like refuse after an army passed through.

James was beginning to fuss. Catherine looked around at the men, trying to judge if there would be any danger if he were put down.

Their captors weren’t watching them closely. Alfred kept one eye on them as he directed preparations for the evening meal. There was a chill in the air that was a reminder that summer would soon be ending.

She put the baby down in the space between herself and Willa. He immediately rolled over to his stomach and then to hands and knees, rocking like a hunting dog straining at the leash. Alfred got up and came over to them. Catherine snatched James back to the security of her lap, to his great annoyance.

The old man looked down on them with what seemed to be pity. That frightened her more than malevolence would have. It was the expression someone might give a favorite calf before sending it to the butcher.

He took off his cloak and laid it on the ground for James. Then he backed away.

Willa’s prayers matched the pitch of Margaret’s keening.

Catherine wondered if any of them would be sane by morning.

In the tavern, Edgar pushed away his bowl of ale. He glared at Æthelræd, who had returned with no news of Catherine.

“Forget it,” he told his uncle and brother. “We can’t outdrink them. I’ll pass out before any of them do.”

“It’s that weak French beer that’s done this to you, Edgar.” Æthelræd shook his head in disappointment.

They were seated at a table in the loft of the tavern. Below them, the guards seemed to have made the best of their duty and were fast emptying the barrel the owner had brought up only that morning. None showed signs of being the worse for it.

Edgar had just put his head on the table when Algar came in. He greeted the guards.

“Have you been here the whole day? What’s the matter with you? Grandfather would be furious with you, not to mention Lord Waldeve. I suppose that means Grandfather isn’t back yet?”

One of the men tried to shush him, but Algar was annoyed and wouldn’t be quieted. “He said he’d be back from Finchale last night. What if there was trouble?”

Edgar lifted his head. Why had Algar’s grandfather gone to Finchale? Alfred had no business with Godric there that he knew of. What was his father up to now?

He opened his mouth to shout down to them. Æthelræd clamped his hand over it.

“Algar doesn’t know we’re here,” he whispered. “Wait. See if he spills any more before they can shut him up.”

The men were trying to, still under the illusion that their presence hadn’t been noticed by the three upstairs.

“Sit down, Algar, have some beer,” one said.

“Don’t be an ass,” Algar answered. “Grandfather may have been set upon by bandits or fallen and broken his leg. I don’t know why one of you couldn’t have gone, instead.”

“Did that last time,” another muttered, slurring a bit. “But the bitch wouldn’t trust me.”

“Widsith, you fool!” The other whacked him on the head, which caused Widsith to slide off his stool and into the matted straw on the floor.

“What’s he talking about?” Algar glared at the ones still upright.

“He’s drunk; it means nothing,” the first man said.

He looked up at the loft, Robert waved. Algar followed the glance. He stopped and bowed apology.

“Lord Robert,” he said in a milder tone. “I didn’t realize you were there. Are these men in your company?”

Robert shook his head. “I just came for a nice bowl or two with my brother and uncle, and Lufen, of course.”

“Have you seen my grandfather, Alfred?” Algar asked.

One of the men put his head down and pounded it against the table.

“Not today,” Robert answered. “Gone to Finchale, has he? The roads aren’t safe, you know.”

“I know,” Algar said. “But Grandfather didn’t seem to agree. He said there were people from Wedderlie there that he needed to contact. But he should have been back by now, so I suppose I’d better find someone sober and go out searching him.”

“Oh, don’t waste time with that; we’ll help, won’t we?” Robert said.

Edgar and Æthelræd both instantly expressed their enthusiasm for locating Algar’s grandfather.

The soldiers made one last attempt.

“You can’t bother their lordships,” the leader said. “They’ve better things to do.”

“Not a bit.” Æthelræd came down the ladder from the loft. “We weren’t allowed to join the chase of Saint-Barbe’s army to Bishopton. We could use an outing. Do you have a horse, Algar?”

“Yes, in the stables with the others,” Algar answered.

“Then let’s be off.” Æthelræd put an arm around the young man’s shoulders. “No doubt we’ll come across him along the road. Probably just taking his time coming back in this bright weather.”

They left the tavern. Inside four soldiers began pummeling a fifth, passed out on the floor. Each of them was trying not to think what would happen if Edgar discovered what Alfred was doing.

At that moment Alfred was on his hands and knees, trying to make Margaret stop wailing and take notice of the world again.

“
Swetnes
,” he pleaded. “I wouldn’t have harmed you,
deorling
. Hasn’t old Alfred always been good to you? Please, please come back, Margaret. I need you to talk to the Lady for me.”

Margaret paid him no attention. Her eyes were glazed over with sorrow. Willa held her ever more protectively.

Catherine understood the tone, if not the words. It confused her even more. He didn’t seem to want to hurt Margaret or any of
them. But then why had he threatened them? Why were they being kept here?

“Please, Saint Catherine, Holy Mother Mary, please don’t let them be waiting for Waldeve to come,” she begged. Even more, she feared it would be Duncan, this brother who according to Edgar was even more of a monster than his father. What kind of family declared war on itself? Well, unless a crown was at stake, or property, or … Oh, dear. Now that she considered, internecine warfare was fairly common, even in France.

Catherine understood at last why having an apostate Christian for a father-in-law hadn’t been difficult for Edgar to accept. His father behaved as if there were no divine justice at all.

Alfred gave up on Margaret and tried, by means of gestures, to explain to her that he didn’t want to kill her, either. She need only be patient and she would soon be home.

Catherine had no idea what his hopping about and pointing signified.

“Mistress?” Willa’s voice made Alfred stop in his dance. “Mistress, can you hold Margaret now that James is asleep? I need to relieve myself.”

“Of course,” Catherine held out her arms for the child. “Go behind the tree here. If one of those beasts makes a move, I’ll scream loud enough to shake the birds from the branches.”

Willa had less trouble making her needs clear than Alfred. He nodded. Willa vanished into the brush behind the tree as Catherine glared threateningly at the men.

Time passed. Margaret fell asleep. James woke. Willa didn’t return. Catherine began to be worried. She counted the men. They were all there.

Willa wouldn’t have gone far. Could she have become ill and be lying unconscious? What if she had tried to run for help? Despite the throb of hope that thought caused, Catherine hoped she hadn’t done anything so foolish. A young girl alone on the road, unable to speak the language, would be more likely to find death than assistance.

Eventually Alfred also noticed that Willa hadn’t come back. He told one of the men to go look for her. Then added another command that wiped the eager grin off his face. He went into the brush where she had vanished.

Time passed. The sun began to set. Margaret woke. She didn’t
make any more noise, only curled up into a fetal ball on the cloak next to James. The baby patted her nose but she made no response. The man Alfred sent didn’t return either. Catherine became even more alarmed. Eventually Alfred did, too. With a sharp expletive, he sent the other three men in search.

There was a surprised cry, cut off suddenly. Catherine threw herself over the children. Alfred picked up his staff and stood over her. Whether he meant to protect them or keep them from escaping, Catherine couldn’t tell.

The brush behind the tree rustled and was pushed aside. Alfred raised his staff.

Algar stepped into the clearing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alfred demanded.

“I came looking for you,” Algar said. “What are you doing with this woman?”

“It’s nothing to do with you,” Alfred said.

“Yes, Grandfather, it is,” Algar answered.

There was more rustling.

“Catherine.”

Catherine raised her head slowly. She wasn’t ready to believe in this miracle.

“Catherine.” Louder, nearer. She looked up.

“Edgar!”

Alfred saw him, dropped the staff and sunk to the ground sobbing. Edgar stepped over him and lifted Catherine.