Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (41 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Edgar smiled in incredulity. “Is that why you’ve been so silent? I thought you were pondering how you could leave me behind after all I’ve let you go through.”
“Of course not.” Catherine sighed. “I know it’s frivolous, but I can’t ponder anything when I feel like this. I itch all over and my hair hasn’t been washed in weeks. James is the only one of us who’s been tended to at all and you wouldn’t believe the things we’ve had to oil him with. Also, I think it might help Margaret.”
Edgar looked at the curled bundle in his arms.
“If there’s even an empty barrel in Hexham, I’ll see that it becomes a bath for you. I promise.”
He didn’t have to appropriate a beer barrel, to Catherine’s relief. There was a small but respectable bathhouse. The owner even allowed
them sole use of it and guarded the door while she and Willa washed themselves and James thoroughly and then gently undressed Margaret, bathing and oiling her, massaging her body just as if she were a baby, too. Her tight muscles relaxed under their care, but she showed no other sign of being aware of them.
“Is there nothing we can do for her?” Willa asked as she rocked the fed-and-warm James in her arms.
“It may be that she just needs time,” Catherine said. “I wish Master Herbert could see her. He might have some preparation that would help.”
“I never thought I’d feel sorry for a nobleman’s child,” Willa said. “Of course, Mother says I may well be one, myself, but that hardly counts, does it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Catherine said. “You know, it’s odd. That’s the way the people at Wedderlie treated her, as if she should be pitied. I thought it was because she had such a dreadful father, but now I wonder.”
“Do you mean she isn’t Master Edgar’s sister?” Willa asked.
“Oh no, I’m sure she is,” Catherine said too quickly, thinking of Solomon and wondering if he had been the first to test Adalisa’s fidelity. “But how long do you think the people knew of this plot?”
“Edgar’s brother would have killed her?”
“I don’t know.” Catherine splashed water all over the floor as she lifted Margaret out and began to dry her. “Margaret? Do you understand us?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Willa said. “I didn’t think.”
She set the sleeping baby in a box of linen while she helped Catherine. Her hands faltered as she fussed with the neckstring on Margaret’s
chainse
. Catherine suddenly noticed how thin and drawn she was.
“Oh, Willa, you poor dear!” she exclaimed. “What will your mother say when I bring you back so worn?”
“She’ll say, ‘welcome home.’” Willa gave a sad smile. “Forgive me, Mistress, but I do hope it happens soon.”
“Oh, Willa, so do I.”
 
Somehow Edgar had managed a bed that didn’t have fleas and did have curtains.
“Meldred found it,” he explained to Catherine. “I think he’s trying to soften me so that I’ll speak up for Alfred.”
“Clean linen is a potent bribe,” Catherine agreed, snuggling against him and sliding one leg over his body.
They were silent for a while and still, just holding each other and reveling in the solace. For once, Edgar was the first to speak.
“None of this makes sense, you know,” he said.
“That’s true.” Catherine kissed his shoulder. “But God gave you to me and I won’t question it if you won’t.”
He kissed the top of her head, smelling the rosemary water she had rinsed out the soap with. With one hand he reached down and tickled her.
“Edgar!”
“In a minute.” He stopped her hand from retaliation. “I’m serious. From the beginning, this followed no logical path. If there were someone who wanted to revenge themselves on my kin, they’re not doing it according to any custom I know of. If you’ve bested a man, you want him to know it. Yet, it’s just as illogical to think that my father would or could plot such an elaborate way to rid himself of family members who opposed him. Why bother to bring me back? He knew I wanted nothing more to do with him. There’s something missing.”
Catherine’s fingers made a spiral on his chest as she thought about it. Edgar closed his eyes.
“Edgar?”
“Mmmm?”
“What would you say if I told you that I think I was mistaken?”
“That the Millennium had come.”
“Prepare yourself, then,” she said. “I think that your father knows nothing about how these things were done. I thought Duncan might, but there was no reason for him to burn the keep. I think it’s a much more convoluted puzzle. And I think Lazarus is the key.”
“Lazarus? Who’s that?”
“The boy your father kept chained in the storeroom.”
“Saint Mungo’s misery!”
Catherine tilted her face to see his.
“You didn’t know, did you?”
“Of course not,” Edgar said. “Why would he have done such a thing?”
“I’m not sure,” Catherine said. “At first I thought he was being held for ransom, but there would be no reason to keep that a secret from me. I think now that he was a sort of hostage.”
“For what purpose?” Edgar asked.
“It would help if we knew who he was,” Catherine admitted. “But I suspect it was to ensure the compliance of the people of Wedderlie, or of one person there.”
“What, you mean in the castle?”
“No, the people, the villagers,” Catherine said. “I know it sounds mad, but all the odd pieces seem to fit together if you take the actions of the peasants into account.”
“But that’s unnatural!” Edgar protested. “They know what happens to people who rebel against their lord.”
“Of course they do,” Catherine said. “That’s why no one bragged about it. What I don’t understand is what they thought they could accomplish by these things.”
Edgar wasn’t convinced. “I can see wanting to be rid of my father or my older brothers, but why kill Adalisa? Why hurt Margaret?”
“I’m not sure,” Catherine answered. “But I’m hoping that now that he’s within the churchyard, Alfred will tell us. I’m coming with you tomorrow, of course.”
“It had never occurred to me that you wouldn’t,” Edgar said truthfully.
“The right answer,
discipulus
.” Catherine rolled to lie on top of him. “What would you like for reward?”
“This will do just fine.” Edgar sighed.
Hexham, Saturday, 2 nones September (September 4), 1143.
Commemoration of the translation of Saint Cuthbert, although it’s not clear
which translation. He moved around a lot.
 
 
Parum etenim proderit peccatori a peccto cessare, nisi studeat ieiuniis et
orationibus elemosinisque commissum deflere, et sicut existiterat operator
malicie, ita quoque efficiatur post penitentium cultor iustitie.
 
 
For it is of little use for a sinner to cease sinning, if he doesn’t strive
to lament the act with fasting, prayers and almsgiving, so that after the
penance he becomes one who cultivates justice.
 
—Life of Saint Rumwold,
Part 10
 
 
P
rior Richard had decided to give Alfred a day to rest and pray before he met with Edgar and his family. Æthelræd grumbled at this, saying that it would only give him more time to think up lies, but the prior had the final say.
Unfortunately, that gave Waldeve time to reach Hexham.
Robert was on the road, heading for the priory when he and Duncan galloped in, followed by a dozen of their henchmen. “If you’ve come to defend yourself, it’s too late!” he shouted at them. “We know everything!”
Waldeve brought his horse to a sudden halt. He looked down at his son as if at a snake on the path.
“The only way I defend myself is with a sword, boy,” he said. “And I’ll be a long time in Hell before you know everything. Where’s that
unbryce
brother of mine?”
He spotted Æthelræd coming out of the inn.
“What’s this
flitere
gibbering about?” he shouted.
Æthelræd came within speaking distance.
“About you, Brother,” he said. “Alfred has surrendered to us and is going to tell all he knows about your plans to destroy the family. And don’t bother to try to silence him. He’s safe within the church.”
“What plans? Have you all gone mad?” Waldeve dismounted. “You.” He pointed at one of his men. “Take care of my horse.”
Duncan joined him. Robert looked from one to the other. Waldeve seemed genuinely surprised at the accusation. It must have been Duncan all along, he thought. The intricacy of the planning was certainly more his style.
“What do you think our father’s done to destroy the family?” Duncan asked. “Besides not drowning you at birth. And what’s Alfred got to do with it?”
“You know quite well,” Robert said. “It wasn’t enough for you to make yourself the oldest, you had to try to get rid of me, as well. I’ll never forgive you for what happened to Lufen.”
Duncan put a hand to Robert’s forehead.
“No fever, so you can’t be delirious,” he said. “Therefore, I can only assume you’ve lost all reason.”
Æthelræd interrupted Robert’s response.
“This afternoon, after Tierce,” he said. “Come to the church. Prior Richard has agreed to witness Alfred’s confession and refer the case to the proper authorities.”
Some of the conversation finally made sense to Waldeve.
“If Alfred knows anything about what happened to my horses and my sons,” he said, “then the only proper authority is me and he won’t be able to hide behind the skirts of the monks for ever.”
His hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Robert was unconvinced. “Who outside of the family would know that I was the only one who worked in my vegetable garden? What kind of marauder attacks a castle and leaves the village undamaged? Think about it, Father. You should have been more clever.”
Waldeve turned from him with a look of disgust.
“Addled, completely,” he muttered. “Edana must have betrayed me. This one can’t be mine. All right, Æthelræd, how long before we’re allowed to hear Alfred’s condemnation of me? It should take him aback to have me there to cut out his lying tongue.”
“Don’t even consider it, Brother,” Æthelræd said. “You know the penalties for breaching sanctuary. Alfred has reached
deop friðsocne
. He’s under the protection of God and Saint Wilfrid.”
“They’re playing dice on the tomb of Saint Cuthbert at this very minute.” Waldeve sneered. “That great saint couldn’t even protect his own monks. What have I to fear?”
“My wrath, Brother. Only mine.” Æthelræd smiled.
 
Edgar woke to find Catherine next to him, James sucking peacefully at her breast. For a moment, he thought himself home again. Then he heard the shouting of English voices and remembered.
Catherine opened one eye. “Just a few more minutes,” she whispered. “He’s almost done.”
“I’m in no rush,” Edgar said. “Whatever is decided today won’t matter to me. I want nothing from Wedderlie or my kinfolk.”
“We don’t need to abandon them utterly,” Catherine said. “Your uncle is welcome to visit us whenever he likes. I think Father would like him. And I’m getting rather fond of Robert. Of course, Margaret will be ours now, won’t she?”
“I hope so,” he said. “In her condition, I can’t see that Father will protest. He never could bear infirmities. But what do you think your father will say if we bring another child into his household?”
“We’re taking her into our household, Edgar,” Catherine said firmly. “She’s kin. Father will make no objection.”
“Kin doesn’t seem to count for much in my family,” Edgar said. “I wish I could work up a rage against Alfred, but I can’t help thinking he had a good reason for whatever he did.”
“I could feel more disposed to Alfred if I were sure he had nothing to do with Adalisa’s death,” Catherine said.
“It still seems senseless to connive at the deaths of the family of one’s lord unless another lord were inciting them.” Edgar stroked James’s cheek, telling himself he would never give his son reason to hate him the way he did Waldeve. “What could they gain but their own destruction? And what good would come of my stepmother’s death?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine answered.
Edgar rolled closer to her. “Solomon seems more upset about her than you do.” He made the sentence a question.
Catherine wanted to tell Edgar all she suspected, but she couldn’t. Adalisa had been his stepmother. How far would his tolerance stretch? And anyway, she had no proof. It was Solomon’s secret, not hers to share.
“I think he is,” she told Edgar. “Adalisa helped him in his business dealings. They became friends. And I think he still feels guilty that he couldn’t save her.”
“From what you say, there was nothing he could have done. I’ll tell him I don’t blame him,” Edgar promised. “I wish I could have seen this Lazarus you left at Lindisfarne. You aren’t thinking about adopting him, too, are you?”
“The monks seem to think he would be happy with them and perhaps regain his speech,” Catherine said. “But I wish I knew who he really was and why your father chained him for so long.”
“We can ask Father.” Edgar yawned. “Though I doubt he’ll answer. Tell me about this machine you saw on Holy Island.”
“Oh, the windmill. That was what started me thinking about the villagers,” Catherine said.
“Right.” Edgar was doubtful. “A house with sails stuck on a pole. I’d like to see such a machine outside of a scopes tale.”
“I didn’t describe it well. I know you’d love it,” Catherine told him. “But the point is that the people of Wedderlie believe it can work. And they don’t want anyone else to know about it. Why? No, don’t interrupt. I’ll tell you. Because with a windmill they don’t need to take their grain to your father’s mill. They don’t have to pay the tithe. It’s one step toward being free of his yoke.”
“But there are a hundred other duties,” Edgar argued. “Sac and soke, fees to marry, many more. At Wedderlie, the villagers are only one step above serfs. Some of them are serfs. They hardly own more than their own bodies.”
“And the women not even that, if the faces of your father’s men are any indication,” Catherine said. “Would you tolerate that from your lord?”
“Of course not!” Edgar said. “What do you think I am?”
“I know what you are,
carissime,”
she said. “It’s what they are that I wonder about. You know how upset your friend John is about the situation here in England?”
“Of course,” Edgar said. “But his family at Salisbury has been hurt by the wars.”
“It’s not just personal,” Catherine said. “He feels that when the order at the top of society is unstable then the whole pattern is disrupted. There is no law in Britain now, not really. When that happens the common people may decide to be their own law.”
“You’re talking anarchy!” Edgar was shocked.
“I know,” she answered. “But that’s all I’ve seen since we’ve been here. It’s like the commune at Reims. The citizens never would have formed it if King Louis hadn’t wanted to collect the revenues from the empty bishopric. There was no bishop at the head of the town, so the people were forced to rule themselves.”
“My father was always there to rule!” Edgar said.
“But how well?” Catherine asked. “If the ruler is corrupt and abusive, then he breaks faith with his people. It’s their obligation to overthrow a tyrant.”
“John explained all of this to you?” Edgar said.
“We had a lot of good conversations last winter, while you were carving wood,” she said. “He likes my soup.”
“That’s all very nice, theoretically.” Edgar made a move to get out of bed. “But I doubt that Alfred has heard John’s ideas.”
“No,” Catherine admitted, detaching her son and pulling a
chainse
over her head. “But he might have thought of them himself.”
 
If Alfred and the other four men were daunted by the family ranged against them, they didn’t show it. He sat on Saint Wilfrid’s stone chair, the
friðstol,
next to the altar, and they sat on the floor on either side of him. His grandsons, Algar, the soldier, and Meldred, the monk, stood to one side.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Algar whispered to his cousin.
“You’re not of their blood,” Meldred answered. “We weren’t sure where your loyalty lay.”
“Idiots,” Algar muttered. “I’ll bear the retribution with the rest of you. You might have let me share the guilt.”
Prior Richard entered and was seated on a folding stool. He signaled to Alfred that he could begin.
“Be sure to tell me every word he says,” Catherine said to Edgar.
Alfred took a deep breath.
“First of all, I confess here that all blame for what has happened must be mine.”
His friends started to protest, but he cut them off with a gesture.
“The plan was mine,” Alfred continued. “If it failed, if deeds were done that I didn’t wish for, the men who did them were still following my orders. I will not have them punished.”
“A man like you has no right to tell me who I’ll punish.” Waldeve sneered. “I’ll hang every damned
neyf
on my lands if I feel like it.”
Prior Richard held up a hand to quiet him.
“Perhaps you’ll feel differently when you hear the rest of his confession,” he said to Waldeve sternly. “I’ll only remind you one time that this is sacred space and I won’t tolerate violence in deeds or words within the church. Do you understand?”
Waldeve nodded grudgingly.
At that moment there was a clatter outside. Everyone turned toward the door as the porter ushered in two more people.
Robert drew his breath in sharply. “Aelred!” he cried. “Thank God you’re here!”
The other man was more hesitant to enter the church.
“Solomon,” Catherine called. “Just this once. Please.”
Reluctantly, he came over to where Edgar and Catherine stood. Aelred made his obeisance to Prior Richard, who greeted him warmly.
“I’m glad to have you here to consult with on this, whatever the reason for your visit,” he told the monk. “Meldred, fetch another stool for Brother Aelred.”
They settled in again. Aelred gave Robert an encouraging smile. The prior nodded to Alfred to begin again.
The old man watched the expectant faces before him. Then he started speaking, clearly and slowly enough that Edgar could translate without missing anything.
“Now that I’ve had time to think about it,” he said. “I know it started long ago, before any of you but Lord Waldeve and I were born. He seduced my sister, got her with child. My mother nearly killed her for it. She finally told my father that my sister wasn’t his, but the child of Waldeve’s father, that my sister’s child would be born of a double sin.”
Waldeve chuckled. “Good breeding stock. Doubly blessed, I’d say.”
No one else laughed. Prior Richard frowned at him and Waldeve subsided.

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