Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (42 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Alfred continued. “My sister killed herself and the child. We buried her by the old standing stones and her ghost has been there ever since, along with the spirits of too many other victims of your anger or your lust.”
He glared at Waldeve, who shrugged.
“There are a thousand other tales of Lord Waldeve, his father and then his sons,” Alfred said. “They have abused the powers God gave them. They have raped and tortured for sport. They have abandoned us to starve in famine and drown in flood, never fulfilling their duty to protect those in their service.
“My lord, your sons and grandson died while chasing human beings across the fields, whipping them until they ran and running them through when they fell, as if they were game. They had the mischance to chase their quarry to the woods where the fowlers were setting their nets. Hearing the pleas for help, they circled the hunters and cast their nets over them. Your sons were dragged from the horses. I believe it was blind fury at their actions or perhaps fear of their wrath, that made the peasants beat and hack them all to death.”
Waldeve was shaking with a fury of his own.
“I don’t believe it!” he shouted. “No baseborn filth could have murdered my sons. They were warriors!”
Alfred ignored him. “When it was discovered who the men were, word was sent to me at Wedderlie. The peasants were terrified but I promised to protect them. I was the one who decided to cut off their right hands. My own pride wanted to tell the world that these men were no better than common thieves. We all worked to move the bodies. After that, it was as if the whole village had been awakened. People like us had rid themselves of the ones who were oppressing them. I thought we might be able to continue as they had begun.”
“What about my horses?” Waldeve growled. “What harm had they done you?”
Catherine was amazed when Edgar told her what he had said. Waldeve was being told of a plot to eradicate his entire family and he still dwelt on the insult done his horses?
“Their tails and manes had become tangled in the nets,” Alfred said wearily. “It was the only way they could be released quickly. I sent them to Hexham so that they wouldn’t be traced back to us.”
“Edgar,” Catherine said. “Ask him why they had to set fire to the keep. What harm could those of us left do them?”
Edgar wanted to know this, himself.
Alfred closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. “That’s where it all began to go wrong.” He sighed. “Too many of us were making decisions. We hoped that it would keep Waldeve from returning. It was never intended that the women should die, only to keep up the illusion that some strong adversary was trying to destroy you. But the fire spread more quickly than we expected. I lost more than anyone by it.”
“Lazarus?” Edgar asked. “The boy in chains. Who is he?”
“Ask him.” Alfred’s face hardened into a stone likeness of hatred for his lord.
All eyes turned to Waldeve. “Lazarus? My prisoner? Who called him that? He’s scarcely able to rise from his ashes. So you think our bargain has ended because the boy died? I’ve only been saved the trouble of executing him at last.”
He explained to the others. “I caught the boy in the forest, releasing the traps we had set for wolves and game. I could have killed
him then. He ruined a month’s work. But he was Alfred’s youngest and so I brought him back.”
“He was an innocent!” Alfred exploded. “One of God’s chosen. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t understand the rules of the forest; he only hated to see things in pain. And you made him the price for my betrayal of my own people.”
Now his men reacted. Alfred faced them, his hands clasped in supplication.
“I was to keep the rest of you in order, to report any signs of rebellion,” he confessed in shame. “He knew already how much his outrages were resented. I did it for my poor Kenelm. I did it because I was already old and had spent my life being afraid of these men. But no longer.”
He turned back to Waldeve. By some trick of nature, the afternoon sun slit the long, thin windows sending down shafts of light that hit only Alfred and Waldeve, as if they had been lifted to another world and were untouchable by mortals.
Alfred drew himself up proudly.
“I am a man,” he said. “Made in the image of God, just as you are. I’ll not die a traitor to my own, nor with the shame of my family unavenged.”
“Oh, but you’ll die!” Waldeve shouted. “And then I will hang every member of your family, down to the babe born yesterday and leave them to rot in the trees, like worm-ridden fruit.”
He drew his sword and raise it above his head.
There was a moment of stunned immobility. Edgar recovered first.
“Father, no!” he screamed. “Not in the church!”
He threw himself forward, trying to stop Waldeve’s arm from finishing the arc. The heavy sword fell, passing through Edgar’s left wrist and slicing deep into Alfred’s neck.
Edgar looked down at his empty arm. Blood gushed forth.
“No!”
The scream wasn’t his, but Catherine’s. She threw herself against the torrent, feeling the pulsing of Edgar’s life as it gushed against her stomach, soaking through her clothing and running down her legs.
“No!” she screamed again. “Put it back! Somebody put it back!”
Edgar clutched at her with his remaining hand. He was shrieking
now in agony. She looked into his eyes, watching the light in them fade, willing him to stay alive.
Someone tore off a sleeve and tied it around Edgar’s arm, reducing the flow. Someone else was shouting for fire. It was an instant before Catherine realized what it was for.
“No, no, no,” she said. “Not that. They have to put it back on. He needs it. Don’t do this! Get it! Put his hand back!”
Someone took her shoulders and moved her away, as others lowered Edgar to the floor and bound the stump of his arm.
“Catherine.” Solomon’s voice was thick with tears. “Catherine, they can’t do that. It’s impossible. It has to be cauterized or he’ll die.”
“No, no.” Catherine wept into his chest. She looked around. “Where are you taking him?”
“To the infirmary, Catherine.” Solomon held her firmly.
“Let me go!” she wrenched herself free. “I’m coming with him. He’s not going to die.”
Prior Richard watched them go by. “We can’t let a woman in there,” he said, grasping at the one thing he could understand of the events of the past moments.
Aelred turned his head as he passed, carrying Edgar’s legs. “We can’t keep her out,” he said. “It’s her right.”
The prior turned back, forced to comprehend the scene in the church. The transept was a pool of red, reflected in the sunshine. Alfred’s body lay in it, his head almost severed. His grandsons knelt next to him, weeping and praying.
In another pool lay Edgar’s severed hand, fingers still splayed, now palm up to Heaven as if begging mercy.
Waldeve stood motionless. The sun had moved, leaving him in shadow. Everyone else just stared at him, as if afraid to touch someone so unclean.
“Damn you, boy,” Waldeve said softly. “Never where you’re supposed to be.”
He dropped the sword.
The sound freed the others from their shock. Æthelræd bent and picked up the grisly weapon.
“Bind him,” he ordered. “Prior, is there a place we can hold the prisoner?”
“Prisoner?” Waldeve screamed. “I’m the master here! I was executing my own justice. It’s my right.”
Æthelræd stepped back from him.
“You have committed murder in front of the holy altar, on a man given holy sanctuary.” He spoke loudly so that all could hear. “Your life is forfeit.”
Waldeve spit at him. “Don’t spout holy law at me, you
heoruwearg.
You never had any more use for it that I have. Men, prepare to ride. We’re going to Wedderlie this very night and I’ll make good on my promise to Alfred. I only wish I’d let him live long enough to see it. Now!”
Nobody moved. Waldeve stared at his men and, too late, realized his mistake. Duncan had been watching from the sidelines with no show of emotion. Now he nodded to Urric, who stepped forward and took Waldeve’s arm. Æthelræd took the other and they tied his wrists with his own leather belt as the lord of Wedderlie shouted obscenities at the assembly.
“You’re all of my blood, every one of you bastards! You owe me your very lives! Betray me now and you shall be damned for eternity, and your sons and theirs!”
His sons, nephews and grandsons, bastards all, helped drag him away.
The monks helped Meldred and Algar carry Alfred’s body out.
Æthelræd and Robert were left alone. They both looked down.
“We can’t leave it there,” Robert said.
“I know. After all, it’s part of Edgar,” his uncle agreed.
Neither made a move to pick it up.
“He was a craftsman,” Robert said. “Always carving on something. What will he do now?”
Æthelræd shook his head. “Live, please God. Just let him live and after that, what fate wills.”
 
Catherine watched as the infirmarian heated the metal over glowing coals. The cloths wrapped around Edgar’s arm were bright red. His face was paler than she had ever seen it, even his lips bled almost white. He was mercifully unconscious.
She sat on the floor beside his cot. Every now and then she would reach up to take his hand, and then remember. Each time, it horrified her.
“Live,” she repeated over and over. “You must live, or I’ll die, too. Edgar, don’t leave me. You can’t leave me alone.”
She should have been praying, beseeching the saints, bargaining with God. But the only one she could see or think of was Edgar, and he was the only one she implored to answer.
Solomon knelt beside her. He held her tightly as they both watched Edgar’s ragged breathing.
“Catherine, you need to come out for a while,” he said. “James is crying for you. He’s hungry.”
“Bring him to me,” Catherine said, never taking her eyes from Edgar.
Solomon saw that the iron cautery was almost red hot. His voice took on a note of panic.
“No, dear. You need to go to him. This is no place for a baby.”
Catherine looked straight at him. What he saw in her face made his heart pound in terror.
“I’m not leaving, Solomon,” she said. “I know what they’re going to do and I won’t let him endure it alone.”
“Catherine …”
Solomon gave the infirmarian a gesture of helplessness.
The Norman monk set his mouth in a determined line. “I can’t have her in the way. What if she tries to stop me? What if she screams and faints?”
“I won’t get in the way,” Catherine said dully. “It’s the only way to save him.”
“And she won’t faint,” Solomon said. “She’s stronger than you think.”
The monk stood firm.
“She’s his wife,” Solomon added. “She has the right.” He kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Willa can give James some broth. I’ll bring him to you when it’s over.”
Catherine nodded, too busy gathering up all her fortitude to hear him clearly.
With much grumbling, the infirmarian directed his assistants to unbind the wound and hold the patient steady. He stoked the coals and pulled out the cautery iron.
“Woman, you so much as move and you’ll risk being scarred for life,” he warned.
“I understand,” she said.
They had to peel the last of the bandages off. Catherine saw the white bone amidst the sliced red bits of flesh, muscle and nerves. She watched as the glowing metal came closer and closer, finally pressing
against the open wound with a horrid sizzling and a smell that she would never forget.
Edgar cried out and subsided.
Catherine started to reach for him.
“I said don’t move!” The infirmarian took the iron off. He was perspiring freely. “He’s not dead, if that’s what you fear. If anything, the pain should be less soon. I don’t know why but it seems to help.”
“Will he survive?” This came out as a croak from her dry throat.
“I don’t know,” the monk said more gently. “I’ve seen men live after worse injuries. There is hope.”
That one word dissolved the last of Catherine’s strength. She crumpled beside the cot in tears.
By the time Solomon arrived with James, they had wiped her face and given her strong wine with honey and vervain to calm her. The infirmarian looked at the baby in amazement.
“I didn’t understand,” he said. “Yes, they should all be together. I’ll have the brothers set up another cot and string curtains across the corner for her. But only until he can be moved.”
“How long will that be?” Solomon asked.
“A few days,” the infirmarian said. “Either to the inn or the graveyard. There’s no way now to say which.”

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