Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur) (36 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

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“Most people don’t care,” Maruxa forced out. “But it wasn’t Hugh.”
“I know. But he allowed it, encouraged his men to come find you when he knew your husband wouldn’t be there to protect you.”
“It’s not Roberto’s fault!” Maruxa said. “If he’d been there, what could he have done but get himself killed?”
“You never told him, did you?”
“Roberto was so ashamed of what she made him do. He thought that’s why I didn’t want him to touch me for the next few weeks. I suppose one of them told you, bragging?”
“Not even that,” Mondete said. “Just for lack of anything else to say. He died of a fever the next winter. Perhaps he’s in Hell now.”
“That kind never go to Hell,” Maruxa sighed. “I know a hundred stories about it. They repent and give everything to the Church with their last breath.”
“Some don’t have the chance,” Mondete said.
Maruxa was startled by her tone. “Yes, that’s true. If death comes unexpectedly, there may not be time to atone for a life of wickedness.”
“Hugh of Grignon had his throat cut. It’s hard to pray with no voice.”
Maruxa didn’t answer. The sky was becoming lighter now. It would soon be Saint John’s Eve, the shortest night of the year. On the other side of town, Edgar and Catherine were busy examining the body of Rufus of Arcy. Finally, Maruxa spoke.
“I hated Hugh. He was weak and enjoyed hurting those who were weaker. I’m glad he died unshriven, but I didn’t kill him.”
“I know.” Mondete got up from her place among the roots. “I should be going now. Please thank my host for the food and the music. They were beautiful. When I hear you sing, I almost forget what I am.”
“Thank you,” Maruxa said. “But don’t you want to—”
Mondete was gone. Maruxa realized that the woman had told her nothing and that she had, for the first time, revealed the deepest secret of her heart.
Maruxa smiled. “Thank you, Mondete Ticarde,” she whispered. Then the implication of Mondete’s last statement hit her.
“If you did kill Hugh,” she vowed, “may God forgive you, for you have more courage than I. I swear to spend the rest of my days lighting candles to the saints that they may intercede for you in heaven.”
 
In the end, it was Hubert who arranged for the burial at San Martin and for Rufus’s few possessions to be sent back to his family. Gaucher had sunk into a monologue of terror and self-pity.
“What are we going to do with him?” Edgar asked Hubert. “If we leave him here, he may not survive. But I don’t know what he’d do if we tried to take him with us.”
“It’s a demon, I know,” Gaucher told them. “The boy’s spirit has cursed me. But how could I know? We should have killed him then. That would have been an honest mistake. It happened all the time in the war. They looked alike; they talked alike. There should have been some sort of sign.”
Catherine was wearying of his whining. “Sir Gaucher,” she said as politely as possible, “you have had a terrible ordeal, it is clear. But none of us were there in the war. We don’t understand. Please, tell us what happened so that we can help you.”
She had thought him rambling in shock or senility, but Gaucher suddenly fixed her with a perfectly sane pair of eyes.
“You weren’t there,” he said. “That’s right. You can’t know. We were fighting for the Faith, to free the Christians enslaved by the Saracens. But it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t that clear when we stormed the cities who was what. Nobody warned us.”
He stopped.
“Someone should have warned you,” Edgar prompted.
But Gaucher was quickly regaining his composure. “Yes, but no one did, and now I’m the only one left alive who knows the truth.”
“Except for the murderer,” Catherine said.
Gaucher rubbed his fingers nervously against his palms. “That’s right. But we’re almost there. I can still atone. Norbert wanted to sell it back to the bishop, but I never meant to let him. One doesn’t traffic in holy objects.”
Hubert was tired, worn, and at the end of his patience. “What are you talking about, man?” he shouted.
Gaucher took a deep breath. “What I need is to explain all this to a priest,” he told them. “Take me to Brother James.”
Soon after. The church of San Martín, Estella.
 
Non amat Veritas angulos, non ei diversoria placent; in medio stat …
 
Truth has no love for corners; roadside inns do not please him. Truth stands in the open … .
—Bernard of Clairvaux
Sermon on the Ascension
, VI
 
 
B
rother James was not pleased to see them.
“Another death? What will the abbot say?” he exclaimed. “But this one had no ties to Cluny, isn’t that correct? If so, then you will have to deal with it yourselves. I was charged only with finding the one who killed Brother Rigaud. The rest has nothing to do with me.”
Hubert tried to forget that this man was his older brother. It made it so much easier to loath him without feeling guilty about it.
“We’ve come to you in your capacity as a man of God,” he forced the words out. “Sir Gaucher is deeply troubled by something from the past. We think this long-ago event is the key to why Brother Rigaud and the others were killed. But he will discuss it only if you are present.”
James raised one eyebrow in an expression of scorn that was startlingly like Solomon’s. “So now you expect me to forget how I was shamed in public and cheerfully help you?” he asked.
“It would be the Christian thing to do,” Edgar said.
Though his voice held no trace of irony, James still looked at him in suspicion. “So it would be,” he admitted, “but I have a condition of my own. If Sir Gaucher wants you to hear his story when I do, I won’t object. But not her. The woman must leave.”
He pointed at Catherine. She stared back at him in surprise. His hand shook. Hubert understood.
“Catherine, ma douce,” he said to her, “don’t be angry. Every time you look at him, he sees our mother reproaching
him for his choice. We have enough to bear now. Your presence would only make it harder.”
“It’s not a tale you should hear anyway,” Gaucher told her. “I would find it easier to tell it if you weren’t here.”
“I understand,” Catherine said. “Is the Lady Griselle still at the church? Perhaps I could return with her to the guest house and wait for you there.”
“Would you rather I went with you?” Edgar asked.
She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Not for anything. I want you to remember every word.”
“I promise.”
Griselle was almost ready to return anyway and was delighted to provide Catherine with an escort. “It’s no trouble at all,” she assured Hubert. “You’ve been so kind to me. And I’m very fond of Catherine. The poor child does seem exhausted. I’ll see to it that she has a nice herb posset and goes directly to bed.”
Hubert thanked her effusively. Edgar still worried.
“The Lady Griselle will take good care of me,” Catherine told him. She lowered her voice. “It’s only back to the guest house, and she has no reason to distrust me.”
Edgar bent to kiss her again. “I want a report from you as well.”
When they had gone, Gaucher leaned over to Edgar. “Not good to be so obviously fond of your wife, you know,” he said. “People will talk. Look at what they say about King Louis and Eleanor.”
“Yes, I know,” Edgar said. “But I think I’ll stay fond of her for a while yet, just the same.”
Brother James wasn’t interested in propriety within marriage. “The confession you wish to make, Sir Gaucher? Should we go into the church?”
“No!” Gaucher was horrified. “We should sit in the open where we can see if anyone comes close enough to overhear. But you misunderstood. This isn’t a confession. I don’t need absolution. I only wish to explain so that you can go to Abbot Peter when we reach Najera and tell him the story. He’ll know how to advise me.”
If James was annoyed by this demotion to messenger boy, he didn’t show it. He motioned them all to stone benches outside the church.
“And this event was something that occurred when you and the others were at the siege of Saragossa?” he asked.
Gaucher nodded. “It was so long ago. Why should it come back to haunt us now? I don’t understand. All these years, I tried to forget. And all the time, someone else must have been remembering.”
He shuddered, pulled back his shoulders, composed himself and began.
“The siege of Saragossa was long, but in the end, with the help of God, we were victorious. Finally, we breached the walls of the city. We fought our way through the streets, cutting down any of the infidel who tried to stop us. The five of us became separated from the others. We wandered into one of those twisty alleyways where any turn could put you face-to-face with a dozen men with swords.
“But though we expected to be challenged at each turn, the street was empty. The natives had all run away. At the end, against the city wall, we found a small church. We thought it was empty, too. Then we heard something.”
The three listeners leaned forward.
“Rufus found them, huddling behind the altar. A woman and a boy. They were clearly Saracens!”
He dared them to contradict him. No one else spoke.
“They were both dark, the woman more so. The boy had lighter skin and eyes, and red glints in his hair. But a lot of them do. How could we know?”
Edgar felt himself tense. He was glad Catherine wasn’t here. He wished now that he had gone back with her. Gaucher went on relentlessly; they had wanted the story and he was telling it. Edgar knew that any word of reproach from him would cause the narration to end at once.
Gaucher continued. “We thought it was despicable that they had chosen to hide in a holy place, flaunting our beliefs, taking refuge in our charity. They were vile pagans. We were even more angry when Rufus unwrapped the parcel the woman
was holding and found it was a statue in the image of the Virgin Mother. The woman spat at him. In a church!”
“Dreadful,” Brother James said. Edgar gave him a sharp look. If he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn that the monk was being sarcastic.
Gaucher didn’t notice the tone. He didn’t notice them at all. He was back in Saragossa, living the scene again.
“The woman tried to grab the statue back from Rufus. He had to beat her down with his mailed fist to keep her off him. The boy protested madly and tried to stop him. So Rigaud and I were forced to hold the child back. She cried out to him and beat on Rufus all the harder. Somehow, the woman’s robes became torn. Rufus noticed that she wasn’t bad underneath, for a Saracen. We all noticed.”
Brother James froze. Hubert put his head in his hands. Edgar-suddenly remembered that his father-in-law had been there when his mother and sisters were slaughtered by the knights on their way to free Jerusalem. He wondered if Hubert could bear being reminded so vividly.
Gaucher could tell that he was losing the sympathy of his audience. “It was a war, after all,” he sputtered. “That’s what one does. She was part of the booty. We didn’t mean to kill her. She needn’t have fought us so fiercely. She wasn’t a virgin.”
“In a church? How could you?” Brother James shook his head. “You at least told your confessor that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes. I’ve done the penance he set,” Gaucher said. “At the time, we forgot about the place being a church.”
“And the boy, her son I presume, saw this?” Hubert’s voice came from forty-five years away. Even James noticed.
The monk pressed his lips together tightly. “Then what happened?” he asked.
“The boy went mad,” Gaucher said. “Cursed us most fluidly in good Burgundian. Norbert thought it was incredibly amusing. Then the child had the audacity to say that he was a Christian, the son of a famous French warrior. Well, they’d all like to be, wouldn’t they?”
“You didn’t believe him?” Edgar asked.
“Of course not. There he was, dressed like a Saracen. He had called out to his mother in their heathen tongue. And he was circumcised, just like them. Show me a Christian knight who’d let anyone do that to his son!”
“Yes, I can see your problem.” Edgar controlled himself. He was surprised at his own strong reaction to this very common story. Perhaps it was because of the tales of atrocities committed by the Normans upon his family. The stories had been spoon-fed to him with his first solid food. Gaucher’s tale was too similar. Edgar always had a certain sympathy for the conquered, even if, like the Saracens, they were so misguided as to their faith.
“How did you know the boy was circumcised?” Hubert asked.
“Ah, well.” Gaucher coughed. “That was Rigaud, you know. The boy was well-dressed and groomed, about twelve or thirteen. Had a fine emerald ring, even. Rigaud thought he was probably someone’s catamite. But from the way he squealed, I think we were probably wrong about that.”
“How long before he died?” Edgar just wanted the story to be over.
“Oh, we didn’t kill him!” Gaucher said. “We played with him for a while, just to let him know what happened to Saracens who blasphemed. We told him we’d come back when he was grown and finish him then. We left him tied up at a hitching ring.”
“I see.” Hubert spoke calmly. “As you say, it’s not an unusual thing to happen when a city is taken. So why do you think this boy has returned after so long to claim vengeance? How would he know where to find you?”
Gaucher for the first time appeared uncomfortable. “Because a few days later we heard that a knight from Burgundy who had settled in Saragossa had gone out of the city to bring information to us. When he returned, he found his wife raped and murdered and his son tied up naked by a church wall, his senses having been taken from him by the experience.”
“So the boy was telling the truth,” Brother James said. “And you told no one?”
“Are you mad?” Gaucher replied. “The Burgundian must have had kin and friends in the town. We’d have been slaughtered.” He took a deep breath. “Fortunately, we heard he was killed a few months later, in battle.”
“That was lucky. And the boy?”
“We didn’t worry about him at the time,” Gaucher said. “What could he do to us? And what could we do for him? If the story was true, his mind was gone. We couldn’t repair it. We thought the matter over and forgotten. But then, on this journey, things began to happen. The business with the pig parts.”
“The what?”
Gaucher coughed again. “Nothing. Just a joke, we thought. Even Norbert’s death didn’t warn us. But then the ring appeared. Hugh hadn’t been able to get it off the boy’s finger, but he’d managed to pry out the stone. Later, he had it set in a new band. When he found the stoneless ring in his pack, we all knew at once whose it was. That’s when I began to worry. He was taunting us, torturing us, letting us know that he was coming. When Hugh died, I wasn’t surprised at all.”
Brother James wanted to know about the other crime. Gaucher seemed to have ignored that. “What about the statue of the Virgin?” he asked the knight. “You stole it from the woman, didn’t you?”
“We liberated it from the infidel!” Gaucher was indignant.
“And then, no doubt, gave it to your bishop,” James said.
Edgar watched the monk with a growing sense of familiarity. Despite everything, the man was like Solomon. They had the same way of infusing a simple sentence with multifold layers of insinuation.
Gaucher was not as observant as Edgar. “Of course we intended to give it to a representative of the Church at once,” he said. “But everything was in confusion and we didn’t want it to fall into unworthy hands.”
James nodded agreement. “This wasn’t simply a crude carving, then. It was perhaps ornamented?”
“The crown was real gold, I’d swear,” Gaucher said. “And studded with jewels, topped with a huge ruby. Well, who’s to say how a venal priest might be tempted?”
“Actually, the blessed Pope Gregory listed quite a number of ways,” James commented.
Edgar couldn’t help himself. The tone of the remark was so familiar. He exploded with laughter. “That’s just what Catherine would say!”
“Edgar!” Hubert was startled and angry. “This is not the time!”
“You’re right. I apologize,” Edgar said, quickly regaining his composure.
Brother James seemed disconcerted. “It’s I who should apologize. I can’t imagine what made me say that. Now, Sir Gaucher, you nobly kept the statue of Our Lady to protect it. That was twenty-five years ago. I presume in that time you were able to find a suitable guardian for it?”
“That’s what I have to explain,” Gaucher said. “It must be divine providence. It’s waited all these years, so that Abbot Peter might receive it for Cluny.”
“Waited? Where? Where did you hide it, then?” Brother James wasn’t the only one bewildered.
Gaucher seemed to think he had been very clear. “Why, in Najera of course. We wrapped it in silk and leather and left it in the caves above the monastery. Norbert and the others made plans to come back and sell it for their own profit, but I knew Our Lord wouldn’t let the image of His mother be used so. And now they’ve all been removed and there is no one left to keep me from rescuing it again.”

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