“My father was an honest man.” Peter lifted his head proudly. “He was kind and brave. However it might look, I don’t believe he did anything shameful. You’d have to lie to bring such an accusation against him.”
“Hubert won’t create a false tale,” Walter said. “Not even to save his daughter. He’s an honorable man.”
“Just remember,” Peter said. “Your proof must be undeniable before my uncle and I will release Agnes. Someone must pay for my father’s death.”
Walter saw in his face the toll the past weeks had extracted from the boy. He wished he could offer some sort of comfort.
“Walter!” Margaret called. “I just heard the bells for Vespers. Shouldn’t we be getting back?”
“Coming!” Walter called back. “Now, Peter, it’s time that you went home, as well.”
Peter sadly picked up his shoes and started to put them on. “Walter?” he asked as the man was leaving. “May I see Margaret again before she goes back to France?”
“If her brother permits it, I don’t see why not,” Walter answered.
With that Peter had to be content.
It had been several years since Hubert had been in Köln and he didn’t remember the streets as well as he’d hoped. The Jewish population here was much larger than Paris and spread through several neighborhoods. As his stumbling questions were met with incomprehension, he cursed his own pride for not taking Walter with him.
Finally he found someone who spoke French and could direct him to the synagogue. The man gave him a look of deep suspicion that should have put Hubert more on his guard. His preoccupation was so great that he simply thanked his informant and hurried to reach his friends before night fell.
As he passed through the streets, trying to keep the directions straight, it appeared to him that a number of people were going the same way. He wondered if there were a local festival. Everyone seemed in high spirits.
At last his turn took him away from the flow. He went down a narrow walkway and into a small courtyard surrounded by houses. Hubert relaxed. This place he knew. The house on the left had baskets of flowers hanging from the balcony. Without hesitation, he knocked on the door.
There was a sound from inside, but no one came. Hubert knocked more loudly. Finally, he called in Hebrew.
“Hezekiah! Are you in there? It’s Chaim ben Solomon, from Paris.”
There was a rush of footsteps inside and the rasp of a bar being lifted. The door opened only far enough to let him in.
“Hezekiah, what is it?” Hubert asked as his old friend pulled him in.
“What a time you’ve picked to visit!” Hezekiah motioned for Hubert to follow him into the main part of the house. “Don’t you know that the devil is here in Köln? He looks like a man, but he barks like a hound from Sheol. He calls himself Radulf and he’s inciting the Edomites against us.”
“Radulf! Here?” Hubert exclaimed. “I thought he’d been stopped by the abbot of Clairvaux.”
They had come into the hall where the leaders of the community were gathered. Hubert recognized a few of them, but there were many young men who were strangers. They all wore the same face of apprehension.
“A blessing on this house,” Hubert said. “I apologize for interrupting your meeting. I’ve come from Trier on a family matter.”
“Hubert is one who was forced under the filthy water when he was a child,” Hezikiah explained to the group. “But he’s still one of us in spirit. We may speak freely before him.”
There was some grumbling, but eventually some men moved down on their bench to make room for him.
“Let us finish this first,” Hezekiah said. “And then you and I will eat and you can tell me what brings you here.”
Hubert sat and listened. He couldn’t follow when they switched to German but what he heard was enough to frighten him.
“Many of you are too young to remember when the followers of the crucified one came to Köln before,” an old man was saying.
“That doesn’t mean we didn’t grow up hearing about it, Joseph,” another interrupted. “None of us is indifferent to the problem.”
“The question is, what is our best course of action?” Hezekiah said. “We have friends who will hide us in their homes but I, for one, don’t want to have to put them at risk.”
“Also, if it comes down to giving us up to the mob or having their own homes destroyed, how many Christians will have the courage to protect us?” the younger man asked.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Joseph said. “We’ve tried prayer and the giving of bribes, but I don’t want to have my family exposed to the whim of the bishops or the greed of the lords. I say we negotiate for a fortress where we can gather and prepare our own defense.”
“All of us together?” Hezekiah was doubtful. “It’s dangerous to draw the attention of the soldiers to one spot. If we disperse to many villages then there’s a better chance that some will survive, should it come to that.”
“No, I agree with Joseph.” Another of the younger men, Judah, spoke. “In 4856 the bishop sent us to seven of his villages to hide. Only one village was spared. If we had all been together, all might have been saved.”
“Or all might have died,” a old man said. “My wife and I were in that protected village. I grieve still for the others but I’m glad we survived.”
“I’m tired of depending on the good will of the Christians,” Judah answered. “I would rather die in the Sanctificaion of the Holy Name than live like a rabbit, shivering in fear, ready to bolt back into my hole at the slightest noise.”
“And so would I,” Joseph rose. “It may be that our fears will never take shape, even with the barker monk preaching our destruction. But I would rather be prepared than face the loss of life and the desecration of the Torah that we endured before.”
Others stood as well, and for a few minutes everyone spoke at once, each trying to be heard above the others. When Hezekiah managed to restore order, however, it was clear that a consensus had been reached.
“Very well,” Hezekiah said. “We shall decide how much we can afford to give Archbishop Arnold for the use of one of his fortresses. If we can convince him to agree, we’ll have to start preparations to move there at once.”
“Exactly,” Judah said. “Preparations. There’s no need to go unless we can see there’s danger.”
“No! You mustn’t wait. Go now!”
All eyes turned to Hubert.
They had switched back to Hebrew and he had understood that final part. He quailed a bit under their outraged glare, but stood firm.
“No,” he said more quietly. “By the time you see the danger, then it will be too late. Believe me. In Rouen we thought we were safe. But the soldiers came without warning and when they left, dozens were dead, including my mother and sisters.”
“Blessed be their memory,” Joseph added. “My parents chose death, as well, and I would have died with them had I not been at Ramerupt studying. This man is right. It’s better to lose a little through overwatchfulness than to lose everything through complacency.
Hubert sank back. His heart was beating slowly again and his fingers were cold. He tried to breathe deeply and calm himself. Fifty years had passed and still the memory haunted him. Would he never find peace?
The others continued discussing the situation, but Hubert paid them no more attention. Eventually the men rose to leave. As they did, Hubert held up his hands for attention.
“Please, as long as you are all here, I’d like to ask about something different,” he said. “It’s of no consequence to the community but of great importance to me. Do any of you know a Lord Gerhardt, from near Trier? He has a vineyard.”
Judah stepped forward. “Yes, I’ve bought from him. Always a fair man. I thought he had died recently.”
“Yes.” Hubert licked his lips. “There’s been some question about how it happened and I need to find out about the man’s activities in Köln. Can you help me?”
“Of co
urse,” Judah told him. “But not tonight. My wife probably thinks I’ve gone to the tavern on the way home. I promised I’d be back long ago.”
They arranged to meet the next morning. Hezekiah bid his guests good night and then called up the stairs to his daughter to come down and see to Hubert.
“Thank you, old friend,” Hubert said. “I can see you’re curious about why I want to investigate the death of a German lord. I will explain everything in the morning.”
“There’s no need for you to explain at all.” Hezekiah smiled. “I know you must have a good reason and therefore, I’ll do what I can to help.”
Hubert slept that night on a soft featherbed. For the first time in weeks, he had no bad dreams.
Peter was quite upset by his encounter with Walter. It wasn’t that he had intended any harm to Margaret or her honor. He hadn’t been thinking at all, really. But now he was. Too many things had been thrust on him too quickly. He had hardly been given time to grieve. Instead he was sitting at his father’s place at the table with everyone watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. Or perhaps waiting to see if his food was poisoned, too.
He wanted it all to be over. And it wouldn’t be until Agnes was out of the castle. She had to be freed or she had to be tried. He couldn’t stand wondering any longer. After all if, as he hoped, Agnes had nothing to to with his father’s death, then someone else did. Someone he cared about, perhaps. Someone he believed cared about him. But what if they didn’t? What if whoever did this wanted him dead as well?
Peter walked more quickly between the rows of vines now ripening in the rich sunlight. He wasn’t going to let anyone murder him. He was going to grow up and find a way to marry Margaret. And they would have lots of sons. His father’s vision of the land wouldn’t die with him.
He found his uncle Folmar in the stables, saddling his horse.
“Where are you going, Uncle?” he asked.
Folmar jumped. “Peter! Don’t creep up on me! I thought you were going to Saint Marien to see Brother Berengar.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. He’d forgotten completely. He’d asked Brother Berengar to teach him French and the monk had promised to see him at Tierce for a lesson. The meeting with Margaret had driven it from his mind.
“I’ll go tomorrow,” he said. “Something came up.”
Folmar continued adjusting the stirrup. “I wish your aunt would stop using my gear when she rides. I have to change it all back every time.”
Peter tried again. “Are you going far?”
“Just into Trier,” Folmar answered. “Hermann wants me to see to some things.”
“May I come with you? I can be ready in a few minutes,” Peter asked.
Herman gave one last tug on the leather. “No, this is just business. And, as it’s getting late, I’ll likely have to spend the night there. Anyway, it’s not the sort of thing you need to worry about.”
Peter was becoming tired of being treated like a child.
“Everything that has to do with my fief is my business,” he said. “Father would have wanted me to know all the sides of my duty to it. I’m coming with you. Wait while I get my riding gear.”
Folmar could only stand and fume.
When he brought Margaret and the little ones back, Walter took Catherine aside and told her what had happened.
“I don’t believe that the boy had any dishonorable intent,” he said. “But at that age they haven’t learned how to control such urges.”
“Some never do,” Catherine said grimly. “Thank you for warning me. I’ll let Edgar know.”
“Will you talk to Margaret?” Walter asked.
“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “Perhaps in a general way, about keeping herself free of scandal. I don’t want to shame her. You say she did nothing improper?”
“Neither of them did, really,” Walter said. “Of course, if I had arrived a few moments later …”
Catherine gave a deep sigh. She was just as glad her father wasn’t there. He’d find her discomfiture highly amusing.
The next morning, Edgar was sitting under a tree watching the builders at work on the cathedral. People had become used to seeing him there with his children and were slowly changing their opinion of the family of this foreign woman. The maimed man seemed harmless and the children well-behaved. Perhaps, the talk at the fountain went, perhaps this French girl isn’t a sorceress after all but just a murderer. And, since everyone knew that she hadn’t been married long enough for a widow’s portion, people began to speculate as to what the noble Lord Gerhardt could have done to cause her to want him dead.
Much of this had been relayed to Edgar by the man who had stopped the boys throwing rocks. His name was Egilbert and he had decided to adopt the strangers.
“Amazing how quickly minds change,” he commented, handing a cup of local wine to Edgar. “I’ve even heard some say that the poor woman should be released into your care and sent home with only her nose slit.”
“I don’t think my wife or her father will accept that,” Edgar answered. “And I’m sure Agnes won’t. She’s ready to stay in that room until there’s no doubt of her innocence.”
Egilbert took a gulp from his cup. “Well, unless she’s ready to undergo the ordeal, I don’t see how that can happen. Poison is a tricky thing. Anyone could have dropped a potion in his meat sauce.”
“He didn’t eat meat,” Edgar said. “Or fish or cheese. Nothing but beans, bread, herbs and wine, Agnes says. Some sort of penance or something.”
“Really?” Egilbert considered this. “Well maybe he wasn’t poisoned at all, then. Maybe he just farted his brains out.”
He thought this joke was so good that he repeated it in German for the benefit of his friends.
All at once the laughter stopped, except for one man who was wiping his eyes. When he looked up he saw the cause for the sudden quiet.
Peter had just ridden into the square. He felt the stares and lifted his head higher. Then he dismounted, handed the reins to a servant and went into the cathedral.
“Poor lad,” someone said.
There were mutters of agreement. Edgar felt the wind begin to change.
They needed to discover the truth behind Gerhardt’s death soon. He wondered if Hubert had found out anything in Köln.
Peter could feel them all watching as he entered the cathedral. He fought the urge to run. The noise of the workmen faded as he shut the door behind him and the perpetual coolness of the stones made the air around him still and peaceful. He made his way along the ambulatory and then crossed to the nave where he knelt in front of the altar.
He began to recite Aves but his mind wasn’t on God. When Folmar had been so mysterious about his visit to town, Peter had assumed, hopefully, that his uncle was going to a brothel and didn’t want him to know. But, when they arrived, all that Folmar had done was consult with a man at the wine market and then tell the cook at the town house that they would be eating there that night.
After he had gone to bed Peter had listened for the sound of footsteps. Sometime after midnight he was rewarded with a creak and a click that said the front gate had been opened. But when he went down to follow his uncle, he heard voices coming from the hall and realized that Folmar had been letting someone in.
Cautiously, he tiptoed down the stairs and stood in the shadows by the door. The voices were soft and he nearly stopped breathing in the effort to make out words. One thing he noticed immediatly was that the guest was a man.
He heard the glug as Folmar poured wine for his visitor.
“Thank you,” the man said. “It’s been a long ride from Köln, and the road was dusty. We need rain soon.”
“The grapes like a dry summer,” Folmar answered. “It was wet enough at Easter.”
Peter tried not to yawn. He’d stayed awake half the night for talk of the weather? The guest continued, his voice taking on a different tone.
“Even though the perfectus is lost we must continue with our plans
,” he said. “Right now the people are attacking the Jews. With all the attention on them, and with the armies of pilgrims passing through, we’ll be able to convert many to our way. We need your help, Folmar. Now that Gerhardt is dead, the link is gone.”
“Yes, Gerhardt is dead,” Folmar answered. “And so is your messenger. What if Gerhardt died because of something your man spilled before his throat was cut? The archbishop may know all about us and only be waiting to spring his trap.”
“Not after all this time,” the stranger said. “Your brother was a martyr, but only because of the passion of his wife. Obviously, the woman was enraged by his saintliness and decided to kill him so she could be free to marry a man who would indulge her filthy lusts.”
Peter just managed to keep from a cry of surprise. What could they mean? He wished the stranger would be more specific about the lusts.
“I wish I were as sure as you,” Folmar said.
The voices were coming closer. Peter edged farther into the dark corner.
“If your faith were perfect, you would be,” the guest told him. “This is no time for uncertainty. We are on the brink of the millennium and only those who have purified themselves will be among the saved.”
“Yes, I know.” Folmar said. “Thank you for coming and bringing the news. I’ll do what I can.”
“No, Brother,” the man said. “Do what you must.”
To Peter’s relief Uncle Folmar didn’t go upstairs immediatly after letting his guest out. Instead he went back to the hall. There was the sound of more liquid being poured. Hoping that Folmar would drink his wine downstairs, Peter hurried back up to his alcove, drawing the curtain closed behind him.
He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep after what he had heard. His nonentity of an uncle was involved in some dangerous plot. That was amazing enough. But how could his father have been part of it, as well? Something was wrong here. It was up to him to find out what. The problem went round and round in his head until, only a few moments later, he was asleep.
The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 23