“Stay with Catherine,” Edgar said. “One of us will return if there’s news.”
Hubert nodded numbly and sagged onto a stool. None of them voiced what they were all thinking. Margaret was a dutiful child. She would never run off without telling someone. Margaret was also almost a woman and more men than Peter had noticed.
For the second time that night, Hubert began to pray.
Eighteen
Trier. Early in the morning of Saturday, 9 kalends September (August 24), 1146; 13 Elul, 4906. Feast of Saint Eptadus of Autun, who ransomed Arian captives of King Clovis and sent them home free and unconverted; Parashat Ki Teze.
Olimbrius et autre gent
qui o lui erent a torment
Quand il voient de sa char tendre
De totes pars le sanc espandre,
Lor ex et lor chieres covroient
Car esgarder ne le pooient.
When Olimbrius and the other people
Who were with him at the torture
Saw how her tender flesh
was covered all over with blood
They covered their eyes and faces,
For they could not bear to look.
—Wace
Life of Saint Margaret of Antioch
“They’re hiding something,” Walter told Edgar. “And they’re frightened.”
“I know.” In the light of the full moon, Edgar’s face was grey from worry and lack of sleep. “Something happened to her after she reached this village. Something bad enough that no one will tell us what it was.”
Walter didn’t answer. From the way the men’s eyes had darted when he questioned them, refusing to look at him directly, he feared the worst. There was no point in his telling Edgar this. Edgar’s mind already saw the horrors that might have happened.
“What next?” he asked instead.
“Hermann is lord of this village,” Edgar said. “If he can’t get these men to talk then I’ll ask him to have their homes taken apart, log and stone, until there’s no place left small enough to hide her.”
Walter mounted his horse and Edgar the mule and they both set out for the castle. Behind them a group of villagers gathered. As soon as Edgar and Walter were out of sight, in silent agreement, the group headed for the church. The moon cast long shadows from behind so that it seemed as if there were phantoms walking in front of them.
“Are you sure the girl was Jewish?” one man said. “What if it’s the same one?”
“I saw her with the Jews in Provins,” Andreas answered. “And again in the town here. The old man who lives with them stayed in a Jewish house when he was in Köln. These people are only pretending to be like us, the better to destroy us. You did the right thing.”
“Walter of Grancy is no Jew,” the man said, doubt creeping into his voice.
“Ah, but he’s been taken in by them, ensorcelled,” Andreas whispered. “Just the way your poor lord was by that woman. The merchant’s daughter, they say, but he’s dark and she’s fair as you are. Who ever heard of that?”
“Well, there was Johann from Pfalzel,” another spoke up. “His mother was from the south, but he was blond like his father.”
“Of course,” Andreas said. “Children are in their father’s image. Everyone knows that. But I’ll wager this one was born dark like her sister and wove spells to change her looks so that she could ensnare your lord. And the red-haired girl did the same.”
“How do you know what the sister looks like?” the man asked. “I thought you only passed through here once before.”
“Isn’t that your wife calling you?” Andreas said. “I told you, I saw them in Provins, and then again here, when I stopped on my pilgrimage to venerate the Holy Shroud.”
“Even if they are all Jews and possessed by the devil and we did well to destroy this girl,” a third man broke in, “we still have to get rid of the body before those at the castle find out. If you’re right, then they’ve all been magicked as well and won’t reward us for killing her.”
They had reached the church door by now. The bar was still in place.
“We’ll throw her in the river,” Andreas told them. “If she’s ever found, no one will know where she went in. Now, hurry, before those men bring down help.”
The bar was lifted and the men crowded into the little church. One took out his flint and struck it until the lamp by the door was lit. They all looked toward the altar where they had left the girl arranged like an offering that afternoon.
It was empty.
All but Andreas crossed themselves.
“Who’s been in here? Tell me,” he demanded.
There was a mumbled argument. Then one man spoke for them all.
“None of us,” he said. “We all went back to finish the drinks we were in the middle of when you pointed her out to us.”
Andreas ignored the reproach. “One of you came back and removed the body.”
“No, then we all went back home to wash off the smell of blood,” the man insisted.
“And the shame,” a voice murmured.
“Someone came back for her,” Andreas insisted. “You heard that the Jews will pay well to have the bodies of their baptized dead returned so they can wash off the sacrament.”
“They will?” the argumentative man said. “I didn’t know that.”
“Andreas, no one among us wanted anything more to do with this,” the spokesman said. “We all had chores to finish. No one was about until those men came and called us from our families to help in their search.”
“I suppose Satan flew by to claim his own,” Andreas sneered.
There was some agreement to this, but the naysayer shook his head firmly.
“Everyone knows the devil can’t enter a church.”
“Are you sure?” someone asked. “I thought he just couldn’t stay for the elevation of the host.”
“That’s demons,” the other corrected him. “Satan is so wicked that the holiness inside the building would break him into slivers.”
Andreas lost patience.
“Look, you left the body here and barred the door,” he said. “It’s not here now, so someone came and got it. We have to find it.”
“Why?” came a voice. Andreas could tell whose.
“Because …” Then he thought. Why indeed? No one in the village would confess if there were punishment in the offing and everyone would if there were ransom money. The girl’s body could stay wherever they had hidden it for now. After all, he had bigger things to do.
“Very well,” he said. “Someone has taken care of the problem for us. Now, go home. You’ve done a good day’s work, ridding the world of another one of them.”
They dispersed quickly but, as they went, Andreas caught one querulous comment.
“I thought we were only going to baptize her. What was the point of killing her, too?”
Andreas shook his head. He had thought this preaching would be profitable work and less dangerous than the company of heretics, but if these and the men in Köln were the kind of people he had to rely on, it might be safer to go back to slitting throats on dark pathways.
To Agnes, it seemed forever before the bells tolled for Compline and the castle settled into silence. All evening she had been sure that someone would come and find the door unlocked. Then, as dusk came, it was hard not to leave too soon and run the risk of being discovered. She had schooled herself to calmness for so long that it wasn’t until there was a chance of freedom that she realized how desperately she wanted it.
She kept herself awake during the dark hours by trying to think where she would go. Not to her family. That’s the first place they would look. Not to Jehan, that would be the second place. Also, she told herself, if she appeared and begged him to ride off with her, she would probably have to marry him and that was too high a price for her liberty.
In the end, she decided to wrap up the bread, cheese and fruit left in her room and head south, following the river until she heard French again. After that, s
he would have to trust to the Virgin and the saints to protect her.
The door creaked as she pulled it open. Agnes was sure there would be a burst of activity as everyone leaped out to capture her.
There was only the sound of a dog far across the fields, howling at the moon.
The passageway was lit by a single torch left at the top of the staircase. Slowly she felt her way down the steps and into the main hall. Here the moonlight was bright enough to make her way around the sleeping forms of the attendants. She knew the main gate would be shut and barred but she also remembered a small door at the back that led into an herb garden and from there it was only necessary to find a break in the withy fence. Then she would be safe from discovery amidst the burgeoning vines.
She left the hall and reached the anteroom where buckets and drying racks were kept. The little door was only latched. She reached out to open it.
At that moment there came a clamor at the gate that nearly caused her to faint. Someone was pounding and calling, demanding entrance. Now the noises she had dreaded were echoing throughout the castle. For a moment, she was tempted to open the door and run, but she would be seen in the moonlight from any window. Instead, she crawled beneath the drying racks that were laden with herbs, and hid in a corner. If only no one thought to check on her in her room, she might still get away when the commotion was over.
At the gate Edgar and Walter waited impatiently. At last they heard a shutter open and a voice called down.
“Saint Lazarus’s stinking corpse! What do you want at this hour?”
“It’s Walter of Grancy, and I want to be let in and then I want you to fetch your master. It’s urgent.”
The shutter slapped shut.
“Do you think he’ll get Hermann?” Edgar asked.
“We’ve woken the whole castle,” Walter said. “I imagine Hermann will be down at once. I would be in his place.”
After a few moments, the gate was lifted and Walter and Edgar rode into the courtyard. Hermann was standing at the door to the keep in his bare feet, wearing a short tunic that he had thrown on but not taken time to belt.
“Walter!” he yelled. “Are you drunk? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
Walter and Edgar dismounted and hurried to him.
“I want to see your nephew, Peter,” Edgar said, his face grim.
“Peter? Why?”
Walter edged between Hermann and Edgar. His hand was heavy on Edgar’s shoulder.
“The Lady Margaret is missing,” he explained. “She was last seen coming in this direction.”
“She isn’t here,” Hermann said. “We haven’t seen her.”
“Perhaps you haven’t,” Walter said. “But we know how taken the boy is with her. It’s not like Margaret to vanish. She’s a shy creature who wouldn’t go off alone without telling anyone unless she thought she wouldn’t be alone for long. Peter was our first guess.”
Hermann closed his eyes. “Yes, it’s just the sort of stupid thing they would do at that age. Ulrich! Go see if Lord Peter is in his bed. If he is, then bring … no, he is the master here, ask him to come down.”
He turned back to Walter and Edgar.
“I remember that Peter did go out for some time this afternoon,” he said. “And he was unusually rude during dinner. I thought that it was only the strain of his new position in the household.”
Walter translated for Edgar.
The soldier soon appeared followed by Peter wrapped in a sheet and with his hair tousled by sleep.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did Margaret send you?”
Walter explained. Halfway through Peter let out a groan.
“It’s my fault!” he said. “I asked her to meet me in the village. She didn’t come and I thought she’d decided not to see me. I should have asked someone. I should have looked for her! Guards! I want every man on this estate out with torches hunting for her at once!”
The soldier glanced at Hermann but before he could answer Peter shouted at him.
“Don’t look to my uncle! I am master here! Gather the men to start the search.”
The man left at once.
Peter stood in the door way, stunned at the response to his assumption of authority. Then his lower lip began to tremble.
“They will find her, won’t they, Uncle?” he asked.
“Of course,” Hermann answered. He was glad that the boy hadn’t asked if they would find her alive.
At that moment Maria and Folmar arrived, rumpled but dressed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Maria said.
“Margaret is lost,” Peter told her. He was still trying to keep back tears.
The whole story had to be explained again.
Folmar listened with growing concern. “Peter, was there a stranger among the villagers when you were there this afternoon?”
“Yes, a tall, lean man, with a face like gnarled wood,” Peter answered. “I watched them a long time while I was waiting. He seemed to be the center of the conversations.”
“What is it?” Edgar asked.
“I’m not sure,” Walter answered. “Peter says there was someone in the village today, a stranger.”
“Margaret would never have let herself be lured away by someone she didn’t know,” Edgar stated.
“She might if he said he had a message for her,” Walter suggested.
“No, not even then,” Edgar was sure. “She knows that dodge. I think we should go back to the village. If she made it that far, someone must have seen her.”
“I agree,” Walter said and translated for the others. “Hermann, Peter, will you come with us? Perhaps they’ll tell you what they’re afraid to admit to us.”
“Yes, of course,” Hermann said and Peter nodded. “Let us get dressed. I’ll have some food sent down to you.”
Edgar flopped onto a bench in the hall. He lifted his left arm to rub his eyes and looked again in surprise at the space where his hand had been. Would he ever get used to it? He switched to the right. If Margaret were found whole and well he would never again complain about what he had lost.
“Please, God, keep her safe,” he begged, all other prayers forgotten.
It was only a few moments before Peter and Hermann returned. Maria had gone to the kitchen and gathered up a bag of dried venison, cheese and new carrots for them to eat on the way.
“Save some for the child, when you find her,” she said. “I shall pray for her constantly.”
Walter thanked her.
“Where are my riding boots?” Hermann asked suddenly.
“In the drying room,” Maria told him. “They were covered in mud. I’ll send Hulda for them.”
“No, I’ll go myself,” Hermann said. “No sense in wasting time. Have the horses ready. I’ll meet you all in the courtyard in a moment.”
Edgar wearily sat up and prepared to ride again. He glared at Peter who was sitting in his own misery nearby.
Peter looked up at him. His eyes plead for some reassurance, but Edgar was too frightened and far too angry to give him any. He got up, pulled on his riding glove with his teeth, and strode out.
Peter turned to Walter.
“He thinks she’s dead, doesn’t he?”
Walter had exhausted his sympathy as well.
“Yes,” he said. “Don’t you?”
Herman grabbed an oil lamp as he left for the drying room. It gave less light than a torch but he was mindful of all the things in there that could easily burn. As he entered, he set it on a shelf and began rummaging around the floor for his boots.
“There’s one, damn it,” he muttered. “Now where’s the other?”
He got down on his hands and knees and felt under the drying racks. His fingers touched something and he grabbed at it.
“Ee! Eeep!” Something squeaked.
Hermann pulled his hand back at once and then reached for it again. It was definitely a boot and there was also a foot in it.
“Come out of there now!�
�� he commanded.
There was a rustle and a blond head appeared from beneath the herbs. Agnes stood up and dusted herself off, her expression a mixture of defiance and fear.
“How did you get here?” Hermann asked.
The meaning was clear if the words weren’t.
“I can’t stay locked up any more,” Agnes said. “I didn’t kill your brother. I don’t know why he died. Let me go, please!”
She knelt before him, her hands raised and clasped. “Ich wil iuch biten flêhelîch, mîn Herr,” she said carefully. “I beg you, my lord.”
Hermann stood with one boot in his hand, totally at a loss. “Saint Jerome’s naked visions!” he breathed. “You are so beautiful.”
He dropped the boot and raised her to her feet.
“Agnes, I don’t know what to do,” he said, still holding her arms. “You can’t go out there; it’s dangerous. But I don’t want to drag you back to your room in front of your friends. Please, stay here until I return. Will you? Do you understand anything I’m saying?.”
Her face showed only puzzlement. But she didn’t try to move away from him. He could feel her breath in small puffs against his neck.
“Hermann?” she said.
“Please don’t go,” he answered.
His hands moved up to her shoulders and slid around her back. Still she didn’t struggle. Her breasts beneath the thin summer shift were outlined in the flickering light.
Agnes gazed up at him with wonder.
“Hermann,” she said.
Then he lost his mind completely and kissed her. The intensity of her response startled them both.
“My boots,” he said when he could speak again. “I have to find them. Edgar is waiting for me.”
He picked up the one and started looking for the other. Agnes watched him, then dove back under the herb racks and brought out the other boot. She handed it to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Agnes?”
Slowly, she smiled. “Hermann?”
He yanked the boots on, then took her hands in his.
“Don’t go,” he said again. “Wait for me here.”
The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 29