“That’s not true,” Constanza snapped. “She was alive when she left us. Walter of Grancy killed her.”
“Constanza!” Rupert’s warning was cold as steel. He addressed Hubert. “We have proof of your perfidy, Hubert of Rouen. You have nothing but speculation and wild assumptions about us.”
Edgar longed to yank the man out of his chair and into the light, but he saw, as Hubert did, that to give in to anger would be to admit defeat. He stepped to the edge of the darkness and spoke directly to Rupert.
“Walter of Grancy is willing to face you and Raynald of Tonnerre in open court to deny that he is responsible for the death of your stepdaughter,” he said. “Do you have the courage to refute him?”
Rupert indicated his injured leg.
“I am hardly able to meet Walter in combat, but Raynald will do so, gladly. I will swear any oath you like, before anyone you name, that I did not kill Alys.”
“And what of your charges against my father-in-law?” Edgar continued. “Are you prepared to show your proof?”
Rupert smiled. “I might consider waiting before making them public. Perhaps Sieur Hubert has kept to the faith, after all. I should give him time to demonstrate his belief.”
Edgar moved back to stand next to Hubert.
“Things are different here in France,” he said casually. “At home, if a man came to my father with such lies, he would find his tongue in the next day’s soup.”
“A fascinating custom,” Rupert responded. “I would be interested in continuing the comparison of our countries over dinner.”
He reached for his crutch. “Countess Mahaut will be happy to learn that we have agreed to settle the matter between ourselves,” he said. “As for Walter, if he dares show his face, we will meet him in Sens. Raynald and his father plan to attend the display of the relics. We leave Paris the day after Pentecost. Constanza, help me up.”
Constanza hurried over to obey him. Until that moment Catherine had been unaware of the pressure of her sister’s fingers. Now the pain hit. She pulled her hand free and held it up.
There were three thin red slices in her palm where Agnes’s nails had dug in. Catherine showed her. Agnes looked without seeing.
“It’s not true, is it?” she asked. “You wouldn’t have kept such a thing from me?”
Catherine looked away. “I only learned of it last year,” she said. “It wasn’t my place to tell you.”
Agnes held her arms across her stomach.
“I can’t stay here,” she said. “I’m going to be sick.”
She rushed from the room, passing the guards, and down the staircase, nearly running into the knight, Jehan, who reached out to stop her.
“Agnes! What is it?” he called after her.
He saw Catherine at the top of the stairs.
“What have you done this time, lisse?” he demanded. “Is no one safe from you?”
Catherine paid no attention to him, but ran down the stairs after Anges. Hubert and Edgar followed close behind.
Jehan looked after them, then continued up. He reached the council room just as Rupert and Constanza left.
“Countess Mahaut has sent me to tell you that the bell has rung for dinner,” the knight said, ashamed to have been sent on such a servile mission. “She hopes all of you will be able to join her.”
Rupert thanked him with a self-deprecating bow. “We are grateful for her consideration, and yours,” he said. “My wife and I will be pleased to dine in her company. As for Sieur Hubert and his family, I fear they have become suddenly indisposed. We shall inform the countess that they will be unable to attend.”
Lord Rupert spoke mildly and with humility. But for some reason, Jehan felt a shiver at the back of his neck and had a strong urge to make the sign of the cross, putting it between himself and this poor limping man.
Agnes ran past all the guards and the other guests, out across the court into the rainsoaked street. Catherine ran after her. She caught Agnes at the corner, leaning against the stone wall, retching her stomach empty. Catherine held the veil away from her face.
“Please Agnes, you mustn’t react so,” she cried. “This doesn’t change anything, not who you are or who Father is.”
“How can you say that?” Agnes wept. She coughed and gagged again. “It changes everything. No wonder Mother feels she must do so much penance. I don’t see how she can bear it!”
Catherine grabbed her sister’s shoulders.
“Agnes,” she said fiercely, keeping her voice low. “Father is a Christian, as much as he can be. So are you, as much as you wish to be. There is no disease hiding in you. His parents weren’t lepers; they were Jews. And do you know how his mother, our grandmother, died? She was murdered by noble crusaders who couldn’t wait until the Holy Land to start killing the infidel.”
Agnes pushed Catherine away. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her bliaut.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “You always have some fine talk to make sunshine seem moonlight and wrong right. If Father feels no shame about his birth, then why has he kept it secret?”
“I did it for you, Agnes.” Hubert had stopped long enough to get her cloak. He wrapped it around her and held her in it. “I kept silence for you and Catherine and Guillaume and your children and theirs, that there would be no stigma on them in this Christian land. But I could not abandon my brothers, either. I tried to balance myself between the worlds. I’m sorry, Agnes. I wanted to protect you.”
Agnes stood stiffly in the circle of his arms.
“I don’t want to be protected with lies, Father,” she said. “Take me home.”
She broke away from him and walked away toward the stable. Hubert watched helplessly.
“Maybe I am cursed,” he sighed. “Edgar, Catherine is soaked. Will you take her back to Eliazar’s? I’ll come as soon as I can. Tomorrow, or the next day, when Agnes is better.”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Catherine stood in the rain, ringlets plastered against her cheeks.
“I don’t know how to help her,” she said to Edgar. “It was different for me. Father took me travelling with him; Solomon and I played together even though I didn’t know we were cousins. Mother always insisted that Agnes stay with her. She never knew Jews as people. Even when I went to the Paraclete, there were no sermons about those who crucified Our Lord, only the glory of the Resurrection. Abelard and Héloïse have great respect for the Jews. Héloïse was teaching me the rudiments of Hebrew. I was better prepared to accept this. Agnes had no warning.”
“I had no warning, either,” Edgar said. “But I’ve accustomed myself to it. I like Solomon and your aunt and uncle. Agnes will, too, if she allows herself to. Come along, Catherine, before you freeze.”
They arrived at the Juiverie, dripping and miserable. Johannah bustled around, getting dry robes and warm drinks, all the while clucking under her breath at their story.
“The poor child!” she said, when she had settled them. “I hope Hubert can comfort her; I only wish I could.”
“She needs you now,” Catherine agreed. “I only wish I knew how Rupert and Constanza found out about Father.”
“They live part of the time in Troyes, don’t they?” Johannah asked. “The brethren there all know Hubert, though I can’t imagine one who would betray him.”
“I can.” Solomon had heard them return and had come down from Eliazar’s room. “Joseph ben Meïr. His talk about staying away from the Christians has more fear to it than piety. If he were paid enough or threatened enough, he’d betray us all.”
“But would he have gone to Rupert on his own and told what he knew?” Edgar wasn’t convinced.
Solomon frowned. “I can’t see him doing that. It would be too big a risk.”
Catherine raised her face from her steaming wine posset.
“It was the deacon,” she said.
“What deacon?” Johannah asked.
“Peter of Baschi,” she said. “I can’t prove it, but I’m sure
it was he who told Rupert. He’s clearly a man with no principles. He borrowed money from Héloïse and didn’t repay it. He borrowed from Joseph. He was in the mob that captured the butcher and spoke up for his accusers. He dresses above his station and far too luxuriously for a deacon. He’s the sort who uncovers secrets. He’s tall and broad in the shoulder. He might be strong enough to hang a body like a slaughtered sheep.”
“Why would he murder Lisiard?” Solomon asked. “Or attack Paciana? All we know of him now is that he’s venal enough to steal from nuns.”
Catherine had no answer to that, but she was certain she was right. There was something about Peter of Baschi that reminded her of Rupert. Both of them were the sort who deferred to others so that they could walk behind softly, with a knife.
The cup nearly dropped from her fingers. Johannah took it and set in on the table.
“You can do nothing tonight,” she told them. “You are tired and sad. As soon as the sun set, I had your room prepared. It’s just a corner and you’ll have to share it with boxes of spices and bolts of silk, but it’s quiet.”
She kissed Catherine and patted Edgar’s cheek.
“May the Holy One keep you through the night,” she said.
The mingled scents of myrrh and sandalwood, combined with a dozen other spices, filled the room.
“I feel as if we’ve been put in a reliquary,” Catherine said as she snuggled into the feather bed.
Edgar blew out the candle and climbed in beside her. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to pray all night.”
Catherine rolled over to face him. She knew just where her cheek would fit against his collarbone, his chin resting on the top of her head, his arm across her back. She had already memorized the curve of his spine, the smoothness of his skin. It was odd how something so new could have become indispensable to her life. She twisted her head to kiss the underside of his chin. He lowered his so he could reach her mouth.
“What did you say?” he asked a moment later.
“I said”—she ran her hands down his back—“we can pray in the morning.”
Catherine was awakened the next morning by the bells of the Île: Saint-Étienne, Sainte-Marie-Nôtre-Dame, Saint-Denis-du-Pas. They were calling her to Mass. She stretched and rolled over, draping her arm across Edgar’s stomach. He opened one eye, then closed it.
“What’s wrong?” Catherine asked. “Defututus es?”
Edgar open both eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “Catherine! I’m shocked at you!”
She grinned. “That I’ve read Catullus?”
“I’m sure they didn’t teach that at the Paraclete,” he answered. “But no, I’m shocked that you could believe one night could wear me out.”
“It was a most energetic night,” she said.
“Oh, I see.” He reached over her shoulder, took one of her braids and began tickling her with the end of it. “What you mean is, tu defututa es.”
“Not at all.” Strange, she’d had braids all her life and never thought to do that with them.
“Prove it.”
She took the braid from his hand and tossed it over his shoulder, looping it behind his neck so that his face was drawn to hers.
“Libenter,” she said. “As often as you like.”
The bells had stopped. There were clanks and thumps through the rest of the house that assured them everyone else was up and working. Catherine wasn’t inclined to join them. She had never felt so completely relaxed in her life. But, even as she tried to push them away, thoughts of the previous evening and Agnes kept intruding.
“Father should have told us,” she muttered. “Keeping secrets like that only makes the pain greater when they’re discovered.”
“Mmmph?” Edgar said.
“Agnes should have been told about our grandparents,” Catherine went on. “There are many converts who are good Christians, even priests. It needn’t have made that much difference. And now she’s so terribly hurt. She feels betrayed.”
“She was,” Edgar was awake now. “What could be worse than denying someone the truth of their own ancestry? Didn’t you feel so when you found out?”
Catherine searched her feelings. “I think, somehow, a part of me always knew. Solomon and I are so alike. It was upsetting, at first. I didn’t know who I was, anymore. But I understood why Father had hidden it from us. And, the day I found out, you were with me.”
“That made a difference?”
“Yes.”
Edgar had so many possible responses that he made none at all.
“We’re back at the old questions,” he said finally. “We assume it all began with Alys, because that’s where you came in. What if her death were really the end of something much older?”
Catherine thought about it, reordering the known facts in her mind.
“Secrets?” she asked. “It would be logical. Constanza and Rupert seemed very sure Father would do anything to keep his secret from being revealed. Perhaps they thought that he would react as they would.”
“Or have,” Edgar said.
“It was my finding the abortifacients that frightened Constanza into trying to kill me,” Catherine went on. “Everyone says that Alys was docile, obedient. She’d been beaten into submission. Why would she risk so much to rid herself of a child that was presumably her husband’s?”
“Perhaps it wasn’t,” Edgar said. “Maybe she’d been seduced, or even raped.”
“But there was no way Raynald could know that, unless he’d been away during the time of conception and no one has suggested that he was. She could have passed the child off as his.”
“It’s certainly been done before,” Edgar agreed.
“I can see why Rupert and Constanza would be furious,” Catherine went on. “The property all belonged to Alys, through her father. If she had no children, it would pass to Raynald. They would have no say in it at all.”
“Then why would they kill her?” Edgar asked. “I can understand that they would want Paciana out of the way, especially if they think they can profit from using the land. One could become wealthy if this new method of producing iron works. And Paciana had a better claim to that land than Alys. As for Lisiard’s death, I suppose he simply found out one piece of gossip too many and Rupert felt he had to silence him. It’s the ritual horror of it that I can’t comprehend. And I can’t understand how the death of Alys would benefit her mother and stepfather. Nor can I fit Deacon Peter into it all.”
The sun was shining directly onto the bed. Catherine threw off the quilt and reached for her chainse.
“I think you’re right,” she said. “Alys wasn’t the beginning. But she’s the center around which all of this turns. I’m sure of that.”
“Are we getting up?” Edgar asked sadly.
“We don’t want to be accused of the sin of luxuria,” Catherine said. “We have much work to do. Apart from the problem of Alys and the donation to the Paraclete, apart from Agnes, there are still the accusations against Master Abelard. We promised Mother Héloïse we’d stand by him.”
Reluctantly Edgar got out of bed and pulled his chainse over his head. He picked his braies off the floor.
“Those are all good reasons,” he admitted. “But I’m only leaving this bed for one.”
“What’s that?”
His stomach rumbled, answering for him.
“I’m starving,” he said.
Hubert appeared that evening. He slumped into the chair Johannah offered him and took the mug without thanking her. He drained it before speaking.
“Agnes won’t listen to me,” he said. “She spent all day in the churches with Madeleine. I don’t know what to do.”
“Will she see me?” Catherine asked.
“I don’t know.” Hubert poured more wine into his mug. “Not yet, I’m afraid. She’s terribly confused and angry. I’ve never seen her like this. She was my tranquil child.”
Catherine winced. Hubert noticed and reached for her hand.
“I
never wanted you to be different, Catherine,” he told her. “Only more careful.”
He sighed. “She told me she wishes I weren’t her father. I think she would be relieved if she could believe I weren’t.”
“She doesn’t mean it, Father.” Catherine knelt by the chair. “She’s only angry. She loves you. She would be devastated if she thought you weren’t really her …”
Catherine broke off, a sudden light flooding her mind.
“That’s it,” she said. “I’ve been so stupid.”
“What are you talking about?” Hubert asked.
Catherine stood. “Edgar, we have to get a message to Walter and be sure he’s coming to the display at Sens. I think I know why Paciana came to the Paraclete and why Alys risked her life to avoid having Raynald’s child. It’s so simple. Any kitchen maid with an ear to the door would have figured it out ages ago.”
“Catherine, you’re babbling again.”
“Yes, Father, I know.” She kissed him. “I must see Samonie at once. If Rupert killed Lisiard and tried to kill Paciana for what they knew, then her life may be in danger as well. Sometimes gossip isn’t as idle as it seems.”
Samonie was startled by Catherine’s question.
“It’s possible,” she said. “It never occurred to me. But yes, Lord Rupert was his clerk at the time the lord of Quincy died. I never understood why Lady Constanza married him, a man in minor orders, with no land and no prospects. It makes sense now.”
“Might Lisiard have known about it?” Catherine asked.
Samonie shrugged. “Who knows? He loved collecting information. I don’t think he put it together, though. If he had discovered something this dangerous, even he would have had the sense to stay quiet. Unless, …” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, you poor stupid man!”
“Unless what?” Catherine prompted.
“Lisiard wanted to run away with my sister,” Samonie said. “They had no money. He might have been foolish enough to try to sell his silence, or his knowledge. Either way, his death would warn anyone else who might think of revealing what they know. Like my sister.”
The Devil's Door: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 32