Catherine was, for the moment, so impressed with Edgar’s style that she forgot her fears in pure pride. Thibault, however, felt no wifely partiality.
“Then why mention it at all?” he asked.
Edgar swallowed. He was about to throw the thunderbolt. If only it didn’t bounce back and strike him.
“After much investigation,” he said carefully, “we have come to the conclusion that the countess of Tonnerre had no right to the property in question, either to keep or to dispose of it. She was said to have inherited the land through her father, Gerhard of Quincy.”
“If you’re going to say it should have been Paciana’s, you won’t get far,” Count William broke in. “Whether she was killed by a fever or entered a convent, it makes no difference. She still renounced all claim to her inheritance.”
“I know that, my lord,” Edgar said. He wondered if they could tell how fast his heart was beating. “Our assertion is that Alys, countess of Tonnerre, had no right to the property because she was not the daughter of Gerhard of Quincy.”
Constanza rose in fury.
“How dare you!” she screamed. “I’ll have your head over my hearth for such a slander!”
“Sit down, Constanza,” Thibault said. “That is an odious accusation to make, young man. And, I think, almost impossible to prove.”
Suddenly Catherine remembered that Thibault had inherited the county of Champagne from his uncle in just such a case. Count Hugh had been presented with a son by his young wife after several doctors had told him he was sterile. Hugh did not believe his wife’s statement that God had granted him a miracle, especially since he had been on crusade at the time of conception. He repudiated the wife and had her sent away. The baby was rejected. But there were still people who argued that the boy was the true count, although not in front of Thibault. Catherine hoped the memory of this would dispose the count to listen further.
“Can you prove your accusation?” Thibault asked.
This is where the earth threatened to become a bog beneath their feet. Edgar tried to remember who was patron saint of lawyers. He couldn’t, so he just breathed a quick supplication to the Virgin to protect and guide his path.
“Evidence has been found to indicate that all the murders were committed with the sole purpose of hiding the true parentage of the countess Alys,” he told the room, trying to sound as assured an orator as Master Abelard. “I would like to request that my wife be allowed to speak, as she is the one who discovered what really happened.”
Thibault looked at Catherine, who stood, blushing. Countess Mahaut went over to her husband and whispered something in his ear. Thibault pursed his lips, then nodded.
“Your name?” he asked her.
“Catherine LeVendeur,” she answered. “Daughter of Hubert LeVendeur and Madeleine de Boisvert, of Paris.”
“Oh, Hubert’s girl,” he surprised her by saying. “I thought you’d gone to the Paraclete.”
“I was there,” she said. “I left to be married. I never took my vows. But I was present the night that countess Alys was brought to the convent and I have known the lay sister Paciana for several years. I was also the one,” she added, glancing nervously at Rupert, “who discovered the body in your privy.”
Thibault’s eyebrows raised.
“An unfortunate coincidence?” he asked.
Catherine bowed her head. “No, my lord,” she said. “I fear that Lisiard was slaughtered because of what he knew about the family of Quincy. He told me some of it the night he died. I believe he also mentioned it elsewhere and those he gossiped about decided he should be silenced.”
“I’m still waiting for proof,” Thibault told her.
“If I may beg your indulgence, my lord,” Catherine said. “It might help if I explain how I discovered this.”
“I haven’t forbidden it,” Thibault said, with some impatience.
“No, my lord.” Catherine reached for Edgar’s hand, but he had retreated to let her tell her story. Instead she clasped both hands together, almost in supplication.
“While in Troyes, I observed several things that puzzled me about the family of the countess Alys,” she said. “There seemed to be little grief concerning her death. Also, there seemed to be no agreement about the sort of person she was, only that she was timid. I was unhappily present at a confrontation between Count Raynald and Lady Constanza. What they said convinced me that Alys was beaten by someone in her own family, not an outside attacker.”
“Lies!” shouted Raynald. “This girl is only seeking to advance her own family in your regard.”
“I don’t see how,” Thibault said. “Continue.”
“I told Mother Héloïse what I suspected and she arranged for me to visit Quincy.” Catherine noticed that Constanza sat up straighter at the mention of the abbess. “While there, I discovered evidence that Alys did not miscarry as a result of the attack, but before she left Quincy and through her own machinations.”
She explained about the herbs, the monkey and the pessary.
Raynald’s jaw was tight and his fists clenched. He turned to Constanza.
“You were supposed to watch her,” he muttered. “None of this would have happened if you’d done your job.”
Thibault leaned forward, fascinated.
“She aborted the child herself?” he asked. “Whose was it?”
“That’s what confused me,” Catherine admitted. “Everyone agreed that it had to have been her husband’s.”
“Oh.” Thibault leaned back, disappointed. “Now I’m confused. Why would she get rid of a legitimate heir?”
Catherine braced herself. “I thought about that a long time. Alys hadn’t wanted to marry Raynald; it took a number of tortures from her mother to convince her to do so. But once she did, she seems to have been resigned to her duty. And, no matter how much she hated him, having a healthy child could only improve her position. Also, she was very devout. It was her greatest wish to become a nun at the Paraclete. I know that she aborted before the quickening, which isn’t as severe a sin, but I still couldn’t believe she would do such a thing simply for her own comfort.”
She glanced around to be sure Walter was ready to protect her.
“The only reason I could deduce from what I knew, and I didn’t believe it until I saw the lady Constanza in Paris, …” Catherine looked at Constanza now. She realized with a thrill of horror that all her speculations had been correct. Constanza was glaring at her in pure hate and terror. Catherine paused, trying to keep her voice steady. “The only reason would be if Alys had found out that to have the child would be a greater sin than to kill it.”
Raynald leaped to his feet. “I won’t listen to this!” he shouted. “The woman is raving! She is spinning lies for some maliciousness of her own.”
“Raynald,” Thibault said. “I will decide if she is lying. When she is done, you may refute her. Have you finished, Catherine?”
“Almost,” Catherine couldn’t keep from shaking now. “At first I thought that Alys’s mother and stepfather had beaten her when they discovered what she had done. They had. But the maid swears Alys was alive when she left for Tonnerre. That left one possibility.”
She faced Raynald.
“Alys returned to Tonnerre and told you that she could no longer live with you,” Catherine said softly. “I think she was trying to get back to the Paraclete. Your guards weren’t out there to protect her, but to help catch her. And when you found her, and she resisted, you hit her, over and over.”
She tried to stop the tears, but couldn’t. She had to finish.
“When you saw what you had done, you had to dispose of the guards, too.” She ended. “Why? Why not let her go? The property she brought to you was nothing.”
Raynald started toward her. “You will burn at the bottom of hell for your foul lies,” he began.
Suddenly, Constanza stood and lunged at him. Raynald was taken by surprise as her nails raked his face. He managed to push her away. She fell ag
ainst Catherine, who caught her by the arms.
“You killed my baby!” she shrieked at Raynald. “You cold, arrogant bastard. She wasn’t good enough for you, not well enough born! You only married her to help your own schemes, because William wanted you to. You didn’t want her any more than she did you and yet you hated her for not respecting your exalted rank. You sneered at her and at me. She was all I had, you filthy beast! I did everything for her.”
William, who had heretofore been a silent observer, abruptly stood, strode over to Constanza and slapped her.
“She’s hysterical with grief,” he said icily. “She’ll say anything. I’ve had enough of this. I will not have my family denounced by persons of inferior birth.”
Constanza lifted her head and spit at him.
“Inferior!” She could barely force the words out, her rage was so great. “It was you who thought they should marry. You laughed when I protested. What did you think their children would be, wax copies of you?”
William raised his hand once more. Catherine tried to turn Constanza from the blow.
Walter didn’t have his crossbow, but he didn’t need it. He caught Count William by the shoulders and lifted him off the floor.
Raynald slowly came forward. He looked at his father, dangling in the air in impotent rage. For the first time, Catherine saw the count of Tonnerre uncertain.
“What is she saying, Father?” he asked. “What have you done to me?”
Catherine pulled Constanza upright, tightening her hold on the woman’s arms.
“Tell him,” she commanded. “It’s too late for lies.”
Constanza glared at them all, especially Raynald. Only Catherine’s grip kept her from flying at him.
“You think yourself so fine and noble.” She tried to laugh but choked on it. “The perfect schemer, arranging everything for your own gain. Well, you are nothing next to your father!”
She spat again.
“I married an old man who was going to die and leave me with nothing. I needed a child. You didn’t think I was insane then, William. You were so sympathetic and helpful.”
The doubt in Raynald’s eyes turned to horror.
“Father?” His voice trembled. “She can’t be saying that …”
“Don’t listen to her!” William begged.
But Constanza went on and no one else tried to stop her.
“That’s right, you pompous fool!” she shouted. “Alys was William’s child, your sister! And he knew it! You married your own blood kin and then murdered her. And may you be cursed for the rest of your life for it!”
Constanza collapsed on the floor and Catherine let her go. She had worked the problem out logically, step by step, and she had been proven correct. But she felt no pride in the victory. She only felt sick.
Walter let William down. He moved away from the count, wiping his hands as if he had touched a leper. Raynald stood still, frozen in horror. Slowly he turned from Constanza to his father. He read the truth in William’s face.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her so badly.” Raynald’s voice was numb. “She kept whining that we were horrible sinners and she wouldn’t live with me, but she wouldn’t say why. I thought it was just spite. I thought she’d killed the baby to torment me because she knew how much I wanted a son.”
He faced his father with dead eyes.
“What have you done to me?” he whispered. “How will I ever atone?”
Count Thibault finally roused himself from his stupefaction.
“Count William,” he said. “You and your son will withdraw all claim to any property that once belonged to Alys of Quincy, and certainly any charge against Walter of Grancy. Anything that would have come to Alys, I take into my custody until its proper disposal can be arranged. Constanza of Quincy, I order you to give up all property you received from your late husband, including dower rights. I am expelling you from any land under my jurisdiction. I don’t care where you go. Rupert of Quincy, you I am going to hang.”
The thought seemed to please him very much.
Painfully, Rupert pulled himself up to his feet in outrage.
“You have no proof that I have committed any offense!” he shouted. “Raynald beat my stepdaughter to death. Constanza committed adultery and allowed an incestuous marriage. I have done nothing! But because I’m not wellborn, you think you can punish me for their deeds.”
“Nothing!” Constanza was hoarse from so much screaming. “You manipulated everything! You forced me to marry you as your price for silence. Yet you were the one who agreed with William that Alys marry Raynald, no matter what I said. You have given me twenty years of hell with your unspeakable habits and your disgusting associates. Hang! You should be torn alive with red-hot pincers! You should be ripped apart by mad dogs. You should …”
“That’s enough, Constanza,” Count Thibault said. “Hanging will do. And don’t worry. I already have excellent justification. We have proof that he murdered Lisiard. He was seen and his partner has confessed. I allow no one to commit murder in my house.
“Perhaps,” he continued, rubbing his chin in consideration, “perhaps I should eviscerate him, first.”
Rupert fainted.
Twenty-five
Sens, an inn near the cathedral, that evening
Attendite ergo ne lucem sensuum vestrorum propriae sententiae amor obnubilet … . Quid plane refert … si vario tramite ad eandem regionem, … si multicipli itinere ad eandem quae sursum est Iherusalem pervenitur, quae est mater nostra?
Be careful lest the love of your own opinion covers the light of reason … . What does it matter … if by various paths to the same region, … by a number of roads to the same goal, we each continue upward to reach Jerusalem, which is the mother of us all?
—Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny,
Letter 111, to Bernard of Clairvaux
“Don’t mix your wine with so much water, Catherine,” Astrolabe suggested. “You haven’t stopped shaking, yet.”
Catherine put down the water pitcher.
“I know I did what was right,” she said. “The truth had to come out. Rupert would have continued removing anyone who threatened him. Raynald would have become wealthy from trading Alys’s land to the monks. He would even have been honored for his generosity, which angers me more.”
“But … ?” Astrolabe prompted.
“You know very well,” Catherine answered. “All that ugliness. I feel filthier than when I fell into the canal. Even the look on Raynald’s face when he realized what he’d done makes me ill to remember. I never thought I would pity him.”
“I don’t,” Edgar said. “And Walter certainly doesn’t. It was only the authority of the count that kept him from cutting Raynald down right there.”
“So the feud will continue?”
“I don’t know,” Edgar answered. “Raynald doesn’t seem to have the heart for it anymore.”
“And nothing can be done to Count William.” Catherine poured a cup for Edgar. “It’s a family matter. He’s a nobleman. He killed no one. But lowborn Rupert will dangle in the town square.”
“I doubt it,” Edgar said. “Didn’t you smell it as we passed him? That leg is suppurating. He’ll die slowly, as Alys did, before they can hang him. I think that’s fitting.”
“I wonder if we’ll ever know how far his nets were spread?” Catherine said.
“It frightens me to consider it,” Astrolabe said. “At least Father’s enemies strike at him in public, in daylight. By the way, did the information on Peter of Baschi help?”
“It wasn’t necessary,” Edgar told him, giving back the paper. “The count seems to have already known about a lot of Rupert’s dealings. Bishop Hatto sent a message to him at the same time he wrote Héloïse. If Deacon Peter has to pay back all those he borrowed from, without being able to draw on the purses of Rupert’s victims, he should be suitably humbled.”
“Not enough if he was the one who murdered Lisiard,” Catherine said. “And, if that
’s proven against him, he’ll claim the protection of the Church.”
“Somehow I don’t think Bishop Hatto will allow him to escape punishment,” Astrolabe said. “I only wish I knew why they tried to put the blame on the butcher.”
“My father is worried about that, too,” Catherine said. “He thinks there may be a conspiracy to implicate the Jews in these extortions. He even feared the attack on Eliazer was connected to this.”
“Don’t start on that,” Astrolabe warned her. “You’ll be as bad as my father. He says that he’s never been able to hear of a group of bishops meeting together without fearing they were planning to denounce him.”
“But, Astrolabe,” Edgar pointed out, “sometimes he was right.”
He gingerly rubbed his bruised side. He feared that now he would never know why he and Catherine’s uncle had both been stabbed. He sighed. Ignorance was probably just another way God kept him from arrogance.
They were distracted from that line of thought by the bowl of fish stew that had just arrived, and were busy for a time spooning it into the hollows in the bread and eating around the thin bones. Catherine was surprised at how hungry she was. It didn’t seem proper, somehow, to be slurping stew when one had just destroyed the lives of three people.
People who had spent years destroying the lives of others, her voices reminded her. Odd how mild they were becoming of late. Perhaps they were being softened the longer she was away from Sister Bertrada. And that reminded her.
“What do you think will happen to the land Alys gave the Paraclete?” she wondered. “Count Thibault won’t keep it, will he?”
“Of course not,” Edgar said. “I would guess that the bequest will be honored, even if it wasn’t Alys’s by right. I hope that Abbess Héloïse and Abbot Norpald can come to some agreement on it, though. I’d hate it if Brother Ferreolus were forced to dismantle that amazing iron mill.”
The Devil's Door: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 34