“And Catherine, is she Christian?”
“Firmly so.” He sighed. “She is constantly trying to convert me.”
“I shall pray that she succeeds,” Adalisa told him. “But I have no intention of betraying you as long as you promise never to reveal to anyone at any time, what we did last night.”
“I’m not a fool, Adalisa,” he said. “Nor a traitor. I know we would both be killed if this were known. Don’t worry.”
“Swear it,” Adalisa commanded.
“My people don’t take oaths,” he said. “But I will promise and that is binding enough.”
“Very well,” she stood and brushed straw from her chainse. “I’ll go wake Robert now, but before I do, just one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me again.”
Solomon did. It took a very long time.
Although Catherine understood why Adalisa had to go and although she was sure Margaret would translate carefully, she still felt as though she had been heartlessly cast to her fate. Being surrounded by strangers who spoke a foreign language frightened her more than she dared show. She retreated up to the women’s room with Willa and James.
“Look at you, cowering in the sunlight.” Catherine should have known the voices of the convent wouldn’t stay quiet. “Shame on you!” they scolded. “We brought you up better than that. Do you want these barbarians to think you’re afraid of them?”
But I am, Catherine argued in her head. These blond men with their long mustaches and these tall women with their curious eyes. They don’t like me and I have no words to persuade them otherwise.
“Then convince them by your courage and your piety,” the voices told her. “Are you not all Christians here?”
I wish I could be sure of that, Catherine thought. “I wish Edgar would come back,” she said aloud.
“So do I, Mistress,” Willa agreed.
Thinking of Edgar reminded her that she had been left behind, not just for her own safety but to discover as much as she could of the undercurrents in the life at Wedderlie. So far, she had only started and she hadn’t bothered to sit down and analyze her discoveries rationally. The voices were right to chide her.
Margaret had explained to them about what had happened to Lufen, along with Solomon’s comments about the trap having been intended for Robert. Catherine had tried to assuage the child’s fear, as well as her own, but it was disturbing. There was some comfort in knowing that the guards at the gate were being augmented by the men left in the village. But, she wondered, could they be trusted?
Willa was telling Margaret stories as she rocked James’s cradle. Catherine used the lull to go through her clothes and take out those that needed mending and to make some simple tunics for James, so that he could start stretching his arms all the time now. While her fingers stitched, her mind worked on organizing the few facts she had.
Murder was the first. Edgar’s brothers and nephew had been killed and mutilated. That was a fact. Their horses had been taken, but then returned to Hexham. That was a fact.
Edgar’s father was an arrogant, selfish man who had made many enemies. Well, the latter part was fact. The first was only Catherine’s opinion. If the murders had been committed by someone her father-in-law had known years ago, then there might be any number of reasons that she had no way of discovering. But the trap set for Robert indicated that it was someone who knew the whole family. Perhaps even someone in the family.
Robert might have set the trap to draw attention away from himself. He couldn’t have known that the dog would spring it. Would Robert kill his brothers so that he could inherit Wedderlie? It didn’t seem likely. If Scotland were anything like France, land passed to the one who could hold it or at the will of the king. Being the eldest son was important but not always the deciding factor. Robert would be challenged by his nephews when they were old enough or by their maternal relatives as soon as Waldeve died.
And there was that odd charter. Land that was legitimately Robert’s had been traded for horses, perhaps the very ones that had been taken. Did Robert know or care? And why should this Durham bishop want a house in Berwick so much that he would trade valuable animals for it?
Added to that, Catherine was unsettled by events at Wedderlie. What had she really seen in the mist that morning? Fishermen or a monster? Logic chose the former, but the roar she remembered hadn’t sounded human.
Finally, who was the young man held prisoner in the keep? No amount of denials could make Catherine believe she had imagined him. His piteous state haunted her more than anything else. Eager as she was to return home, she felt it would be impossible to leave without trying to save this pathetic creature. Where could they have hidden him? Why was he captive in the first place? Why would no one admit he existed?
Catherine couldn’t help but feel that he was the key to everything. Waldeve could lead his men from one end of the land to the other hunting for answers, if he wished. But more and more Catherine believed Edgar’s father was lying to them, and perhaps to himself. The answers were here at Wedderlie, hiding in the mist or entombed in the bowels of the keep.
And now Robert had been attacked, probably. Catherine was most concerned that this new threat had come as a trap and not an open challenge. It reinforced her growing belief that this was more than the enmity of the blood feud, but a deep hatred born of some shameful act. Robert might well have survived the iron trap, but almost certainly would have been maimed. Why the determination to cut off the sword hand? Were the family cowards, traitors? Of course, she reflected, the right was also the hand with which one took an oath or made one’s mark. Yes, that could be it. Waldeve had broken faith, and as a result some disaster had occurred. But for whom?
She wished she could talk this over with Edgar. They worked better together.
She looked over at James, now fussing in his cradle, his dark curls damp in the heat. She got up to loosen the confining linen wrapped around him, smiling once again at the wonder of him. Yes, she and Edgar did everything better together.
Edgar had never met Roger de Conyers and wasn’t prepared for the man now sitting before him. The sole baron to hold out for the past three years against William Cumin was a small man, fine-boned. He was probably in his late forties and his grey-brown hair was thinning. He looked more like a clerk than a lord. When he at last had time to meet with them, he had asked to see Edgar alone. Æthelræd had protested, but Aelred convinced him that it was best to submit to the lord’s wishes.
Conyers looked up at him. His eyes were mild, as well, as they settled on Edgar.
“I was grieved to learn of the deaths in your family,” he began. “The North has seen too much meaningless slaughter in the past few years.”
Edgar licked his lips. “This is true,” he said, “and I fear that my brother, Duncan, has been responsible for a part of it.”
Conyers’s eyebrows lifted. He nodded gravely.
“A large part, here in Durham,” he agreed. “The people of the town have good reason to fear him.”
“Is there anyone who hates him enough to take revenge on his family?” Edgar asked.
The eyebrows went higher. “You’re very direct, young man.” Conyers almost smiled. “I don’t know the answer. Who can read another man’s heart? There are many who have lost their homes and families, many whom your brother has tortured to get them to reveal where they hid their gold. I’m sure there must be those whose hate burns strongly enough. But how many would have the courage or the means to ambush three armed men? How many would have known where to find them?”
Edgar had no answer. Conyers finally motioned for him to sit.
“Wine?” he offered. “It’s not the best. The war has made it difficult to get shipments from Normandy, anymore.”
Edgar shook his head. He was still pondering Conyers’s last question. Why hadn’t it been asked before? Who knew where his brothers would be? In the shock of their deaths, Edgar hadn’t thought to ask what they had been doing or wh
ere they had been going when they were attacked. Waldeve had been so sure that the action had been directed at him that too many other points had been ignored.
“Thank you, Lord Roger,” he said. “You’ve given me something to think about.”
“Have I said anything to convince you that I wasn’t involved?” Now Conyers did smile.
Edgar smiled back. “I believe that my friend Aelred was right. It’s not the kind of revenge you would order.”
“Perhaps,” Conyers answered. “But the fact is that I have too much to occupy me here. Word had just reached Durham that a real bishop has been elected. They say Cumin’s mad with fury and is taking it out on the monks still in the cathedral. I also know that your father and brother, with their men, were admitted to the town a few days ago. You can report to your brother that I am fortifying my position here and he won’t find us as easy to intimidate as unarmed villagers.”
Edgar was startled. “You are allowing me safe passage to Durham?” He wasn’t sure he wanted it.
“Archdeacon Rannulf has vouched for you and your uncle,” Conyers told him. “Aelred I trust implicitly. He’s known to be a friend of the monks and won’t be allowed to enter the city but the two of you might be able to reach them with a message. Do you remember the chanter, Lawrence?”
“Very well,” Edgar said.
Lawrence had been the one at the other end of the cane when Edgar had misbehaved in class. He had been a pompous man, fond of misquoting Vergil, although Edgar hadn’t known the quotes were wrong until many years later.
Conyers noted the wince in Edgar’s reply. “I can see that you do.” He smirked. “He’s one of the monks still inside. Until recently, we’ve been receiving letters from him, lowered down over the cliffs to the river in a basket. But there’s been nothing for the past few nights. Either he’s been discovered or the monks are now unable to get out of the cloister area at all.”
Edgar tried to think of Brother Lawrence being that brave. He had always thought the man a pompous bully, but perhaps misfortune had brought out a nobler side.
Conyers watched him. “He may have been tortured, or even killed.”
“I wouldn’t like to think of that happening,” Edgar said truthfully. “Minor humiliation is the worst I’ve ever wished on him. And I have some fondness for others among the monks, as well as a great respect for Saint Cuthbert. No one, including my brother, should be allowed to defile his land or desecrate his shrine.”
“Then you will help me?” Conyers asked.
“I’ll not hinder you,” Edgar answered. “I’ll give your message to the monks and do what I can to protect them from Cumin’s wrath. But I cannot lift my hand to my brother or my father, no matter what they might have done.”
Conyers stood and offered Edgar his hand.
“I wouldn’t have believed you if you had said you could,” he told Edgar. “I want nothing more than to have Brother Lawrence know of recent events and a report brought back as to the situation within the cloister.”
“That I will do,” Edgar promised. He shook Conyers’s hand. “I swear it.”
“Then you may have safe passage to the gates of Durham,” Conyers replied.
Edgar returned to Æthelræd and Aelred and reported his conversation with Conyers.
“It hadn’t occurred to me that I might be too well known to be allowed in,” Aelred said. “But I believe Lord Roger is right. Someone might suspect you if you were known to be with me. I have permission to be gone from the abbey as long as necessary, though. I’ll stay here at Bishopton for now. There may be something I can help you with when you’ve returned.”
Æthelræd scratched his chin through his beard. “I have no love for the canons of Durham,” he said. “But they serve the saint and should not be molested. I came on this expedition to watch over you, Edgar, and to thwart any schemes my dear brother, Waldeve, might have for random revenge. It bothers me to be drawn into all this political warfare. But.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s too late now. Tomorrow, then, we enter the hellmouth, armed only with our purity of heart and quick tongues.”
Edgar looked at him. “We’ll try not to rely too much on the former,” he said. “I think Saint Cuthbert would prefer not to have to protect us based on our rectitude”
“You have a point,” Æthelræd conceded.
Catherine was so relieved when Solomon and Adalisa returned that she didn’t notice the constraint between them.
“Did you save the dog?” she asked as Solomon let Adalisa down from his horse.
“It will be some time before we know for sure,” Adalisa told her. “But it seems so. Robert will care for her as you would James.”
“I’m glad of that,” Catherine said. “The guards have been doubled and Margaret says that the villagers are putting a barricade across the road.”
“Yes, we saw them at it as we arrived.” Solomon had dismounted and handed the reins to the stableboy. “It won’t stop a real attack, though.”
“I know,” Catherine said. “But it seemed to please them to be doing something.”
Adalisa had left them and gone into the keep, looking for Margaret. Catherine moved closer to Solomon.
“Do you think we should send for Waldeve to return?” she asked.
“I suggested that to Adalisa,” Solomon answered. “She found the idea horrifying. ‘What if he came all the way home and found there was no threat after all?’ she asked me.”
Catherine shivered. “What if there is one?”
Solomon didn’t try to reassure her. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “Setting a wolf trap for Robert is the action of someone working alone, or with only a few cohorts. We’re well enough defended against that.”
“But?” Catherine said.
“But, I’d feel better if you came down to the hall to sleep, all of you,” Solomon continued. “Or at least to Adalisa’s room. I think it’s better to stay together.”
“You fear that one person might get in when an army couldn’t?” Catherine asked.
“Exactly,” he said.
“But we don’t even know if whoever it is wants to hurt us,” Catherine argued. “They may only be seeking Waldeve’s sons.”
“I hope so,” Solomon answered. “But you don’t want to wager your son’s life on that, do you?”
The answer to that was self-evident. “Will you sleep in front of the doorway?” Catherine entreated him.
“I won’t sleep at all,” he promised.
Solomon kept his word. He stationed himself in front of the door to Adalisa’s room, where Catherine, Willa, Margaret, and James had crowded in. Oswin, the soldier in charge of the guards, insisted angrily that he could keep watch without the assistance of a guest in the keep.
“I hope you can,” Solomon told him. “But I prefer to guard my cousin myself.”
“As you wish,” Oswin said. “If I find you asleep, I’ll be sure to leave a pillow by your head.”
He stomped off to shout reprimands at a couple of village men who were whiling away the time playing at dice.
Night finally came and with it silence.
Comforted by the knowledge that Solomon was watching over them, Catherine fell asleep almost at once, Willa snuggled beside her and James lay in his cradle. It was several hours later when she was wakened by the shouting and by Solomon shaking her.
“Hurry, Catherine!” he cried. “We’ve got to get out at once!”
“What?” She tried to focus on him.
Then from Adalisa’s bed there came a cry.
“Oh dear Lord, save us! We’re on fire!”
Eleven
Wedderlie, the hour before dawn. Monday, 4 kalends July (June 28), 1143.
Feast of Saint Ireneus, bishop of Lyon and adversary of heretics.
In ðeos burch breoma geond Breotenrice,
steppa gestaðolad stans ymbutan
wundrum gewœxen. Weor ymbeornad,
ea yðum stronge, and ðer inna wunað
> feola fisca kyn on floda gemonge … .
Is in ðere byri eac bearnum gecyðed
ðe arfesta eadig Cudburch …
At this walled town reknowned throughout Britain
the firm foundations surrounded with stones
wondrously grew. The water rushed around it
With waves strong, and in there were
Fish of many kinds mingled in the flood …
And it was to this place as it is proclaimed
pious ones first came bearing blessed Cuthbert.
—The poem of Durham
Catherine immediately reached for James. She could smell the smoke and hear the cries now. The narrow window faced east but the light was that of the wooden palisade around the keep as it blazed in a dozen places.
“Willa!” The girl was next to her. “Gather up all the covers and clothes you can carry. Don’t overload yourself. And don’t waste time!”
Adalisa was already up. She had thrown a cloak over her chainse and had Margaret in her arms.
“Are the stairs aflame?” she asked Solomon.
“Not yet,” he said. “Here, give Margaret to me. She’s too heavy for you. Is there any water in the pitcher?”
Willa checked. “A little.”
“Soak a cloth in it and tear it into six strips, if you can. Each put it over your face to breathe through. Quickly!”
Catherine took the damp cloth and put it over James’s face. He twisted to avoid it but she kept it on him.
“Ready?” Solomon said.
It didn’t matter if they were or not. There was no more time. Following Solomon, they entered the wooden stairwell.
The steps were warm under Catherine’s bare feet but the smoke wasn’t thick. As they descended, the air became more dense. Willa started coughing.
“Hold on to my robe,” Catherine told her. “Close your eyes and feel your way down.”
The steps made a sharp turn before reaching the main hall. The walls below were of stone and earth but everything above was made of wood. One side of the hall was burning. Pieces had fallen out of it and the night air was rushing in, fanning the flames. They raced across the hall to the door out. Solomon lifted the bar.
Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 17