They had barely managed to regain their dignity when Erik brought them to a corner that had been curtained off. He stuck his head around the side and said something indistinct to the person behind.
The curtain was pulled aside and the archdeacon appeared.
“Edgar! Good to see you again!” He smiled at them both. “We thought you’d been swallowed up by that dragon’s lair in Durham!”
“We were.” Edgar didn’t return the smile. “And we must return to it as soon as we receive the reply to the messages we carry.”
“You’ve joined forces with the enemy?” Rannulf frowned.
“We are with Saint Cuthbert,” Edgar answered. “But our father has sent his men with us to assure our good behavior, and my brother has left a hostage at the bishop’s palace against our return.”
Beside him, Robert gave a sudden gasp. He turned quickly to the archdeacon.
“Edgar will tell you all you need to know,” he said rapidly. “I must beg to be excused. It’s very important.”
Without waiting for permission, Robert vanished into the mass of people, following a hooded figure in a plain white robe. Rannulf raised an eyebrow at Edgar.
“My apologies,” Edgar said, “but Robert is right; I can give Bishop William the message myself. When might he be willing to see me?”
The archdeacon moved closer to Edgar and lowered his voice. “Between us, he’d be just as glad not to see you at all, unless you bring Cumin’s complete and abject submission.”
He paused and looked at Edgar.
“I thought not,” he continued. “Well, I’m prepared to do whatever necessary to regain my home and free Saint Cuthbert from his captor. As you can see—and be sure to report this to your master—every day more of the barons of Durham arrive to pledge their swords and their followers to our aid. Even David of Scotland wants no more to do with Cumin. How long does he think he can hold on?”
Edgar, mindful of Urric standing just behind him with open ears, only shrugged. “I’m not one of Cumin’s inner circle,” he said. “He hasn’t told me his plans.”
With his eyes he tried to indicate the problem. Archdeacon Rannulf nodded understanding. “Very well,” he replied. “I’ll tell the bishop of your arrival. I’m sure he’ll send for you shortly. There’s water for washing in the trough by the gate and you and your men are welcome to food and ale along with our other guests.”
Edgar bowed and backed out of the alcove. He whirled around quickly enough to come nose to nose with Urric.
“Tell the others they can wash and eat,” he said. “And leave Robert alone. He’s not going to betray anyone. He cares nothing for this squabble.”
“That’s obvious,” Urric answered. “Duncan told me to stay with you.”
Edgar wasn’t surprised.
Robert had forgotten about the reason for their coming. The only thing his world consisted of was the man walking rapidly away from him. He wanted to call out to him, but feared that would cause Aelred to vanish, as he had done in so many of Robert’s nightmares.
Finally he was close enough to catch at Aelred’s robe. He gripped the folds of cloth at the shoulder, causing the hood to fall back. The monk froze still as death. Then he bent his head in resignation and slowly turned around. Robert found that, after years of planning what he would say, he couldn’t make his tongue move at all.
The two stood for an eternity, unaware of anything around them. Finally Aelred spoke.
“Robert, forgive me.”
Robert opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed and tried again.
“No,” he said. “Not until you tell me why. Your letter said nothing, only a cruel farewell. What did I do to be treated so? What reason could I have given you to flee from me?”
“Oh, Robert!” Aelred raised a hand to the other’s face, but stopped short of touch. “I didn’t flee from you; I fled to God.”
Robert caught Aelred’s hand in his own. “I don’t believe you.
What am I, Satan incarnate? It was never a choice between me and God. If you’d told me your plans, don’t you think I’d have gone with you?”
Aelred tried to free his hand. “Robert, you don’t understand.”
Robert tightened his hold. “Then explain it to me. You owe me that. What kind of man of God have you become to leave a friend alone in the darkness of desolation?”
The last words came out as a tearful cry. Aelred bit his lip, then bent his head over Robert’s hand.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I’ve been selfish. I found a way to peace, and perhaps salvation. It was wrong of me to cast you off with my old life. I will let you see all that lies in my heart. Meet with me tonight. There’s a boulder just outside the bailey that was too large to move. It has a cross painted on it and I go there in the evenings to pray. I’ll wait there for you. Now, please, let me go. I see your brother approaching.”
Edgar was going to pass them without interrupting, but Aelred called to him and greeted him warmly.
“Have you learned anything more about the death of your brothers?” he asked.
“Not enough,” Edgar told him. “Robert has a theory about it that I find dubious, but no one else has even that. Have you been here ever since we came from Rievaulx? I’m surprised the abbot let you stay that long.”
“I’ve come and gone and come again,” Aelred said, carefully not looking at Robert. “I needed to see to my charges. We have some novices who would falter in their conversion without guidance. I’ve only just arrived again, to represent Rievaulx in a matter we would like Bishop William to address.”
Edgar thought this odd. “Don’t you think it could wait until the poor man sleeps his first night in the bishop’s palace?”
“Durham has been too long in anarchy,” Aelred reproached him. “Work must be done now, if there’s to be anything left for Bishop William to govern. Also, this is something I have personal knowledge of, due to my visit to Rome last year. It needs to be decided before I go to my new abbey in Lincoln.”
“What!” Robert burst out.
Aelred still didn’t look at him. “Yes, William of Roumare has given land and funds for a daughter house at Revesby. I’m to be abbot there.”
“That’s wonderful, Æthelr … Aelred!” Edgar said. “And you barely into your thirties. Will we be addressing you as the Venerable Aelred now?”
“Not if you want me to answer.” Aelred took Edgar’s arm and started to lead him back to where trestle tables were being set up to seat all the visitors for the evening meal. “But, Edgar, I have a favor to ask. Of you, too, Robert.” The glance he gave Robert was brief and pleading. “If you can keep your entourage away from me this evening, I’ll give Robert a message from Bishop William to the monks of Durham. It will have to be memorized, but both of you should know the contents, in case only one of you can reach them. We’ve heard terrible stories of how they’re being treated there.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Edgar promised. “I’ve been allowed to enter the cloister on occasion. We’ll let the monks know your plans if it’s humanly possible, won’t we, Robert?”
“Aelred knows I can be trusted to carry out any charge he sets me,” Robert answered.
“Thank you,” Aelred answered, looking straight at Robert. “Both of you.”
When he had gone, Robert dropped to the nearest bench. Edgar watched him with pity.
“Why don’t I get you some ale?” he suggested.
“That won’t help,” Robert said.
“You never know until you try,” Edgar went to the communal cask and filled two cups. He held one out to his brother. “My throat is coated with road dust and my temper is frayed. This will improve both conditions.”
“I thought that if I just saw him, everything would be like it was.” Robert sighed and emptied the cup.
“He’s different now, Robert,” Edgar said softly. “I noticed it as soon as I saw him among the monks. I don’t know if he’ll ever be completely happy in this life, but he
may at least find peace in the cloister.”
Robert wouldn’t be convinced. He put down his cup and got up again.
“I don’t believe he can ever find peace or happiness without my friendship, and I’m going to tell him so tonight.”
Edgar gave up and went to get more ale. His brother and his friend would have to make their own way through this thicket. He was all out of advice.
Apart from the difficulty of keeping up with men on horseback, the small party from Wedderlie, along with Samson, had an uneventful trip inland.
Away from the coast, the day was cool, but not chilling. The trail was gentle through the woods. Occasionally, they passed through a clearing where peasants had built a cluster of huts, surviving by making charcoal until they had burnt enough of the trees to plant crops. The inhabitants stopped work when they arrived to greet them and trade news of the world. Catherine and Solomon stayed back at these times, not sure how foreigners would be welcomed.
They parted from the king’s couriers a few miles east of Durham and a much smaller group headed for the town.
The holdings appeared more often now. Some almost attained the status of villages. But there were also signs of recent strife: burnt buildings, fields half trampled, doors shut tight in the middle of the day. Even though the travelers appeared harmless, no one approached them, but watched stolidly as they passed, clutching a hoe or sickle like a weapon.
Once in a while, one of the English speakers would be sent to ask for directions and information. They always did so at a safe distance and with their hands visibly empty.
Samson came back from one of these encounters looking worried.
“These people say that all the bridges over the Wear are blocked and guarded and the one land gate has been shut and obstructed with stones and piles of refuse,” he told them. “Only those with passes are admitted to the town.”
“How do we get a pass?” Catherine asked.
Samson twisted his face, trying to come up with the best way to put it.
“It seems,” he said carefully, “that the only way to get the pass to enter is to be inside first and take it with you when you leave.”
“What?”
“That’s what they say,” Samson defended himself. “Apparently only those whom Cumin trusts are allowed out or in again.”
“Then we’ll just have to order the guards to send for Edgar and have him vouch for us,” Catherine said. “We haven’t gone through all this just to be turned away at the gate.”
Solomon hid his smile. Catherine occasionally teased Edgar for his lordly arrogance, which didn’t assert itself often. But she was the daughter of a rich merchant and the granddaughter of a minor lord of Blois. Standing in the road in borrowed clothes, her shoes worn and her hair a tangle, the poise that only came with knowledge of privilege was a startling contrast.
“We’ll rely on you to do the ordering,” he told her. “A pity you left your crown and scepter in Paris.”
Durham, when approached from the east, wasn’t as looming and impressive as it was to those who came upon it from the west or south, but the first sight of the cathedral and fortress on the escarpment were still formidable enough to daunt Catherine more than she would admit. It seemed as if it had risen from the rock, its golden brown stones simply brushed free of dirt as they broke from the earth and reached toward the sky.
“Edgar used to live there?” she asked Solomon in wonder.
“He stayed there four years, didn’t he?” Solomon tried to imagined being imprisoned within that stone. He shuddered, then added hopefully, “So he should know all the possible ways out.”
“That’s true.” Catherine hadn’t considered that point. “But all I care about now is finding the way in.”
“I suppose it’s time for you to impersonate Empress Matilda,” Solomon suggested.
“This is no time to scoff,” Catherine answered. “But what if they don’t speak French?”
This turned out to be the case. Either that or, as Catherine suspected, it was convenient for them to pretend ignorance. Alfred and Samson both tried to convince the soldiers to send word up to the castle that the family of the lord of Wedderlie had arrived. This pronouncement was met with stark disbelief and jokes that would have scandalized Catherine if she had understood them.
The gestures were clear enough to make her furious. James sensed her mood and woke suddenly, shrieking in fear. The sight of the baby provoked more mirth among the guardians of the gate. This only heightened her wrath.
“Pigs!” she shouted at them. “Ugly donkeys!”
Still they laughed, the smirking, arrogant beasts! Catherine pointed her finger at them, narrowed her eyes and intoned loudly, “Ut bufones evolent ex ano tuo quandocumque bumbulum facis!”
Solomon pulled her hand down, ignoring the mocking guards.
“It won’t upset them a bit if you curse them in Latin, Cousin,” he said.
“It will if Saint Genevieve grants my plea,” Catherine said darkly, scowling at the men, who only laughed the more.
Solomon couldn’t help joining them, though he knew the risk he was running.
“My dear, I’m shocked!” he said, over James’s crescendo. “Asking your saints for petty revenge? Most unchristian. Come away, Catherine,” he added more gently. “We can’t overpower them. We’ll have to outwit them. That shouldn’t be hard.”
“Come where?” Catherine didn’t realize how close she was to breaking. The journey was telling on her.
“Samson says that the church of Saint Giles is only a little ways from here. There’s a hospital there that will shelter us until we can arrange to get a message to Waldeve.”
Solomon took the reins of the mule on which Willa and Margaret were riding, although in Margaret’s case riding meant lying sound asleep across the mule’s neck. Willa, ever watchful between coughing spasms, saw that she didn’t fall off.
As they approached the hospital gates Solomon and Samson, after conferring, put themselves on either side of Catherine.
“Cousin.” Solomon cleared his throat. “Just for the increase of our knowledge, what exactly did you wish upon those vigilant guards.”
Catherine blushed, a deep red that rose from her neck to her forehead. “Nothing,” she said.
“Catherine?”
She mumbled something. Solomon leaned closer.
Catherine was now flaming like a sunset. She spoke toward the ground but both men were close enough to hear.
“I said, ‘May toads fly out your assholes every time you fart.’”
“Catherine!”
She pushed ahead of them and pounded with the door ring much harder than was necessary.
Behind her Solomon beamed with pride as Samson collapsed in laughter.
There was laughter among those assembled in the courtyard of Roger Conyers’s keep, as well. The lords and their retainers were confident that now that a true bishop was in Durham, all would soon be well. Then they could turn their attention back to the war between Stephen and Matilda, knowing that the taxes would once again flow from the North.
Edgar had been steadily refilling his ale mug since the afternoon and was in serious danger of sliding under the table and being swept out with the refuse in the morning. He was tired of playing soldier. He didn’t care who won the crown of England. He was beginning to wonder why Saint Cuthbert didn’t settle the contest for the bishopric with some old-time smiting. He had realized sometime during the sodden evening that he had forgotten the shape of his son’s face. In a tide of self-pity, he attempted to get his horse and set out for Lindisfarne. He was astonished to find that his body hadn’t followed his command and that his feet were still under the table.
Robert paid him no attention. As the light of day turned opalescent, he left the rowdy diners and made his way to Aelred’s outdoor chapel.
The boulder was easy to locate. It was at the rear of the bailey, hard against the wall. There wasn’t much space between it and the deep motte, whic
h at this point was being used as a midden. The odor of it wafted through the night air.
Aelred was standing before the painted cross, tears streaming down his cheeks as he prayed with closed eyes. Robert hesitated, not wanting to interrupt his devotions but also because he needed a moment to fix the image of his friend in his memory forever.
There was a soft “amen” and Aelred’s eyes opened. He held out his arms to Robert who came to him and embraced him, laying his head on Aelred’s shoulder as he sobbed out his loneliness and grief.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Aelred crooned as he smoothed Robert’s hair. “Please understand, please forgive me.”
“But why?” Robert cried. “We were inseparable. Never an argument, no attempts at preferment. No jealousy or pettiness. Of all the men I knew at court, you were the best, the noblest, the truest friend.”
“No, your love has erased the memory of my faults.” Aelred lifted Robert’s head and moved a step away. “I was none of those things. I was vain and proud and weak, very weak. And, oh, Robert, it pains me to tell you, I was ashamed of our friendship, of the … passion I felt for you.”
Robert straightened and lifted his chin. “Edgar told me that Saint Augustine of Hippo believed that true friendship only happened between men.”
“That’s so; he did say that.” Aelred nodded. “But we went beyond friendship to an attachment of the flesh that enslaved us.”
“No!”
“Yes,” Aelred said softly. “How could I worship God when all I saw was your face, when all I longed for was your body?”
“Why not?” Robert pleaded. “Every day I thanked God for sending you. I worshipped him all the more because I had you as a friend.”
“Oh, Robert, I wish I could have your sort of faith!” Aelred stepped back farther and laid a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “All I can tell you is that I was lost in disgust and shame. But I loathed myself, not you. You were the most selfless friend I ever had. And I was taking you to Hell with me.”
“If so, I went gladly,” Robert interrupted.
Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 28