The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “As do all devout Christians.” Margaret grinned at her.

  Catherine laughed. “Yes, but they don’t pray to a daughter whom they think has ascended bodily into heaven.”

  “Not usually,” Margaret admitted. “But the nuns told me that she no longer believes you to be a saint. I think she’s simply retreated farther back in time. She talks to me about the family as if you and your brothers and sister were still children.”

  “What do you think seeing us will do to her?” Catherine dreaded the meeting. And yet, in her heart she longed to see her mother again.

  Margaret shrugged. “I’m not a physician. Perhaps it will recall her to her senses.”

  Catherine was now shaking out a linen chainse. At Margaret’s words, she gave it a hard snap that sent a cloud of dust and flower petals up from the floor, causing them both to cough violently.

  With unsteady hands, Catherine set the chainse on the bed. She was appalled at her reaction. Of course she wanted her mother’s mind restored. Or did she? How much of the events of the past few years would have to be explained? How much could she explain? Madeleine would be returning to a world that no longer held a place for her. Her husband was gone, her children married. Catherine was now mistress in her mother’s home.

  “Perhaps even then she would prefer to stay in the convent,” Catherine concluded, pushing the fear away. “Will she be at dinner tonight?”

  Margaret swung her legs off the windowsill and stretched, yawning.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Up until now, we’ve just had simple meals in the solar with the other women.”

  That reminded Catherine of another question. “Margaret, just how many of the family have come? Seguin said that Guillaume is the last. By my reckoning, this place should be stuffed with cousins.”

  Margaret took a pair of Edgar’s stockings and unrolled them, looking for holes. She thought a moment.

  “I haven’t really asked, since I’m not one of you,” she said. “It didn’t seem polite. But I don’t think there are more than two or three families. Elissent and Seguin are to all intents the lord and lady here. Aymon is their younger son. The older is called Raimbaut. I’ve only seen him once or twice. He’s always out. Neither he nor his brother is married yet, which seems strange to me. There is the priest who seems to be related to you and a few others, mostly men.”

  “But I thought that all the people who are descended from this sorceress of the water were supposed to be here,” Catherine protested. “There can’t be only a handful of us!”

  “Why not?” Margaret asked. “Think of how many people die without heirs. Perhaps some families became members of religious communities. That happens often enough. And then there are wars. What’s really amazing is that Boisvert has passed from father to son for so many generations.”

  Catherine was unconvinced. “It still seems much too few. And what about bastards? You can’t tell me all the men who ruled here were saints.”

  “Perhaps they only count legitimate children,” Margaret said. “After all, my mother wasn’t included in my grandfather’s plans for inheritance.”

  “It’s just all very peculiar,” Catherine concluded lamely.

  “I suppose.” Margaret was being unusually thorough in her examination of the stockings. “Of course, Solomon is almost the last of his family, isn’t he? I see he didn’t come with you. Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine,” Catherine said, avoiding the girl’s eager face. “The same as ever. This didn’t seem to be the best place to bring him, don’t you agree?”

  Margaret tried to hide her disappointment. “Of course. Your grandfather probably doesn’t do much business with Jews. Solomon might feel uncomfortable.”

  “That’s what we thought,” Catherine said. “And, of course, he’s not affected by this prophecy or curse or whatever, if it does exist. Nor should you be.”

  She stopped and looked at Margaret. She was nearly seventeen, much more beautiful than she knew, with her dark eyes and rich auburn hair. The scar she was so aware of was little more than a thread across her cheek. Even without the dowry promised by her grandfather, the count of Champagne, Margaret was a rich marriage prize. If only she could let go of her childhood attachment to Solomon! She wondered if those feelings would change if Margaret knew that one of Solomon’s many conquests had presented him with a daughter.

  Catherine turned away. She couldn’t hurt Margaret more. The mute pain already in her eyes was more than Catherine could stand. Margaret knew well that she had only two choices in life, to marry a man the count approved of or stay at the Paraclete and take her final vows. The highest-born of the land were less free than the serfs in this. Catherine felt a pang of guilt that she had been allowed, with only a bit of opposition, to marry for love. She put her arms around her sister-in-law.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been put to so much trouble,” she said. “But it is wonderful to have you with us again. We’ve missed you so much!”

  “Thank you.” Margaret’s voice was muffled in Catherine’s robe. When she stepped back, her expression was once again cheerful. She put the stockings on the bed.

  “We’ll look like the poor cousins we are, I’m afraid,” she commented, looking at the clothing. “All the women here seem to have an endless supply of silk and fur-trimmed gowns.”

  “In this weather? Then at least we’ll be more comfortable,” Catherine said. “Are they really that elegant? I wonder if Agnes brought Mother’s jewel case. Maybe for the honor of the family she’d let me borrow a few pieces.”

  Edgar had left Peter for Samonie to watch while he and James explored the castle. He had intended to leave Edana, too, but she screamed so at being left with the baby that he had given in.

  “Martin,” he ordered the apprentice. “If you can keep a purse of garnets and tourmaline safe across Lombardy, Burgundy, and France, do you suppose you can see that a five-year-old girl doesn’t go astray here?”

  “Master, I know this ploy.” Martin grinned. “I complete one task only to be set a much harder one. Very well.” He went down on one knee. “My lady, I’m to be your knight and your steed. Do not abandon me, I beg you!”

  Edana giggled and climbed onto his back. Edgar knew he wouldn’t let her come to harm. Poor Martin had been pulling Edana out of trees and down from high shelves ever since she had started walking. The child was part monkey.

  When they came down the steps to the bailey, the bustle suddenly receded and then stopped. Everyone was looking up at them.

  Edgar smiled and waved politely as they descended. As they reached the bottom, a small crowd was waiting for them. No one said anything; they just stared hungrily at James and Edana. Edgar put his arm protectively across James’s chest. For once, the boy showed no inclination to run away. There was a look on the faces staring up at him that daunted even James’s unruly spirit. Edgar looked around for someone of authority. He saw no one.

  “I thought we’d take the children to see the horses,” he told the group at last. “If you’ll let us through?”

  He felt like Moses as the crowd parted before him.

  “Master?” Martin whispered.

  “Just keep walking,” Edgar told him, not sure if the sea would remain at bay.

  He could hear the murmurs as they passed but the words were unclear. They didn’t sound threatening, more full of awe. This made Edgar even more wary. After they passed through, the crowd again closed behind them.

  They reached the stables by following the sound of a hammer hitting an anvil. Their entourage stayed at their heels until they reached the huge forge, before which a brawny man was tempering a knife. Edgar turned to face the crowd.

  “We thank you,” he said, though for what, he had no idea. “I’m sure you want to return to your duties now.”

  “Gwan!” The blacksmith waved the heavy hammer at them. “Them pigs is rooting under the fence again.”

  As last the crowd dispersed. Edgar thanked the smith.

&nb
sp; “Why is everyone here so interested in my children,” he asked. “Weren’t we supposed to bring them?”

  The man dipped the red hot knife into a pail of water and watched it sizzle.

  “That you were,” he said. “And we all savor the sight of ’em.”

  Edgar was not so blind a parent as to think his progeny were unnaturally remarkable. There had to be another reason.

  “So where are all the other children?” he asked.

  “Ain’t none.” The smith picked up his tongs and returned to the hearth.

  “None? But I saw several running about when we arrived,” Edgar said.

  “Those are up from the village,” the smith said. “There’s none at the keep.”

  “What do you mean?” Edgar asked. “There must be.”

  “None I’ve seen.” The man turned his back to them and refused to answer any more questions.

  Edgar looked down at James who was hopping from one foot to the other in his impatience to see the knights’ horses.

  “Stay close to me, son,” he commanded.

  As they moved away, Martin voiced the thought Edgar was trying not to think.

  “Are these people some sort of pagans?” he asked. “Who sacrifice babies to their idols?”

  “Of course not,” Edgar said. But, if not, he thought, what are they?

  In the solar, Samonie was astonished at the number of women offering to help her wash, dress, and feed Peter. The word “hungry” kept occurring to her, too. One woman, very elegantly dressed, was more insistent than the others.

  “My lady,” Samonie told her politely. “You don’t want to soil your fine clothes. We’re trying to teach him but he’s still not at all careful about where and when he squirts.”

  “Sounds like my husband,” one of the other women commented.

  The rest giggled. But the woman just rolled the sleeves of her bliaut up to her shoulders and pinned them there.

  “Please,” she said. “I have wanted a child for so long. Let me help.”

  Samonie sighed. There was nothing she could do. This was obviously a person of importance. She handed the woman the sponge.

  “You have to wash him quickly,” she warned. “He won’t stay put for long.”

  She regarded the rest of the women.

  “Do none of you have children of your own?” she asked.

  They shook their heads.

  “There are men here, aren’t there?”

  “Oh, yes, dozens of them,” one woman said.

  Samonie scratched her head. “Have they taken some sort of vow of celibacy?”

  A roar of laughter answered that.

  “It’s the curse,” the woman washing James whispered to her. “Once the well started failing, Andonenn couldn’t protect us anymore. There hasn’t been a baby born here in more than twenty years. Empress Judith’s curse has doomed us all.”

  “Unless we can fulfill the prophecy and thwart the curse,” another added. “And now that your mistress and her family are here, there’s hope at last.”

  They all chorused agreement. Samonie took back the sponge and wrapped Peter in a drying cloth.

  She had to find Catherine. A curse this powerful was more than she had counted on.

  Margaret showed Catherine the back steps down to the Great Hall.

  “I feel so timid having to come down the main staircase with everyone watching me,” she explained. “I knew there must be one that the servants used. I got lost a dozen times before I learned the way. It’s amazing how huge this place is. It makes my father’s keep seem like a hermit’s hut.”

  “It probably started out as just a fortress tower,” Catherine said. “As the years went by it must have been added to over and over.”

  “And in no particular pattern, either,” Margaret said. “I think I’m going into an alcove and it turns out to be a whole other set of rooms. I was thinking of unrolling a ball of yarn as I go, to find my way back.”

  “I thought the story Guillaume told was preposterous,” Catherine said. “Magic springs and hidden treasure. But this place does make me feel as if we had stepped into some ancient tale.”

  “I know.” Margaret grinned. “They say there’s a labyrinth underneath all this that comes out in the kingdom of the fairies.”

  “Has anyone been there recently?” Catherine teased.

  Margaret laughed. “Not to admit it. Oh, Catherine! It is so good to be with you again.”

  As they descended the stairs, they were met by servants coming up, their arms full of boxes and bedding. They apologized to Catherine and Margaret as they passed, but their demeanor showed annoyance at finding two noblewomen in the working part of the keep.

  “Agnes must plan to stay the winter,” Catherine said, as a familiar coverlet passed them.

  They came into the hall to find it being set up for the banquet that evening. In one corner some minstrels were trying to practice. The leader beat the meter on a small tambour, stopping every few moments to correct one of the players. Some of the men-at-arms had gathered at a table near the wall to play trictrac and throw lots. Their shouts almost drowned out the drone of the vielle. Around them all, people came and went, laying the places and setting up tables for water and towels.

  In an alcove, Agnes was sitting with Elissent. When she saw Catherine and Margaret, she waved them over.

  “Where have you been?” she asked. “Lady Elissent has been giving me some lovely cool cider and cakes. Thanks to her, I believe I have sorted out all the relations. It’s sad how little we know of our cousins, especially when there are so few of us left.”

  “Really,” Catherine said. “Agnes, you remember Margaret, don’t you? Did Lady Elissent mention that she has come all the way here just to see that our mother arrived safely?”

  “Why, thank. . .” Agnes stopped, a cake halfway to her mouth. “Mother? She’s here? Why did no one tell me? I must go to her at once.”

  She started to rise, but Elissent put a hand on her knee.

  “We understand her condition.” She included Catherine in her explanation. “Your cousin, Father Ysore, has offered to attend to her spiritual needs and one of my women is seeing to her physical wants. She is greatly changed from when I last saw her, especially in mind. Perhaps you should prepare yourself before you go to her.”

  Agnes was confused.

  “Mother thinks you’re still six years old,” Catherine explained. “And we’re all living happily together in Paris.”

  Agnes set her jaw. “How happy she must be then! I would never rip that comfort from her. Nevertheless, I have a duty to my mother.”

  She stood to go, ignoring Catherine. At that moment Edgar, Martin, and Samonie arrived together, each clutching a child.

  “Mistress, I must speak to you,” Samonie began.

  “Catherine, Margaret, come with me at once,” Edgar said. “With your leave, my lady,” he added to Elissent.

  Catherine was fairly dragged across the hall.

  “We’re leaving,” Edgar announced as they reached the main staircase. “There’s something wrong here.”

  “A curse,” Samonie inserted. “That’s why there are no other children. All of these people are barren.”

  She hadn’t meant the words to be overheard, but a sudden silence made them echo through the hall. They reached the old man who was just coming down the main staircase on the arm of a young woman. Everyone around them bowed.

  “Nonsense!” the man roared. “The curse shall be broken. We will once again have children, a myriad of them, as soon as we restore Andonenn to her spring.”

  Catherine raised her face and beheld Gargenaud, lord of Boisvert. She knew him at once and wondered how she could have mistaken anyone else for this lion of a man. All the same, she gasped in astonishment.

  After twenty years, her grandfather had not changed at all.

  Eight

  The town of Blois, Thursday, kalends September (September 1) 1149. Feast of Saint Anne, prophetess of Jerus
alem. 19 Elul 4909.

  Juxta quem vicam quaedam antiquissimae fossae visuntur. . .ex his fosse tempore messis, et occupatis circa frugum collectionem per agros messoribus, emerserunt due pueri, masculus et femina, toto corpore virides et coloris insoliti ex incognita materia veste operti.

  Nearby this village one can see some ancient ditches. . .At the time of the harvest when all were working in the fields, there came from this ditch, two children a boy and a girl, with totally green bodies and in clothes of a strange shade and made of an unknown material.

  —William of Newburgh

  The History of English Affairs

  Solomon found his friend Menachem hiding from the heat in his storage cellar. The beaten earth walls were lined with casks that oozed a mixed aroma of wine and tar. Menachem was drilling a small spigot into one when Solomon arrived.

  “Shall I help you test it?” Solomon asked hopefully. “You don’t want to risk giving the monks of Saint Martin sour wine for their table.”

  Menachem grinned. “You have a talent for appearing just when there’s drink flowing. Put a cup under this and tell me what you think, then.”

  Solomon caught the deep purple wine as Menachem turned the spigot. He took a long drink.

  “Fantastic!” he said. “Too good for Edomites.”

  “Wait until you taste what I put by for us!” Menachem promised. “I’m glad you didn’t delay in getting back. We need to go to Tours and return before the New Year.”

  “That’s a bit over a week.” Solomon put his cup out again. “It shouldn’t take more than a day to take the wine downriver and another to get back. We could even walk it in time, if we needed to.”

  “I don’t like doing things at the last minute,” Menachem said. “And you forget a day to squeeze payment out of the cellarer at the monastery.”

  “Very well, do we leave Sunday?” Solomon asked, finishing the second cup.

  “The next day, I think,” Menachem said. “I decided to bring a couple of guards and they won’t be ready until Monday.”