Catherine’s thick, dark curls had been the despair of her blond mother. Just dividing it enough to braid took ages. It had been a relief when Catherine had been sent to the convent of the Paraclete. When she took her vows, it would be cut manageably short.
But instead Catherine had come home and fallen in love with a British student. And her hair was as intractable as ever.
“Agnes,” Margaret tried. “Don’t you want to know what we discovered?”
“No,” Agnes answered. “Why should I care about some musty antique you stumbled over? I’m not interested in secrets or treasure. I have everything I need. My only care is for the security of my family and also that they don’t embarrass me by appearing at a banquet looking like women who’ve spent all day in a pigsty.”
She opened a large trunk. In it were silk and linen robes so elegant that even Catherine was momentarily distracted. Agnes shook out a red one, embroidered with a pattern of spring flowers.
“If I lend you this, do you think you can keep from ruining it?” she asked Catherine.
“Probably not,” Catherine answered. “I do have clothes of my own, you know. And, since you took all of Mother’s, Edgar has been giving me lovely pieces of jewelry, too.”
Margaret could see that this was about to disintegrate into a battle that had most likely started in the nursery.
“I’d like to wear the blue, if you don’t mind,” she interrupted. “I didn’t bring much from the Paraclete and nothing fine enough for another banquet.”
Agnes immediately turned her attention to Margaret, leaving Catherine to Mina’s rough efforts to tug a comb through her hair. The pain brought her back to the issue at hand.
“There’s a woman. . .down there,” she told Agnes between jerks on her head. “I saw her. . .at Viellete. . .neuse and again in the. . .forest.”
“What was that?” Agnes’s face was buried in the trunk as she searched out a pair of hose to match the bliaut for Margaret.
“The woman we met today,” Margaret said. “She said her name was Mandon.”
“Mandon!” Agnes rose so quickly that she hit her head on the lid of the trunk. “You say you met her?”
“Yes,” Margaret answered. “She led us astray and then showed us the way out.”
“Mandon,” Agnes repeated. “Are you certain that’s what she said?”
“Of course we are! Ow!” Catherine said. The maid released her a moment to get another comb. “Have you heard of her?”
“Of course,” Agnes answered. “I sometimes wonder if you slept through your childhood, Catherine. Mandon is Andonenn’s messenger. She’s supposed to appear to warn the family of danger.”
“This woman was real, not a legend,” Catherine said.
“Well, of course,” Agnes said. “She’s real and a legend. That proves we were right to come here. But why is she bothering with you?”
Catherine’s temper was frayed. Her head hurt from the combing. Her feet hurt from all the walking and climbing. Patience was too much to ask.
“It may be that she came to me because I’m the only one whose mind isn’t filled with stories about her,” Catherine snapped. “This woman is flesh, just like us. I don’t know what’s going on, but I felt her hand and saw her breath in the air. She is human.”
“That’s as may be,” Agnes said. “What do you think, Margaret? You saw her, too.”
Margaret looked up from a tempting selection of earrings.
“Mandon seemed real to me,” she said. “But very strange. She could be as addled as your poor mother. Perhaps everyone else who lives here knows all about her. After all, we haven’t had time to meet everyone, yet. If so, I’m surprised that she’s allowed to wander free. Catherine says she was at Vielleteneuse and Paris. Of course, she may have escaped from her keeper.”
Catherine sighed. “I wonder if the true curse on the family is a tendency to madness.”
“Speak for yourself,” Agnes said. “Mother would be fine if it weren’t for you. You were supposed to stay in the convent and pray for her sins.”
Catherine made no retort. In part she felt that it was true.
“What about the message?” Margaret asked, once again leaping between the warring lionesses.
“Mandon gave you a message?” Agnes asked. “Why you and not me?”
“She said you already had it,” Margaret told her. “Or part of it, at least. Do you?”
“We only had the one brought from Grandfather,” Agnes said. “But that just said to come at once.”
“No, it’s more than that,” Catherine said. “It’s something she left for us, she said, something we have to interpret or solve. At least that’s what I understood.”
“So did I,” Margaret said loyally.
Agnes found the hose and handed them to Margaret. She then dismissed the woman who had managed to force Catherine’s hair into two long plaits.
“Now that you look presentable, I think you should find Seguin and tell him of your interesting adventure today. If there’s a message from Andonenn, he’ll be the one to decipher it. Now, I need to prepare myself for the banquet. I’ve taken far too much time attending to you.”
Catherine was simmering as they left the room.
“Agnes always does this to me,” she apologized to Margaret.
Margaret smiled. “I always wanted a sister,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I rather like Agnes.”
Catherine bent her head. When she looked up, Margaret was relieved to see that she was laughing.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she warned. “But I like her, too. Even though she maddens me with her arrogance.”
Margaret made no comment.
When Martin had let his mother know that she was free for the afternoon, Samonie at first had no idea what to do with herself. In Paris there was never an empty hour. She thought about mending Edana’s torn tunic, but decided that could wait. Then she happened to look out the window.
The children’s room was high in one of the central towers of the keep and the view from it reached almost to Chartres. Samonie could see the fields reaching down to the forest. A few houses clustered in a tiny village near the forest and in a grove of fruit trees. As she watched, two tiny shapes dropped from one. It was a moment before she realized that the plums must be ripe enough to be worth stealing. The boys were running from a woman waving a switch.
“I came from a place like that,” she murmured. “How long has it been since I walked barefoot through rows of barley or stole a plum from the tree?”
She made her way out of the keep and through the town gates, trying not to think of the climb she would have getting back. As soon as she was outside, she took off her leather shoes.
The barley field stretched before her. In the center was a hillock, too rocky or steep to plow. It was covered with grass and bushes and crowned by an ancient walnut tree. Samonie set off toward it. It seemed the perfect spot for a summer afternoon nap.
It didn’t occur to her that someone at a tower window might be watching her.
“Excuse me,” Catherine asked. “Do you know where I can find Seguin?”
The man looked vaguely familiar. One of her other cousins?
“He’s out at the portcullis, to greet your brother,” the man answered. “Shouldn’t you be there, too?”
“I don’t think I could keep from laughing,” Catherine said before she thought.
The man’s eyebrows rose. “I see,” he said. “You find our welcome ridiculous.”
“Oh no, of course not,” Catherine tried to repair her gaffe. “It’s only in connection with Guillaume. And especially his children. I mean, I love them all but, well, you’ll understand when you see them, cousin. . .?”
“Raimbaut,” he said. “I’m Seguin’s elder son. You were presented to me before.”
“Yes, of course,” Catherine bobbed an apology. “There are so many new faces.”
“Not really,” he answered. “Perhaps if you had visited more, you
would have less trouble identifying us.”
Like most of the family, he was fair and of medium height. He appeared to be in his late twenties but Catherine knew that he had to be at least ten years older than she.
“Raimbaut,” she asked. “Have I also been presented to Mandon?”
“Mandon!” he snorted in anger. “Now I know you’re mocking us. Mandon doesn’t exist. She’s a tale for children. A being who travels wherever Andonenn’s children live, who can appear young or old. Nonsense!”
“But then is Andonenn a myth, too?” Catherine asked.
“Of course not.” Raimbaut stared at her as if she were a simpleton. “She is the mother of us all. We have it written in a book.”
“Then it must be true,” Catherine said.
Raimbaut did not notice the ironic tone.
“Right. It’s all there, how she and Jurvale met and married and how she keeps watch over us,” he told her.
“Could I see this book?” she asked.
“The monks keep it for us at Saint-Benoît,” he said. “Ask them.”
The blaring of trumpets interrupted them.
“That must be my brother,” Catherine guessed. “Perhaps I should go greet him after all. Thank you.”
She left Raimbaut looking after her with an expression of distaste.
Margaret had gone in search of Edgar. Catherine found both of them doing their best to keep James and Edana from being crushed by the crowd.
“I knew Guillaume’s five children would impress them more than our paltry three,” Edgar told her.
“Edgar, has Margaret told you about what we found today?” Catherine had to shout to be heard above the cheering.
He nodded. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Margaret tapped her arm to get her attention. Catherine leaned toward her. Margaret cupped her hands and spoke straight into Catherine’s ear.
“He’s mad because we might have been in danger,” she said. “But he’s certain that the woman we met was human. He wants to go hunting for her with Martin later.”
Catherine answered close to Margaret’s ear.
“Maybe now that Guillaume is here, Seguin will tell us everything.”
“I hope so,” Margaret yelled back. “There isn’t much yarn left.”
The sound of Guillaume’s arrival reached Samonie only as a distant buzzing. She was lying beneath the giant walnut tree. The grass was cool and soft and the sunshine made gentle patterns through the leaves. She closed her eyes, reveling in the peace.
“You look as you did the day I first saw you.”
Samonie’s eyes flew open. Brehier stood above her.
She sat up quickly. “That was a long time ago.”
He sat next to her. “It was a lifetime ago. I thought then that everything in the world was mine for the taking.”
“Including me,” Samonie said.
“Yes.” He avoided her eyes. “Did I give you a choice or just come to your bed without leave? I don’t remember.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “I wouldn’t have refused you.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
He took her hand. “Would you refuse me now?”
Samonie smiled on the face so like her son’s.
“I don’t see how I could.” She lay down again, drawing him with her.
“Catherine, you’ll never guess what we found tied to the timbers of the keep.” Marie greeted her with a hug. “I have it in my purse. We could make no sense of it, but Guillaume thought you would know.”
“What is it?” Catherine asked.
“Some sort of embroidery,” she answered. “I’ll show you as soon as we get settled.”
“Embroidery?” Catherine echoed. “Is there writing on it?”
Marie nodded. “Mabile!” she chided her youngest. “If you hit your brother again, you’ll get no dinner!”
“I think I know what it is,” Catherine began, but Marie was too distracted.
“Good,” she said. “I can’t wait for you to tell us.”
She was swept away in a jumble of children, servants, men-at-arms, and baggage.
“Margaret, did you hear that?” Catherine asked. “Remember the length I told you Edgar and I found in the woods?”
“Do you think it has something to do with Mandon’s message?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “I had the feeling that everyone was supposed to have a piece of it.”
“Maybe they do,” Margaret said. “Have you asked?”
Catherine sighed. “You have your brother’s talent for making me feel an idiot,” she said. “No, I haven’t.”
Margaret patted her shoulder. “We’ve been busy. You can’t think of everything. Ifyou did, why would you need the rest ofus?”
The banquet that night was even more elaborate than the one welcoming Catherine and Edgar. They started with lettuce wrapped around pieces of trout and went on to rabbit pie with ginger and cloves, cold mutton, a soup of dried apples and figs, and then an array of cheeses and sweets. Catherine was glad that James and Beron weren’t serving. The sugared violets alone would have been an irresistible temptation.
Beside her, Edgar only picked at the food.
“Are you still angry with me?” she asked. “If I had thought there was any danger, I wouldn’t have gone.”
“Yes, you would; I know you better than that.” He put his arm around her. “I wasn’t as angry as I was worried. Catherine, I can’t lose you.”
That shamed her more than a thousand reprimands.
“I’m sorry, Edgar,” she said, suddenly wishing that they didn’t have such a long, public evening ahead.
The musicians had been playing from the balcony all through dinner, but now they descended. As the trenchers were taken up and the hand washing bowls brought around, a group of players came in. They set up a small platform, with a wobbly painted tree stuck in it.
Edgar gave a low moan. “By the Magdalene’s bangles! Not theater!”
The players finished their preparations and the leader signaled the trumpeter, who gave a sharp blast that caused the dogs to howl and all the diners to fall silent.
Senor, Dame, oyez cancon qui molt fait a loer
par itel convenent le vos puis je conter,
I tell you no lies, each word I do swear, sir
Is as true as the Gospel, the book we all treasure
The tale of a lost knight who did take his leisure
By a spring where a fairy did come for her pleasure. . .
“It’s the story of Andonenn!” Catherine said in surprise.
“So it is,” Edgar said. “Well, Guillaume told us there was one.”
“It’s not very good,” Catherine commented. “The rhyming is very weak.”
“No one else seems to have noticed,” Edgar said.
It was true. All the others were listening raptly, except Agnes’s husband, Hermann, who didn’t understand the words. Some people were reciting along with the jongleur. Even Guillaume apparently knew bits of the poem.
“The story seems much as we were told,” Edgar whispered after a while.
They had finished the meeting of the knight Jurvale and Andonenn and their happy marriage. Two of the players managed to portray all the characters in dumb show on signals from the singer. They had arrived at the point where Empress Judith tries to curse Andonenn’s children. The actor playing Andonenn was wrapped in a blue mantle that they used for the Virgin in Nativity plays. This was not an accident.
Andonenn raised her hand in benediction over the assembly before her as the jongleur recited.
“La gentil dame Andonenn, qui fus moult preus et sage
courtoise et bele, brave and fair of face
Did bless her posterity to live in grace
That the evil empress should have disgrace
And Boisvert be safe in any case
As long as the spring flows within the place.
There was a collective sigh among the listeners
. Catherine realized that every one of them believed in Andonenn, just as they did in Christ. Perhaps even more for she was their particular savior. Catherine suspected they would say it was no different than trusting in a patron saint, but the saints were merely intercessors with God. Andonenn’s power was outside Christianity.
She noticed that the priest, Ysore, seemed just as content with the story as the others. Perhaps he believed Andonenn was somehow within the faith.
The tale came to an end with Andonenn’s blessing. Gargenaud was helped to his feet as the players and musicians approached the table.
“Marvelous!” he told them. “Your best performance yet. We shall expect you here next year!” He took a silver chain from around his neck. “A small gift of thanks. My bailiff will see that you receive the usual rewards, as well.”
They thanked him effusively and departed. Catherine was preparing to depart as well when Gargenaud made another announcement.
“At last all of Andonenn’s children have come together to help her in our darkest hour,” he said. “The time has come to open the casket that Richard, our father, left for such a time. It has been passed down unopened to the eldest child for three hundred years. Seguin, will you fetch it, please.”
Seguin left the hall and returned with his cousin Odilon. Between them they carried a brass trunk. They set it on the platform the entertainers had used.
“Open it,” Gargenaud commanded, handing Seguin a brass key.
“Jurvale’s box is inside,” Seguin explained.
He turned the key. It grated in the rusty lock. Everyone craned forward to see. At last the lid creaked open. Seguin reached in.
“My God!” he exclaimed. “How can this be? Who could have done this?”
“What is it?” a dozen voices called out.
Seguin took the box out of its container. It was small, only the height and depth of two hands outspread. The wood was black with age and the silver hinges tarnished almost the same color. But everyone saw the gash where the lock had been broken.
With trembling hands, Seguin opened the ancient box.
It was empty.
In the ensuing pandemonium, Catherine slipped out. Everyone else needed to touch the box, examine it for themselves. Some were weeping and others shouting. She had to get someplace quiet to reassemble the event in her mind. How had someone managed to open the brass trunk when Gargenaud kept the key around his neck? Most importantly, what would this do to the cult of Andonenn? With the treasure gone, how could she be saved?
The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 17