The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “People of Boisvert!” he cried.

  There was instant silence, except for the bleating of a goat.

  “My people!” Gargenaud held up his sword. “The walls of this keep have protected you all your lives. They always shall. I have just learned that a foul usurper, Olivier de Boue, is on his way with his paltry army. He believes that he can force us to turn over Boisvert. But this is Andonenn’s home and she will allow none but those of her blood to hold it.”

  Murmurs began from the mass of people below. Gargenaud held up his hand.

  “We have withstood worse than Olivier can give,” he stated proudly. “But we must prepare to fight him off from within these walls either until our men defeat him or Count Thibault sends us aid. You have nothing to fear!” His voice rose. “We are well supplied, thanks to your good efforts. There is food and water enough to last out a dozen Oliviers. But we must see that there is nothing left in field or village that will sustain these barbarians. My grandson, Seguin, will tell you what must be done. In Andonenn’s name and by the mercy of Our Lord, we will prevail!”

  He raised the sword so that it caught the sunlight. The flash gave the impression that the fire of the sun had leapt into the blade and into the man holding it.

  The roar was deafening. Gargenaud bowed his head in thanks. Then he backed through the doorway to the keep. Seguin replaced him at once. He descended the stairs, calling out orders as he came.

  “Gather what you can from the fields. Burn the rest. Bring everything from your homes, then burn all those outside the walls.”

  Someone gave a roar of anguish. Seguin stopped, searching for the source of the cry.

  “Landris, stop whining,” he ordered. “Houses can be built again. Or do you want to stay and defend it with a mattock and scythe?”

  “He’d cut off his own foot,” another man shouted.

  The laughter broke the spell. The crowd dissolved into collections of frightened but resolute people, each concerned with protecting his own.

  Catherine saw Solomon at last.

  “Where’s Edgar?” he asked when he was close enough to be heard.

  “I don’t know,” Catherine said. “He went hunting for Aymon.”

  “Oh, yes,” Solomon said as he reached them. “The prodigal son. Look, Catherine, I need to leave. Your grandfather wants me to get to Troyes as soon as I can to tell the count what’s happening and have him send men to lift the siege.”

  “But that’s so dangerous!” Margaret had been listening.

  Solomon smiled at her. “Not a bit. Who would bother a simple trader? Anyway, I’ll be well ahead of Olivier’s army.”

  Catherine wished she could send Margaret with him. She had no reason to be caught up in this. But seeing the way Margaret was gazing up at Solomon, she couldn’t risk it. She loathed herself for not trusting them. Still, she didn’t and that was all there was to it. Perhaps Edgar would see the matter differently.

  “When do you go?” she asked.

  “Within the hour,” he answered. “There’s still enough daylight for me to be well on the road, perhaps as far as Chartres today.”

  Catherine looked down at Peter, now asleep against her breast, a trickle of milk running from the corner of his mouth. She wanted him out of it. She wanted all of them out of it, home and safe in Paris. Gargenaud hadn’t told these people that the well was drying up; that there had been murder here only last night. She had tried to deny the curse but this threat was too great.

  “Solomon. . .,” she began, but was cut off by Marie as she saw Guillaume come out of the keep.

  “Over here!” She waved her scarf until he spotted her.

  Edgar was right behind him with Martin and another man. Samonie gasped.

  “Are you all right?” Catherine asked her.

  Samonie nodded, staring in amazement at her son and his father standing together like old friends. Catherine followed her gaze but saw nothing to remark upon.

  “It doesn’t appear that they found Aymon,” she said.

  Edgar and Martin headed toward them. The other man wandered off toward the stables. Edgar’s mouth fell open when he saw Solomon.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Don’t you know we’re about to be attacked?”

  “I’d heard something about that,” Solomon said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be away from here shortly. Think you can hold out until I return with the count’s army?”

  Catherine started to laugh. “I can’t see you leading the charge,” she told him. “But you don’t need to kill your horse racing for help. You can see that Boisvert is impregnable.”

  “Yes,” Edgar said. “Solomon, as long as you’re here, Martin and I need to discuss something with you.”

  The three of them moved to a spot under a tree where no one had yet set up a tent.

  “That’s odd,” Catherine said. “Why do they look so worried?” “We’re about to have an invading army at our gates,” Marie suggested.

  “But the only way Boisvert could fall is if we were betrayed,” Catherine said.

  They looked at each other, then down at their children.

  “Aymon?” Marie asked in a whisper.

  “Oh, Saint Genevieve!” Catherine breathed. “I hope not.”

  “What are you whispering about?” Margaret asked.

  “Nothing, ma douz,” Catherine smiled. However, she began to reconsider her decision to keep Margaret at Boisvert rather than chance her being seduced by Solomon. In her core, she knew that Solomon would never hurt Margaret. He would die to protect her, even from himself.

  Solomon listened to Edgar’s tale of their underground expedition.

  “I remember where we met Aymon in the woods,” he said. “It makes sense that he should stable the horse not far from there. Between that stretch of forest and the castle there’s nothing but open field.”

  “Do we have time to hunt for it before Olivier is upon us?” Edgar asked.

  “Can you afford not to?” Solomon returned. “If Aymon has turned on his family, then he could lead Olivier’s men through the tunnels and up into the heart of the keep.”

  “I know. And even if he hasn’t, he could be captured and forced to tell the way in.” Edgar bit his lip. “Martin, could you ride to Troyes for us?”

  “Of course.” Martin lifted his chin proudly.

  “No, Edgar,” Solomon said. “They killed the last messenger, remember? Martin has too much the look of a man on a dangerous mission. Who would suspect a grizzled old Jew of racing off to save a Christian lord?”

  “I’m not afraid,” Martin protested.

  “An even better reason for me to go,” Solomon told him.

  “Fear keeps one watchful and alive.”

  Edgar gave in. “Yes, you’re right, Solomon. Martin is too valuable here. Anyway, his mother would kill us if anything happened to him.”

  Solomon grinned. “I’m off, then, as soon as I fill a skin of wine.”

  “Good.” Edgar put his arm around Solomon’s shoulder. He spoke softly but with sincerity. “Watch yourself, man. My wife and my sister would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  Solomon nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

  “Well, I suppose we should prepare ourselves for an extended stay,” Marie said. “I wish we’d brought more of our men than just Hamelin and Osbert. There aren’t enough swords here even for a good sortie.”

  “I wish I’d brought more clothes for Edana,” Catherine complained. “Samonie and I spend half our time mending as it is.”

  “Let’s get them all back inside and take stock of what we do have,” Samonie suggested.

  They went back to the hall, now busy with every sort of activity. Old rushes were being swept out, tables moved, boxes brought in and stacked against the walls. Guillaume called to Marie as she started up the stairs. She turned back.

  “I’ll meet you in the solar,” she told Catherine.

  Guillaume was pulling on his beard in irritation. Marie gent
ly drew his hand away from his face.

  “Someone has to take charge,” he told her. “Elissent is still prostrate with grief and that wife of Grandfather’s is useless.”

  “It’s not my place,” Marie pointed out, a cold dread rising in her heart. “Briaud is the one to make decisions.”

  “Have you seen her?” Guillaume snorted. “She barely speaks. I don’t know if she knows how. As far as I can determine, she does nothing but attend to my grandfather and comb her hair. If there is any suspicion of witchcraft, we need look no farther than her. For now, we need someone to apportion the food and see that the weakest of the villagers have a place in the keep rather than the bailey.”

  Marie sighed. “If Seguin asks me, I’ll do it, but I won’t put myself in a place I have no right to.”

  Guillaume kissed her. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Marie patted his cheek. “You know, my dear, there are times when I wish that you couldn’t.”

  “Catherine, Martin and I are going to see Solomon on his way.” Edgar found her surrounded by linen, trying to keep Edana and Peter from tangling themselves in the lengths.

  “You won’t be long, will you?” she asked. “There’s so much to do.”

  “No, we’ll be back before sunset,” he said. “But if you need someone, Brehier here has offered to help. He grew up at Boisvert and knows its ways. He’ll be of more use than I.”

  “Not for everything.” Catherine fluttered her lashes.

  Edgar shook his head. “No one would ever believe you’d been schooled in a convent, woman; you’re shameless.”

  “I know,” she said contentedly. “So hurry back.”

  Solomon was waiting at the gate.

  “The place looks strong enough,” he commented. “If you can plug the hole, there’s no reason why you can’t hold off Olivier’s army.”

  “Don’t dawdle, though,” Edgar said. “I have no desire to spend the winter keeping James from falling off the parapets.”

  Solomon promised. At the edge of the forest, he took his leave of them and headed north. Martin and Edgar entered the wood near the place where they had first encountered Aymon.

  “It can’t be too deep in the forest,” Edgar thought aloud. “He’d have to protect the horse from wolves and the weather.”

  “A cave, perhaps?” Martin said.

  “The land seems flat apart from the tor that Boisvert is built on,” Edgar answered. “But it’s something to watch for.”

  They found the clearing where Dragon had treed Aymon. Nothing more had been disturbed. On the far side Martin discovered a narrow path, no more than beaten grass, not much traveled.

  “Excellent!” Edgar said. “Let’s see where it leads.”

  As they left the clearing, Edgar stopped and looked back.

  “I was just thinking,” he said. “Remember that little noisy dog trying to climb the tree to reach his master?”

  “Aymon’s dog?” Martin said. “Of course. I wondered what he could be using it to hunt for. Squirrels?”

  “Annoying little thing,” Edgar said. “But, have you noticed it around since Raimbaut was killed?”

  Martin thought. “I can’t say I have. Does it mean anything?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s something to keep in mind.”

  The trail wound among the trees with no obvious direction. Sometimes it doubled back on itself. Edgar was beginning to suspect that they were following a deer track that would soon vanish, leaving them to find their way back by starlight.

  Martin was riding in the lead. Edgar had fallen into meditation on their situation and whether or not they would be able to leave the castle in time for the fair at Saint-Denis in October. How long did sieges last? He’d only been in the one at Durham and that had been over in a matter of days. But he’d heard tales of towns that had run out of food and started eating horses, rats, and even each other. If they could only find this secret entrance, perhaps they could all flee through it and be away before anyone noticed.

  He didn’t notice that Martin had pulled ahead of him and was now out of sight. A crash and a cry brought him back.

  “Martin!” he shouted. “Are you hurt?”

  There were more sounds of thrashing about. Edgar hurried to the place where he found Martin stuck in a thornbush, his horse gazing at him indignantly.

  “Did she throw you?” he asked, as he dismounted and set about rescuing the boy.

  “No, I ducked to avoid a low tree limb and slid off,” Martin said. “I was careless. Ow! These spines are worse than a hedgehog!”

  “The undergrowth is unusually prickly around here,” Edgar said as he pulled Martin out. “All about, except for there.”

  He pointed to a stand of plants, some flowering red and yellow.

  “Elfwort, althaea, some kind of spurge,” he said. “All of them grow where the soil is damp and marshy.”

  “I wish I’d known,” Martin grumbled, pulling briars from his brais. “I’d have waited to land somewhere soft.”

  “Mmm hm.” Edgar had noticed another deer track along the side of the patch of herbs. “Can you walk?” he asked Martin. “This trail is too faint to see from horseback.”

  This time he led the way. The trees grew more thickly here, almost as if they’d been deliberately planted to block the way.

  “If it gets any more dense, the horses won’t be able to turn around,” Martin warned.

  “Yes, I guess we should go back,” Edgar conceded. “I was so sure this was the way.”

  There wasn’t much space to circle in. Edgar’s horse brushed into a chestnut tree draped in vine and started, dancing sideways farther into the foliage.

  “Avoi! There now!” Edgar tried to calm him. “It’s all right, just relax and. . .Martin?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Edgar’s voice came from within the tangle.

  “Come here. I think we’ve found Aymon’s stable.”

  Martin pushed the vines aside and stepped into a natural chamber. The foliage hid the place from view, just as a willow tree might, but the high chestnut limbs allowed enough space to keep a horse tethered. A log had been hollowed out and filled with water and a pile of hay left in a withy box. One more thing made it certain.

  “His horse is still here!” Martin exclaimed.

  “Very observant,” Edgar said. “But that must mean Aymon is still somewhere at Boisvert.”

  “Should we take it back with us?”

  “Yes, we don’t want Aymon able to flee.”

  “Um, Master.”

  “What, Martin?”

  “I don’t think he’s going to flee.”

  Martin pointed to a boot sticking out from the underbrush. Edgar knelt and touched it. The foot was still inside.

  Quickly he uncovered the body.

  “Come help me, Martin!” he said. “Hurry! We have to get him back to the castle. He’s still alive!”

  It was hard in the midst of all the bustle, but Brehier finally managed to find Samonie alone.

  “I met your son,” he told her. “He’s a fine young man.”

  “Thank you.” Samonie tried to brush past him, protecting herself with the layers of cloth draped over her arms. “I need to take these rags to Lady Marie. She wants to be ready in case we need bandages.”

  “We have time yet.” Brehier took her hands. “I won’t ask why you didn’t tell me. You might have left word with someone in case I returned, though.”

  “Really.” She retrieved her hands. “What should I have said? You have a bastard by a scullery maid, come claim him, and by the way, she has a daughter already by another man. Then what? You take us all home to your mother? Don’t be absurd.”

  “You admit he’s mine?” Brehier asked.

  Samonie gave a short laugh. “Isn’t it usually the man who wants to deny it? You saw it for yourself. His color is darker but the face is yours.” Her voice softened. “Just as you looked when I first saw you.”

  She made another at
tempt to get by him.

  “What?” she asked. “I’ve told you that Martin is of your making. He’s a boy to be proud of. You can sleep well knowing that, if you like. I’m not going to shame you by noising it about. That should help your sleep, as well. Now may I get on with my work?”

  Brehier lowered his arms.

  “Is that what you wish?”

  She stared at him in consternation. “Yes, I’m happy in Paris. Mistress Catherine is good to me, as is Lord Edgar. I don’t want to lose my place because you kept me from my duties. Anyway, what else is there for us?”

  His shoulders drooped. “That’s true. I should have said something eighteen years ago. What have I to offer you now?”

  Samonie took a step toward him. No. She made herself stop and tried to think with an organ above her waist. This was a man she had barely known a lifetime ago and now didn’t know at all. What did he want from her?

  “I have everything I need,” she told him. “But, if you want to pass the time, I noticed a nice window nook not far from the garderobe on the second level. I might be willing to meet you there after Compline tonight, if I’m not needed elsewhere.”

  Catherine managed to reorganize the family’s possessions, noting the things they would soon run short of. Agnes’s tendency to bring everything from her silver goblets to winter cloaks didn’t seem so foolish now.

  “Don’t fret,” she told herself. “It will all be over soon. They’ll negotiate a truce, or Count Thibault will send an army to drive Olivier away. We’ll be home before Michaelmas.”

  It was only when the last article had been put away that she thought of something.

  “Margaret?”

  From a partition farther down the passageway a head stuck out.

  “Do you need me, Catherine?”

  Catherine went down to where Margaret had created a narrow space for herself, the same size as she had at the convent.

  “I can’t believe I’ve been so unnatural,” Catherine said. “All of this going on and I never once wondered what happened to Mother. Do you know where she is?”