“Just trying to be helpful.” Solomon smiled. “By the way, isn’t that Edgar?”
Catherine turned where he was pointing. Yes, it was. What was Edgar doing out at this hour?
“Edgar!” she called.
She thought he heard her. His stride broke for a second; then he went on, if anything, more rapidly.
“This is definitely something we should find out about,” Catherine said, grabbing Solomon’s arm and pulling him behind as she ran after her husband.
“Let go. I’m coming!” he said. “But if he goes into the cloister, you’ll have to follow on your own.”
It had taken Edgar the better part of the morning to find John. That was a clear indication that his mind was not functioning well. Master Gilbert de la Porrée was lecturing today. John wouldn’t be anywhere else.
Luckily, Master Gilbert was just finishing when Edgar entered the Bishop’s Hall. John was standing with his compatriots, the masters Adam du Petit Pont and Robert of Melun. They were debating the finer points of the lecture with great enthusiasm.
“I tell you, the man is one step from heresy,” Robert was saying with great force.
“I disagree,” John said. “You simply aren’t following his argument carefully enough.”
“And what do you think he’s saying?” Robert asked, as if he were prepared to listen but not to be convinced.
John opened his mouth to reply. Then he saw Edgar. “Benedicite, Edgar,” he said. “You missed a most illuminating talk.”
“John, you have to come with me,” Edgar said. “Something’s happened. Masters Robert, Adam, you, too. Please. I need witnesses to this.”
“What is it?”
Edgar lowered his voice, first looking to see who might be listening. Quickly and without much coherence, he told them what had happened.
“The reliquary is missing,” he finished. “I think the murderer intends to use it for a counterfeit relic. But with Gaudry and Odo dead, there’s no one who can identify him. I beg you to come help me. It’s not right to leave them there like that.”
They agreed and went with him readily. Across the hall, Catherine and Solomon watched in puzzlement.
“Why would Edgar be in such a rush to meet them?” Solomon said. “Is there some great scholastic debate planned? Another heresy trial?”
“They’re all from England,” Catherine said. “Perhaps it has to do with Saint Aldhelm. Avoi, Solomon! We have to find out where they’re going.”
They arrived at the shed leaning against the wall by the river in time to see the four men enter.
“We’ll never find them if they go into the tunnels,” Catherine said.
“Then we need to catch them before they go any farther,” Solomon said.
The trapdoor was open when they entered the shed. Leaning over it, they could see a flicker of lamplight ahead.
“You call,” Catherine said, suddenly nervous about Edgar’s reaction when he found her there.
Solomon went halfway down the ladder and shouted Edgar’s name. The light continued moving away from them. Catherine hitched up her skirts and prepared to climb down.
“Just follow the light,” she said. “I have to know why he’s taking all those men down here.”
They were left in the dark once when the path turned abruptly. Catherine did her best to keep her mind on locating Edgar and not on what else might be hiding in the ancient passageways.
The door to the workshop was half-open. Catherine heard a strangled cry of “Godehelpe!” She started to enter, but Solomon pushed her back and looked in.
He didn’t say anything.
“What is it?” Catherine said. “Let me see.”
“No,” Solomon answered, his voice more gray than the air around them. “Edgar saw me; he’ll be out in a moment.”
Catherine stepped back. “Tell me what’s in there,” she said quietly. “I won’t go in. I promise.”
“Two men. Dead. A lot of blood.” He leaned his head against the low lintel. “Adonai, but I’m sick of ugly death.”
Catherine was, too. She made no attempt to go in. She felt herself starting to shake and wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to stop it.
“What by all the burning souls in Hell are you doing here?” Edgar barked in her ear.
“We saw you at the hall and were trying to catch up with you,” Catherine said, wrapping her arms around him instead. “It’s Gaudry, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Now go home, please,” he pleaded.
She looked up at him, her eyes huge in the dim passageway. “It could have been you,” she whispered. “If John hadn’t come by, if we hadn’t fought, you would have been here. It would have been you. It would have been you and I’d have never known what happened.”
She was still shaking. Her eyes were dry but inside there was an enormous terror, scooping her out to make room for itself. Edgar held her fiercely.
“It wasn’t me, Catherine,” he said. “I’m all right. Go home. Don’t leave the room. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Solomon?”
“I’ll stay with her.”
“Thank you.”
Edgar went back inside and closed the door. John was explaining to the other two masters what Edgar had been doing and how this was connected with the theft of Saint Aldhelm’s arm.
“We don’t even know their parish,” Adam said, looking at the remains of the two men. “We’ll have to send undertakers for the bodies for now. Have them taken to Saint-Christophe.”
“I think that Laudine at The Blue Boar may know Gaudry’s family.” Edgar remembered meeting him there. “Perhaps they can tell us if Odo has any kin in Paris.”
“Do you have any idea who killed them?” Robert asked.
Edgar stared at the bodies. Odo had certainly been hit from behind; anyone might have done it. But Gaudry had to have been pinned down to have his throat cut like that, either by two people or one very powerful one.
“I can’t see the canon Gaudry described as having the strength for this,” he said at last. “He’s supposed to be a small man, a cleric. None of you are particularly frail, but could you have fought a man like this? Look at his arms. He has the muscles of a knight. Yet, who else could have been here? How many people even knew this place existed? We only set up this oven a little over a week ago.”
“Edgar, I think it’s time we took this matter to the bishop,” John said. “He has jurisdiction over crimes involving church property. And, no matter how you feel about him, we must tell Giles du Perche.”
“Yes, tell anyone you like,” Edgar said. “Tell the king. Tell the chancellor, if you can get him out of bed with Petronilla. Do you really think they’ll care? These men were working outside the laws of both man and heaven. They don’t even have a guild to bury them.”
The other three were silent, admitting the truth of what Edgar said.
“We’ll pray for their souls,” John said. “And I believe the archdeacon can be persuaded to see to their burial.”
Edgar didn’t really hear him. He turned his back to the bodies and looked instead at the table against the wall, with the chisels, files, hammers, compass, scorpers and rasps lined up precisely, ready for the day’s work. Gaudry was so careful of his tools.
Even Catherine wouldn’t have recognized the anger in Edgar at this moment. It was burning cold, drawing all other feeling from him. He had been happy here, accepted for his skill for the first time in his life. These had been good, pious men in their own way. While they had been willing to use their art for ends that might not be approved of by society or the guilds, they weren’t the ones who stole from the churches. They had done the work they were given honestly. Edgar was certain that Gaudry would not have mocked God with false relics.
“Edgar.”
He turned around. The others were waiting.
“I will find the person who did this,” Edgar told them.
“I know,” John said. “I’ll give you any help you need. Come with us now. We ne
ed to arrange for an audience with the bishop and the archdeacon.”
The first warm sunlight of spring touched Catherine’s face as she and Solomon came out of the shed. The clouds had broken and the river sparkled as if sown with stars. On the opposite bank, men were laughing as they finished unloading a barge. From Goat Island they could hear the bleating of the newborn kids. Lent was almost over, the new year beginning.
“I try to understand,” Catherine muttered as they walked along the edge of the Seine to the Grand Pont. “I read; I listen to the priests and the masters. I know that we’re on earth only to prepare for heaven. So why do we have to care so much? I shouldn’t fear for Edgar’s life. I should have … accepted it when the baby died instead of grieving my heart out. No one gives me a reason I can believe. Why?”
Solomon didn’t answer. He had no answer and, anyway, he didn’t think she was talking to him.
When they got up to the room, he helped her pull the cloth off the shutters and open them. As the light poured in, Catherine looked around in surprise.
“I didn’t realize how grimy things were,” she said. “Smoke from the brazier, grease, mud from the street. Mother would be so ashamed of me.”
“I’ll go draw a pail of water,” Solomon said. “Do you even own a scrubbing brush?”
Catherine admitted that she didn’t. Solomon agreed to get one of those as well.
“If we’re going to be here all day, we might as well do something,” he said. “With all the cleaning Aunt Johannah’s been doing this week, I should be an expert, at least in advising.”
“You’ll do more than that,” Catherine said. “If I scrub, so do you.”
“Very well,” Solomon said. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”
It really was shameful, the way she had let things go in the dark winter. How long had it been since she’d aired the bedding? She wasn’t even sure the last time they’d bothered to put the bed up for the day.
The door opened while she was struggling with the mattress.
“You’ll have feathers all over the room, if you’re not careful,” Lucia said, taking one end of it.
“What are you doing here?” Catherine asked.
Lucia shoved her end of the mattress over the window frame.
“I’ve been worrying about what you told me this morning,” she said.
“This morning?” It was too long ago to remember.
“About a relic.” Lucia picked up the felt mattress pad. “I don’t think this is worth cleaning,” she added. “What sort of relic was it?”
“Natan had a box with him that he wanted Eliazar to store,” Catherine said. “We think someone may have hired him to transport it from Rouen to Paris. Only it never reached the people it was meant for, either because Natan hid it or because he was killed.”
“I see.” Lucia started folding the sheets. “You don’t happen to know what it’s supposed to look like, do you?”
“Lucia, it looks like an arm,” Catherine said in exasperation. “There’s only one thing it could be. You can’t mistake a reliquary for a salt cellar.”
“Yes, I know. I mean—” Lucia stopped. “Did it have any ornamentation, any jewels, for instance?”
“Why? Have you found some?” Catherine asked.
Lucia didn’t answer.
“All I know,” Catherine continued, “is that the arm was taken from its normal box and put into another, covered in gold leaf. No one told me about any jewels.”
Lucia put down the sheets. She lifted her skirts and felt for a pouch she had hung at her waist. She untied it and opened the flap.
The gold had been pounded thin. There were little holes in the corner of each piece that showed where it had been attached. Some of the edges were ragged as if they had been cut with a saw.
“Could these have covered a reliquary?” Lucia asked.
Catherine put out a finger and touched the thin metal. “I’d have to ask Edgar to be sure, but I think so. Did Natan give you this?”
“In a way,” Lucia said. “He asked me to keep the pouch for him. He was afraid that the men he was working with wouldn’t pay him.”
“He must have trusted you a great deal,” Catherine said. “Do you know what he did with the box?”
“I’m not sure,” Lucia said. “But I have an idea. I wanted to check this morning but there were too many people around.”
“Saint-Étienne?” Catherine asked.
Lucia’s eyes narrowed. “You followed me. No, never mind. It doesn’t matter now. Sometimes Natan and I would meet in a corner of the old crypt. Especially in summer, it was nice and cool.”
“You think he hid the arm there?”
“Yes,” Lucia said. “He would think it appropriate. No one would expect it of him and I know he wouldn’t have desecrated his own home with such a thing. I’m the only one who would know where to look.”
“So?” Catherine asked.
“The beggars who are usually in the church will be gone tomorrow evening,” Lucia said. “The canons of Notre Dame are giving a special dinner to the poor of the Île. I want you to come with me.”
“Me? But why?” Catherine asked.
Lucia wrapped up the pouch and tied it once again around her waist. She licked her lips nervously.
“If it really is a relic of one of the blessed saints, I don’t want to treat it disrespectfully,” she explained. “I suppose I could ask our priest, but he’d ask too many questions. You’re the only other person I know who would know what to say to it. Do you know which saint it is?”
“Saint Aldhelm.”
“I never heard of him,” Lucia said. “Was he one of the martyrs?”
“No, a Saxon bishop, who wrote poetry and a long treatise on virginity,” Catherine said.
“Oh. Then I’m quite sure we would have little to say to each other,” Lucia replied. “Will you come with me?”
“Can we bring Edgar?” Catherine asked. “He’s quite devoted to Saint Aldhelm.”
“No, and I want you to promise not to tell him,” Lucia said. “He’ll bring his English friends and there will be too many questions about how the relic got there and how I knew where to find it.”
Catherine thought about it. “If we find the arm,” she said slowly, “we could take it to the archdeacon, Giles, and tell him that Aldhelm led us to his hiding place. He might believe us. Edgar never would. He knows me too well. He doesn’t need to come with us, but I can’t simply wander off and not tell him where I’m going.”
“Come to the tavern tomorrow night,” Lucia suggested. “We can slip out the back. We’d only be gone a few moments. No one would miss us. If you don’t come with me, I won’t go and you’ll never find it without me.”
Catherine cocked her head, listening. Wasn’t it time for the voices of the convent to tell her what a stupid thing she was considering? They were usually very vocal when she attempted any rash act. Of course, she normally ignored them, but it was odd for them to be silent. Perhaps they knew this was what Saint Aldhelm wanted. And it would be wonderful to be able to give Edgar back this part of his lost heritage, even if it would immediately have to be returned to Salisbury.
“All right,” Catherine said. “I’ll do it. Now, you’d better go unless you want to spend the rest of the day cleaning.”
Edgar came home too drained to notice the preternatural cleanliness. He ate his fish cake and bread in silence. Catherine didn’t try to break it. It was enough that he was there, alive.
“Gaudry had a wife and five children,” he said quietly. “The parish is Saint-Nicholas. He’s been taken there. Odo had no one.”
Catherine crossed herself and murmured a prayer. “We’ll give a candle in his memory,” she said.
“The aged and wise archdeacon wants to send to Rouen for further instructions,” Edgar added. “We couldn’t see the bishop. He’s traveling with the court. He won’t be back until Sunday.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired. And I don’t think we’ll ever discover who d
id this or where Saint Aldhelm is being held.”
Catherine bit her tongue. “There’s nothing more we can do today,” she said. “Wash your feet and come to bed.”
She filled the tin basin for him, then took pity on his exhaustion and, kneeling on the floor, she took off his shoes and washed his feet herself.
“Catherine.” Edgar sounded unsure. “I don’t think I can … I mean, with all that’s happened and finding …”
“What?” Catherine looked up and understood. “Oh, Edgar, of course not. This is supposed to be a day of abstinence, anyway. Now we’ll have one less penance to do.”
“You give such strange comfort, leoffedest,” he said. “But comfort all the same. Blow out the light.”
Nineteen
Paris, the market of the Halles, Palm Sunday, March 23, 1141/14, Nisan, 4901, the first night of Passover
Obtenebrescant oculi vestri qui concupiverunt; arescant manus quae rapuerunt; debilitentur omnia membra, quae adjuverunt … . Ne cessent a vobis hae maledictiones scelerum vestrorum persecutrices quamdiu permanebitis in peccato pervasionis. Amen, fiat, fiat.
May the eyes of you who are covetous be darkened; let the
hands of those who plunder wither away; may all the limbs
of those who aid them be crippled … . may these
maledictions on you endure as long as you persist in the sin
of pillage. So be it. Let it be done, let it be done.
—Archbishop Arnulf of Reims
“Warning and Anathema for
Predators upon the Church”
Catherine held her shopping basket tightly in both arms to held her shopping basket tightly in both arms to avoid its being crushed by the press of people surrounding her. With her elbows, she forced her way to the dried fruit stall. Even though there was still another week of Lent remaining, the warming weather had brought a sense of awakening. Everyone seemed to feel the need to escape the deprivations of winter even if only by adding something green to the eternal pea or bean and cabbage soup. After the morning procession, all of Paris seemed to congregate at the market.
The Wandering Arm: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 30