To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

Evrard nodded. Then he called Archer to give his side of the story. Nervously, Archer told everyone that he had been drinking a bit much and let his anger at all the foreigners spill out on Lord Osto and his servant.

  “But I forgot all about it before I was halfway home!” he protested. “I didn’t even know he had been killed until this man, whom I never saw before,” he said, pointing at Bertulf, “accused me of murder.”

  Catherine had been waiting by the door in the hope that Maurice would soon arrive. Now she turned over the task to Lambert and edged through to where Edgar was standing, waiting for a chance to speak.

  “There’s something wrong here,” she whispered. “We may not need Maurice’s evidence.”

  She stood on tiptoe to explain everything to him. The pope noticed her and asked Evrard who they were.

  “Lord Edgar,” Eugenius said suddenly.

  Edgar started. “My lord Pope.” He bowed.

  “Didn’t I meet you in Trier last November?”

  Edgar bowed again. “I’m flattered Your Lordship remembers me.”

  “My friend, the abbot of Citeaux, told me about you then, and your wife. Not many laymen there spoke both French and Latin.”

  Behind Edgar, Catherine blushed and gave a bow, as well.

  At a prompting from the pope, Evrard beckoned Edgar forward.

  “I hope you and your wife weren’t having a domestic conversation?” he asked, amidst titters from the crowd.

  “No, my lord,” Edgar answered. “As you know, my wife and I were as insulted as you by the deposit of the body in our home. We have spent the time since then defending ourselves from the charge of complicity in his death.”

  Edgar looked pointedly at Master Durand, who glared back.

  “Because of that, I believe I have a stake in seeing the matter resolved,” he continued. “Particularly since because of this we also became responsible for the children of dom Bertulf and Lord Osto.”

  “Edgar …” Bertulf warned. “You promised.”

  “I’m sorry,” Edgar said. “But I can’t stand by for the sake of an oath and see my fellow water merchant hanged for a crime he didn’t do.”

  “What do you mean?” Godfrey cried out. “Of course he did it! My master heard him!”

  “Godfrey,” Edgar said, “where were you when Archer was belittling Lord Osto and all those of Picardy?”

  “I was out tending to the horses,” Godfrey answered.

  Bertulf nodded agreement. “He didn’t come in until after Archer had left.”

  “I see,” Edgar said. “May I question Godfrey further?”

  Pope Eugenius nodded and Evrard lifted his hands in resignation. Who was he to contradict the pope?

  “Godfrey, you, Lord Osto and Bertulf had three horses, is that correct?” Edgar asked.

  “That’s right,” Godfrey said. “And a pack mule.”

  “So that was one for each of you to ride?” Edgar went on.

  Godfrey snorted. “Of course not. You haven’t seen Vrieit. No one would use a fine destrier like that for ordinary travel. He was on a lead.”

  “So, Bertulf the miller and Lord Osto rode their horses,” Edgar said. “And you the mule?”

  Godfrey gave him a disgusted look. “You can’t be much of a lord if you’d let a mule be overloaded like that. I told you, it was for the baggage.”

  “Lord Edgar?” Evrard said. “This doesn’t interest me.”

  “Don’t you see?” Catherine blurted out.

  Instantly, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Anger and amusement warred in Evrard. Fortunately for Catherine, he was a charitable man.

  “Lord Edgar is going to tedious lengths to show that the servant, Godfrey, must have walked while his masters rode. What’s so unusual about that?”

  Catherine opened her mouth to answer, but Edgar was faster.

  “Two things,” he said. “One, Lord Osto was certainly Godfrey’s master, but what was Bertulf to him? He’s a miller, a horse breeder, much wealthier than the average man of his village, but what gave him the right to ride when Godfrey walked?”

  “Nothing!” Godfrey said loudly. “His father and mine were first cousins. He had no business ordering me about just because he’d picked up a few coins. And then he wanted his son to be our castellan! I told him, ‘You’re either born noble or like the rest of us. You can’t change it.’”

  Evrard spoke from behind Godfrey. “But that’s what Bertulf wanted, didn’t he? To change his place in the order of things, by earning the right to a white cloak. Bertulf, I could have told you that it wouldn’t have happened. We’ve expelled better-born men than you for lying about their status.”

  Bertulf shook the tears from his eyes. “It was a dream Lord Osto and I had. It started with the horses. We found that it was good to bring in some common stock from time to time to breed in strength and endurance. Then, when our children fell in love, we thought, why not? My line was sadly lacking in stamina.”

  Evrard sighed. “Lord Osto, isn’t it time you stopped this game, however worthy you might think it?”

  Bertulf started at being addressed by his true name. Then slowly, he nodded. “I told Godfrey I couldn’t do it. I should have been the one to die. Bertulf could have been a great lord.”

  “And that’s why he was the one who had to die,” Edgar said. “Isn’t that right, Godfrey?”

  “No!” Godfrey backed away. “I’m devoted to my master. Ask anyone!”

  “I know you are,” Edgar continued. “And that’s why you had to save him from throwing his life away in the Holy Land for such an ignominious reason. But it didn’t work, after all. Lord Osto believed in the plan so strongly that he was willing to pretend to be less than he was. You didn’t expect that, did you?”

  “You’re mad,” Godfrey said. “Master, tell them!”

  Lord Osto/Bertulf was staring at him as at a stranger.

  “Godfrey, were you in the tavern when that man was making fun of Bertulf?”

  “No!”

  “Yes!” Half a dozen voices spoke.

  “We all saw him there,” Giselbert said. “He came in just before the fight and stayed. Helped clean up his friend and took him out to wash.”

  Godfrey licked his lips. “Perhaps I did. I don’t remember. What difference does it make?”

  “You told me you wouldn’t know the face of the man I only heard,” Lord Osto said. “You didn’t want him found, did you?”

  “Master!” Godfrey pled.

  “Godfrey, what happened to your walking staff?”

  Bertulf was gone for good now. Lord Osto stood before his villein and demanded the truth.

  There was a mild voice from the back of the room.

  “I think this might be it,” Maurice said.

  In the end Godfrey had to be dragged away, screaming epithets at Osto, Bertulf and anyone who came near him. Most of the people left, delighted at having been given a good show.

  Lambert knelt on the floor, looking at the pieces of wood.

  “I can see where the iron was blunted,” he said. “But Godfrey might have done that at any time along the road. What I don’t understand is how the blow that killed my father could have caused this wood to snap. It’s old chestnut.”

  “Godfrey broke it himself,” Catherine said. “While sitting with Samonie waiting for Willa to die, she told me that she’d been attracted to Godfrey in the first place because he understood how she felt. Her position in life meant that Willa became the wife of a felt maker and worked herself to death within a year. But Willa’s father is a great lord, one we all know, Samonie says. By blood, Willa could have been a fine lady. And there was Lambert, with no noble ancestors at all, being put over Godfrey as lord, as Bertulf had treated his cousin as a servant.”

  “So why did he break his own staff?” Lambert asked.

  Catherine shrugged. It was hard to explain. “I think he hated it. He walked, and Bertulf rode. That was the only difference he could see between them.�
��

  Pope Eugenius had been silent since he had recognized Edgar. Now he spoke, more to himself than to the others.

  “How much wickedness comes from not accepting the place God has assigned us.” He sighed. “We’re all equal in the eyes of Heaven. Rome is overrun with people like that poor man. They drove me out and what do they have now? Chaos.”

  “Then you believe that the children of Lambert and Clemence should not be allowed to inherit my fief?” Osto asked.

  Eugenius called his thoughts back from Rome. “That is not my decision. You’ll have to convince your lord of that. What I can say, and the reason I suspect Master Evrard asked me to be here, is that if you, Lambert, and you, Clemence, entered into the sacrament of marriage in good faith and with the consent of your families, I will oppose anyone who tries to have it annuled.”

  Both Lambert and Clemence went down on their knees to thank him. A bit stiffly, Osto did, too.

  “And I?” he asked. “I tried to deceive the Knights of the Temple and came to join them for the basest of motives, the future of my own family. What penance would you place on me?”

  The pope looked at him for some time. “I shall have to confer with Commander Evrard on that this evening. Perhaps you should also take counsel with your own soul.”

  When they left the chapter house they were amazed to find it was still afternoon. The sun shone warmly on soft grass and budding flowers. They found the other water merchants waiting outside. Archer came up to Edgar, who took a step back. Archer took his hand.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t desert your fellows. I said that, didn’t I?”

  “After the fact, yes,” Pagan said. “But we all thank you, Edgar, for saving Archer from the ordeal and for naming yourself as one of us and not a lord of Scotland.”

  “It’s just been pointed out to me that I can’t change what I was born,” Edgar said. “But I can decide whom I stand with.”

  Only Catherine heard the ambiguity in that statement.

  Catherine wasn’t sure that Samonie understood when she told her that Godfrey had killed the man in the counting room.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked as Samonie went back to cleaning the cupboard in the kitchen.

  “Yes, I guessed as much,” Samonie said.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Catherine asked.

  “What difference did it make?” Samonie said. “If it would have saved your life, I’d have spoken up. But you were in no danger, except from that Jehan.”

  Jehan. Catherine had been trying not to think of him.

  “Edgar, what will they do with him?” she asked one night a few days later, when no trial had been called for Jehan.

  “I’ve been talking with the provost and Lord Osto,” Edgar told her. “You’re not going to like this.”

  “They couldn’t set him free!” Catherine protested.

  “There’s been word from Count Thibault and Abbot Suger, as well,” Edgar went on. “They feel that Jehan served them well and his action against Clemence was a temporary madness, a lovesickness. Since she wasn’t harmed, they begged Lord Osto to forgive him.”

  “Lord Osto! What about us? He broke into our house. Lambert said he was going to denounce us.”

  Edgar scratched his newly shaved chin. “Oh, that. That was interesting.”

  He paused, mainly to tease Catherine.

  “The meeting this afternoon at the water merchants?” she asked, her fingers in his ribs. “Did that have something to do with Jehan?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Stop tickling! Apparently Jehan has been telling everyone that we’re secretly Jews and plotting with the Saracens to take over France.”

  “Sweet Virgin!” Catherine commented. “And his proof?”

  “The account book,” Edgar said. “With the ‘magic’ Hebrew writing. I didn’t even have to produce it. Archer said he’d been doing the same thing for years. He doesn’t like Jews, but he’s not above learning a good trick from them. The water merchants told the provost that such an accusation was nonsense.”

  “Archer!” Catherine said. “Imagine that. I suppose it’s a good thing that we didn’t let him hang.”

  “Are you sorry we couldn’t convict Jehan?” Edgar asked.

  “Not as much as you and Solomon might be,” Catherine said. “I suppose I can’t help but believe in the possibility of redemption.”

  “Of Jehan!” Edgar gave a whoop and began tickling her. “Woman, you can’t be serious. See, you’re laughing right now!”

  “Edgar!” she shrieked. “Stop it or I’ll …”

  One thing led to another, although they continued laughing. They didn’t hear the door creak open. Edgar rolled over, Catherine on top of him when both were startled by a pair of grey eyes peering over the mattress and an indignant voice saying, “Mama, Papa, why are you having fun without me?”

  Epilogue

  The first Wednesday after Pentecost, 3 ides July (June 11), 1147; The first feast of Saint Barnabas, Apostle, and the beginning of the fair at Lendit, north of Paris.

  Illo anno in quarta feria Pentecostes edictum accidit; sic regi celebria cuncta succedunt. Dum igitur a beato Dionysio vexillum et abeundi licentiam petiit … visus ab omnibus planctum maximum extavit et intimi affectus omnium benedictionem accepit.

  That year the fair took place on the Wednesday after Pentecost. So great numbers came there, lingering to see the king. At that time he asked for the oriflamme banner from Saint Denis and also permission to leave. In the sight of all he caused great sorrow and accepted the blessing of everyone and their deep affection.

  —Odo of Deuil

  de Profectione Ludovico VII in Orientum

  Book I

  Giselbert sucked on a piece of honeycomb he had just bought.

  “So they’re finally going,” he said.

  “Don’t believe it until you see the dust from their horses settling on the road east,” Edgar suggested.

  “I won’t believe it until I hear they’ve retaken Edessa.” Giselbert winced as the honey stuck to a rotten tooth. “At least it’s good for trade at the moment. Maybe we can make enough to pay those damn pilgrimage tithes. A king who can’t afford to raise his own army should stay home.”

  Edgar laughed and went on to find Solomon.

  “It’s hard to get people interested in buying wool in this weather.” Solomon mopped his face with a cloth. “Even though they know the price could triple by autumn.”

  “Don’t worry,” Edgar said. “We only deal in the stuff as a favor to my brother, Robert. I’ve found someone interested in precious stones and gold wire.”

  “That sounds much more interesting. Who is it?”

  “Adelbero, the bishop of Trier,” Edgar said.

  “What? He wouldn’t so much as see us when we were there,” Solomon said. “How did you do it?”

  “The way you taught me,” Edgar said. “I had a mutual friend introduce us.”

  “Edgar!” Solomon stepped back in admiration. “Don’t tell me you got the pope to help?”

  “You told me that there was no shame in having friends who were well connected.” Edgar laughed.

  “Even Hubert would have paused before asking the pope. Well done!” Solomon wiped his face again. “This must be the hottest day so far this year. I wish we’d brought our own beer. There’s a line all around the beer tent and out to the road.”

  “Catherine has a jug of something in the food we packed.” Edgar looked around for her. “I don’t know how cool it still is.”

  “You didn’t let her take it with her, did you?” Solomon complained. “You know she’s gone to see the king receive the oriflamme and find out what the queen is wearing. I heard that women are fainting from the heat in that crowd.”

  “Don’t worry,” Edgar said. “She left the jug at our tent, with Martin to guard it. Margaret and the children are probably back there by now, as well.”

  They wove their way through the throng to the si
te they had taken for the duration of the fair. The monks of Saint Denis rented these as well as wooden booths for the various vendors.

  “One thing I’m grateful for, on a day like this,” Solomon commented, “is that since we couldn’t get Jehan hanged, at least he is spending this weather in chains. It’s a good beginning for his penance.”

  “Lord Henry swore that they wouldn’t be removed until the gates of Constantinople,” Edgar said with satisfaction.

  In spite of the heat Solomon shivered. “I won’t have a completely peaceful night until I hear Jehan’s been buried and, even then, I want to see the stone holding him down.”

  “For now, I’m not going to think about him,” Edgar said. “Now, look more cheerful. You don’t want to frighten the children.”

  He held open the tent flap for them to enter.

  To their surprise, everyone was there, including Lambert and Clemence.

  “I thought you had already set out for home,” Edgar told them. “Is Lord Osto here, too.”

  “Didn’t he come to see you before he left?” Lambert asked.

  “No,” Edgar said. “And I thought he wanted us to sell his destrier for him.”

  Clemence smiled sadly. “He won’t be needing you to do that, either. Father had a long talk with Commander Evrard, or I should say Master Evrard.”

  “He’s now the leader of all the Knights of the Temple in the world,” Lambert added. “And we met him. Imagine!”

  “Anyway, Father decided to fulfill Bertulf’s vow, for his soul and that of my mother,” Clemence continued. “He wanted to remain a sergeant, but he was talked out of that as well.”

  “We’ll go back to Picardy and do our best to convince Lord Jordan to let us maintain Clemence’s fief,” Lambert said. “But if not, she’ll renounce it and endure the shame of being a rich miller’s wife.”

  Clemence didn’t appear too alarmed by the possibility. She was thinking more of her father.

  “I know it’s strange to say after all we’ve been through because of it,” she told them, “but I’m glad that one day I can tell my children that their grandfather wears the white cloak.”