The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (13 page)

“That’s as may be,” Agnes said. “I only know the prophecy. The time has come and we must carry out our obligation.” She stood. “If you’ve nothing else to discuss, I shall return to my rooms. I must let Hermann know what to expect when we arrive.”

After she had gone, Catherine turned to Edgar.

“Do you think it’s going to happen to me, too?” she asked. “Mother is mad; her brother was possessed and now Agnes thinks she can deliver Boisvert from an army.”

The two men ignored her.

“How much do you credit these rumors?” Edgar asked.

Solomon thought a bit. “I had much of it from my friend Menachem. He does a lot of trading in Anjou. He said this tale of Lord Olivier’s is being repeated as far as Tours. But even the Jewish scholars of Blois are uneasy. They talk of signs in the heavens or the numbers of our names all foretelling danger. Mostly I think everyone feels that there have been too many years of bad crops and too much uncertainty about who is lord of the land.”

“Is all this likely to erupt soon?” Edgar pressed. “How great do you gauge the risk?”

“I saw no signs of a muster,” Solomon said. “It’s almost har
vest. Not many men will leave the fields even if ordered to. It makes more sense to put off an attack until spring, when stores are low and you can keep your enemy from getting out to plant.”

“That’s the way they do it normally,” Edgar agreed. “But there’s nothing about this situation that’s even close to normal.”

“Edgar.” Catherine had stopped musing on her own sanity. “We’re only two days away from Boisvert. We’ve come this far. If I don’t get some answers, you’ll soon have to get a muzzle for when I start frothing at the mouth.”

“You might as well continue,” Solomon agreed. He stood and stretched. “I’m going to find a tavern where they actually have beer. No one’s been out to serve us since I arrived.”

“Aren’t you coming with us to Boisvert?” Catherine asked in alarm.

“Not this time,” Solomon told her. “For once, little Agnes is in the right. I don’t belong in your adventure. Menachem needs me to help transport some wine to Saint Martin’s. I’ll keep my ears open and send word if I get wind of an army coming your way. At Boisvert, I would only be an intruder. However, I will escort you as far as the fork in the road. You go north to Boisvert and I’ll return south to Blois.”

Catherine wanted to argue, but she knew he was right.

She looked around. They had reached the hottest part of the day. It was odd that there was no one else in the road or the sheep pasture across from the tavern. Was everyone resting until the sun descended and the breeze blew up from the river? She had the sudden sensation that the three of them were the only ones left in the world.

“I have to go check on the children,” she said abruptly, pushing herself to her feet.

When she had gone, Solomon and Edgar exchanged glances.

“The next market you go to,” Edgar said. “See if you can find me a stout leather muzzle, just in case.”

Agnes was still seething by the time she reached the guesthouse. First she checked to see that the wet nurse was attending to her son. The woman, who spoke no French and could be trusted not to run off, was dozing by the cradle, one foot rocking automatically. Satisfied, Agnes went to pour out her grief to her husband.

“Catherine is just being stubborn,” she complained. “She feels the force pulling us home as much as I do. Why won’t she admit it?”

She was pacing around the room in agitation. Hermann took her arm and gently guided her to a chair. Then he gave her a cup of wine and waited until she had sipped enough for her breath to come more slowly.

“Now,” he smiled. “You mustn’t let her upset you so,
min trût
. Your sister was never one to accept anything as destined to be. At least not without a struggle. She is cursed with the ability only to see things exactly as they are. And if she doesn’t understand what she sees, then she must find the truth behind it. You should be glad of that,
liebling
. Otherwise you might still be suspected of the murder of my brother.”

“I know,” Agnes sighed. “But sometimes I feel that she didn’t come to Trier so much to save me then as to work out a particularly interesting conundrum.”

Hermann laughed. “You know better than that! She could have solved any number of puzzles much closer to home. For all your differences, she cares about you. And you are fond of her, too.”

“Perhaps,” Agnes conceded. “But my fondness is hidden at the bottom of all the things she does to annoy me. The best I can do is pray for the safety of her soul. I long ago gave up on changing her in this life.”

“That is my wise wife.” Hermann kissed the top of her head. “And it’s possible that we will be grateful soon for your sister’s irritating traits.”

Agnes looked up.

“Are you worried about this?’ she asked.

“I find everything about it most unsettling,” he admitted.

“But why didn’t you forbid us to come, then?”

“Because I know you.” Hermann smiled again. “My sensible Agnes does not insist on a long and difficult journey with little Gottfried, unless the necessity is urgent. A prophecy, a curse, or only the duty one owes to one’s family, it doesn’t matter why. You needed to come and so, I must bring you.”

Agnes felt her eyes filling. Heaven had been so generous in giving her this man. It was too much to ask that God reform Catherine, too. She resolved to endure her older sister. After all, it would only be for a few weeks. They would be back in Trier by the feast of All Saints, leaving Catherine and her family in Paris to exasperate someone else.

Guillaume didn’t relish facing Abbot Suger, his overlord and also currently regent of France. The abbot was a tiny man, acutely aware of his lack of stature. He had risen from a humble family to this exalted position through determination, perseverance, and unwavering loyalty to the kings of France. He was also a good master, demanding only what was his by right.

This was why Guillaume dreaded asking him for permission to leave Vielleteneuse, even if only for a few weeks.

“I’ve hired men to do the rebuilding of the keep,” he told the abbot. “My bailiff will oversee the work. They hope to have it ready for us to move back in by Saint Nicholas’s Day.”

Suger listened sympathetically, now and then nibbling on the bowl of honeyed walnuts on the table beside his chair.

“A dreadful accident, this fire,” he murmured. “We can only thank the saints that no one was killed and the village was spared.”

“It was a miracle,” Guillaume said sincerely. “Saint Denis was watching out for us. The people of the village will be sending a gift of thanks soon.”

Suger beamed in delight. “We shall be delighted to receive it in his name.”

Having thus oiled the wheels, Guillaume proceeded to his request.

He had expected Abbot Suger to refuse him and was surprised at the sinking in his gut when Suger agreed at once.

“I’ll send some men to keep watch on the road,” Suger said. “You can return from time to time to be sure the rebuilding is being done properly. Why should your household have to make do in temporary quarters?”

“Thank you.” Guillaume’s face showed his astonishment.

Suger offered him some nuts.

“You have been a good and loyal vassal,” he told Guillaume. “I would think less of you if you refused a summons from the head of your family. Of course, I would have been disappointed if you had not sought my permission first.”

“You are my liege lord,” Guillaume said faintly. “My people and I are ever at your service.”

“In the service of Saint Denis,” Suger corrected. “How wise that the people of Vielleteneuse place all their faith in him.”

Guillaume was nearly home before he realized the importance of the abbot’s last words.

Marie came to greet him in the bailey. Guillaume slid down from his palfrey.

“The abbot knows about the rite,” he told her. “You’d better have Conon tell the villagers that their donation of thanks to Saint Denis just doubled.”

“Don’t worry,” Marie said. “Father Anselm has been burdened with confessions all week. Even though their homes were spared, the bolt of lightning was an unambiguous sign to most of them. Of course, there are some who say that the keep was hit because one of our guests tried to catch a glimpse of a woman’s ritual.”

“Who?” Guillaume was alert at once. “I’ll have him whipped.”

“I don’t know,” Marie said. “From what I’ve heard, the women terrified him sufficiently. Never mind. Are we still going to Boisvert?”

Guillaume nodded, his eyes surveying the ruin that had been his home and his responsibility.

“The abbot believes in duty to one’s family.”

Marie sniffed. “The way he’s taken care of his own, I’d hope so!”

Guillaume ignored that. He was looking at the jagged burnt stalks of timber at the top of the tower.

“What’s that thing?” he asked.

Marie tilted her head back to see where he was pointing. Between the blackened crenels of stone, something seemed to be caught on a piece of wood. It fluttered in the wind but stayed fixed.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think it was there when you left.”

“Have someone climb up and get it,” Guillaume told her. “Hamelin!” he called to the soldier, who was coming up to take his horse. “Is it possible to get to the top of the tower?”

“It would be a tricky climb, but I think I could do it, my lord,” Hamelin replied.

“Have a try,” Guillaume ordered. “See if you can fetch that white thing waving around up there.”

“But don’t break your neck,” Marie added.

Hamelin grinned and vanished into the keep.

Guillaume and Marie watched the top for him to emerge. Osbert, seeing that his lord’s horse hadn’t been seen to, came over. He looked up, as well. Soon the yard was cluttered with people all staring at the tower and wondering why.

“There he is!” Marie cried. “Be careful!”

Hamelin, covered in soot, was edging along the remains of
the floor. He leaned over to reach the object and gave it a tug. It held fast. He tried moving closer and teetered wildly on a loose board.

Everyone held their breath as he rocked far above their heads. After an eternity, he managed to get his arm around a merlon and find a solid spot to stand. From there, he used both hands to free the strip of white. Waving it over his head in triumph, he disappeared again, to cheers from all. A few moments later, amidst a deafening crash and a cloud of black dust, he fell out of the doorway, coughing violently.

Osbert ran up the steps to catch him. Leaning on his friend, Hamelin proudly handed the prize to Guillaume.

“What is it?” Everyone tried to see.

“Some kind of embroidery.” Guillaume turned it over in his hands. “Is it yours?”

He gave it to Marie, who studied it a while. “Amazing!” she said. “You only got one tiny smudge on it. Excellent, Hamelin! Now go clean off and have some beer to clear your throat.”

Several others decided to join him, seeing that after all it was nothing but a bit of cloth.

“Now.” Marie sat on an empty keg and laid the cloth on her lap. “It wasn’t done here, that I know. It doesn’t look like church linen. These words aren’t Latin. I know what that looks like. And it doesn’t seem French, either.”

Guillaume was more interested in the picture running across the top.

“It’s a story, don’t you think?” he suggested. “See, the knight chasing the deer. It must have got away, so he’s gone to sleep under a tree. I wonder what it’s about.”

“The length seems to be complete.” Marie examined the edges. “It’s hemmed all around. That may be the whole tale.”

“Well, that’s boring.” Guillaume was unimpressed. “I’m sorry Hamelin had to be put in danger just for a dull bit of needlework.”

“Perhaps,” Marie said. “Don’t you wonder how it got up there?”

“The wind, of course,” Guillaume answered promptly.

“I don’t think so, my dear.” Marie folded up the cloth. “It seemed to me that Hamelin was untying it. And look, the only mark on it is from his fingers. It should be streaked with dirt.”

She bundled the strip into her sleeve and knotted it.

“I think we should take this to Catherine,” she decided. “She’ll know what it says.”

Guillaume sighed. “I suppose. All that schooling must eventually be of use.”

He started walking around the keep, inspecting the repairs. Marie followed.

“I don’t think you understand, my dear,” she said. “This might be important. It was purposely left at the very top of the tower, in a place nearly impossible to reach.”

“So?” Guillaume had more immediate concerns.

“So.” Marie tried to match his stride. “This embroidery must be another sign.”

Guillaume stopped. “Sign? Of what? And why? We’re doing what the old woman wanted, if Catherine heard her aright.”

Marie looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said. “But having us and the children in a strong, fortified, unburnt castle is becoming more appealing each moment.”

Guillaume’s face was grim. “I don’t need to hide,” he said. “But I’ve told the abbot we are going to Boisvert, and so we shall go.”

“Well, I’ve finished the packing, such as it is,” Marie answered. “We can leave in the morning.”