The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (14 page)

Despite her annoyance with Agnes, Catherine was forced to admit that traveling with her was not unpleasant. Agnes’s animosity did not extend to her niece and nephews. Edana especially pleased her and the little girl spent most of the day riding in the chair with her aunt and baby Gottfried, emerging only when the motion became too much for her stomach.

It was a relief to Catherine to turn her daughter over to someone else, for her son needed the attention of at least three people to keep him from harm. James wouldn’t stay anywhere for long. If he was riding with Edgar, he wanted Solomon. Then he had to get down and chase his dog, Dragon, along the path. The guards swore at them both as they ran in and out between the horses’ legs.

“James!” Edgar shouted. “If you don’t keep away from the horses, I’ll put you and Dragon on a lead behind the mules!”

This threat restrained James only until the party stopped for a rest.

Catherine swore that James had been kneeling by the stream to splash water on his hot face. She had only looked away for an instant. The next thing she knew, there was a loud cry from the woods accompanied by Dragon’s distinctive deep barking.

Her skirts caught on brambles as she ran toward the sound. She tripped on the undergrowth, landing in a tangle of thorns. Edgar passed her without stopping. He ripped the brush away with his good arm as he ran. Solomon followed right behind, his hunting knife drawn.

“James!” Catherine screamed as she tried to untangle herself from the grasping plants.

She heard Edgar’s shout as he spied James, then louder barks and, finally, the voices of men raised in anger. With a final tug that ripped her
bliaut
, Catherine freed herself and followed the noise.

She plunged abruptly into a small clearing shaded by an enormous oak that blocked the sunlight, creating a space now filled with people and dogs.

Dragon was planted at the base of the tree, howling at something in the branches. At a discrete distance, a much smaller dog circled, whining worriedly.

“Where is James?” Catherine panted.

“Here,” Edgar said.

He was holding the child tightly under his arm. Once Catherine caught her breath, Edgar handed him to her.

“He’s not hurt,” Edgar said sternly. “Don’t fuss over him.”

Once Catherine saw that James was in one piece and more excited than frightened, she had no intention of fussing. She was much more inclined to hunt for a good resilient birch branch to spank him with.

She set her son on the ground and held him firmly by the shoulders, kneeling to look into his unrepentant eyes.

“How many times have we told you to stay with us?” she scolded. “You could have been lost in the woods and kidnapped by outlaws!”

“Dragon was hunting,” James answered calmly. “I had to stay with him to see what he had caught. Look, Mama!”

Without loosening her grip, Catherine turned her attention to the man in the tree.

Edgar had finally managed to calm Dragon, but the other dog was still pawing at the trunk of the tree where his master was hanging.

“Drop your weapon and come down!” Solomon ordered him.

There was a pause, then a hunting bow clattered down, followed by a skinning knife in its sheath.

“That’s all I have,” the man called down. “I swear on the blood of the martyrs! Is that wolf tied up?”

“We have him,” Edgar called back. “You’re safe from attack.”

There was the sound of muttering as if the man doubted him. But soon the tree started rustling and a pair of boots appeared from between the branches. One glance at the quality of the leatherwork convinced Catherine that this was either a very successful thief or a nobleman.

The man who dropped from the tree bore out her impression. He was wearing silver brooches on his tunic, which was also well made, with an embroidered collar.

“Now,” he said as he dusted himself off. “Just what kind of
people are you to set a dog like that on a man hunting on his own land?”

Edgar gave James a stern stare and bowed to the man. “I apologize for the actions of my son and his pet. He shall be punished.”

The enthusiasm drained from James’s face, to be replaced by apprehension.

“Mama?” He tried to hide in her skirts. Edgar ignored him.

“What repayment can we give for your inconvenience?” he asked the man. “My name is Edgar of Paris. My partner, Solomon, and my wife, Catherine. The miscreant is my son James. He is, of course, abjectly sorry.”

From the depths of Catherine’s
bliaut
came a pitiful “Very sorry, my lord.”

The man couldn’t keep from smiling.

“A fine greeting to give your cousin, young man!” He gave James a tap on the head with his fingers. “I am Aymon, great-grandson of Gargenaud, lord of Boisvert, as you are, James. I cannot tell you how overjoyed we are that you have come. Are there others?”

“My sister, Agnes, and her family are with us,” Catherine told him, too astonished at the coincidence to give more than a simple answer. “My brother and his wife and children should arrive soon.”

Aymon closed his eyes and let out a long ragged sigh.

“Agnes came even from Germany!” He shook his head in wonder. “And Guillaume as well. I didn’t believe it could happen. Oh, blessed Mother, we may yet be saved!”

He didn’t give them time to question him.

“I have to fetch my horse, if your dog hasn’t run him off,” he told them. “I’ll go through the woods and tell them of your arrival. If you follow the road, you’ll be at Boisvert before sundown. Hurry and welcome, welcome to you all!”

Somewhere in the forest in the county of Blois. Tuesday 3 kalends September (August 30) 1149. Feast of Saint Felix, martyr, whose breath could knock over stone idols.

Toutes les genz le conoissoient
.

Tuit les conjoient et convoient

Aprés lui ot grant bruit de gent
.

All the people knew him.

And all welcome him and

Follow after him noisily.

—
Erec and Enide
, II. 787–789

T
he forest thinned as they came closer to Boisvert and the road widened enough for two horses to ride abreast. The party could now make better time. Overhead, the sunlight filtered through verdant branches that protected them from the heat, but the shade made Catherine uneasy. Too many things seemed to be coming out of trees lately, green women, new relatives. She glanced often at the overhanging foliage, half-expecting to see a pale face staring down at her.

Within a league or two, the woods grew even more sparse.
They passed by a hunter’s tower and soon came upon a swine-herd, his few pigs out on a search for early acorns. When asked how much farther it was to the castle, he smiled vacantly and pointed in the direction they were already going.

“Do you think he’s really stupid or just acting the way he thinks we expect him to?” Catherine asked Edgar.

“I think he didn’t want to be bothered,” Edgar said. “Or maybe he’s deaf. Or he might have thought we were the vanguard of an invading army and has sent us in the wrong direction.”

“You think it’s a silly thing for me to wonder about,” Catherine concluded.

Shortly thereafter the path rose gently in a long curve. When they reached the top, the woods ended, yielding to a stretch of fallow field, then long strips of grain, nearly ripe, interspersed with rows of grapes. These radiated out from a collection of houses built close to a high stone wall. Beyond the wall a village climbed the hill to a wooden palisade. And above that rose the castle of Boisvert.

Catherine had forgotten how massive it was. The fortress loomed above the village, blocking the afternoon sun. Its massive stones had been piled one upon another, not for beauty, but for protection.

Her ancestors had built the earliest keep in the days when the Northmen still ravaged the river valleys. Each generation had added to it until the castle spread across the top of the hill, three solid watchtowers joined by stone walls that enclosed an inner bailey. Below it was an outer bailey that was also ringed with stone. Outside that wall was a deep moat. The wooden wall that in Guillaume’s keep was the only defense, had been erected here merely to keep livestock, children, and drunks from falling into the water.

Edgar gave a long whistle of astonishment.

“One could wait out Armageddon in a place like that.”

Solomon rode up beside him. “Very impressive. I’ve no
doubt that when I return from Blois, you’ll all have succumbed to the life of a noble and be dining on venison every night, quaffing huge vats of wine and wearing nothing but fur and silk.”

Edgar laughed. “That’s what they did at home in Scotland and I couldn’t wait to leave. You’ll be back by Michaelmas?”

“Before, if possible. We need to leave here soon after that if we want to be at Saint-Denis for the Lendit fair,” Solomon answered. “And since what we sell there decides how well we survive the winter, I expect you to finish all this well before the end of September.”

“Easily,” Edgar promised him. “This summons was probably just an excuse for the old man to see how many of his descendants cared enough to come.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Solomon said with doubt. “That man in the tree didn’t really say he was Gargenaud’s
great
-grandson, did he?”

“It’s possible; Catherine thinks her grandfather must be over eighty,” Edgar replied.

Solomon shook himself. “This is all too strange for me, but be sure you make note of everything that happens. It will make a good story over the mulled ale this winter.”

He bade them farewell and set off, seemingly unworried about traveling alone.

Aymon must have announced their arrival to everyone for, as the family drew closer to the castle, dozens of people came rushing out to greet them. Even before they were near enough to make out what was being shouted, they could tell the crowd was cheering. Several women were waving bright ribbons, tied to broomsticks or hoes.

“Saint Martha’s miraculous stew!” Catherine exclaimed. “Why on earth are they so happy to see us? What do they think is going to happen?”

The gates opened wide for them and they entered the town.
As they started up the hill to the keep, the portcullis in the inner wall above them slowly lifted and a band of men emerged on horseback, fully armed. They crossed the drawbridge and stopped, motionless but for the flags carried by the squires that flapped back and forth in the wind.

The townspeople had cheered themselves hoarse and were now watching them hungrily as they passed through the village. All at once someone cried out.

“Look! Children! They have brought children!”

There was a collective intake of breath and then the cheering began again.

Catherine tightened her grip on Peter, slung sideways in front of her on the mule.

“What is this about?” she hissed at Edgar.

“How should I know,” he answered. “It’s your family. No, James! You may not get down. You’re being punished, remember?”

As the villagers came closer, all reaching out to touch him, James decided that the back of his father’s horse was a good place to be.

Hermann rode up along side them, easing his way through the people. He smiled in puzzlement.

“They are very friendly,” he said. “I can’t understand the words they say completely. They are happy to see children?”

“Apparently,” Edgar said. “You understand as much as we do.”

“Wait until Guillaume arrives with all his sons,” Catherine added. “They’ll be delirious with joy.”

Hermann smiled again, not catching all of her comment. “Agnes fears they will tip the chair. She does not want the guards to hurt them, but too close the people come. Can you help?”

Edgar raised himself in the stirrups to shout at the crowd. As he did, Catherine saw the man at the head of the knights hold up his hand, palm out. The crowd quickly backed away in respectful silence.

“This is like a bishop’s
adventus
!” she commented to Edgar. “All we need is trumpets.”

“You had to say that.” Edgar pointed at the squires, who now lifted their flagstaffs to their lips. The long horns gave one long blast that echoed across the plain below and set dogs to howling.

The knight who had given the command now rode toward them. The sunlight gleamed on his bald head. He had a closely trimmed white beard below a hawklike nose. Catherine opened her eyes wide in astonishment.

“Grandfather?” she said. She realized that she didn’t remember what he looked like.

The man snorted. “Hardly, I’m Seguin, the son of Gargenaud’s first son, Drogon. You must be my sister, Madeleine’s, daughter. Is it Catherine or Agnes?”

“C. . .Catherine,” she stammered. This old man was her first cousin? How many children did Gargenaud have? And when did he start having them?

“Agnes is in the sedan chair,” she added.

“I bid you welcome in our grandfather’s name,” Seguin told them. “We are pleased that you understood the urgency of our need. We expect your brother in three days’ time. He is the last.”

“The last?” Catherine didn’t like the sound of that.

“But you are weary from your journey.” Seguin raised his arm and the other horsemen came forward to serve as escort as they entered the bailey.