The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (27 page)

“Catherine, you were taught better than that,” Margaret chided. “No speculating. Now the knife.”

“We know it appears old,” Catherine considered. It had been some time since she’d had to think in logical steps. It was a useless skill when dealing with the minds of children.

“We also know that it was recently sharpened,” Margaret added. “That would mean it was taken at least a few days ago, but maybe months or even years.”

“Very good!” Catherine said. “I hadn’t got that far.”

“And there is carving on it, in what we are fairly certain is Latin,” Margaret continued. “Along with letters in a language we can’t read. Anything else?”

“When it was found, Mother was holding it and it was covered in blood.” Catherine spoke evenly. “We only assume that it was used to kill Raimbaut.”

“Good,” Margaret said. “Not proven, but I would say it’s a valid assumption.”

“And the body?” Catherine asked.

Margaret absently rubbed the figure until it was no more than a smudge on the floor.

“That’s the real puzzle,” she said. “Although perhaps if we knew more about the other two, everything would be clear. All we can say is that he was the elder son of Seguin and that he’s dead, stabbed through the heart with a knife.”

“From the front,” Catherine added. “It doesn’t make sense. Why was he in the chapel instead of the hall with the rest of us? Why didn’t he try to defend himself?”

“The last point is what worries me,” Margaret said. “People are saying that he wouldn’t have feared your mother, so she could get close to him without his sensing danger.”

“But if she came at him with a knife, he could have disarmed her easily,” Catherine said. “Whatever people say, I don’t believe she did it. Logically.”

“I agree,” Margaret said. “Logically.”

They both sighed.

“Now what?” Catherine asked.

“I don’t know,” Margaret said. Her glance strayed to the corner where the
jongleurs
had left the chest with their instruments. She gazed at it for so long that Catherine waved a hand in front of her face.

“Margaret?” she asked. “Are you having a vision?”

“No.” Margaret stood up suddenly. “But I may have just had a revelation. Where do the players keep themselves in the daytime?”

Martin was enthralled by the dank tunnels.

“I was only jesting about the monsters,” he told Edgar, “but now I’m not so sure.”

“Want to turn back?” Edgar teased.

“Of course not.” Martin jangled the leather bag around his neck. “With all the charms and bits of martyrs’ bones my mother gave me, the Devil himself would turn and run.”

Brehier was in the lead, but turned around every few moments to watch the other two.

“Your mother,” he started. “Is she the woman I’ve seen with Lady Catherine?”

“More likely the one you’ve seen chasing my children,” Edgar answered. “They lead Samonie a hard life.”

Martin smiled. “You know she loves it. Especially since my sister died. She told me they soothe the hurt in her heart.”

“Really?” Edger was genuinely surprised. “Irritating and disobedient as they are, I feel the same. It’s good to know they don’t torment her too much.”

They walked in silence for a few moments; then Edgar and Martin began discussing the recent journey and making plans for what they should offer for sale at the Lendit fair that fall. Brehier listened with interest.

“It’s a bit further yet,” he interrupted them. “Aymon loved the remote caves. You were just in Italy?”

“Lombardy,” Edgar answered. “We met some Genoans there and traded for African spices and stones, among other things.”

“And Martin is learning this trade?” Brehier asked. “Not just tending animals and running your errands?”

“Well,” Edgar laughed. “That is a large part of apprenticeship, but he’s been present at the negotiations. I hope he’s kept his ears open.”

“Of course, Master,” Martin assured him. “Watching you and Master Solomon at work is as good as a troop of jugglers, acrobats, and dancing bears!”

Edgar cuffed him lightly. “Show more respect, young man, or we’ll send you in to explain to Abbot Suger why his incense is twice the cost of last year’s.”

Brehier listened to them in wistful amazement, all the while keeping his back to them as he led the way through the underground passages.

“Not far now,” he told the other two. “It appears that you’re doing well, Martin. Your father must be proud of you.”

“I don’t think so,” Martin said. “I doubt he knows my name. I certainly don’t know his.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Brehier said.

“Thank you, my lord,” Martin said. “But you needn’t worry. It used to bother me, when the children in Troyes would mock me for it. But now it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my own life.”

“Yes,” Brehier whispered. “So you have.”

They had finally reached the part of the labyrinth where Brehier thought they might find Aymon.

“It was somewhere down this way.” He indicated a moss-lined passage. “There are only a few other branches to this tunnel. I know that at the end of one of them there’s a cave. It even had a sort of basin where water collected. Aymon loved it. He brought down skins to sleep on and baskets of sausage and cheese.”

“And a friend from time to time?” Edgar suggested.

“Probably,” Brehier said. “For such a big place, there’s remarkably little privacy in the keep.”

“That’s always the case,” Edgar agreed, wondering why the subject seemed to embarrass the man.

“I think one of us should stay in the main passage and the other two explore the side paths,” Brehier suggested. “Perhaps Martin and I can go. If we find anything, Martin can come back for you. If we don’t return in the time of ten
Nostre Pères
, then you should go back for help. Is that agreeable to you?”

Edgar nodded. He hated being the one left back, but had to admit that Martin and his cudgel would be of more use if there were something at the end of the tunnel waiting to attack.

Brehier went first. As he was about to follow, Edgar drew Martin aside.

“Watch yourself,” he warned. “Brehier seems an honest man, but with all that’s happened here, it’s better to be on guard.”

“Don’t worry, Master,” Martin said. “I’ve learned a number of tricks from Master Solomon. He always expects trouble.”

As he waited and recited Virgil in his head to count the time, Edgar reflected that Martin would be fine.

They weren’t gone long.

“Nothing,” Brehier said. “A short passage ending in a rock wall. There’s another just a few steps up.”

They went through the same procedure at the next opening. Edgar was reaching the end of his memory of Aeneas’ journey when he heard a call echoing from the darkness.

“Coming!” he called back and hurried down the tunnel.

He found Brehier and Martin standing in the cave Brehier had described. A lantern stood on a rock and next to it was a pile of wolf skins and a linen bed cloth. On the floor was a basket. Edgar peered into it. There were bits of cheese stuck to the bottom.

“Someone’s been here recently,” he said. “Do you think he heard us coming and ran?”

“No,” Brehier said. “There’s only one way out.”

“So he must have come here right after we found Raimbaut’s body,” Edgar said. “Ate and slept perhaps and then left, but where to?”

“He may be planning to return,” Brehier suggested. “Maybe he went to find more food.”

“Maybe,” Edgar said. “Brehier, there are any number of ways down here from inside the keep. Is there also a way out?”

“You mean into the village?” Brehier asked. “Not that I know of, and Guillaume and I hunted long enough. A way past the guards after Compline would have been all the treasure we could have asked for back then.”

“But could there be?” Edgar persisted.

“I suppose,” Brehier admitted. “We never found the end of some of these tunnels. But, as far as I know, no one’s ever found one.”

“Master?” Martin said quietly.

“Yes?” Edgar turned to him.

“When we first met Lord Aymon, he was out hunting near here,” Martin began. “We took the road, and he said he would go back through the woods.”

“I remember,” Edgar said.

“Well,” Martin went on slowly. “I thought that he would ride on some forest path.”

“Of course,” Brehier said. “And so he did. I saw him in the hall shortly before you arrived.”

“Forgive me, my lord.” Martin hunched as he spoke to diminish his effrontery. “Did you see him ride in? Because I noted his horse and, when I went to the stables, it wasn’t there.”

“What?” Brehier said. “Are you certain?”

“Is there another place he might have left it?” Edgar asked. “In the village?”

“No.” Brehier shook his head. “And no reason for him to.”

“That’s very interesting, Martin.” Edgar looked at him with

approval. “I wonder where the tunnel comes out. It must be close to the forest.”

Brehier was trying to comprehend this. When he realized what they were saying, his reaction was strong.

“That bastard found it!” he exclaimed. “The road to freedom! And didn’t share it with anyone! Guillaume will be furious.”

“But now that we know it exists, we can, too,” Edgar said. “Instead of traipsing around in the dark, we should go to the place where we first met Aymon. All we need to find is where he keeps the horse. The entrance to the tunnel must be near it.”

Solomon was overjoyed to see the towers of Boisvert in the distance. His passenger was testing the limits of his patience.

“Do you want me to take you to the castle to find your niece?” he asked.

“And have everyone in the town see me come in with you?” She poked his ribs. “A woman alone has to consider her reputation. No, leave me outside the town. I’ll make my own way in.”

“Whatever you wish,” Solomon said gratefully.

There were only two places to look for entertainers in the daytime. They weren’t in their beds, and so Catherine and Margaret went down to the village. They found them sitting on a bench outside the tavern, well into their second pitcher of beer.

“
Dex vos saut
, beautiful ladies!” The leader tried to rise and bow but was hampered by the bowl of porridge on his lap. “How may we serve you?”

“We’d like to know more about the
chanson
of Boisvert,” Catherine said. “Margaret, would you get these fine men another pitcher?”

“With pleasure.” Margaret vanished into the tavern.

Now the leader managed to stand. “Please, my lady.” He gestured dramatically toward the bench. “Join us and we shall give you a private recitation.”

Catherine took the offered seat, even though it was unidentifiably sticky.

“You needn’t trouble yourselves to that extent,” she told them. “I understand it takes several nights to tell the whole tale. I only want to ask you about part of it.”

“Give us beer and a little bread, my lady, and we are yours for as long as you like,” the leader told her. The other two men nodded agreement. “I am Alceste, and my comrades are Evander and Julus.”

“You all must have had very educated mothers,” Catherine commented.

“Indeed.” Alceste gave an ironic smile.

Margaret returned with the pitcher and filled their bowls.

“We are at your service, my ladies,” Alceste prompted.

Catherine looked to Margaret. This had been her idea.

“We don’t know the legend of Boisvert,” she began. “We’d like to know what it says about the treasure that Andonenn is guarding.”

Alceste leaned back and closed his eyes. He stayed that way so long that Margaret thought he had gone to sleep. Evander noticed her confusion.

“He has to go through the
laisses
in his head,” the
jongleur
explained. “You can’t just jump into the middle.”

All at once, Alceste came to life.

Louis the king was pious and brave

His people he wished for Christ to save

Nevermore that they be pagan lore’s slave

But Richard had vowed by the old king’s grave

To honor the final command he gave

And so by night he crept to the nave

Of Charles’ chapel, with only a stave

The treasure to rescue and hide in a cave

Though Queen Judith in anger might rave

There to guard it beneath the wave.

As he spoke, Evander automatically mimed the action of Richard creeping into the deserted chapel and taking something from a shelf. Then Julus became the angry queen, shaking her fist as Richard retreated with his prize.

“Does that help, my lady?” Alceste opened his eyes.

“There’s nothing more that says what the treasure was?” Margaret asked without much hope.

“No, only that it was something Louis thought smacked of pagan superstition,” Alceste answered. “And it can’t have been very big. The next
laisse
says that he put it in a bag and carried it on his horse.”

“Is it the same as the box that was opened last night?” Catherine asked.

“Oh, no.” Alceste leaned forward, looking into his beer as if it could read the future. “That’s very clear. The box contains the key to the treasure.”

“Like a map?” Margaret wondered if the writing on the knife might be a code of some sort.

Alceste closed his eyes again. They all waited.

Open the lock in your darkest hour
Children of Andonenn needn’t cower
To save her you shall have the power
Follow the guide left in the tower
It will lead you to Andonenn’s bower
Fear neither storm nor shower
Insert the key into the flower
Find the treasure and win the dower.

Alceste opened his eyes and smiled at them. “Does that help?”

“I don’t remember that part,” Julus said.

“I don’t either,” Evander agreed. “The lines are too short to act properly.”

“It’s at the very end,” Alceste told them. “We hardly ever get that far.”

Catherine wished she had a writing tablet. These were the clearest instructions she’d ever heard in a poem. Of course, now they had to find a guide in a tower. And it did seem to ruin her theory about the knife having been in the box. There must be a real key somewhere. Did the person who stole it already have the guide?