Read Online Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sharan Newman
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rric hadn’t really minded being ordered to go to Durham and roust out Waldeve’s third son, although he grumbled about it loudly in the kitchens. The knight had long had a secret admiration for Duncan. It amazed Urric that anyone could be so absolutely certain of himself. Of course, Duncan had no sympathy for the weak or vacillating. His temper had been hardened by the fire of Waldeve’s outbursts and then cooled to icy stillness. The man was nerveless. Urric had seen Duncan slice men in two in battle without seeming to notice their screams. He was as oblivious and uncaring as Death himself.
And yet, Urric trusted him. Duncan might be cruel but never without purpose. In this he was unlike his father, who seemed to thrive on making all those around him miserable. Waldeve hurt people for his own amusement and one never knew when he might be in need of diversion. If Duncan tortured a man, that man would know why long before the rope was tightened around his head.
Urric felt that the change in lordship might not be so terrifying as others feared.
That didn’t mean that he had set off with eagerness. Durham wasn’t a place anyone went to willingly these days. The county was a civil war inside the greater one being fought by King Stephen and his cousin, Matilda. Three years before, when Bishop Geoffrey of Durham had died, his acolyte, William Cumin, had convinced some of the monks to conceal the death until he could arrive from Scotland and claim the bishopric for himself. With the support of King David, whose chancellor he had been, Cumin managed to take over the bishop’s castle and receive the homage of most of the barons of the county. But the majority of the monks of the cathedral refused to accept him as bishop and a bizarre struggle had begun, with the monks barricaded in the church and cloister, surrounded by
Cumin’s men and yet protected by the patronage and the relics of Saint Cuthbert, who was the true lord of Durham in the eyes of the people.
Duncan had been Cumin’s friend at King David’s court and had joined him at once, hoping for the reward of land confiscated either from a recalcitrant lord or from the patrimony of Saint Cuthbert himself. Duncan’s respect for the Church ended at property lines.
The past three years had not brought Cumin the recognition he demanded. King David had long ago withdrawn his support for the usurper. The papal legate had excommunicated him and there was a rumor that some of the monks had managed to escape the cloister and arrive in York, where a new bishop was to be canonically elected. But Duncan remained loyal to William Cumin.
That puzzled Urric. Did Duncan really believe that there would still be a reward for supporting the false bishop? What could be great enough to risk dying in battle while excommunicate? Urric couldn’t imagine anything in particular but would be interested in discovering what was worth damnation and, if possible, getting a share of it.
Now he and his fellow messenger, Swein, stood at the barricade at Framwellgate Bridge. Above them on the right rose the escarpment that jutted into the middle of the river Wear. That was impressive enough. But what took their breath away was the sight at the top where the cathedral of Saint Cuthbert stood, solid as fate and, next to it, made of the same massive stone blocks, the bishop’s castle, with guards staring down from every merlon.
As he was about to present himself to the watchmen, Urric felt a prickling on the back of his neck and turned away from the sight of the impregnable fortress.
Behind them in the road was a row of men, peasants and tradesmen by their dress. They carried no weapons but gazed at the knight and the serjeant with a hatred that pierced Urric’s mailcoat and left him cold and frightened. Even knowing that Swein stood next to him, huge and Danish, was not enough assurance. Urric showed his pass to the guards and crossed the bridge. Whatever awaited him inside the usurper’s lair
And yet, Urric trusted him. Duncan might be cruel but never without purpose. In this he was unlike his father, who seemed to thrive on making all those around him miserable. Waldeve hurt people for his own amusement and one never knew when he might be in need of diversion. If Duncan tortured a man, that man would know why long before the rope was tightened around his head.
Urric felt that the change in lordship might not be so terrifying as others feared.
That didn’t mean that he had set off with eagerness. Durham wasn’t a place anyone went to willingly these days. The county was a civil war inside the greater one being fought by King Stephen and his cousin, Matilda. Three years before, when Bishop Geoffrey of Durham had died, his acolyte, William Cumin, had convinced some of the monks to conceal the death until he could arrive from Scotland and claim the bishopric for himself. With the support of King David, whose chancellor he had been, Cumin managed to take over the bishop’s castle and receive the homage of most of the barons of the county. But the majority of the monks of the cathedral refused to accept him as bishop and a bizarre struggle had begun, with the monks barricaded in the church and cloister, surrounded by
Cumin’s men and yet protected by the patronage and the relics of Saint Cuthbert, who was the true lord of Durham in the eyes of the people.
Duncan had been Cumin’s friend at King David’s court and had joined him at once, hoping for the reward of land confiscated either from a recalcitrant lord or from the patrimony of Saint Cuthbert himself. Duncan’s respect for the Church ended at property lines.
The past three years had not brought Cumin the recognition he demanded. King David had long ago withdrawn his support for the usurper. The papal legate had excommunicated him and there was a rumor that some of the monks had managed to escape the cloister and arrive in York, where a new bishop was to be canonically elected. But Duncan remained loyal to William Cumin.
That puzzled Urric. Did Duncan really believe that there would still be a reward for supporting the false bishop? What could be great enough to risk dying in battle while excommunicate? Urric couldn’t imagine anything in particular but would be interested in discovering what was worth damnation and, if possible, getting a share of it.
Now he and his fellow messenger, Swein, stood at the barricade at Framwellgate Bridge. Above them on the right rose the escarpment that jutted into the middle of the river Wear. That was impressive enough. But what took their breath away was the sight at the top where the cathedral of Saint Cuthbert stood, solid as fate and, next to it, made of the same massive stone blocks, the bishop’s castle, with guards staring down from every merlon.
As he was about to present himself to the watchmen, Urric felt a prickling on the back of his neck and turned away from the sight of the impregnable fortress.
Behind them in the road was a row of men, peasants and tradesmen by their dress. They carried no weapons but gazed at the knight and the serjeant with a hatred that pierced Urric’s mailcoat and left him cold and frightened. Even knowing that Swein stood next to him, huge and Danish, was not enough assurance. Urric showed his pass to the guards and crossed the bridge. Whatever awaited him inside the usurper’s lair
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