Read Online Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sharan Newman
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couldn’t be worse than the palpable anger of the tenants of Saint Cuthbert, cut off from the shrine of their lord.
From the far side of the bridge, Urric glanced back at the lowering men. The look on their faces was enough to send him hurrying up the steep path to the castle. He wanted thick walls and hard
steel between himself and their fury. How had Cumin survived for so long with such opposition?
Catherine wasn’t concerned with the politics of the English. All she wanted was for the ground to stand still. She didn’t understand it. She had spent hours gazing hungrily at the coast as the boat searched for a safe place for them to come ashore and now that they had, the land seemed to be as untrustworthy as the waves had been.
“What’s wrong with it?” she moaned. “Does your island roll like the sea?”
“The feeling will pass,” Edgar assured her. “Sit down and close your eyes.”
“Not until we’re in a warm, dry, still place,” she answered.
They had landed at the town of Berwick, not far from Wedderlie. Edgar was surprised at how the place had grown in the past few years. Trade must be improving. The boat had sailed up the Tweed to the docks of the town, newly enlarged. The tollhouse at the dock had also been enlarged, whitewashed, and it was well staffed, to the captain’s despair.
“That’s another reason I didn’t want to stop in here,” he muttered. “Tolls are much too high. And the place is full of monks. I have to trade with them or no one.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Solomon asked. He had spent the last ten years working for the abbey of Saint-Denis. He was used to monks.
The captain grimaced. “They pay with the thinnest coins I’ve ever seen. They can drive a bargain tight as a wedge and I can feel them wedging it in me already.”
He sighed and scratched at a flea in his crotch. Solomon shrugged.
“You can set off back down to Wearmouth, if you wish,” he told the captain. “Cloth won’t spoil.”
Having thoroughly irritated the flea, the captain turned his attention back to Solomon.
“I could,” he said glumly. “But I need money now for repairs. I’ll have to sell what I can here and hope that my supplier will take coin for his skins, instead of cloth. At least,” he added, brightening, “I might get King David’s silver instead of the half-weight coins Stephen is minting.”
They were interrupted by Leonel, the clerk who had traveled
with them, weak from hunger and fear. “Captain,” he said, mustering up all his strength in an effort to assert his rights. “I paid you to take me to Wearmouth, not Scotland. How am I supposed to get home?”
The captain stared at him.
“You should thank the saints you’re still alive, on any shore,” he answered. “I’ll take you back down the coast with me, no extra charge, or you can see if the monks will give you shelter and then walk home.”
“But I need to be at York in a week!” Leonel protested.
The passenger’s complaint didn’t really interest Solomon, to whom the story was an old one. All travelers and traders faced these problems and it was how one solved them that made the difference between wealth and poverty. He left the two of them to come to their own solution and returned to the rest of their party.
“Catherine?” He squatted next to where she was sitting. “Are you better now?”
She opened one eye and then, cautiously, the other one. She took a deep breath and then stood.
“Yes,” she said at last. “Now what do we do?”
Edgar looked at his brother.
“The abbey of Kelso has a hostel on Waldesgate,” Robert told them. “We can stay the night there. I’ll arrange for horses and guards for the journey to Wedderlie.”
“Is it far?” Catherine asked when Edgar had translated.
“A few more miles up the river is all,” Edgar said. “We’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.”
Catherine nodded and began to gather up their belongings. A hostel sounded fine. She
From the far side of the bridge, Urric glanced back at the lowering men. The look on their faces was enough to send him hurrying up the steep path to the castle. He wanted thick walls and hard
steel between himself and their fury. How had Cumin survived for so long with such opposition?
Catherine wasn’t concerned with the politics of the English. All she wanted was for the ground to stand still. She didn’t understand it. She had spent hours gazing hungrily at the coast as the boat searched for a safe place for them to come ashore and now that they had, the land seemed to be as untrustworthy as the waves had been.
“What’s wrong with it?” she moaned. “Does your island roll like the sea?”
“The feeling will pass,” Edgar assured her. “Sit down and close your eyes.”
“Not until we’re in a warm, dry, still place,” she answered.
They had landed at the town of Berwick, not far from Wedderlie. Edgar was surprised at how the place had grown in the past few years. Trade must be improving. The boat had sailed up the Tweed to the docks of the town, newly enlarged. The tollhouse at the dock had also been enlarged, whitewashed, and it was well staffed, to the captain’s despair.
“That’s another reason I didn’t want to stop in here,” he muttered. “Tolls are much too high. And the place is full of monks. I have to trade with them or no one.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Solomon asked. He had spent the last ten years working for the abbey of Saint-Denis. He was used to monks.
The captain grimaced. “They pay with the thinnest coins I’ve ever seen. They can drive a bargain tight as a wedge and I can feel them wedging it in me already.”
He sighed and scratched at a flea in his crotch. Solomon shrugged.
“You can set off back down to Wearmouth, if you wish,” he told the captain. “Cloth won’t spoil.”
Having thoroughly irritated the flea, the captain turned his attention back to Solomon.
“I could,” he said glumly. “But I need money now for repairs. I’ll have to sell what I can here and hope that my supplier will take coin for his skins, instead of cloth. At least,” he added, brightening, “I might get King David’s silver instead of the half-weight coins Stephen is minting.”
They were interrupted by Leonel, the clerk who had traveled
with them, weak from hunger and fear. “Captain,” he said, mustering up all his strength in an effort to assert his rights. “I paid you to take me to Wearmouth, not Scotland. How am I supposed to get home?”
The captain stared at him.
“You should thank the saints you’re still alive, on any shore,” he answered. “I’ll take you back down the coast with me, no extra charge, or you can see if the monks will give you shelter and then walk home.”
“But I need to be at York in a week!” Leonel protested.
The passenger’s complaint didn’t really interest Solomon, to whom the story was an old one. All travelers and traders faced these problems and it was how one solved them that made the difference between wealth and poverty. He left the two of them to come to their own solution and returned to the rest of their party.
“Catherine?” He squatted next to where she was sitting. “Are you better now?”
She opened one eye and then, cautiously, the other one. She took a deep breath and then stood.
“Yes,” she said at last. “Now what do we do?”
Edgar looked at his brother.
“The abbey of Kelso has a hostel on Waldesgate,” Robert told them. “We can stay the night there. I’ll arrange for horses and guards for the journey to Wedderlie.”
“Is it far?” Catherine asked when Edgar had translated.
“A few more miles up the river is all,” Edgar said. “We’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.”
Catherine nodded and began to gather up their belongings. A hostel sounded fine. She
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