Read Online Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur) by Sharan Newman - Free Book Online
Authors: Sharan Newman
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brais for Edgar?”
“I should have known,” he laughed. “You aren’t hugging me, but the packages I’ve brought.”
Edgar came up behind her more slowly. Hubert nodded to him. “She’s looking well,” he told his son-in-law. “ Diex te saut .”
Edgar smiled. That was the most approval Hubert had ever given him, a tacit recognition that perhaps Catherine hadn’t made a mistake in marrying him.
Solomon’s greeting to Edgar was much more friendly. “Pilgrimage seems to agree with you,” he said. “With any luck, you won’t have to go all the way to Compostela to have your prayers answered.”
“Catherine and I do believe that we have to help the saint all we can,” Edgar grinned. “But I think we’ll finish the pilgrimage just the same.” His expression changed. “Perhaps then
the Lord will give to us without taking away so soon.” He looked out into a future too much desired to hope for.
Solomon waited a moment for Edgar to return. “So,” he said, “where have you found lodging? Uncle Eliazar and I have a room with some friends, but I think Hubert plans on staying with you. Is there space?”
“The hostel is packed to the rafters,” Edgar said, “but they always seem able to squeeze in another body.”
Solomon wrinkled his nose. “Sounds very cozy.”
Edgar was puzzled. “Are you coming with us on this journey?” he asked.
“For a while,” Solomon smiled. “My uncles have some business to transact, and I … well, you could say I’m on a pilgrimage, too. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Although the hostel, no more than a large barn with a loft partitioned for sleeping and an enormous hearth on the floor below, was full, somehow the new pilgrims were fit in. The jongleur and his wife expected no more than a small space of floor and were not disappointed. As the woman in the black cloak made her way across the room, people edged out of her way until she found a corner all to herself. Edgar had given a coin to the hostel keeper to save them a place in another corner, and they managed to make room for Hubert there as well.
“This will not do.” The voice was not loud, but authority carries better than volume. “Goswin, I understood that you had found me a room.”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” the guard told her. “The town is full. There wasn’t a room to be had, even with the nuns. We have made a bed for you in the loft and hung the curtains. Aymo and I will stand watch all night.”
There was a pause.
“Very well.” Griselle’s eyes flicked about the room, taking stock of the people there. From the corner near the fire, where the knights had settled, Rufus of Arcy leered at her and lifted his cup. She raised her eyebrows. He lowered the cup.
Catherine watched her, admiring the cut of her bliaut and
the rich color of the chainse underneath. Even though this woman was in mourning, presumably for her husband, she had not abandoned her standards in her grief.
Catherine’s hand found Edgar’s, warm and living. Sometimes she just needed to be sure.
After sundown, the only light in the building came from the glowing coals in the hearth. The huge room never became completely quiet, but after a time, the talking and laughter were replaced by snores and the rustling of bodies in the straw.
Catherine slept well.
It was the aubade before dawn when she awoke. There were spaces now between the clumps of people on the floor. Others were already up, attending to prayers or ablutions. She stretched and eased herself to her feet, trying not to disturb either Edgar or her father. She made her way to the hearth, which still sent out some warmth. There was a man sitting next to it, his back against the wall, head drooping, cup beside him.
Catherine didn’t notice the cup until she knocked it over. A trickle of wine ran out, wetting the hem of her skirt.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, righting the cup again and placing it by his hand.
He didn’t stir.
He was
“I should have known,” he laughed. “You aren’t hugging me, but the packages I’ve brought.”
Edgar came up behind her more slowly. Hubert nodded to him. “She’s looking well,” he told his son-in-law. “ Diex te saut .”
Edgar smiled. That was the most approval Hubert had ever given him, a tacit recognition that perhaps Catherine hadn’t made a mistake in marrying him.
Solomon’s greeting to Edgar was much more friendly. “Pilgrimage seems to agree with you,” he said. “With any luck, you won’t have to go all the way to Compostela to have your prayers answered.”
“Catherine and I do believe that we have to help the saint all we can,” Edgar grinned. “But I think we’ll finish the pilgrimage just the same.” His expression changed. “Perhaps then
the Lord will give to us without taking away so soon.” He looked out into a future too much desired to hope for.
Solomon waited a moment for Edgar to return. “So,” he said, “where have you found lodging? Uncle Eliazar and I have a room with some friends, but I think Hubert plans on staying with you. Is there space?”
“The hostel is packed to the rafters,” Edgar said, “but they always seem able to squeeze in another body.”
Solomon wrinkled his nose. “Sounds very cozy.”
Edgar was puzzled. “Are you coming with us on this journey?” he asked.
“For a while,” Solomon smiled. “My uncles have some business to transact, and I … well, you could say I’m on a pilgrimage, too. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Although the hostel, no more than a large barn with a loft partitioned for sleeping and an enormous hearth on the floor below, was full, somehow the new pilgrims were fit in. The jongleur and his wife expected no more than a small space of floor and were not disappointed. As the woman in the black cloak made her way across the room, people edged out of her way until she found a corner all to herself. Edgar had given a coin to the hostel keeper to save them a place in another corner, and they managed to make room for Hubert there as well.
“This will not do.” The voice was not loud, but authority carries better than volume. “Goswin, I understood that you had found me a room.”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” the guard told her. “The town is full. There wasn’t a room to be had, even with the nuns. We have made a bed for you in the loft and hung the curtains. Aymo and I will stand watch all night.”
There was a pause.
“Very well.” Griselle’s eyes flicked about the room, taking stock of the people there. From the corner near the fire, where the knights had settled, Rufus of Arcy leered at her and lifted his cup. She raised her eyebrows. He lowered the cup.
Catherine watched her, admiring the cut of her bliaut and
the rich color of the chainse underneath. Even though this woman was in mourning, presumably for her husband, she had not abandoned her standards in her grief.
Catherine’s hand found Edgar’s, warm and living. Sometimes she just needed to be sure.
After sundown, the only light in the building came from the glowing coals in the hearth. The huge room never became completely quiet, but after a time, the talking and laughter were replaced by snores and the rustling of bodies in the straw.
Catherine slept well.
It was the aubade before dawn when she awoke. There were spaces now between the clumps of people on the floor. Others were already up, attending to prayers or ablutions. She stretched and eased herself to her feet, trying not to disturb either Edgar or her father. She made her way to the hearth, which still sent out some warmth. There was a man sitting next to it, his back against the wall, head drooping, cup beside him.
Catherine didn’t notice the cup until she knocked it over. A trickle of wine ran out, wetting the hem of her skirt.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, righting the cup again and placing it by his hand.
He didn’t stir.
He was
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