Read Online Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur) by Sharan Newman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sharan Newman
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illness they had set out to find a cure for, some of disease contracted on the road or from accidents or brigandage. This poor old man seemed merely to have succumbed to time.
Edgar returned to the corner, where Catherine was stuffing their belongings into the packs. “The journey was simply too much for the man,” he told her. “We’ll say a paternoster for him tonight.”
Catherine nodded. “He seemed rather frail when we saw him at Vézelay,” she said. “He was so determined not to admit to his infirmities. Ah well, he would have confessed and been absolved before he left his home. It must be a very peaceful way to die.”
“May we all be so fortunate,” Hubert added from behind Edgar’s shoulder. “I presume you two are going to the pilgrims’ Mass today. I’ll see that our horses are being looked
after, find Eliazar and Solomon, and meet you afterward in front of the cathedral.”
He paused. “I’m coming with you, you know,” he said. He looked at Catherine, but it was Edgar he was speaking to. “If you have no objection.”
“We would be glad of your company,” Edgar answered. “Will Solomon and Eliazar be in our party as well?”
From his tone, Hubert could divine nothing. He should ask Edgar straight out, he told himself, but he was a coward. Who should he be on this journey? What did his son-in-law want him to be? Hubert turned to Edgar and found himself facing a pair of grey eyes that were like a fog over the thoughts of the man inside. He wondered if Catherine knew how well her husband could hide his true feelings.
She interrupted their stare-down.
“I think we could all ride together,” she said. “I remember there were often mixed parties of Jews and Christians among the merchants on the road. But we should find separate places to stay at night. That way, we can avoid questions that might lead to scandal.”
Edgar and Catherine exchanged a glance, and it hit Hubert with the force of a weight hurled from a trebuchet that Edgar’s eyes changed when they looked at his daughter. Even more startling was the change in hers. She and Edgar communicated in a way that made him ashamed to watch.
Catherine smiled and took her father’s arm in both her hands, as she had when she was small. “Will you travel with us as my father,” she asked, “or do you prefer to be with your brother and nephew?” She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Either way, I shall love you.”
Hubert swallowed. “I am Hubert LeVendeur, merchant of Paris, member of the marchands de l’eau , supporter of the Church, and your father. I would like to stay with you.”
. Catherine kissed him in delight. “Then we would be honored to have you join us on our way to Saint James.”
Mondete Ticarde, late prostitute of the town of Macon, uncurled herself from the straw she had slept in. She brushed bits
of it off the back of her cloak and reached underneath to remove a piece that was stuck to her thigh.
“Enjoy the bed, Mondete?” Giselle stood at the top of the ladder to the loft.
“I’ve slept in worse.” Mondete didn’t look up. “Did you enjoy mocking me at the ferry yesterday?”
Griselle finished climbing up. The guards and the maid were attending to her packing and she wanted amusement. “Not really,” she shrugged. “It was that questre , the ferryman, who infuriated me. After all, my pilgrimage is as genuine as yours, perhaps more so.”
She went over to Mondete and took a bit of the cloak between her fingers, testing the material. “It’s good wool, carefully dyed.” Griselle was impressed. “What do you have on underneath it, a silk shift or a hair shirt?”
“Neither,” Mondete answered. “But how did you know me? No one else has. I haven’t shown my face since I started out.”
“I’d know your hands anywhere,” Giselle answered. “Even without all the rings.” She looked down. “You have ugly feet but the most exquisite hands.”
Beneath the cloak, Mondete flinched.
Edgar returned to the corner, where Catherine was stuffing their belongings into the packs. “The journey was simply too much for the man,” he told her. “We’ll say a paternoster for him tonight.”
Catherine nodded. “He seemed rather frail when we saw him at Vézelay,” she said. “He was so determined not to admit to his infirmities. Ah well, he would have confessed and been absolved before he left his home. It must be a very peaceful way to die.”
“May we all be so fortunate,” Hubert added from behind Edgar’s shoulder. “I presume you two are going to the pilgrims’ Mass today. I’ll see that our horses are being looked
after, find Eliazar and Solomon, and meet you afterward in front of the cathedral.”
He paused. “I’m coming with you, you know,” he said. He looked at Catherine, but it was Edgar he was speaking to. “If you have no objection.”
“We would be glad of your company,” Edgar answered. “Will Solomon and Eliazar be in our party as well?”
From his tone, Hubert could divine nothing. He should ask Edgar straight out, he told himself, but he was a coward. Who should he be on this journey? What did his son-in-law want him to be? Hubert turned to Edgar and found himself facing a pair of grey eyes that were like a fog over the thoughts of the man inside. He wondered if Catherine knew how well her husband could hide his true feelings.
She interrupted their stare-down.
“I think we could all ride together,” she said. “I remember there were often mixed parties of Jews and Christians among the merchants on the road. But we should find separate places to stay at night. That way, we can avoid questions that might lead to scandal.”
Edgar and Catherine exchanged a glance, and it hit Hubert with the force of a weight hurled from a trebuchet that Edgar’s eyes changed when they looked at his daughter. Even more startling was the change in hers. She and Edgar communicated in a way that made him ashamed to watch.
Catherine smiled and took her father’s arm in both her hands, as she had when she was small. “Will you travel with us as my father,” she asked, “or do you prefer to be with your brother and nephew?” She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Either way, I shall love you.”
Hubert swallowed. “I am Hubert LeVendeur, merchant of Paris, member of the marchands de l’eau , supporter of the Church, and your father. I would like to stay with you.”
. Catherine kissed him in delight. “Then we would be honored to have you join us on our way to Saint James.”
Mondete Ticarde, late prostitute of the town of Macon, uncurled herself from the straw she had slept in. She brushed bits
of it off the back of her cloak and reached underneath to remove a piece that was stuck to her thigh.
“Enjoy the bed, Mondete?” Giselle stood at the top of the ladder to the loft.
“I’ve slept in worse.” Mondete didn’t look up. “Did you enjoy mocking me at the ferry yesterday?”
Griselle finished climbing up. The guards and the maid were attending to her packing and she wanted amusement. “Not really,” she shrugged. “It was that questre , the ferryman, who infuriated me. After all, my pilgrimage is as genuine as yours, perhaps more so.”
She went over to Mondete and took a bit of the cloak between her fingers, testing the material. “It’s good wool, carefully dyed.” Griselle was impressed. “What do you have on underneath it, a silk shift or a hair shirt?”
“Neither,” Mondete answered. “But how did you know me? No one else has. I haven’t shown my face since I started out.”
“I’d know your hands anywhere,” Giselle answered. “Even without all the rings.” She looked down. “You have ugly feet but the most exquisite hands.”
Beneath the cloak, Mondete flinched.
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