Free To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman Page A

the time she and Edgar had lived in a rickety room near the great market square, just the two of them and whoever came to share their meal. It had been good to know that they could come back to her father’s house to warmth and clean clothes if they needed. It had been better to have a room all to themselves with no servants and no family to overhear.
    That reminded her of her present duty.
    “And where are you staying, Astrolabe?” she asked.
    His handsome face reddened. “Well, I had hoped, that is, Edgar mentioned, you see, all the monastic guest rooms are full with the pope here and …”
    “I had hoped you’d stay with us.” Catherine took his hand. “I swear this by the broken bones of the protomartyr. You may stay as long as you like, or until the noise of the Vikings and Vandals drives you away.”
    “The what?”
    “Our children and my brother’s,” Catherine said. “They’ll arrive tomorrow. But tonight, at least, we can promise you undisturbed rest.”
     
    The moon had set and the house was dark as deadly sin when something woke Astrolabe.
    He rolled over in his blankets and mumbled, “Wha’?”
    Silence.
    Then a rustling in the reeds on the floor.
    “Rats.” Astrolabe said.
    He groped beneath the cot they had set up for him in the hall. After a few tries he found his boot and threw it forcefully in the direction of the noise. There was a thump, a clank, and a simultaneous high-pitched squeal. The rustling stopped.
    With a satisfied sigh, Astrolabe pulled the blanket over his head and went back to sleep.
    He was awakened the next morning by warm, moist breath on his face. He opened his eyes. Two little girls were standing next to the cot, peering at him curiously.
    “Good morning,” he said.
    They both jumped back quickly, the younger one falling on her bottom.
    “Mabile! Edana!” a voice called. “I told you not to go in there. The guest is still sleeping.”
    A woman appeared at the door. She was in her early thirties, with a gentle face. Astrolabe sat up and reached for his brais.
    “It must be late,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience the family.”
    “No, we’re early,” Marie answered. “The children were all up before first light, so we left at sunrise. I haven’t heard the bells for Tierce, yet. I’ll take these naughty girls and leave you in peace. I beg your pardon for disturbing you. Girls!”
    The little one, Mabile, was squatting in the corner. Edana, who had finally mastered the chamber pot, was trying to make her cousin stop. She pulled at Mabile’s hands and the two of them fell over. Edana shrieked and Marie rushed to her.
    “Mabile, what did you do to her?” She picked up both children. “Edana, stop that noise. Your cousin can’t have hurt you that badly.”
    Then Marie saw the blood pouring down Edana’s leg.
    “Sweet Virgin’s tears! How did that happen?”
    She quickly unwound her scarf and wrapped it about Edana’s thigh at the same time calling for help.
    Samonie ran in from the kitchen, but Astrolabe was there first.
    “She’s cut herself,” Marie said. “It looks deep. One of the rushes must have been sharp. Can you take Mabile? I don’t want her rooting around here.”
    Gingerly, Astrolabe picked up the little girl, holding her at arm’s length. He was relieved when Samonie took her from him.
    Marie was busy trying to stop both the bleeding and Edana’s cries, which were escalating. Astrolabe bent over the place where she had fallen, looking for the thing that had cut her.
    He found it right next to the boot he had thrown the night before. It wasn’t a floor rush.
    It was a knife.

Five
    The hall of Catherine and Edgar’s home. Morning, Friday, 7 ides of May (May 9) 1147; 9 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Soulange, shepherd girl, who died fighting off a noble rapist. The reason this made her a saint isn’t quite clear.
     
    Iam enim sitio, oteroque vorator panum in siccitate strangulari, nisi clementia vestra michi vinum