“How many men can we expect to meet us?” he asked.
“Earl Henry has promised fifty from his mercenaries,” Cumin told him. “With my loyal barons and your men that should be more than enough to take Bishopton and destroy Conyers once and for all. My nephew will be arriving from Northallerton to meet you outside the castle walls. He’ll also fend off any help Conyers might be expecting from the south.”
“That should be enough to make Conyers think twice about his resistance,” Waldeve said. “When we take the castle, do you want it destroyed or turned over to your nephew to hold?”
“Burn it and raze it,” Cumin answered.
Waldeve forbore asking if the bishop wanted the ground sown with salt, as well. The man was obsessed with the need to annihilate all those who would deny him legal right to the see. Waldeve found this a waste of energy. However, as long as he collected the tithes of the county and took the silver from the mines, Cumin served a purpose. Whether he won or lost, Waldeve could still take his share of the booty and return to Scotland. No retribution would reach him there.
Unless. Waldeve paused. Unless it already had. All the attacks
on his family could stem from their support of William Cumin. In that case, he could kill with even less conscience that usual. It wouldn’t be combat or slaughter, but justice.
When Urric sidled up next to him and smiled, Edgar knew exactly why he was there. Urric had been Duncan’s shadow since they had arrived at Durham. Either his father or his brother had set their lackey to spy on him.
Edgar smiled back. “Good day for fighting, don’t you think?” he said. “Not too hot, cloudy enough to keep the sun out of one’s eyes. I’m looking forward to it.”
Urric looked him up and down.
“What are you planning on fighting with?” he asked, noting the lack of a sword.
“I was thinking of hurling anathema down on the enemy,” Edgar answered. “Far more potent than steel.”
Urric hurriedly crossed himself.
“Exactly.” Edgar approved the gesture. “And the power of God shall be my shield.”
Urric stepped back from him. Edgar was either mad or possessed by divine authority. Urric didn’t know which frightened him more. This task was going to be much harder than he had foreseen.
Æthelræd came over to check on them. He was wearing his short skirt still but had added a leather shirt on which small pieces of metal had been sewn. He jingled as he approached. From somewhere he had found an old, round Viking helmet. His wild red-and-grey hair sprayed out from beneath it like a flaming bush.
“Pity we don’t have any Gallowegians,” he said. “I’ll have to make the first charge all alone.”
Urric backed even farther. At least he had always known Æthelræd was crazy. But two of them together could cause some freakish aberration in nature. He decided he could probably keep an eye on Edgar from a distance.
Æthelræd noticed the soldier backing off. He gave a short laugh.
“If we terrify our own troops, just imagine what we’ll do to the enemy,” he said to Edgar.
Edgar leaned closer to him and lowered his voice.
“Just who is the enemy?” he asked. “I’m planning on getting lost in the woods on the way and getting a warning to Conyers.”
“You won’t be given the chance.” Æthelræd nodded and smiled at Urric.
“Then how can we keep Cumin’s men from taking the castle?” Edgar asked.
Æthelræd put his hand on Edgar’s forehead. If the boy wasn’t insane, he must be fevered.
“What made you think we could?” he asked. “It’s up to Roger Conyers to protect Bishopton.”
“But my father’s men alone have more horses and weapons than we saw at Bishopton,” Edgar said. “And if Earl Henry and William of Aumale send more, how will Conyers survive?”
Æthelræd considered.
“Perhaps we should leave that up to God,” he decided.
Edgar was not disposed to rely on faith. So far it hadn’t been of much use.
But at that moment it began to rain.
The Isle of Lindisfarne. Sunday, 15 kalends August (July 18), 1143. The
sun in Leo. Feast of Saint Thanay, stubbornly unwed mother of Saint
Kentigern.
Nec mora: jam tristes pœnas et pallida vexat
Gens tormenta, truces plena furore manus
Ecce! catenarum tristi plus pondere vinctos,
Qua nexu juvenes pœna timenda vocat. [sic]
Delay no longer: now grievous pain and pallor tax
The tormented people, a hand filled with mad slaughter.
Behold! The fearful penalty summons the conquered
with a sadder weight of chains than with such bonds it summons the
young.
—Lawrence of Durham,
Diologues
,
Book II 11 307—310
“
S
olomon, I’m worried about Margaret.” Catherine nudged her cousin out of his doze. “I know that she needs to grieve for her mother but she isn’t eating and her sleep is full of monsters. Can you think of anything we can do to help her?”
Catherine was worried about Solomon, too. The knife cut had been a clean one and was healing well. That couldn’t be the problem. Something had happened to him that she didn’t understand, something to do with Adalisa. It wasn’t just guilt at being unable to save her. He had sat vigil by her body as if he had been family and had stood outside the priory church door with his head bowed all the while the funeral Mass was being said. It seemed as if something inside him had broken; not a vital part, but a piece that helped him keep his distance from the alien world in which he must survive.
Margaret sensed that he shared her loss and it was to Solomon that she ran for comfort. The two of them took long walks, round and round the edge of the small island, looking at the birds and talking. Sometimes they would just sit by Adalisa’s grave in the village cemetery, Margaret leaning against Solomon and the two of them looking out to sea as if waiting for a traveler to come home to them.
Catherine was saddened by Adalisa’s death, but try as she might, she couldn’t grieve for her. It was inexcusable that she felt so little. What was the matter with her?
Finally it came to Catherine that part of her was glad that Edgar’s stepmother was free of her own sorrow. In this world the best hope she could have had was to become a widow, but then she and her dower would have been prey for someone just as cruel to her as Waldeve had been.
Solomon hadn’t answered. She nudged him with both hands this time.
“Solomon?” she said again. “What can we do for Margaret?”
At last he noticed that she was in the room.
“Give her time,” he answered. “She has no one now to care for her.”
“She has us,” Catherine answered without thinking. “We won’t desert her, will we?”
Solomon looked at her with a flash of his old self.
“Never,” he said. “She’s not going back to her father. I don’t care if I have to abduct her to do it.”
“I’m sure we can find a safer way!” Catherine was alarmed. He sounded as though he would really do it. The very idea was horrifying. A Jewish man stealing away a Christian girl, even with her permission! Solomon would be lucky if he were merely hanged.
“I promised her mother that the child would never be returned to Waldeve,” Solomon said. “I won’t break faith. Adalisa suffered enough without having to worry about Margaret from beyond the grave.”
“Yes, she did.” Catherine knew she was treading near an open wound, but wasn’t sure where it lay. “And we couldn’t help her. But there must be something we can do now for her child.”
Solomon got up. “Let Margaret know we care. There’s nothing else possible. This kind of pain only heals from within.”
That closed the door on that topic. But it didn’t stop Catherine from wondering. Just what had happened between Adalisa and Solomon? She knew her cousin’s charm worked on Christian women as well as Jewish, but she assumed it was always women who weren’t … women who tended to … not someone like … oh, dear! She supposed that, after all, Adalisa might be even more susceptible than beer brewers and innkeepers’ daughters. Poor thing! And was Solomon grieving because he’d taken advantage of her loneliness or because he hadn’t?
“Do you really think that’s your concern, child?”
Ah, it must be the influence of the nearby monastery. Those voices sounded most righteous regarding her unchristian thoughts. Catherine went on to ask Solomon to help with her next problem.
“The prior doesn’t seem concerned that the man he sent to tell Edgar we were safe hasn’t returned, yet. But it’s been two weeks. Don’t you think we should send someone else?”
Solomon was standing by the window to the hostel. It looked out onto the North Sea. Even in calm weather, the waves frightened Catherine. On the softest of days, the sea off Holy Island always
seemed menacing. The wind roared over the water, creating a turbulence that increased as it hit the shore. Not even trees could withstand it and there were few on the island, all tucked into sheltered corners. Catherine had never lived in a place where one could see so far. In a way, it was comforting, after all they’d been through. One could see an enemy approaching. But an enemy could also see her.
Solomon took a while to answer her last question. It was as if he needed to recall his spirit to his body each time he had to interact with another person. Catherine was trying to be patient, but it had never been one of her virtues. “Do you want me to go look for Edgar?” he asked at last.
“Well.” She paused. “You did say that was your plan. That is, if you’re strong enough.”
“My health isn’t the problem,” he answered. “It’s the fact that this evil seems to be following us despite my attempts to convince everyone that we were all killed in the fire. Now I think we should stay together. I don’t want to leave you and the children unprotected.”
“We’re as safe here as we’re likely to be anywhere in Britain,” she argued. “Solomon, I’m not worried about us anymore, it’s Edgar. There are people who seem determined to murder everyone in his family. He may not know about the fire or the trap set in Robert’s garden. Or, even worse, he may and not know that we escaped. Do you want him to believe that all of us are dead?”
“Of course not,” Solomon said. “But neither do I want him to find that you’ve been attacked again while I was out searching for him.”
Catherine’s whole body tightened in frustration. She wanted to hit something. Solomon was the obvious target. But she knew his reasoning was accurate. It wasn’t fair to take her anger out on him. She compromised by stamping her foot.
“I can’t stand this!” she shouted. “There must be a way! Oh, Solomon, I don’t care what these people do to each other. I just want to find Edgar and go home!”
She burst into tears. Solomon put his arms around her.
“I know, Catherine,” he said patting her back ineffectually. “I wish I could make it happen.”
He also wished he knew what was happening at home. There had been no messages from Hubert or Eliazar. It was entirely possible
that Paris was as dangerous for them as Scotland had turned out to be. Then where could they go?
“Why don’t we bundle James up and take Willa and Margaret down to the other end of the island,” he suggested. “We can watch the sea birds fighting over their catch. Perhaps we’ll even see a puffin.”
Catherine sniffed and tried to smile. Solomon thought her attraction to the silly-looking birds was bizarre. She had never seen one before this journey and had found their oversized beaks and quizzical eyes endlessly droll.
“All right,” she agreed. “But if we don’t have word of Edgar soon, I intend to wrap up James and set out to look for him, myself.”
Edgar was feeling much the same. But he had no idea where to start looking. In the meantime, he had become trapped amidst the soldiers trying to take Roger Conyers’s castle at Bishopton.
If they had started a day sooner, they might have had a chance. But two nights of torrential rain had made the countryside a bog for miles around. Progress was slow. Solid ground turned to marsh at a misstep and horses had to be pulled from the mud. When the defenders came forth to engage Cumin’s men, they found that there was no place where either party could stand long enough to fight.
Cumin had decided on a siege, counting on the men being sent by Earl Henry of Huntington to augment his forces before long. It wasn’t a popular decision. Many of the men only owed a few weeks service and wanted to go home and tend to their crops. Waldeve’s troop was kept from deserting only by his threats of what would happen to those who did when he returned to Wedderlie.
However, it was the state of their souls that worried the soldiers most. Word was out now that a new bishop had been consecrated. Cumin had no hope of ever gaining the see of Durham. He had been officially excommunicated and his benefice at Winchester taken away. There were also rumors of his ill-treatment of the canons still left in the cathedral cloister.
“It’s one thing to torture a man for his money,” Edgar overheard someone say. “But forcing a priest to say Mass at knifepoint, that’s the sort of thing that brings down fire and pestilence on a land. I want no part of it.”
Edgar agreed. Even the officious Brother Lawrence didn’t deserve to be so used. Of course, he thought with a smirk, this would
be the canon’s chance for martyrdom. Not many were able to have that these days without going on an arduous journey to the Saracen lands.
Now where had that come from? Edgar scratched his head. It was just the sort of comment Catherine would make.
The pain that hit him was worse than any sword could make. He didn’t want to remember her laughing, teasing him, making fun of the pompous clerics in the schools of Paris. One memory like that just led to another and another, until they came crowding in, demanding his attention, reminding him of all he had lost forever.
It made him seriously doubt the mercy of God.
The mud under his boots was thick with leaves and broken plants. People didn’t walk so much as slide. All their clothing was caked with the stuff. This was the glory of battle that the
scops
always sang about? Edgar made his way through the encampment and finally reached the place where Robert had set up his lean-to.
“Sit down, Brother,” he greeted Edgar. “Any spot will do. They’re all equally wet.”
Edgar sat and Robert handed him a mug from which steam was rising. Edgar sniffed.
“What is this stuff?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Some herbal concoction,” Robert told him. “A woman down the road makes it. Suppose to keep away creeping fungus.”
Edgar put the mug down. “I don’t doubt it. Are you sure it’s supposed to be drunk? It might be better just rubbed into leather.”
“Hmm …” Robert took the mug back. “Maybe she did say that’s what you did with it after it was heated.”
Edgar grimaced. “If you’re back to playing tricks on me then Lufen must be better.”
Robert smiled. “The keeper of hounds sent word that she’s up and eating well and that the other dogs haven’t set on her, even though she’s weak and crippled. I’d like to see a pack of humans behave so.”
“Is that why you spend more time with dogs than people?” Edgar asked.
Robert’s smile vanished. “No dog has ever betrayed or abandoned me,” he said. “Do you think Aelred is still inside the castle?”
Edgar understood that the question wasn’t a change of subject.
“So I’ve heard,” he said. “He’s waiting for William of Saint-Barbe
to arrive to take over the bishopric. Aelred will represent the abbey of Rievaulx at the welcoming ceremony.”
“It will be an interesting ceremony,” Robert said. “With the clergy all in mail shirts under their copes. Even if Cumin can’t take the castle, he can keep Saint-Barbe from getting in to the cathedral. Durham is one of the strongest fortresses in England.”
“Robert.” Edgar moved closer. “Do you really care who wins this? Does it matter to you who the bishop is?”
“Of course not,” Robert answered. “I’m here now only because it’s just possible that the gate to the castle might open and the bridge come down and Aelred walk across it and greet me as he used to when we were … friends.”
“That I understand,” Edgar admitted. “It made no sense to me that you stayed even under Father’s threats. I only wish I thought Catherine and James would appear in the same way.”
Robert looked at him quickly and then looked away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot.”
Edgar shook his head. How could anyone who had known them forget? It was amazing to him that the sun hadn’t turned black and gone out. He sighed at his brother and left him to his vigil. Waldeve should put Robert on the watch since he spent all his time staring at the gate anyway.
Edgar stopped. Damn. Would he spend the rest of his life thinking of things that Catherine might have said?