but his hands would always search out something to carve: wood, stone, ivory.
Catherine touched the delicate ivory cross at her neck. Edgar had made it for her and been too ashamed to tell her the work was his own. At first she had felt strange about this craftsman’s trade that he loved so much. But not anymore. At some point without realizing it, she had come to love him so much that anything he did seemed wonderful to her.
All the same, she wished that it had been the prospect of a night in a real bed with her that had hastened his step.
“I’ve heard that the Last Judgment is one of the best in France,” Edgar said.
Catherine felt a flicker of interest. She had a nebulous memory about the Hell at Conques, a recollection that real people were portrayed on it: abbots who had despoiled the property of the abbey, a lord who had tried to encroach upon land belonging to Saint-Foy. And there were always inventive punishments for the usual run of sinners. She couldn’t see the tympanum in the same way Edgar did, but still, it might be worth the visit.
Griselle was suspicious when the merchant from Paris began to ride alongside her. She wasn’t inclined to speak to such people … although she had heard someone mention that this Hubert LeVendeur had married into a fairly good family of Blois. That might make him acceptable at least as a dinner companion. But what had happened to his wife? Not that it was of any matter to her. Griselle of Lugny had only one desire: to fulfill her husband’s unfinished goal, let his anguished soul find satisfaction for the terrible wrongs done to him, and then to join him in Purgatory.
Now, perversely, she wished that Hubert would talk to her.
Gaucher and Rufus amused themselves on the journey with reminiscences, greatly expanded and wildly embroidered, of their years together and nights apart.
“And there were those Saracen twins in Narbonne.” Rufus leered at the memory. “Wanted to know if I was as red all over as my beard. What could I do but show them?”
“You slept with Saracens?” Gaucher asked in mock horror.
“Not a wink,” Rufus answered.
“Good man,” Gaucher said. “Always have to be vigilant with the enemy.”
“Sword always unsheathed and ready to attack,” Rufus agreed.
Hugh turned to them with a sour expression. “I thought this journey was to do penance for our sins, not to glory in them,” he said.
Gaucher and Rufus stared back at him, all innocence.
“We were simply remembering our battles against the infidel,” Rufus said.
“All of which were victorious,” Gaucher added solemnly.
Hugh snorted and moved away from them, almost knocking over Roberto, who was walking behind him, still fussing with the clogged flute.
“Watch where you’re going!” Hugh shouted. “Stupid man.”
He stopped and peered down at the startled jongleur . “Have we met before?” he asked.
Roberto shook his head decisively. “My wife and I are returning
from Troyes,” he said. “We joined your party at Le Puy.”
“Your wife.” Hugh turned his attention to Maruxa, who modestly pulled her scarf closer across her face. “I don’t know, both of you seem familiar. Are you sure you never entertained at Grignon? I was castellan there for many years. My wife always had a soft spot for musicians.”
“No, never,” Roberto said earnestly. “I’m quite sure.”
“Strange.” Hugh moved on, and a moment later forgot them.
Maruxa lowered the scarf with shaking fingers. “He doesn’t remember,” she whispered. “He couldn’t. Anyway, he never knew the truth. Who would have told him?”
“Saint Vitus’s twinkling toes!” Roberto tried to catch his breath. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I wish now that we’d waited for another party. I don’t like having him searching his memory every time he looks at us between here and Astorga.”
Maruxa took his hand. “I don’t want to wait. I want to go home. Don’t worry. We’ll simply
Catherine touched the delicate ivory cross at her neck. Edgar had made it for her and been too ashamed to tell her the work was his own. At first she had felt strange about this craftsman’s trade that he loved so much. But not anymore. At some point without realizing it, she had come to love him so much that anything he did seemed wonderful to her.
All the same, she wished that it had been the prospect of a night in a real bed with her that had hastened his step.
“I’ve heard that the Last Judgment is one of the best in France,” Edgar said.
Catherine felt a flicker of interest. She had a nebulous memory about the Hell at Conques, a recollection that real people were portrayed on it: abbots who had despoiled the property of the abbey, a lord who had tried to encroach upon land belonging to Saint-Foy. And there were always inventive punishments for the usual run of sinners. She couldn’t see the tympanum in the same way Edgar did, but still, it might be worth the visit.
Griselle was suspicious when the merchant from Paris began to ride alongside her. She wasn’t inclined to speak to such people … although she had heard someone mention that this Hubert LeVendeur had married into a fairly good family of Blois. That might make him acceptable at least as a dinner companion. But what had happened to his wife? Not that it was of any matter to her. Griselle of Lugny had only one desire: to fulfill her husband’s unfinished goal, let his anguished soul find satisfaction for the terrible wrongs done to him, and then to join him in Purgatory.
Now, perversely, she wished that Hubert would talk to her.
Gaucher and Rufus amused themselves on the journey with reminiscences, greatly expanded and wildly embroidered, of their years together and nights apart.
“And there were those Saracen twins in Narbonne.” Rufus leered at the memory. “Wanted to know if I was as red all over as my beard. What could I do but show them?”
“You slept with Saracens?” Gaucher asked in mock horror.
“Not a wink,” Rufus answered.
“Good man,” Gaucher said. “Always have to be vigilant with the enemy.”
“Sword always unsheathed and ready to attack,” Rufus agreed.
Hugh turned to them with a sour expression. “I thought this journey was to do penance for our sins, not to glory in them,” he said.
Gaucher and Rufus stared back at him, all innocence.
“We were simply remembering our battles against the infidel,” Rufus said.
“All of which were victorious,” Gaucher added solemnly.
Hugh snorted and moved away from them, almost knocking over Roberto, who was walking behind him, still fussing with the clogged flute.
“Watch where you’re going!” Hugh shouted. “Stupid man.”
He stopped and peered down at the startled jongleur . “Have we met before?” he asked.
Roberto shook his head decisively. “My wife and I are returning
from Troyes,” he said. “We joined your party at Le Puy.”
“Your wife.” Hugh turned his attention to Maruxa, who modestly pulled her scarf closer across her face. “I don’t know, both of you seem familiar. Are you sure you never entertained at Grignon? I was castellan there for many years. My wife always had a soft spot for musicians.”
“No, never,” Roberto said earnestly. “I’m quite sure.”
“Strange.” Hugh moved on, and a moment later forgot them.
Maruxa lowered the scarf with shaking fingers. “He doesn’t remember,” she whispered. “He couldn’t. Anyway, he never knew the truth. Who would have told him?”
“Saint Vitus’s twinkling toes!” Roberto tried to catch his breath. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I wish now that we’d waited for another party. I don’t like having him searching his memory every time he looks at us between here and Astorga.”
Maruxa took his hand. “I don’t want to wait. I want to go home. Don’t worry. We’ll simply
Similar Books
