as he reached for the pitcher.
“And now?” he asked.
Hubert poured wine for them both. He gestured to the half-finished bread and meat, then gazed into the shadows lurking beyond the small circle of lamplight.
“I came to Paris from Rouen thirty-five years ago. The Christian merchant who raised me had given me the job of providing the Norman lords of the area with wine from Francia and Burgundy. In executing this commission, I acquired wealth and connections of my own. One was with a knight of Blois, Raoul de Boisvert. The family had little money but they were distantly related to the counts of Blois and could trace their line back to Richard le Justicier. Raoul had a daughter. He was amenable; she was obedient. I married her.”
Edgar remembered the only time he had seen Madeleine, daughter of Raoul. Catherine had been so ill, she had fallen from her horse outside the castle keep. He had rushed up to catch her but Madeleine had pushed him away and started raving about the sickness being a punishment or a penance. Catherine had already told him how her mother spent most of every day praying and visiting the local shrines.
Hubert sighed. “Pay attention, boy. I’m telling you the story for a purpose. I want you to understand why I’m doing this, so you know what to expect from me. I bought Madeleine from her father. I was fond enough of her, but mostly I cared for her family. Her ties to nobility would improve my social position and increase my wealth. It was a perfectly normal arrangement.
“Then there were the stillbirths, the children taken by fever their first winter, our second son crushed by the cart. She began to suspect that my conversion to Christianity had not been genuine, that I still adhered to the faith of my ancestors. She withdrew from me and replaced me with the saints. Finally, the saints alone mattered, even more than our remaining children. But nothing she does for them brings her peace. Look what these fears have done to her. What I did. I keep thinking that, if I had loved her, I would have noticed sooner that her piety was beyond the normal. I could have reassured her as to my faith. Perhaps it would have made a difference.”
From what Edgar knew of Madeleine’s family, he doubted that her madness could have been prevented. Her brother Roger had certainly been insane. Was Hubert warning him against marrying into a family of lunatics? It could work both ways. Edgar hoped they never had a visit from his uncle Ethelraed.
Hubert refilled his cup. “I’m almost finished,” he promised. “They say that physical lust is the worst possible reason for a marriage and I can see, as can everyone else, by the way, how you and my daughter lust after each others’ bodies. All I can hope is that you also share a love encompassing the mind and heart that will see you through to the end of your days. If you don’t, if one day you regret not making a career in the Church, then release her. Let her go back to the nuns and be happy. Don’t make her stay with you for pride’s sake or honor.
“I love Catherine the most of all my children,” he added. “I would rather see her happy than countess of Champagne. That’s all.”
Edgar picked up the gold and laid it in Hubert’s lap.
“I will not buy your daughter,” he said. “This is my promise that, with or without me, she will be taken care of. Catherine is more a part of me than any friend I have ever had. And I think I would make a most unholy abbot.”
Hubert untied the cloth and counted out the bezants. He held one up to the light.
“I’ll have Ullo make up a bed for you when he’s cleared the table. You can sleep here by the fire tonight. Later, when you have been properly wed, I’ll have the room above the counting house made up for you and Catherine. She’ll want to be near the books.”
Then he called for another pitcher of wine.
Edgar was standing next to the Devil’s Fart the next morning at first light. He leaned against
“And now?” he asked.
Hubert poured wine for them both. He gestured to the half-finished bread and meat, then gazed into the shadows lurking beyond the small circle of lamplight.
“I came to Paris from Rouen thirty-five years ago. The Christian merchant who raised me had given me the job of providing the Norman lords of the area with wine from Francia and Burgundy. In executing this commission, I acquired wealth and connections of my own. One was with a knight of Blois, Raoul de Boisvert. The family had little money but they were distantly related to the counts of Blois and could trace their line back to Richard le Justicier. Raoul had a daughter. He was amenable; she was obedient. I married her.”
Edgar remembered the only time he had seen Madeleine, daughter of Raoul. Catherine had been so ill, she had fallen from her horse outside the castle keep. He had rushed up to catch her but Madeleine had pushed him away and started raving about the sickness being a punishment or a penance. Catherine had already told him how her mother spent most of every day praying and visiting the local shrines.
Hubert sighed. “Pay attention, boy. I’m telling you the story for a purpose. I want you to understand why I’m doing this, so you know what to expect from me. I bought Madeleine from her father. I was fond enough of her, but mostly I cared for her family. Her ties to nobility would improve my social position and increase my wealth. It was a perfectly normal arrangement.
“Then there were the stillbirths, the children taken by fever their first winter, our second son crushed by the cart. She began to suspect that my conversion to Christianity had not been genuine, that I still adhered to the faith of my ancestors. She withdrew from me and replaced me with the saints. Finally, the saints alone mattered, even more than our remaining children. But nothing she does for them brings her peace. Look what these fears have done to her. What I did. I keep thinking that, if I had loved her, I would have noticed sooner that her piety was beyond the normal. I could have reassured her as to my faith. Perhaps it would have made a difference.”
From what Edgar knew of Madeleine’s family, he doubted that her madness could have been prevented. Her brother Roger had certainly been insane. Was Hubert warning him against marrying into a family of lunatics? It could work both ways. Edgar hoped they never had a visit from his uncle Ethelraed.
Hubert refilled his cup. “I’m almost finished,” he promised. “They say that physical lust is the worst possible reason for a marriage and I can see, as can everyone else, by the way, how you and my daughter lust after each others’ bodies. All I can hope is that you also share a love encompassing the mind and heart that will see you through to the end of your days. If you don’t, if one day you regret not making a career in the Church, then release her. Let her go back to the nuns and be happy. Don’t make her stay with you for pride’s sake or honor.
“I love Catherine the most of all my children,” he added. “I would rather see her happy than countess of Champagne. That’s all.”
Edgar picked up the gold and laid it in Hubert’s lap.
“I will not buy your daughter,” he said. “This is my promise that, with or without me, she will be taken care of. Catherine is more a part of me than any friend I have ever had. And I think I would make a most unholy abbot.”
Hubert untied the cloth and counted out the bezants. He held one up to the light.
“I’ll have Ullo make up a bed for you when he’s cleared the table. You can sleep here by the fire tonight. Later, when you have been properly wed, I’ll have the room above the counting house made up for you and Catherine. She’ll want to be near the books.”
Then he called for another pitcher of wine.
Edgar was standing next to the Devil’s Fart the next morning at first light. He leaned against
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