The Witch in the Well: a Catherine Levendeur Mystery
“. . . si vit une peucele Vestue d’une purpre bise E d’une mut bele chemise. . .
A une fontenine veneit Ke suz un grant arbre surdeit.
. . . he saw a maiden Clothed in a purple coth And a most beautiful gown. . .
She went to a fountain That gushed from under a huge tree.
—Lai de Désiré, II. 134–136, 141–142 I don’t understand why you don’t believe me!” Catherine said for the hundredth time. “Why should I lie about such a thing?”
“Catherine,” Marie’s voice was edged with the effort to remain patient. “I’m only saying that it’s unlikely that the woman could have roused before she died, much less been able to speak, with her stomach crushed like that. Perhaps you were dozing. Dreams so close to the surface of waking can often seem real.”
“Marie, I was not dreaming!” Catherine circled the small tower room, her feet crushing the brittle straw and dried herbs strewn over the floor. The scented dust tickled her nose.
Marie coughed and motioned for Catherine to sit down again.
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