“Of course,” Berengar answered. “My father and the others have been planning this all winter. And Jehan, here, just returned from Spain with the latest information on the progress of the fight to reconquer the Saracen lands.”
“So you know the route?” James asked. “Very good. I’ve heard that God has given the armies of Spain great victories.”
“The war is going well,” Jehan agreed. “Far better than the one King Louis has undertaken. Almeria is in Christian hands now and Tortosa will be soon.”
“Yes.” Brother Victor nodded. “We’ve heard about the call for armies to lay siege to Tortosa. They say that even the Vicountess Ermengard of Narbonne will lead her men into battle.”
“She’s a formidable woman,” Berengar said. “I wouldn’t doubt it. All the more reason for us to succeed in our mission so that more men will be able to fight, don’t you agree, Jehan?”
The knight shrugged, causing the mail shirt he wore under his cloak to clink. Brother James looked at him in surprise.
“Why are you wearing armor?” he asked. “This is a town, not a battlefield. And we are in a house of God.”
Jehan looked the monk up and down before he spoke.
“You have the appearance of a man on the far side of your prime, Brother James,” he said consideringly. “Thin, from fasting no doubt, and wrestling with Satan. But the greatest earthly danger you are likely to face is from a fish gone bad. I was born the year King Philippe died. For a monk, my age would be of no great merit. But I can tell you that among men who live by fighting there are few gray hairs. I have survived this long by assuming that evil can enter even the house of God and that it often carries a sharp knife.”
Brother Victor leaned over to whisper something in Brother James’s ear. James nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “Berengar, we agree that you have chosen the right man for this task. I’ll rely on you to choose two more men to accompany us.”
He reached into a small leather bag at his belt and drew out a few coins.
“Only ramondins, I’m afraid,” he said, handing them to Berengar. “But they should buy the two of you a bed for the night and food. Come back tomorrow and we’ll give you twenty moneta decena of Count Alphonse. That should be enough for supplies and to show our good faith.”
“Twenty deniers of Toulouse.” Jehan pursed his lips. “Your faith will have to be stronger than that. If I return alive from this, I expect no less than twenty gold marbottins.”
“But this is an act of charity!” Brother Victor protested. “Wouldn’t you want us to do the same for you?”
Jehan rubbed at a flea crawling up his arm. “Yes, I would. If not, I would have insisted on a hundred.”
James laughed. “A man who knows his own worth! But just in case you don’t succeed, where should we send your wages?”
“In that case”—Jehan’s hard face grew almost wistful; but it was only a momentary change—“give the money to the Knights of the Temple, to keep the road to Jerusalem safe. And send to the canons of Paris enough for ten masses to be said for my soul. Come, young Berengar. Let’s see what kind of bed these few sous will get us.”
After they had left, Victor turned to James. “I’m sure you’re right that this Jehan will be an asset to our party. He’s rough but battle hardened. He’ll not shrink from a foe. It saddens me, though, that he is so alone in the world. Everyone needs a family to care if they live or die.”
“No they don’t,” James said sharply. “All anyone needs is Our Lord Christ and his Virgin Mother. Beside them all other relations are meaningless.”
Victor rested his hand on James’s shoulder, waiting until he grew calm. He smiled gently at his friend.
“You are right to chide me,” he said. “I am blessed with all my brothers here and the love of Our Lord, especially since my parents in the flesh have died. But I suspect that this Jehan of Blois hasn’t found such a happy replacement. He seems a very sad and lonely man. I shall pray for him.”
James shook his head. “Victor, you shame me. Sometimes I think you are almost with the angels already. Of course, when you explain it like that, I shall certainly pray for him, too.”
It was a good evening. Solomon’s stomach was full; his wine cup was as well. Muppim and Huppim had provided uproarious entertainment, often at the expense of Samuel, Belide’s befuddled suitor. But once the sweets had been served, Josta took pity on the young man and sent the twins off to bed in the care of a stern nursemaid.
“The nights are growing milder,” Josta said. “Soon we’ll be able to take all of our meals in the courtyard again.”
“I’m amazed to see fresh greens on the table,” Solomon said. “In Paris the first shoots have barely appeared.”
“Why you live in that cold, damp place, I’ll never understand.” Bonysach shivered at the thought. “I dread making the trip to the fair at Troyes each year. I always return with the grippe.”
“You need a son-in-law to take over the traveling for you, as I did for my uncles,” Solomon said, with a glance at Samuel. “Do you enjoy travel, Samuel?”
“I? Well, Toulouse is the farthest I’ve ever been from home.” A bright blush started up the young man’s neck. “But I would like to see more of the world.”
“Samuel is a fine scholar,” Bonysach said. “His teacher is the great Rabbi Abraham, head of the Bet Din of Narbonne. It would be a waste of his talent to send him on errands.”
“Oh, no, Mar Bonysach,” Samuel began. “That is…however, I fear I don’t have the skill to be a successful trader.”
“Nor need you,” Solomon said, taking pity on him. “I have more than enough competition. And the way we all argue about our contracts we need more wise judges well versed in the Law to keep us from doing each other violence.”
“Oh, yes!” Samuel nodded. “I mean, I’m sure you wouldn’t…”
Josta intervened. “Stop teasing him, both of you. Belide, why don’t you and Samuel take a stroll around the courtyard? There’s just a tiny slice of the old moon left. It’s lovely, set up against the stars.”
“Of course, Mother.” Belide looked down modestly. “Samuel, would you care to examine the moon with me?”
Solomon suppressed a laugh.
“Leave the door open to light your way,” Josta said mildly.
Samuel rose and bowed to the elders, then offered Belide his arm.
“You weren’t kind to the boy,” Josta said when they had left.
“If he’s to endure life with this family, he’ll need the leaven of humor,” Bonysach replied. “Now, Solomon, about the goods you wanted.”
Josta went out to the kitchen to oversee the cleaning up.
It was some time later when she returned.
“Hasn’t Belide come back in?” she asked. “They’ve been out there far too long.”
“Our daughter is more than a match for that one,” Bonysach answered, his mind still on the negotiations.
“He may be more than he seems,” Solomon suggested. “Perhaps we should go and see.”
But they had no sooner stepped into the dark courtyard than Samuel came running toward them.
“Is Belide with you?” he asked, panting.
“Of course not!” Bonysach answered. “She was with you. What did you do with her?”
“Nothing!” The scholar took a step back. “She told me to wait for her. I thought she had to go…you know. So I waited. It seemed she was taking a long time. I thought she might have become tired of me and gone back inside.”
“She didn’t.” Bonysach was starting to be alarmed. “Which way did she go when she left you?”
“That way.” Samuel pointed toward the other side of the house.
“The garden gate,” Bonysach said. “What is that girl playing at? Come, Solomon. We have to find her. I swear, if she is whole and unharmed, I’m going to thrash her!”
Compline had ended and the monks had all retired for the night. Brother Victor had been especially t
houghtful to Brother James, making sure he had a thicker mattress and a hot herb drink to ease the pains in his joints. James fell asleep quickly, grateful once again for the kindness of the young man.
The moon was only a fading sliver when Victor rose from his cot and tiptoed carefully through the straw on the floor of the refectory. He paused before he left, listening for a change in breathing that would mean he had wakened one of the others. After a moment, he decided that it was safe to continue. He slipped through the half-open door and down the stone stairs. If he remembered right, there was a space in the cloister wall where the rock had crumbled and only a tangle of vines separated the monks from the outside world.
He knew what he was doing was strictly forbidden and what he planned to do even more so. He tried to imagine what the penance would be. How could he even confess such a thing? Disobedience, lying, pride, even theft were all sins he could tell. But he wasn’t sure that even his confessor could understand why he had to do this. All he could do was pray that God, who knew his heart, would forgive.
The street was dark but Victor knew the way. He hurried to the meeting place, his heart thumping with excitement and fear.
“Wait!” Josta stopped Bonysach from running out into the dark. “Think first. Why would she leave so suddenly? Is she playing a joke on poor Samuel? If so, it’s gone on far too long.”
“It’s not like her,” Bonysach said. “And to go out alone in the middle of the night! That’s madness!”
“Bonysach.” Solomon lowered his voice and moved closer to his friend. “Is it possible that she isn’t alone?”
Bonysach’s head turned sharply toward his wife. “Josta?” He glared at her. “Has she been seeing those gentiles again?”
Josta turned her hands up in exasperation. “We can’t keep her from the Edomites, m’anhel. She knows that she mustn’t go to their gatherings. But she can’t understand that it was permitted when she was a child and not any more.”
Bonysach snorted. “She’s just like your father. I remember when he…”
Solomon didn’t want to find himself in the middle of a family argument. He interrupted Bonysach.
“Can you think of a reason why she might want to run out for a few moments?” he asked. “Belide must have known she’d be missed if she stayed out longer. Is there a festival tonight?”
“No, I’m sure not,” Josta said. “It’s still Lent. The Christians wouldn’t let their children have a public celebration.”
“Something private, then.” Solomon tried again. “At a house nearby. Perhaps another Jewish friend.”
Bonysach shook his head, but more doubtfully.
“I can’t think why, but it’s a place to start,” he said. “I don’t like our friends knowing that we have a wanton for a daughter but I’d rather she lost her reputation than her life. If she’s not with a neighbor, they’ll help us search.”
Josta handed him a lantern. Her hand shook but her voice was steady. “Wear your cloak; the night is growing chill. Hurry back.”
Despite his guilt at being out after Compline and without permission, Brother Victor was enjoying his adventure. He had left Toulouse for Moissac and the monastery when he was ten. Since then his life had been ordered, confined, and predictable. He loved it. He loved his fellow monks, even prickly Brother James. But he had longed for a more dramatic way to prove his faith than the daily round of prayer. This trip into Spain, with the possibility of martyrdom, was just what he had dreamed of. And then he had learned of something that brought him to a true test of faith.
Was obedience more important than conscience? Was it pride that made him think he was doing something noble? Or was his mission just, even if the abbot would have been horrified? Victor wasn’t sure; he only felt that he had to do what he could to redress the wrong done by his brothers.
The stars shimmered in the black sky. It seemed to Victor that he could almost hear them singing. The young monk felt they were telling him that he had done well. He had been given the chance to prove that charity to all was integral to the Faith. And the girl had been so sweetly grateful. Now he had only to return to Saint Pierre, slip back into the dortor and catch what sleep he could before the call to Matins.
He had just entered a narrow street not far from the priory of Sancta Maria when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned. “I have no money, only a blessing to give you. Oh,” he added in relief. “It’s you! What are you…?”
The blow hit him square on the chin and threw him against the corner of the building behind him. His head smashed into the sharp edge of stone and he slumped to the ground.
Down by the river, on the other side of the priory, Hubert was surprised to find himself sitting in the dark. Lost in his internal wrangling, he hadn’t noticed the last of the daylight slipping away. He had gone to sit under the new half-built bridge where the sound of the mill wheels endlessly turning had soothed his weary spirit. Solomon’s confusion at his altered appearance had wounded him. He wished Gavi hadn’t treated him with such honor. He had never pretended to be a great scholar. He had definitely not announced that he was a holy man.
In truth, he felt a fool for trying at his age to attain a level other men had spent their lives reaching for. It was the height of arrogance to believe he would ever learn enough or be able to cast away the passions of the body long enough to be admitted into the divine presence.
But if he didn’t make the attempt, he would never know.
He had sat on the bank, with his head bowed, pondering these things. Perhaps he had also dozed a little. How else could the night have crept across the town without his notice?
The starlight was so intense that all the world around him seemed unreal. He couldn’t tell shape from shadow as he stumbled up the path from the river. At last he reached the top and was able to see pale light seeping through shuttered windows. It only confused his vision and made the way between the buildings harder to tread. He cursed himself for not having brought a lantern.
It was only when he came out into an open space that he realized he had gone too far north. He was in the market square of Saint Geraud. At least here there were torches lighting the doorway to a tavern. For a moment, Hubert was tempted to enter. A bowl of beer, did it really matter who brewed it? Was one drink going to keep him from attaining the garden of paradise?
Yes, he told himself sternly. I will not listen to the voices of the demons of doubt. It’s time I stopped this foolishness and went to my bed.
He turned decisively to the right, in the direction of the synagogue. As he did, someone burst from a narrow side street and nearly knocked him over. The person didn’t bother to stop, but ran across the square and vanished into the night.
Hubert peered into the dark alleyway but neither saw nor heard anyone else. There was a light flickering at the other end. He made his way down cautiously. Suddenly, the light vanished. He walked more quickly. As he did, he stumbled against something in the path and only barely escaped falling.
He leaned over to see what had nearly tripped him and touched rough wool over flesh. A man! Hubert knelt down, feeling to find out if the person were hurt or simply overcome with wine. His fingers ran over a smooth face up to a head with a bald spot at the crown.
“A cleric,” he said. “Your superior will have something to say about your being in this state, my man.”
Then he felt the warm sticky liquid just behind the tonsure.
“Oh dear,” Hubert said.
That was when the woman screamed.
Four
A crossroads near the synagogue, some time after Compline, the same night.
“Manifestum sit omnibus hominibus…hanc cartam audientibus, quod ego Idelfonsus. Comes Tolose, dico…quod nullo modo habeo questam neque toltam in civitate Tolosa neque in in surburbio sancti Saturnini, nec in hominbus et feminis qui vel que ibi sunt vel ibi erunt.”
Let it be known to all people…who hear this charter, that
I, Alphonse, count of Toulouse, say…that I have no part of the levies and tolls in the city of Toulouse nor in the suburb of St. Sernin, nor of men or women who are or will be here…
Charter of Toulouse, July, 1147
Now there was light all around him. Doors burst open and dogs started barking. Men with torches appeared from nowhere.
“You! Old man!” a deep voice shouted. “Don’t move!”
Hubert looked around. Old man? They couldn’t mean him. He stood up.
“There’s a monk here whose been injured,” he called to them. “His head is cut open and he’s unconscious, but still alive. He needs help.”
The watchmen gathered around Hubert. One bent to examine the body.
“He’s not one of ours,” he announced. “Anyone here know who he is?”
They all shook their heads, then looked at Hubert.
“I’m only a visitor here,” he explained. “I wouldn’t know your clerics.”
“And what were you doing out so late?” The head watchman asked in suspicion.
“Going back to my bed,” Hubert said. “Are you going to send for someone to see to him?”
The watchman signaled to one of the men. “Wake the porter at Saint Étienne and tell him to send some lay brothers and the infirmarian.”
The man nodded curtly and left.
“Now, what do you know about this?” The guard was a big man, who knew the value of looming when questioning a suspicious character.
“Nothing.” Hubert tried to back away from him, but there was a wall behind. “As I entered the street at that end.” He pointed. “Someone rushed by, nearly knocking me down. He may be the one who attacked the monk.”
“What did this man look like?”
“I didn’t see his face,” Hubert said. “If I hadn’t heard him coming toward me, we would have collided. He was cloaked, but I don’t think he was much bigger than I. That’s all I can tell you.”
The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 5