They discussed the details for some time. However, when Stephen got up to leave, Prior Rodger had one more matter to discuss.
“Whoever we pick will have to be aware of the temptation that Brother James will be exposed to on this journey.”
Stephen nodded. “I understand that James has always shown himself to be a most devout Christian and your abbot is confident that he is safe even among those who were once his people, but there’s always the possibility…”
“‘Like a dog to it’s own vomit,’” Rodger quoted. “I know. It were better that he lose his life than his soul. You might impress that upon the man assigned to go with him.”
After his summons to the priory, where he learned of the change in plans, the soldier, Jehan, returned to the cheap inn where he and Berengar were staying. He ordered bread, beer, and soup and sat down to wait.
It didn’t take long. He’d barely finished the soup when the first man came in. He was lean and watchful. He spotted Jehan at once but didn’t approach him until the innkeeper had pointed him out.
Jehan invited him to share the beer.
“I hear you’re looking for men who can fight,” the new arrival said. “Where and who for?”
“First, I need to know a few things about you,” Jehan said. “Do you owe service to any lord hereabouts?”
“Nah.” The man took the offered bowl and drank deeply. “I fought for the Count of Foix last year but finished my time with nothing much to show for it. A man told me to go south. Count Ramón is gathering an army to lay siege to Tortosa, they say. But I don’t know that I want to be in an army again.”
“It wasn’t to my taste, either,” Jehan agreed. “You have your own horse and weapons?”
“I do.” The man grimaced. “That horse is worth twice as much as I am. The one thing I brought out of the Count’s war. So, what’s the job?”
“Simple.” Jehan smiled. “Get a pair of monks through Spain to Valencia and back.”
“What!” The man rocked back on the bench. “That’s Saracen land. What reason could there be for monks to go there? If they plan to preach to the infidels, I’ll have no part of it. The Saracens don’t just kill people who try to convert them; they cut off bits beforehand and feed them to their dogs. Then they burn you as a sacrifice to their gods.”
Jehan looked at him in disgust. “You know nothing but rumors and stories from the bottom of a mug. I’ve spent the past two years down there and I know what they’re like. I’ve fought against them and with them, under King Alfonso Enríquez. They’re a strange people, it’s true. Almost as bad as Jews in their commandments about food. Worse, if you count the ones who don’t drink wine. But they have no idols that I’ve seen. Instead they think we do, with all our statues of the Virgin and the saints.”
The man looked at him in suspicion. “What are you?” he asked.
“A soldier,” Jehan answered shortly. “And I’ve killed enough men to know that all blood is red. I also have lived long enough not to trust any one on either side. Have you?”
The man stood.
“I don’t know what you’re paying for this folly,” he said. “And I don’t want to. I don’t travel with madmen.”
The few others in the tavern glanced at them briefly and then returned to their own business. The first applicant stalked out.
Jehan started on his bread, now softened by the last of the soup.
Two more men came by, but one wanted too much for the job and the other looked as though he’d cut their throats the first night out. Jehan ordered more beer and glanced at the man sitting in the corner.
Jehan had noticed the man some time before. He had ordered one pitcher of beer and was drinking it slowly. The purse he had shaken the sliver of coin from looked empty. He fidgeted with the bowl, tapping it on the table in an annoying cadence. Occasionally, he would look quickly in Jehan’s direction, then away. Jehan wondered when he’d find the courage to come over.
Finally the constant tapping got on his nerves. Jehan rose and went to him. As he approached, he noted that the man’s clothes were worn, but of good quality, especially the boots. His tunic was closed with a tarnished silver brooch that had lost its stones. Under the tunic, there was the glint of mail, well oiled and polished.
“You’ve been watching me,” he said without preamble. “I’m going to Valencia to ransom knights taken in battle with the Saracen. Will you come with me?”
The man gave a surly look, as though he would refuse. Then the look turned to shame.
“I can’t,” he said into his cup. “I don’t have a horse anymore.”
Jehan studied him. “Lose him in a tournament?”
The man gave a short laugh. “Me? I don’t go to those things. If you have to know, I lost him at dice. All or nothing.”
“But you kept your sword and mail,” Jehan noted.
“I’d wager my mother before my sword,” the man replied.
Jehan sat down across from him.
“If a horse were provided,” he asked. “Would you take the commission? Payment in gold to you or your family by the abbey of Cluny at Saint Pierre of Moissac.”
The man tried not to show his eagerness, but it was evident in the way his shoulders relaxed as if a burden had been lifted from them. Jehan had been right in gauging the contents of his purse.
“When do we leave?” he asked.
“Shortly after Easter.” Jehan held out his hand. “Now, what is the name of my new sergeant?”
“Guy of Anjou.” Guy took the offered hand. “A free man of decent birth and no prospects.”
“Jehan of Blois.” Jehan smiled. “The same.”
Solomon was having a much more difficult confrontation. Belide had been brought downstairs and now sat facing him. Her expression was a mixture of fear and defiance. How was he to get her to confide in him?
He took a straight back chair from by the empty hearth, spun it around and straddled it so that he could rest his arms on the top. He looked over them at the quivering girl.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you think your cowardly parents have delegated me to whip you until you tell all?”
To his surprise, she nodded.
Solomon laughed. “Well, they probably should have. You’re acting like a child too young to understand reason. Now, you and Arnald both say that this adventure you have undertaken was concocted by Aaron, the horse trader, right? Well, I don’t believe you. I’ve known Aaron since you were in swaddling and he’s not one for mysterious plots and sneaking about by night. Nor would he ask you to do anything that might endanger your life.”
“I wasn’t in danger!” she blurted out.
“Oh?” Solomon leaned forward, tipping the chair precariously toward her. “A man died. It could have been you. Did you see who hit him?’
“No, I had already gone by then…” Belide clapped her hand over her mouth.
Solomon let the chair fall back with a satisfied thud.
“So.” He smiled. “You left a guest in your garden to run out into the night in order to meet a black monk. Or was it both Arnald and the monk? And you wonder why your parents are angry with you? What would you think if a child of yours behaved like that?”
Slowly, realization swept through Belide. Her mouth dropped open and a deep blush rose from her neck to her forehead.
“Oh, Solomon! They can’t think that I was going to convert and marry Arnald?” she said. “That’s ridiculous! I would never do such a thing!”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Solomon told her. “And your parents will be, as well. But that still leaves the problem. What were you up to with two Christian men in the middle of the night?”
Gloom settled on her again as she slumped on her stool. She sat for a moment, biting her upper lip. Finally, she came to a decision.
“I can’t tell you everything, because I don’t know it,” she muttered at the floor.
Solomon got up and came to kneel beside her. He felt like a priest waiting for a
confession. The thought made him queasy.
“How did you know Brother Victor?” he asked quietly.
“I didn’t,” Belide said. “I only met him briefly in the square. He seemed a good man, for a monk. He comes from near here. Arnald and Aaron were both friends of his. When he went to Moissac, Arnald asked him for advice. He offered to help. At least that’s what Arnald said. I think his sympathy was genuine. Look at the risk he took, leaving his cloister so late at night.”
“Belide.” Solomon’s voice held a warning. “Help you do what?”
Belide sank even lower.
“Rescue a woman from the white monks in Spain.”
“What?” Of all the possibilities Solomon had considered, this wasn’t even on the list.
“Aaron told us. He knows her. She was taken by the Genoese last fall, when they raided Almeria,” Belide said. “She was then sold as a slave and brought to Catalonia and now some white monks have her, but Aaron doesn’t yet know where.”
“Belide, you can’t have this right.” Solomon took her shoulders and pulled her up to face him. “I don’t much care for monks of any sort, but I’m fairly certain that they don’t buy female slaves to slake their lust, as least not officially.”
“I only know what Aaron said,” Belide insisted. “Brother Victor was going on a mission to Spain to ransom Christian knights from the Ishmaelites. Arnald told him about this woman and he said he would help.”
“But what have you to do with it?” Solomon was completely baffled.
“Well.” The blush started again. “Brother Victor could only get away after the other monks had gone to sleep. Arnald was worried about the watch stopping him on the way to the meeting.”
“He’s had trouble with the watch?” Solomon asked.
“A couple of times,” she admitted. “They caught him taking stones out of the Saracen wall to block the creek that goes past the Senoris tower. But Raimon Senoris deserved to be flooded! He’s an arrogant pig! And there was something about climbing up the tower of the Roaix and pissing off the top last Saint Martin’s day. His aim was very good.”
“I see.” Solomon coughed explosively. “Sorry. So Arnald doesn’t get on with the nobles in town. No wonder he didn’t want to be caught out alone. You came along to protect him?”
“Well,” she said earnestly. “If a watchman came by, he could say he was just making sure I got home safely, you see.”
“Of course.” Solomon stared at her, trying to remember if he had been this foolish at seventeen. A quick rummage through his memory told him he had been much worse.
“I wanted to help,” she insisted. “It was my idea. Arnald’s father had told him that if he got into any more trouble, he wouldn’t buy the casal Arnald wants next to the one Aaron’s sister owns. He’s going to start growing his own vines and sell wine to the monks. But he can only do it if his father permits him to use the money.”
This was getting too complicated for Solomon.
“So,” he interrupted, “you and Arnald were both acting in a spirit of pure goodness and charity. Therefore, you feel your punishment is totally undeserved.”
“That’s right.” Belide smiled at him. “Can’t you just tell my parents that, without going into the details?”
Solomon stood, glad of the chance to stretch. He looked down at Belide.
“I’ll tell them that you have done nothing that will shame your family,” he told her. “But my recommendation will be that you not be allowed out alone until you are either well past thirty or safely wed.”
Ignoring her indignant protests, Solomon went to reassure Bonysach and Josta. Then he set out to find Arnald. He might not be allowed to speak with the boy, but he had to try. If his help was being asked for this bizarre quest, he needed to know more than Belide could tell him.
“You sent for me, Father?” Brother James stood at the doorway to the chapter of Saint Pierre des Cuisines. Prior Rodger beckoned him to enter.
“Sit down, please,” he said. “I know you haven’t slept well the past few nights. You must be tired. Prior Stephen and I are concerned that this tragedy will affect your ability to complete this mission. Perhaps we should consider letting you return to Moissac and finding someone in Spain to interpret for us.”
James had sat as requested but the prior’s words caused him to leap up again.
“No! You mustn’t replace me!” he begged. “I’m perfectly able to do this. It’s not only my duty to those poor captives, but also what I owe Brother Victor’s memory. If I don’t go, I will have failed him.”
“Calm yourself, my brother,” Rodger said. “You know that Victor would not want you to ruin your health out of a sense of obligation to him. We were concerned about how well you could endure the journey even before this sad event. Forgive me, but you are not a young man, you know.”
James tried to stop the shaking in his hands. Of course he knew. By his reckoning, he was sixty-two this summer. But he wasn’t infirm or feeble. Perhaps he was more tired after a day in the saddle than he had been in his youth. That was all. He told the prior as much.
Rodger looked at the man before him. James was of middle height, lean from fasting and work. The fringe of his tonsure had more black than gray in it. His eyes were alert and he could still read a page without squinting. Rodger suspected that James was more able to stand a journey than he, at least physically.
“Very well,” he conceded. “There’s no doubt that your skills will be needed. Prior Stephen and I need to nominate another monk to accompany you. Is there anyone you would prefer?”
James exhaled in relief. He could not have endured the shame of being left behind. As for someone to take Brother Victor’s place…
“I can think of no one,” he said. “I shall abide by your wisdom.”
“Good. You may leave then. May our Lord bless you.” Prior Rodger dismissed him.
James stayed where he was.
“Yes?” Rodger asked.
“Have you heard anything?” James blurted. “About the man who killed Victor? What is being done to capture him?”
“The bailiff of Saint Pierre has met with the count’s guards and the Good Men of Toulouse,” Rodger told him. “As I understand it, they are at a loss. None of the inns or shelters for pilgrims reported anyone returning after hours that night. Nor was anyone missing the next morning that they know of. All strangers in town have been accounted for.”
“What about the man found with him?” James asked.
“He was vouched for by both one of the citizens of the town and the leader of the synagogue,” Rodger said. “Apparently quite a harmless old scholar. The watchman didn’t think him capable of striking a blow hard enough to break a man’s skull.”
“He was a Jew?” James jaw tightened. “Why did no one tell me this?”
Rodger knew he had to tread carefully here.
“There was no need to mention it,” he said lightly. “All agreed that he had nothing to do with the incident.”
“Then why was he out so late?” James countered.
“A desire to walk out a philosophical quandary,” Rodger said. “I understand that it’s not an unusual habit among scholars.”
James was forced to admit that it was the case. He had often done the same thing, himself, in the days when he had wrestled with the inconsistencies of the Law. But a plausible excuse was still just that, nothing more.
“He may have had a partner to strike the blow,” James continued. “Perhaps his apparent weakness was intended to lure Victor to the spot where his murderer waited. Have his goods been searched for the missing gold?”
Rodger paused. He didn’t know. “I’ll ask the bailiff to find out,” he said.
James took a step forward.
“Why don’t you let me question him?” he asked. “I know these people. I know their tricks. I’d soon find out if he was lying.”
The prior was at a loss as to how to answer. He remembered the incident a few years before, when Jam
es had tried to convict a Jew of murdering one of their monks. That had ended in embarrassment for the abbey and a scandal regarding the dead man’s past. And yet, James’s questions were valid.
The bell over their head began to toll, causing both men to start.
“None already!” Prior Rodger exclaimed. “We must be on our way to the chapel.”
“But the Jew,” James said. “Will you let me speak with him?”
“I must consult with Prior Stephen and the bailiff,” Rodger said. “This isn’t our town. We must abide by their customs. I shall give you the decision as soon as possible.”
With that, James had to be content.
Solomon found Arnald in the marketplace sitting glumly in front of an assortment of salt cones. He brightened when he saw Solomon.
“How is Belide?” he asked.
“Languishing in her cell,” Solomon answered. “But otherwise unharmed. Whatever possessed you to bring her into this insane rescue plot of yours?”
“Hush!” Arnald looked around to see if anyone was listening. “What did she tell you? Do her parents know?”
“Everything and not yet,” Solomon answered. “Although why they shouldn’t is inexplicable to me. As is your part in it.”
“Aaron is my best friend,” Arnald said simply. “He would have gone alone to Spain and stormed the place where this woman is being held. I persuaded him that he’d only be killed. Victor is…was…another friend. Both Aaron and I knew him before he decided to turn religious. I thought he might have a better plan.”
“And did he?” Solomon could feel himself being pulled in but his curiosity was too strong to resist.
“He thought we should try to buy her back,” Arnald said. His disappointment was obvious.
Solomon relaxed. “A much more sensible idea. So that’s why Aaron is in Bordeaux selling horses so early in the year? I thought it was for his wedding to Mayah. Why is a man about to be wed concerning himself with the fate of another woman?”
Arnald began to fuss with the cones, rearranging them on their trays.
“I think she may be a relative,” he told Solomon, his eyes on his work. “He didn’t tell you?”
The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 8