The Moneylender of Toulouse

by Alan Gordon

  “What?”

  “This makes her more of a suspect in her husband’s death.”

  “To conceal her affair? I suppose it’s possible.”

  “I was thinking about the will,” she said. “If it meant she would be disinherited in favor of the cathedral, she could have done it to protect herself. And her children.”

  “Got rid of her husband, got rid of the new will, and inherited under the old one. Very plausible. But what about Armand? Did she kill him as well?”

  “Maybe he really did see Milon’s murder, and was trying to get her to pay him to be silent,” she said. “Except he was killed the day of Milon’s funeral, wasn’t he? That means she couldn’t have done it. She was surrounded by comforting witnesses the entire time. I give up.”

  “Let’s sleep on it,” I suggested. “Big day tomorrow. Our very own Feast of Fools. Oh, and Christmas. We’ll stir this town up proper.”

  “And when the dust settles?”

  “We shall see.”

  I roused Helga for her turn at watch and nestled beside my wife. My thoughts continued to swirl around my poor beleaguered mind, but eventually, I fell asleep.

  * * *

  “Christmas!” hollered Helga, louder than any rooster. “Time to celebrate the First Fool in all His glory. Up, up, up!”

  “Up, up, up!” cried Portia, and Helga put her on her shoulders and whirled around the tiny room.

  I rolled out of bed and opened the shutters. The sun was just above the horizon.

  “What happened to my turn at watch?” I asked Helga.

  “That was my Christmas present to you,” she said. “You looked exhausted last night, so I let you sleep.”

  “Very kind of you, Apprentice,” I said. “Thank you. Hey, wife!”

  I shook Claudia awake.

  “What is it?” she asked, yawning.

  “Time for your present,” I said, handing her a small bag.

  She opened it to find a jar of hand cream. She opened it and smelled it.

  “Lavender,” she said, sighing. “How lovely!”

  “And for you, my girl, I have this,” I said to Portia.

  I reached into the bag I had carried back from Martine’s shop and pulled out a doll that was nearly as big as my daughter, with buttons for eyes and yarn for hair. Portia gabbled excitedly and clutched it to her.

  “Where did you get that?” asked Claudia.

  “I had it made,” I said. “Stuffed with sawdust fresh from the Borsella mill.”

  “Lucky girl,” sighed Helga. “I wish I had a doll like that when I was little.”

  “If you’re too big for them now, then I have misjudged you,” I said, pulling a larger one out and giving it to her.

  She looked at it, then at me.

  “I am twelve, you know,” she said. “Almost thirteen.”

  “Shall I take it back?” I asked.

  “Oh, no,” she said, hugging it like Portia was hugging hers.

  “I remember you telling me how your only doll was destroyed when you were little,” I said. “You shouldn’t go through life thinking that will be the last doll you’ll ever have.”

  “Thank you, Theo,” she whispered. “I love it.”

  “And now for you, my husband,” said my wife, reaching under the bed.

  She pulled out a thin wooden box and handed to me. I opened it to find a knife, with a steel blade honed to a sharpness that could have sliced through sin. I took it out and balanced it on the tip of my finger, then flipped it and caught it.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Toledan steel,” she said. “I thought you could use a new one after you lost your favorite back in Le Thoronet. I bought it off a mercenary who had several. He claimed he could take an ear off from thirty paces with it. He offered to show me his ear collection, but I declined. Oh, and here’s the sheath.”

  It was made from a soft, thin leather that wrapped around my ankle and fit nicely inside my boot. I slid the knife in and out a few times for practice.

  “Thank you, my love,” I said, kissing her. “I hope that I never have to use it, but I’m glad that I have it.”

  “I’m glad you have it, too,” she said.

  “Right,” I said, clapping my hands. “Downstairs for exercises. Then on with our makeup and motley and off to Mass.”

  “You want to wear motley and makeup to Mass with the Feast of Fools banned?” asked Helga.

  “Now more than ever,” I said. “The Feast may be banned from the cathedral, but fools aren’t yet. And let’s sing loud enough to drown out that wretched choir. The First Fool ought to have some decent music for His birthday, don’t you think?”

  Oh, the stares as we took our bench inside the cathedral. Stares of rage from the Bishop and his priests and deacons. Stares of amusement from the Count and his retinue. And stares of what I thought was hope from the rest of the assembly. Did they expect us to start the Feast right then and there? Parade a boy bishop in on an ass and sing parodies of the service? Truly, we could have not made the service any worse had we done so. The Bishop stammered through one inconclusive homily after another, interspersed with more incoherent denunciations of the Cathars; the choir sang halfheartedly despite our best efforts to help them. Oddly enough, we caused more distraction by simply showing up and participating enthusiastically in the service than we would have by bringing in the once-usual mayhem.

  But the Feast still lived within me, within my wife, within our apprentice, and no doubt within our child. The moment the mass had ended and my feet hit the first step leading out, I seized a trumpet that had been hanging inside my cloak, put it to my lips, and sounded a clarion call that could have wakened the dead in the cemetery before us. Claudia joined in with one of her own, and I continued playing the horn with one hand while pounding on a side drum with the other. Helga danced in front of us, occasionally turning cartwheels or soaring into flips, while Portia rode my shoulders and clapped her hands.

  We started marching from the cathedral, the congregation pouring out behind us. I glanced back to see the Bishop standing on the top step, turning nearly apoplectic. I waved and sent one particularly wet blat in his direction, then continued on.

  From off to the left, another trumpet sounded, and we turned to see Pelardit on his stilts, a drum at his waist. He started whistling a melody that danced around our trumpet calls. A few streets later, we came up against a raucous crowd that surrounded Jordan, who rode with immense dignity on a small, sullen ass. He hailed us in a pure tenor voice that echoed through the streets, singing something that somehow sounded like Latin while being absolute gibberish.

  “To Montaygon Square!” I shouted, and we turned east and headed that way.

  There was no market on Christmas Day, of course, so the square was ours. Martine and the boys had wheeled a cart with all of our props there in advance of our arrival. We set up quickly as the crowd surrounded us. Then I stood in the center and swept my arms around grandly.

  “The Feast of Fools has been banned from the Church!” I shouted. There was booing, and I held up a hand in admonition. “No, my friends. If the Pope decrees it, then it must be so. But there is no ban on folly, either within the Church or without. Folly cannot be banned. It is everywhere, in all of us. When the Church allowed the Feast of Fools, it kept the folly contained in one place where the Pope could keep an eye on it. But now, he has loosed it upon the world!”

  There were cheers.

  “Hear me, good citizens of Toulouse!” I cried. “I am Tan Pierre, and for the next twelve days, I am the Lord of Misrule!”

  I stripped off my cloak and flung it onto the cart, revealing my full motleyed glory. Then I bowed to the crowd and did a back flip.

  And we were off.

  They knew the songs, and sang them with us, sending them up to God with more power and devotion than they had any paltry psaltery. They knew the routines and rituals as well as they knew their liturgy. They welcomed the hoariest of gags as if they had
never heard them before, and roared at the new ones as if they were revelations of Paradise.

  We went on for what seemed like hours, exhausting our repertory and ourselves. I saw people reaching for coins at its close, and held up my hands.

  “Today is Christmas!” I shouted. “We accept no money. This is the gift of fools to their fellows! Now, a final hymn.”

  But as we began it, a martial rhythm interfered. A tramping of heavy boots on stones, growing ever nearer. The song faded without concluding, and uneasy looks passed among the crowd. In the center of the square, the five of us instinctively drew together.

  “Soldiers!” cried Helga, spotting them.

  “I said this was madness,” moaned Jordan. “You knew that throwing the Feast in the Bishop’s face would have consequences. You have doomed us all.”

  “The Bishop has no soldiers,” I said. “Let’s see what this is all about.”

  Claudia ran and gathered Portia from Martine’s arms, then ran back to me and took my hand.

  “Is that Calvet at their head?” she asked.

  “Looks like it,” I said. Pelardit was on my right. I leaned over to him and whispered, “Do you see her?”

  He nodded.

  “Good,” I said. “You know what to do.”

  Calvet in full regalia marched through the parted crowd, a squad of twenty soldiers wearing the Count’s colors in tight formation behind him. They stopped ten feet in front of us, and the baile looked at us with contempt.

  “A happy Christmas to you, Senhor Baile,” I said, bowing. “We missed you at services this morning.”

  “The next word I hear from you will be your last,” he sneered. “Take that one. And the woman.”

  “No!” screamed Jordan as four soldiers stepped forward to seize him.

  “What are you doing?” screamed Martine as two more put her in chains. “Jordan? What did you do?”

  “By the authority of Count Raimon the Sixth, I arrest the fool Jordan and his wife, Martine, on the charges of murdering Milon Borsella and Armand de Quinto!” shouted Calvet. “They are to be taken to assizes and held for judgment.”

  “But I was with him!” shouted Jordan, pointing to me. “Both times, I was with him! Tell him, Fool!”

  “Senhor Baile, he speaks the truth,” I said, stepping forward. “I will stand witness for him.”

  He gave me a backhanded blow to the jaw that knocked me down.

  “I told you to be quiet, Fool!” he shouted. “Anyone else who interferes will join these two.”

  He turned and strode away.

  “My children!” wailed Martine as they dragged them away. “My boys.”

  “I’ll watch them, Martine!” Claudia cried after her. “It will be all right, I promise.”

  The boys were huddled together and crying by the cart with the props. Helga ran over to comfort them. Claudia turned to me, a look of horror on her face. I got to my feet, rubbing my jaw. God’s payback for hitting a priest, I suppose. I was lucky that the baile had chosen not to wear mailed gauntlets today. Another Christmas gift for Theo. Hooray.

  “What now?” asked Claudia.

  I looked around the square. Pelardit had vanished.

  “You and Helga take the boys back to our place,” I said. “I’m going to see what I can do.”

  “Which place?”

  “Might as well go to Honoret’s,” I said. “There’s no hiding us now.”

  The crowd was chattering excitedly and looking in our direction. We loaded up the cart and put the children in it, then harnessed it to the ass.

  “Be careful,” I said.

  She nodded, and took the ass’s reins. Helga trailed them, glancing over her shoulder at me.

  A fool and a novitiate guarding three children against the world. My money was on the women. I looked around the square at our remaining audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes our entertainment for today,” I said. “But we will be back. You may count on it.”

  I bowed and walked quickly toward the Grande Rue, ignoring all questions. Some people straggled after me, but eventually gave up.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon, and people were hurrying home for Christmas dinners with their families. The taverns were closed to outside business, but I knew a place where there would be wine aplenty, and I was prepared to deplete the supply in my quest.

  I pulled a half-emptied wineskin from my pack and swished enough around my mouth to bring my breath to its normal stench, then staggered up a flight of steps to a familiar door and pounded on it repeatedly.

  “Open up, you old sod!” I shouted. “It’s Christmas, and I’ve brought a full wineskin. Well, it was full when I bought it, but there’s plenty left. Come on, you bastard, let me in!”

  Pelardit opened the door, looking perturbed as I fell through it into his arms.

  “Happy Christmas, you old fool!” I roared, grappling him in a bear hug. “Were we not magnificent today? Toulouse will never forget what we accom, accom, what we did in that square. Why—good God, there’s a lady present!”

  He shrugged apologetically as I saw Audrica sitting on the edge of his bed, giggling at my display.

  “Why, ’tis the Lady Audrica,” I said, bowing low and nearly toppling in the effort, which served to increase the giggling. “Delighted to see you. Pelardit, what debauchery have I stumbled into?”

  He waved his hands frenetically in denial.

  “Come, come, you rascal,” I said, elbowing him in the ribs. “What better way to celebrate Our Savior’s birth than with a lovely maid? Why, were I not married, I would be honored, nay, exalted to be at the side of such a one. Lady Audrica, I must salute you properly.”

  I knelt before her, took her head between my hands and kissed her. I tasted the wine she had been drinking. Good.

  “Nectar of the gods!” I sighed.

  “And why are you not with your wife?” she said teasingly, pushing me away but not protesting.

  “Kicked me out!” I bellowed. “Kicked me out for demanding what any husband is due from his wife on Christmas. And on any day that’s not Christmas, when it comes right down to it. Said I was drunk! Me, drunk!”

  I took another swallow from the wineskin and passed it to her. She upended it like she had seen one before.

  “She has no sense then, Senhor,” she pronounced, belching prettily. “Why, if only wives would perform their wifely duties, then sin would be no more.”

  “Spoken like one who understands marriage from without,” I said. “Well, maybe this fool will be the man for you, eh? How came this to pass? Why aren’t you at Bazacle?”

  “Arnaut lets us have the day off every Christmas,” she said, taking another swig from the wineskin. She made as if to pass it on, but we indicated for her to keep on drinking. She obliged us.

  “A most generous master,” I said. “A strange man, but a jolly one. I liked him tremendously.”

  “Oh, his generosity of spirit knows no bounds,” she said. “Why, I could tell you things.”

  “Really?” I exclaimed as Pelardit nuzzled her neck and ran his fingers up and down her thigh. “Has the Master of Bazacle been especially generous to pretty little Audrica? Have there been delightful little gifts?”

  “Oh, you are a naughty pair, aren’t you?” she said. “Just what I wanted for Christmas. I was so surprised when Pelardit accosted me, but he has always been such a dear fool, and I thought, why not?”

  “It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” I said, winking at Pelardit. “I hope your fiancé doesn’t mind his borrowing you.”

  “Oh, him,” she laughed. “He’s a bigger fool than any of you. Thinks I’m an angel from Heaven. He forgets what happens to angels when they fall.”

  “Is your master a devil, then?” I asked. “I knew he was no angel, but I thought him merely a man.”

  “Oh, he’s more than a man,” she confided. “Like a bull. Why, whenever he has one of his little meetings he—oh, but I’m not
supposed to tell.”

  “Drink up, milady,” I said. “And don’t worry about us. Confessing to a fool is like confessing to a priest, only safer.”

  “Ah, priests,” she said, dismissing the entire clergy with a wave of her hand. “They might as well be celibate. I’ve never had one who was any good.”

  “So you’ve entertained the clergy at Bazacle, have you?” I asked.

  “Not supposed to tell,” she sang, waving a finger at me.

  “And a consul or two, I’ll warrant.”

  “Oh, that was a night, let me tell you,” she said. “There was, let me see, Pons and Guilhem and, whatshisname, Bonet.”

  “Milon’s brother?”

  “Right,” she said, suddenly sad. “Milon. Poor, poor Milon.”

  “Tell me about Milon,” I said. “What was he like?”

  “Never knew,” she said. “Would have liked him. He seemed nice. Came to the château a lot, but always about money, money, money.”

  “Did he and Arnaut argue about money?”

  She nodded, almost falling with the motion.

  “What happened to Milon?” I asked.

  She was drifting off. I shook her a little, and she looked up at me like a child and smiled.

  “What happened to Milon?” I asked her.

  “Told Evrard about him,” she said dreamily. “Wasn’t, wasn’t true, but he’d believe anything I’d tell him, stupid boy.”

  “What did you tell Evrard about Milon?” I asked.

  “Told him he took me by force,” she said. “Wish he had for real. He was a handsome man.”

  “Who told you to tell him that, Audrica?” I asked her softly.

  “My master,” she said. Then she leaned back into Pelardit’s arms and started to snore.

  CHAPTER 14

  Pelardit eased the sleeping maid onto his bed, then pulled her legs up so that she was lying comfortably. We looked at her for a moment.

  “How much did you give her?” I asked.

  He held his thumb and forefinger apart an inch.

  “That should keep her out until morning,” I said. “Are you ready for the next part?”

  He nodded, looking at her regretfully, then pulled off her shoes and began to undress her. I poured some water into a basin and scrubbed my makeup off. I patted my face dry, then stripped off my motley and pulled on some normal workman’s clothing. I selected a brown wig with hair much longer than my own from the collection on Pelardit’s shelves, then glued on a matching mustache.