Eliazar smiled at Natan. “I know you are only stopping by on your way to your own home. I don’t want to make you late. What news have you brought?”
“News?” Natan sounded annoyed. “I have no news. I’ve been traveling constantly for the last few weeks and have had no time to spend trading stories.”
Then he, too, forced a smile, as if remembering that he was the guest. “You misunderstood, my dear friend,” he said.
Eliazar reflected that the oil in his beard had penetrated to his voice.
“I’ve only come to ask a small favor. Of course, I will be only too happy to give you something to express my gratitude.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Eliazar said coldly.
“Of course not,” Natan answered. “An upright man has no desire for reward. And it is only a small request.”
He looked down. Eliazar followed his glance. At Natan’s feet lay a sack. He bent over and took a box from it. The box was wooden, about three feet long, six inches or so wide and about as deep. It was nailed shut and then tied with rope.
“I have to go away again for several days and I’d like you to keep this for me in your treasure room,” Natan said.
Eliazar squinted at the box in suspicion. “Why can’t you have your nephew, Haquin, keep it?” he asked.
“Haquin doesn’t have the security you do,” Natan said. “He’s only a draper. His shop can be entered too easily.”
“Clearly this thing has great value, if you won’t trust it to your own kin,” Eliazar said, intrigued in spite of himself. “I thought you dealt in animals. Where did you come by something of such worth?”
“I traded for it honestly!” Natan insisted. “I saw an opportunity to better myself and I took it. Do you have any objection to that? You never did before. It seems to me that your family were once nothing more than fishmongers in Rouen.”
“I only wish we could be so again,” Eliazar answered. “So, what is this treasure you had the luck to acquire?”
Natan hugged the box to his chest like a favorite child. “You don’t need to know that,” he said. “Just put it in a dark corner of your storeroom and forget about it.”
Eliazar shook his head. “I can’t do that, Natan. I need to know what is in the box so that I can give you a receipt.”
“I trust you, Eliazar,” Natan insisted. “That’s why I’ve come to you. I don’t need a receipt.”
Eliazar’s eyes opened wide and his hand flew to his own beard in astonishment. “That settles it,” he said. “I will not keep this unless I see for myself what you have in this box and give you a detailed list of the contents, along with a copy confirmed with your seal.”
Natan started backing toward the door. “I told you that wouldn’t be necessary!” he shouted. “If I’m willing to trust you so well, why can’t you give me the same respect?”
“Because I know you, Natan ben Judah,” Eliazar answered. “Your father was a good man who honored the commandments and wasn’t ashamed of being poor. You smear mud on his name with your velvet tunics and Gentile manners. If you had a tenth part of his integrity, you would tell me at once what you’ve brought to me and how you came by it.”
“How dare you insult me!” Natan said, stuffing the box back into the sack. “I would have paid you well for nothing more than a bit of space. But you treat me worse than you would a leper sitting in his own filth. Have you forgotten what you owe me? You will pay for your arrogance, Eliazar!”
He put his cloak on with a sweeping gesture that nearly upset the brazier.
“Yes, no doubt I will pay,” Eliazar nodded, guiding him to the door. “Don’t you think you should go before you’re caught carrying that thing on the Sabbath?”
He only meant to remind Natan of the prohibition against carrying anything on the day of rest, but the man reacted as if he had been struck.
“You hypocrite! You knew all along!” he shrieked. “You were trying to deceive me into sharing the profit with you. Now you’ll get nothing, nothing from me, ever. Who told you? It was Solomon, wasn’t it? That nephew of yours is half a Christian already. He heard of it from them, didn’t he?”
They were outside in the courtyard now and Natan’s voice carried up and down the narrow street.
“No one has said anything to me,” Eliazar said quietly. “I know nothing of your business.”
“You’re lying!” Natan shouted. “You want to steal it. You want to kill me and steal it!”
“Natan, you’re mad,” Eliazar told him, fearing it was true. “Go home, eat, rest. Come talk to me in a few days, when you’re able to speak reason.”
He opened the gate. Natan backed through it, still yelling accusations at Eliazar, who finally lost his temper enough to slam the thick outer door shut and drop the bar with a satisfying thud. But Natan could still be heard.
“You’ll see! One day I’ll be rich and you and your family will come as beggars to my table,” he screamed. “You’ll live to regret treating me like this, Eliazar ben Meir.”
“No doubt,” Eliazar muttered as he gratefully closed the inner door.
He took off his cloak and put it on a hook. His hands were cold; he had forgotten to put on his gloves. The air was redolent with the aroma of meat and bread. The Christian servant, Lucia, was just finishing laying the table. He closed his eyes and let the tranquillity and order, the small, familiar sounds, restore his humor.
He would go to the synagogue to greet the Sabbath and, when he returned, Johannah would have said the blessing over the candles. It would be just the two of them tonight. Yes, he was glad that Natan had not joined them. It was a rare Sabbath that they had no guests to share their meal.
“You know, my dear,” he said as his wife came in to oversee the preparations, “your price truly is above rubies.”
“I should hope so,” Johannah answered. “Now, hurry. That Natan has made you late for services.”
At about that same time, Catherine’s servant, Samonie, was bringing her dinner up the narrow stairs to the women’s rooms.
“Here’s some stew, Lady Catherine,” Samonie announced as she entered. “I’ll reheat it on the brazier for you.”
Catherine sniffed. “That’s the rabbit stew from yesterday,” she said in horror. “I can’t have that. It’s Friday.”
“You need to get your strength back,” Samonie said. “Even I know people are not required to abstain from meat when they’re sick.”
“But I’m not sick,” Catherine said. “Only sad and tired and still a bit sore. I can’t eat this. I’m sorry.”
“Catherine LeVendeur, you shall eat every bite and lick the bowl.”
Both women started. They hadn’t heard Edgar come in.
“Don’t worry, Samonie,” he said. “I have permission to visit. Catherine, even in the monasteries, people recovering from illness are given meat. You need it.”
He took the stew from Samonie and sat down next to Catherine, spoon in one hand, bowl in the other. “I’ll feed you if I have to,” he threatened. “Please, Catherine. They won’t let you out of here until you’re stronger and I’m so tired of sleeping with a bunch of farting men-at-arms.” He bent over her and whispered, “You do it with so much more elegance.”
“Edgar!” Catherine gasped. “Don’t make me laugh! You have no idea what that does to my stomach.”
They both glanced over at Samonie, only to find she had made a discreet exit.
“Now eat your stew,” Edgar said, “while I tell you about a very odd proposal your father has made me.”
Catherine took a bite. She swallowed. No lightning struck. No voices reproved. She took another.
“Father?” she asked, pulling a bone splinter out of her mouth. “What does he want you to do now? If he’s sending you off to the antipodes the way he does Solomon, I won’t have it … unless I go too.”
“No, it was more strange than that,” Edgar said. “Keep eating. He wanted to know if I knew anything about working in metal.”
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br /> “What kind of metal?” she asked, peering into the bowl. “Do you think this white thing is a turnip?”
“Gold and silver, I think,” he said. “Stop examining the food. Just swallow it.”
“Do you?” she asked, swallowing cautiously. It seemed to be a turnip. “Work in metal, I mean?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “You need to be a real apprentice to learn the techniques. I’ve only been able to work seriously with wood and stone, picking up lessons here and there. I’m not sure I’d be very good at metal, although I’d like to try. I used to watch the armorers at our castle. They made some beautiful stirrups and bridle pieces.”
“Don’t they make carved molds for molten ores?” Catherine suggested. “You could do that, I suppose. But why would my father encourage it? He doesn’t approve of your doing manual labor any more than your father did.”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Edgar said. “Now what are you doing?”
“This bit is definitely not a turnip,” Catherine said, poking at a lump with the edge of her spoon. “Didn’t he even give you a clue?”
“Eat it anyway,” Edgar told her. “Not really. He was very close about his reasons. Asked a lot of questions about the time I spent working on the sculptures at Saint-Denis. Did I really do the work or was Garnulf covering for me? How did I adapt to being treated as a workman?”
Catherine snorted and ate around the suspicious lump. “I can answer that,” she said. “You were the most arrogant apprentice sculptor I ever met.”
She leaned back on the pillows. Edgar put the almost-empty bowl on the stand by the bed. He smoothed the curls on her forehead.
“And you were the least spiritual novice nun I ever met.”
They smiled at each other, remembering.
Edgar found himself thinking that he was not going to last the forty days required before resuming marital relations. “So,” he said. “What do you make of it?”
“What?” she asked. Her mind had also wandered from the subject at hand. “Oh, Father. I can’t imagine. But, whatever it is, promise you won’t do it without me.”
“I already have,” he said.
Eliazar was not surprised that Natan was not among those at the synagogue for Sabbath prayers. The man was hardly a strict observer of the Law. That didn’t matter so much in a community the size of Paris, where there was always the number required for prayers. He was surprised and delighted, though, to find his nephew, Solomon, among the men. Solomon was not particularly observant, either. With him was Baruch of the community at Saint-Denis. There were not enough adult males in Saint-Denis to make a minyin, so they were considered part of the Paris community, even though Saint-Denis was under the secular lordship of Abbot Suger and the Jews of Paris answered only to the king. Still, it was not often, especially in winter, that the men of Saint-Denis could attend Sabbath services.
As he hurried to take his place, Eliazar thought he saw another man, seated deep in the shadows. One of the Christian scholars, perhaps. Many of the students of theology had expressed interest in understanding the Hebrew language and Jewish customs. There had been loud debates about letting the Gentiles in, but finally it had been decided that it would only increase suspicion as to the nature of their rituals if the scholars were forbidden to watch. Eliazar was never comfortable when they were there, though. Once one of the students had decided to convert. The trouble that had caused! The man’s superiors immediately sent him away to study his own religion, but all the community had been threatened with severe punishment for proselytizing. Eliazar shuddered at the memory and hurried to his seat.
The visitor made no sound during the service, and Eliazar forgot about him. It was only when they were leaving that the man rose and started toward them.
“Brother!” Eliazar exclaimed. “Hubert, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you join us?”
Hubert hugged his brother but didn’t answer until they were outside. “I’ve wanted to come for years, but was ashamed, and afraid that I would be discovered,” he sighed. “Solomon convinced me to at least attend and watch. But it’s too late for me, Eliazar. I don’t remember anything, not even all of the Shema.”
“It doesn’t matter, the Holy One hears your heart,” Eliazar said. “I’ve told you before, a splash of water doesn’t change what you are. And now that your wife has gone to live with the nuns, why shouldn’t you come home?”
“Just what I’ve been saying,” Baruch added, as he and Solomon joined them.
Hubert shook his head. “Not yet, perhaps not ever. There’s too much else to worry about. The state of my soul will have to wait.”
Eliazar lifted his eyebrows at that, but didn’t press the argument. His brother’s lot was hard enough. “What else is it?” he asked. “Your family? Your Catherine?”
“Stillborn daughter, a few days ago,” Hubert said gruffly. “She’ll be all right. Hard on them, all the same.”
“And you. I’m sorry,” Eliazar said. “Johannah will grieve for her.”
“That’s not what I’ve come about,” Hubert added. “But that business is no subject to speak of in the street.”
The four men walked the short block home in silence. When they entered the house Johannah greeted them with delight, mentally redividing the dinner and thinking what could be prepared from the larder without breaking the Sabbath.
“Shabbat shalom to you all,” she said, kissing each of them in turn. “It’s good to have guests tonight.”
They spoke of trivial matters during the meal: the unusual cold, the quality of the last grape harvest, the growing antagonism between King Louis and Thibault, Count of Champagne.
“That boy needs a strong hand,” Baruch said sadly. “Even if he is the king. His wife’s sister is living openly with a married man old enough to be her grandfather and he does nothing.”
“We all know Queen Eleanor leads him around by a halter,” Eliazar said. “He listens to no one else.”
“What she needs is a few children to keep her busy,” Hubert added. “Oh, forgive me, Johannah. My mind is much occupied with such things now.”
Johannah patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Hubert. I’m not offended. If the Holy One, blessed be He, didn’t see fit to send us children of our own, he still gave us a fine nephew in Solomon. And I’m sure dear Catherine will be granted another child. But the Queen,” she sniffed. “The way she dresses and goes about. She goes hunting, riding hard and leaping fences just like a man; I’ve seen her. It’s no wonder she hasn’t even gotten pregnant in four years, and she nearly nineteen, now.”
“There are those,” Solomon interjected, “who say it’s not her fault. Young Louis seems to be more of a monk than a king and insists on abiding by all the religious rules for sexual abstinence.”
“Well, her convent training doesn’t seem to have had that effect on Catherine, I’m glad to say,” Hubert added. “She and Edgar both know their duty. King Louis should tend to his.”
They all nodded agreement. The one thing the Capetian kings had managed to do for the past hundred years was produce a son to succeed to the throne. The people had ignored many of their other flaws in the light of this virtue. No one wanted France to go through the turmoil that England and Normandy were now suffering with the disputed succession. Civil war was terrible for business.
Baruch must have been thinking of that as he set down his cup and folded his hands. Everything had been cleared away and the lamps were burning low. He cleared his throat importantly.
Eliazar gave him a sardonic smile. “Ah, finally,” he said. “You’re going to tell me what brought you here over seven icy miles. Your piety is beyond doubt, friend, but I know that it would not be enough to bring all three of you to Paris on such a night.”
Baruch bridled at the insult and then relaxed with a shrug.
“There is a matter for concern.” He hesitated. “I must ask you something first. Please promise not to be offended, but we need to know. It has been said that you are doi
ng business with Natan ben Judah. Is it true?”
Eliazar looked decidedly uncomfortable. He studied a spill of meat sauce on his tunic for a full minute, rubbing the grease in with his finger. Finally, he nodded.
“I did have some dealing with him last year,” he said. “I regretted it almost immediately but had to see the matter through. Since then, I’ve refused to have anything to do with his trade.”
Unconsciously he rubbed the left side of his chest, where the scar was still red from a knife attack the year before. Hubert watched him with growing apprehension.
“You told us that you didn’t know who stabbed you last year,” he said. “Was it Natan?”
“No.” Eliazar’s hand formed a fist. “It was a Gentile, I’m sure. And not one I knew.”
“But you think Natan was responsible, don’t you?” Hubert prodded.
Eliazar sighed. “I fear so, although not directly. He has many contacts among the lawless of the Christians. He even buys and sells among the ribaux who roam the forests and answer to no lord. I didn’t know that when I first agreed to deal with him. But I should have. I paid for it.”
“You paid, yes, but Edgar might have been killed also.” Hubert was surprised at his rising anger. He hadn’t realized he was fond of his son-in-law. “He was attacked in the streets last spring because of you, wasn’t he? He was followed from your house. And you never warned him. The man who did it could be anywhere, preparing to strike at him again.”
“No, I’m sure he won’t!” Eliazar insisted. “All that is done with. There’s been no more trouble since then.”
Baruch shook his head. “The boy should know about this before he agrees to our plan. It seems he owes you nothing, now. You saved his life only to put him in greater danger.”
“What plan?” Eliazar said. “What has that mesel, Natan, been doing now?”
Hubert answered. “We believe that there’s a group in Paris trading in stolen church objects. Several objects have been traced this far, then lost. These people melt down the gold and reset the jewels, then sell them. We want Edgar to try to discover who they are and what channels these goods are flowing through.”
The Wandering Arm: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 5