The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (12 page)

“Reb Chaim! What did they want with you? You look worn out. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go off with that Edomite alone!”

Hubert was surprised to see Samuel waiting for him in the street outside the synagogue.

“Nonsense,” he said, though he accepted the arm the young man offered. “I’m just a bit winded from the walk back. Fasting is good for releasing the spirit to travel but it slows the body considerably.”

He let the young scholar fuss over him for a few moments more, then extricated himself.

“Are any of the elders within?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Samuel answered. “Most have returned home before evening prayers. Is there something you need?”

“No, no,” Hubert answered. “I only wanted to ask a question, but I think I’ll lie down a while in my room.”

“Very good.” Samuel almost pushed Hubert in the direction of his bed. “Do you have water?” He peered into the pitcher. “Enough blankets?”

“Yes, Samuel, I’m fine.” The young man’s energy was becoming more wearing than the exertion of his walk.

“Then I’ll just let you rest.”

“That would be good.” Hubert smiled and nodded until Samuel finally went away.

Then he let his head sink to his chest. The weight of his sorrow was pulling his body down.

He had been stupid, stupid and arrogant. He shouldn’t have tried to reconcile with his brother. Now that he had lost so much weight and let his beard flow he might have been able to fool Jacob into thinking he was a stranger. And what of this supposedly missing gold? What was that about? Would Jacob now accuse him of stealing from a dying man?

At least Solomon would be leaving in the morning. He had been right when he chose to avoid any chance of encountering his father. Hubert wished he had done the same.

He lay back on the narrow bed, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. The plaster walls were chill. He closed his eyes and tried to remember his vision of ascending through the Torah to the garden of paradise. Instead he saw the faces of the grandchildren he had left behind in Paris. They looked at him so reproachfully.

Hubert tossed on the bed, unable to find a place of ease. Not for the first time, he wondered if he were really trying to find truth or only to hide from all the mistakes in his life.

When Samuel came in to light his oil lamp, Hubert didn’t wake.

Brother James was having an even more uncomfortable afternoon.

“I believe I requested that you not seek out the man who found Brother Victor.” The prior lifted his right eyebrow.

“I only wanted to…” James caught himself. “You did, my lord prior.”

The eyebrow returned to its normal level.

“I can see that this encounter has disturbed you.” The prior’s voice softened. “I fear that this man’s stubborn adherence to his superstition was more upsetting than anything he could tell you about poor Victor.”

James looked at the floor.

“It’s true that I am easily angered by their unwillingness to accept the truth of Our Lord’s sacrifice,” he said. “I hoped I could contain my feelings while speaking with the man.”

“Did he tell you anything we didn’t already know?”

James kept his eyes down. The prior’s attitude grated on his already raw temper.

“No, my lord prior,” he said.

“We shall have to decide on a penance for your sin of disobedience,” the prior continued. “It shall be assigned on Friday in Chapter, as usual. Until then, perhaps you should pray assiduously for the soul of Brother Victor. And, of course, for the success of your mission.”

James finally looked up. “The abbot has sent word that I may continue?”

“He has.” The prior pursed his lips. “We still need to find an acceptable companion for you. Someone young enough to help you on the journey but mature enough to resist the many traps and snares you will run into along the way.”

Mentally James translated this as a man able to carry him if he collapsed who would also watch him like an eagle for any sign of backsliding.

“I shall be satisfied with whomever you choose,” he said aloud.

“Of course you will, Brother James.” The prior dismissed him with a wave. “Of course you will.”

A few days later, Belide was hanging bed linen out to dry on the laurel bush in the garden when the bush spoke.

“Belide!”

She nearly dropped the pillowcases in surprise. She stepped away quickly, in case the bush showed signs of bursting into flame.

“Belide, can you hear me?”

There wasn’t even a wisp of smoke so Belide moved closer. The voice seemed familiar and far from divine.

“Arnald, what’s wrong?” she whispered. “What are you doing? My father will kill you if he finds you here.”

“I know, but I had to talk to you.” Arnald sounded as if he was trying not to sneeze. “Can I come out? There are thorns in here.”

“No!” Belide looked over her shoulder. “Papa is gone, but my annoying little brothers could be anywhere and they love to tattle. Now, what is it?”

“You won’t believe it,” Arnald said from the greenery. “My father wants me to go on Victor’s mission.”

“What?” Belide peered into the leaves to see his face. He must be joking.

“Father thinks I should leave for a while,” Arnald went on. “He’s tired of having to ransom me from the Watch. He gave a very long lecture about how I should take life seriously and do something for the good of my soul and on and on. But he heard that they need guards for the monks and asked Prior Stephen at Saint Pierre if I would do.”

“Oh Arnald!” This time Belide did drop the damp linen.

Fear of discovery forgotten, she reached into the bramble and pulled him out. His face was scratched and there was a spider web hanging from one ear. “I thought you told me they were going all the way to Valencia! You could be killed!”

Arnald raked his hands through his hair, dislodging twigs, leaves, and the spider.

“Would you care if I died?” Arnald asked in surprise.

“Of course,” Belide said. “You’re my best friend.”

“Oh,” Arnald answered. “Well, don’t worry. My father isn’t that angry with me. He wouldn’t risk my getting killed. I’m his only son. But how can I go with Aaron if I have to make this journey instead? He needs me.”

“Oh,” Belide said. “Yes, I see the problem. Aaron has to have a Christian with him. But you can’t defy your father now, not without telling him everything.”

“Maybe I should.” Arnald shivered. “There’s something down the back of my
chainse
. Can you shake it out?”

He turned around so Belide could put her hand up the back of his under garment.

“You know you can’t,” she told him as she tried to get at the bit that was scratching him. “You father would tell mine and then all Aaron’s plans would be for nothing.”

“BELIDE!!”

Arnald leapt back into the laurel, leaving Belide sitting on the grass surrounded by crumpled laundry.

“Just what were you doing!” Bonysach roared. “Arnald, you show yourself at once!”

“Papa, I can explain!” Belide got up quickly. “Really, it was nothing. Arnald came to tell me that he’s going into Andalusia with the monks.”

“Soon?” Bonysach glared at Arnald who now had a new assortment of scratches.

“Immediately after Easter,
Senhor
Bonysach,” Arnald said. “I wanted to let Belide know but didn’t want to bother anyone, so I…”

“Climbed the wall,” Bonysach finished. “Thoughtful of you. Leave by the gate.”

“Yes. Of course.” Arnald edged around the garden, keeping his face to Bonysach. “Please tell
Na
Josta that I hope she is recovering quickly.”

“Arnald,” Bonysach warned.

Arnald reached the gate but the latch stuck. After a couple of tries, it popped open and he escaped.

Bonysach turned to his daughter.

“Papa, I swear,” she began when they were interrupted by the sound of snickering from the house.

Belide looked up. Muppim and Huppim were hanging from the window.

“How long have you been there?” she called.

“We saw Arnald hide.” Muppim laughed. “Did he scare you?”

Belide turned back to Bonysach. “You see?” she said indignantly. “I couldn’t misbehave if I wanted to with those two little
malvatz
brothers of mine.”

She was trying not to cry. Tears were an unfair weapon against her father, to be used only in desperation. “He just came to tell me he was going. He knew you had forbidden me to see him but he wanted to say good-bye. That’s all.”

Bonysach believed her as far as it went. But he was sure that Belide wasn’t giving him the whole truth and what bothered him more was that Josta seemed to be keeping something from him as well, something that worried her. He was certain that it involved Belide.

He clenched his teeth to keep from swearing. It was an evil day when his wife kept secrets and his daughter cringed from him as if he were a tyrant.

Vaguely, he felt that in some way the dead monk was to blame.

“Take the linen back to the laundress, Belide,” he said at last. “I’ll have to pay extra to get those stains out.”

“Yes, Papa.” Belide would have preferred a beating. Wrath radiated from him like flame.

She scurried away, bitterly regretting that she had ever let Arnald talk her into this. So far, her mother had kept silent about the gold, but what would happen if her father learned of it?

Belide prayed that Aaron would return soon, to bear the brunt of the explanations. Even for the sake of true love, this was becoming more than she could handle.

Solomon suspected that his uncle’s need for a messenger had been invented. All he had been asked to do was report to the Templar consistory at Carcassonne that Hubert LeVendeur had turned his trade over to his son-in-law Edgar and his partner, Solomon. A note with Hubert’s mark and seal were enough, along with a promise of the same price for pepper as always. The commander seemed perfectly happy to continue the connection. It was all taken care of in a moment.

But Solomon lingered in Carcassonne. He knew no one in the fortress town. He felt no obligation to stay with one of the Jewish families. He spent his time wandering along the wall that ringed the hilltop, sometimes stopping to look out over the greening forest blotched with new villages and vineyards. Once he passed an entire afternoon just watching the birds; storks heading north for their summer nests, hawks that would circle and then dive upon some hapless creature like lightning bolts. To the south the mountains rose, one moment seeming close enough to reach in a day’s walk, the next obscured by fog as if they had never been.

He spoke only to get what he needed to live. When he wanted company for an hour, he bought it. The women seemed grateful that he didn’t require conversation.

His thoughts stayed in the present, if he had them at all. He didn’t wonder about anything, but marveled at the heat of the sun on his face and how the same warmth could make a rose unfold. The days crept toward Passover and his promise to return to Toulouse.

Finally, he knew he could put it off no longer. Solomon paid his bill at the inn, retrieved his horse, and set out.

Hubert had been wise to give him a reason to leave. The time alone had healed his raw spirit. He could now contemplate the possibility of an encounter with his father without panic. What could Brother James do to him that he hadn’t done already?

Two days later he spied the towers of Toulouse, visible for miles before one reached the city. When trees hid the view, he followed the Hers river north until the towers reappeared. The roads were well maintained, with tolls every few miles and no sign of robbers.

Solomon rode through the Narbonne Gate feeling calm and at peace with the world and his place in it. He even edged his horse aside without resentment to allow a pair of armed soldiers to pass.

One of the soldiers nodded thanks. Solomon looked at him, then looked again. The soldier stopped abruptly and did the same.

“It can’t be!” Solomon cried. “You were sent to Jerusalem! You should be dead!”

The other man’s cry was even more aghast. “
Filz de porcel!
Am I cursed? Can I never be free of this torture? How long have you lain in wait to trap me? Did you bring that witch with you, Solomon of Paris?”

Solomon was too stunned to reply. He had girded himself to face Brother James. It had never occurred to him to prepare to meet his old enemy, Jehan of Blois.