The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (2 page)

“Many times,” Solomon answered, confused by the sudden question. “We do business there with Yishmael, the pearl merchant.”

“So you know his daughter, Mayah?” Aaron continued.

“Aha!”
Solomon thought.

He nodded. “A lovely girl, if somewhat sharp of tongue.”

“Really?” Aaron asked sharply. “She spoke most civilly to me. And she is well-educated both in Arabic and Hebrew, they say.”

“They are right,” Solomon answered. “Her French is also quite good. Am I to understand that you have an interest in Mayah?”

“I have discussed an alliance with Yishmael,” Aaron said.

Solomon almost started to say that Yishmael liked his boys younger, but he took pity on his friend.

“I thought a mere Cohen wouldn’t be good enough for Yishmael,” he contented himself with commenting. “He would prefer a
nasi
for Mayah with proof of direct descent from King David.”

Aaron smiled. “She is beautiful enough to be a queen,” he said. “But her father still seemed to look kindly on me.”

“Well, congratulations then!” Solomon finished his wine and stood.

“Well, there is a—” Aaron began, but Yusef chose that moment to interrupt, dragging Aaron off to help decide a debate on the age of a horse one of the traders had just bought.

Solomon wished he’d thought to refill his cup. He finished his slice of meat, savoring the flavor. A moment later, Bonysach joined him.

“After this meal, I’ll sleep well for a change,” he pronounced. “Two more days to Moissac, another day or so going upriver and then I can eat Josta’s cooking again. This may just hold me until then.”

Solomon winced at the name of the town. Bonysach noticed and apologized at once.

“I forgot what you went through in Moissac,” he said. “But that was all a misunderstanding and at least your partner talked the abbot out of having you hanged. A pity he decided to return home instead of making this trip with us. What is his name again? Something foreign.”

“His name is Edgar and it’s just as well he decided to turn back. He was too worried about his family to be of any use,” Solomon said. “He said he’d try to join us later. Anyway, he can’t help with this. You know it’s not a brush with the gallows that makes me dread going to Moissac.”

“Yes.” Bonysach was one of the few who did. “But you aren’t likely to run into that monk. Don’t look so ashamed. Many of us have family who have turned Christian. At least your Uncle Hubert came back to us, even if his brother didn’t.”

“All the same,” Solomon growled. “Even the chance that I might see him makes my stomach as tense as a bow strung on green wood.”

“Then I suggest you stay away from the monastery and spend your time in places a monk wouldn’t be likely to go.”

Solomon felt his muscles relax a bit. “That, Bonysach, is an excellent suggestion.”

So, two nights later, Solomon found himself soaking up to his waist in a large wooden tub. He ducked his head under the warm water. The first thing he had done upon their arrival in Moissac was go to the bathhouse. After almost three weeks of sleeping in a tent or fleabag inns and washing in cold streams, a real bath felt like the first garden of Heaven. And definitely not a place to find monks. He soaped his hair and beard and ducked again.

Fingers slipped through his matted curls and tugged him to the surface. Solomon grabbed at them.

“Ow!” The woman twisted her hand away. “You didn’t have to be so rough…at least not without paying.”

Solomon wiped the water from his eyes. The woman standing beside the wooden tub was wearing only a yellow
bliaut
with no shift underneath. He was sure of this because she had laced up the sides so loosely that he could see her skin from thigh to neck. Her long brown hair was also loose and her eyes were rimmed with dark kohl to make them seem larger and more appealing.

“I’m sorry, Englesia,” Solomon said. “But you should know better than to catch me unawares.”

She shook her head. “Always expecting an attack, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” he answered. “It keeps me alive. So, what are you doing here? You usually wait for me to come to your room. Anyway, I heard you had married.”

Englesia smiled. “I did, a blacksmith. But he’s gone off to make horseshoes for the count’s army.”

“Didn’t he provide for you?” Solomon climbed out of the tub and reached for a linen
mantele
to dry himself.

The woman knelt to help him, working her way up from his feet.

“He left a bit,” she said. “But, well, you wouldn’t believe it, but all Miro’s muscles turned out to be in his arms. I hadn’t counted on giving up that much. So I decided to return to my old trade for a while. Just my special clients, of course.”

She ran a soft hand up his thigh.

“That’s too bad, but I can’t help you.” He looked down at her. “Englesia, get up,” he insisted. “I’m not looking for company tonight.”

“Really?”

Solomon was aware that his body was giving his words the lie. He pushed Englesia away.

“I came with a group of more than twenty men,” he told her. “I’m sure you’ll find many eager to purchase your favors. I have other plans.”

A flash of anger passed across her face. Then she laughed.

“Whoever she is, Solomon, I’ll wager she won’t give you as good a game as I can.”

Solomon pulled on his tunic and hunted around for his hose. “Perhaps not, Englesia,” he said as he put them on. Last he buckled the sheath for his knife to his left arm. “Or perhaps I’ve just grown tired of playing by your rules.”

He lifted the curtain and stepped into the passageway, letting the drape fall behind him. He was almost to the door before she stepped out. For a moment, she seemed about to come after him but then she shrugged and entered another cubicle from which the sound of splashing could be heard.

Solomon cursed himself all the way back to the inn. What had made him turn her down? Englesia had always given good value, even a bit extra. Could he have suddenly become squeamish about bedding married women, even whores?

He shivered, although the night was mild. It was this town, he decided. Moissac was the place where a few years before, he had been accused of murder. The true culprit had been found eventually, but Solomon wasn’t about to forgive those who had assumed his guilt, nor the man who had encouraged them.

He walked faster. Maybe he should have taken Englesia’s offer. It would have kept his mind from the memories. All he could see now was the face of that hateful monk.

He reached the inn.

“Wine!” he shouted to the woman just entering from the door to the cellar. “A pitcher full to the brim and no water.”

He flung himself onto the bench in the corner. If he couldn’t allow himself to ease his body with a woman tonight, then wine would have to do.

Yusef came for him the next morning. He found Solomon still rolled up in his blankets, the wine cup overturned on the floor beside him.

“What a
mamzer!”
he exclaimed in disgust as he pulled the covers from Solomon’s face. “This is what happens when you refuse to stay with your own people. Get up at once. The boat is loaded and we’re leaving whether you’re sober or not.”

“Yusef.” Solomon’s voice was icily calm. “If you don’t lower your voice I shall cut your tongue out.”

He sat up unsteadily, wincing as he opened his eyes. There must have been wormwood in that wine. He couldn’t have drunk enough to feel this bad unless he’d been poisoned.

He looked down at himself.

“At least I’m dressed,” he commented. “Help me with the bedding and we can go.”

Yusef just looked at him with revulsion.

“You can’t even make it down the ladder,” he said. “I don’t know how you got up to bed.”

“Neither do I.” Solomon stuffed the blankets in a leather bag and picked up his pack. He let out a mighty groan.

“Just don’t speak to me,” he warned Yusef. “And if I stop suddenly and bend over, get out of range.”

“No fear about that.” Yusef grunted. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t leave you sprawled in the street. If it weren’t that your disgrace would reflect on the rest of us, I would.”

“Good Yusef.” Solomon put a hand up to block the sunlight as they left the inn. “I know I can rely on you.
Maine de esvertin!
I can’t stand this town!”

Yusef suppressed a retort and sighed instead. Solomon was right in believing that he was dependable. No matter what Yusef thought of Solomon’s behavior, he believed that the man was still a member of the community and deserved protection. Also, even though Solomon thought it was a secret, Yusef knew why he loathed Moissac so much. Bonysach had told him about the monk. It was this that made Yusef sympathetic, despite his own inclinations.

In Solomon’s place, he would have felt the same.

The river Garonne joined the Tarn at Moissac. From there one could go all the way upriver to Toulouse. It was slower but safer and somewhat cheaper than the road, although every town seemed to have a toll to get past it and the bargeman had to keep a constant watch for floating mills in the middle of the river, attached to the banks by ropes that could knock a man or a barrel over the side.

Solomon was in no danger of going in. He lay flat on his back, his face covered by his felt hat.

He felt someone kneel next to him. A moment later his hat was lifted and a round, good-natured faced stared down at him.

“Are you able to take food, yet?” he asked Solomon. “We have some egg broth that would do you good.”

Solomon stared up at him blearily. “Who are you?”

The man grinned. “Arnald of la Dalbade,” he told Solomon. “Some call me Arnald Barleysilk.” He indicated his frizzy light brown hair. “My father, Vidian, is a salt merchant in the Cité of Toulouse. I was in Moissac to see my friend, Victor, who’s a monk at the abbey. Do you need any salt?”

This was more information than Solomon could handle in his present state. He tried to focus on the man’s first question.

“Egg broth,” he repeated. “Yes, I think I’d like some.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. The man helped him to sit.

“If you give me your bowl, I’ll bring it to you,” he offered.

Solomon felt for his pack.

“Thank you…Arnald,” he said, handing him the bowl.

Solomon looked around. The river was wide here, with mostly forest on either side. He spotted a fish weir and a well-worn path, but no sign of a village. He wondered how long he had slept. His mouth felt like a freshly tanned hide but his head was clearer and his stomach not so rebellious.

Arnald brought back the bowl and gave it to Solomon.

“It’s not very warm,” he said. “The coals we brought on board this morning are almost spent.”

Solomon took a sip. Tepid and bland, just what he needed.

“Thank you,” he said.

He took a longer drink. It felt wonderful on his parched tongue. Over the edge of the bowl, Solomon realized that Arnald had sat down next to him and was watching with interest.

“Umm,” Solomon began. “I’m grateful for your care, but really not up to conversation at the moment.”

Arnald smiled. “Of course not. The innkeeper told me that you emptied three pitchers last night without even a crust to sop it. And that was the raw red from last fall. You must have a great grief to drown!”

Solomon put down the bowl to see this man better. Was he simple or just very young? Was he impressed by Solomon’s capacity for drink or the depth of his assumed sorrow? Arnald was looking at him with an expectant smile. Did he think Solomon would confide in him on the strength of a kind gesture?

“If I had troubles,” he told Arnald. “Then I must have drowned them. Apart from anger at my overindulgence, I feel fine. How far are we from Toulouse?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Arnald apologized. “I could ask the boatman or one of your friends.”

“No.” Solomon finished the broth. “It’s not important.”

He forced himself upright and squinted around the boat. Yes, the other Jewish traders were standing in a cluster next to the pile of bundles they had brought. He could see his bags among them. Good old Yusef!

He managed the three steps to the group.

“I’m in your debt, Yusef,” he said.

Yusef shrugged. “I’ll consider it a
mitzvah,
” he said.

“Very well,” Solomon accepted that. “I shall repay the community in your name.”

“I’d rather see you praying with us tomorrow morning,” Yusef answered.

His eyes dared Solomon to refuse.

Solomon noticed that the other four men were waiting for his reply. He gave in.

“I will be there,” he said. “But you’ll have to help me with the words.”

“Do you also need tallit and tefillin?” Bonysach asked.

Solomon heard the doubt in his voice.

“Actually, no,” he answered. “Unless they’ve been stolen from my pack.”

The men looked at him in surprised approval. Solomon smiled at them. No need to mention that he was bringing them as a gift for his Uncle Hubert from Abraham of Paris. Hubert wouldn’t mind his using them. Now he just hoped he could remember how.