The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (33 page)

Solomon thought a devout prayer of thanks. A moment later, he took it back.

“Aaron, you’ll never guess!” Arnald grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him in delight. “The men were freed by the Temple knights, so we don’t have to go to Valencia after all! But even better! Brother James wanted to find someone else to ransom so I told him about Mayah and he said he’d come with us and take care of everything. Isn’t that wonderful?”

He stepped back, grinning with pride.

All the color drained from Aaron’s face. He gave a long rattling breath. His eyes rolled up in his head as he fell over.

Arnald bent over him in alarm.

“Aaron?”

He looked at Solomon in confusion.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Aaron moaned and tried to open his eyes. Arnald bent over him, unsure of what to do.

Solomon knew what to do. He spun Arnald around, grabbed him by the upper arms, and shook him until his head snapped back and he gasped for air.

“You
mingre
idiot!” Solomon shouted. “What right did you have to tell anyone Aaron’s business? Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”

He didn’t wait for Arnald to draw breath for an answer but threw him on the ground. A moment later, he was through the house and out into the roadway without stopping to change his soft shoes for boots. He was so angry that he didn’t notice the sharp pebbles bruising his feet as he strode to the monastery. He gave the bell cord a vicious tug. The clanging was loud enough to call down the carved saints from the portico.

“I want to see Brother James,” he announced when the irate porter opened the viewing slot. “He arrived the other day from Moissac.”

“All the monks are at Vespers now.” The porter tried to shut the slot, but Solomon’s arm was in the way.

“Get him out,” he said. “Now. Or I’ll come in and get him.”

“I’ll call the guard!” the porter squealed, daunted more by Solomon’s fury than the knife he had just drawn.

“This is an emergency!” Solomon hissed. “A man may die if James doesn’t come at once.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” The porter tried again to shut the slot. “I’ll send word to him at once. No! You can’t come in. Give me your name and I’ll see that he’s informed.”

“Jehan of Blois,” Solomon answered. “Remember, it’s life and death! If Brother James gets there too late, it will be on your soul!”

He could hear a muffled conversation on the other side of the door and the sound of running steps. Then nothing.

Solomon leaned against the solid wooden door, breathing heavily. As the minutes passed, so did the white rage that had brought him there. He tried to remember what his purpose had been in deciding to confront James.

Then he heard the flap of someone running in sandals and the lifting of the bar across the door. He moved away just in time to avoid falling as it was flung open and Brother James faced him.

The monk showed no surprise.

“I doubted that Jehan could have been the one asking for me,” he said. “I sent him and Berengar on an errand to the monastery of Leire not an hour ago. What do you want?”

“I want to know what Arnald told you,” Solomon said. “But not out here in the street.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll come to the monastery entry,” James said, surprising Solomon with his acquiescence. “Across the road, then, in the olive grove. No one will hear us there.”

Solomon followed him into the grove. The earth around each tree was bare from the feet of the gardeners and olive pickers but there was an open patch of grass scattered with wildflowers in bloom. James headed for this.

“Now,” Solomon continued. “Arnald came to you this afternoon with a proposition. What was it?”

James raised his eyebrows. “I presume you know. He wanted me to come with him to negotiate the release of a Jewish woman being held, he seems to think, by some Cistercian monks. Is there any truth to this?”

“It isn’t your affair in any case,” Solomon said. “But yes, it’s true. All I want to know is what you intend to do with this information.”

“I told Arnald that I would help in any way I could,” James said mildly. “Didn’t he report that?”

Solomon felt his jaw and fists clench. Did the man have no emotion left in him?

“And just what help did you plan?” He forced himself not to shout. “To warn your fellow monks? Perhaps have Aaron and the rest of us arrested and hanged?”

James gave a half smile, a mocking expression calculated to infuriate.

“You are probably not aware that the relations between Cluny and Citeaux are not always of the warmest,” he said. “The monastery at Fitero is the first the Cistercians have built in Navarre. The abbot here in Pamplona is worried that they will draw donations from our houses.”

Solomon snorted. “I see. So the news that the monks were supporting a brothel for their Muslim workers would be…?”

“A shocking revelation,” James finished. “It would be our duty to visit our erring brothers in order to persuade them of the immorality of their actions.”

“And if you can’t?” Solomon asked.

James shrugged. “It might still be possible to arrange for the purchase of one of the women.”

Solomon started to relax.

“Of course,” James added. “It would be better if she accepted baptism first.”

“You bastard.” Solomon took a step away from him. His right hand longed to draw his knife. “If you do anything that keeps Mayah from returning to us, I swear I’ll kill you.”

James didn’t move but looked Solomon up and down.

“I wasn’t aware that you needed an excuse for that,” he said. “I’ve been expecting a knife in my back since we left Toulouse.”

Deliberately, he turned and slowly walked away.

Solomon felt angry tears at the edge of his eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.

“What makes you think,” he told the retreating monk, “that you’re worth the trouble of staining my knife?”

James’s step faltered. He shook one foot to release a twig caught in his sandal. Then he walked on.

Solomon stood motionless until the monastery door opened and closed behind his father.

When Solomon returned to the house he found the uproar worse than when he had left. Arnald met him at the door.

“Aaron says he must leave at once, before the monks try to stop him,” he said. “He won’t even wait until morning. And he won’t let me come with him. You have to talk to him.”

“No, I don’t.” Solomon brushed past him. “Aaron’s right. You’ve put us all in jeopardy, including Mayah. I’ll get my things. We can be well on the road by sundown.”

He entered the living hall where he found Aaron’s pack ready to load. A moment later, Yusef came in.

“You went to see Jacob, didn’t you?” he said. “You should have sent me instead.”

“I didn’t think of it,” Solomon answered. “Don’t worry; he’s unharmed. Are you coming with us?”

Yusef shook his head. “I have to see to Babylonia. But, if you need help or more funds, you can reach us in Tudela.”

“Tudela? Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?” Solomon asked. There was a large Jewish community there. It was a natural place to find someone who would care for the woman. “What’s in Tudela that should be such a secret?”

“Babylonia’s son.” Yusef lowered his voice. “After his father died, Juce broke with that side of the family and moved to Tudela. My informants think it was because of the way they treated his mother.”

“You think he’ll take her in?” Solomon was skeptical of sentimental family reunions.

“I don’t know,” Yusef admitted. “But at the least he might be persuaded to support her. He’s become very wealthy dealing in property in the countryside.”

“Well, I hope he will,” Solomon said. “She deserves comfort, if nothing else, after what she’s endured. If he doesn’t, I suppose you’ll continue letting her stay with you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Yusef answered. “Perhaps time will dull her anger at the women who didn’t defend her against her husband and she’ll stop trying to profane their kitchens.”

“Perhaps.” Solomon was just glad that Babylonia was someone else’s problem. “Where’s Aaron?”

“Getting the horses,” Yusef answered. “Do you really think Jacob will try to stop him from rescuing his bride?”

Solomon gave a deep sigh. He hadn’t realized until now how exhausted he was. “I don’t know what the man is planning,” he told Yusef. “I only want to get as far away as we can before he acts.”

Aaron and Solomon were almost finished loading their horses when Arnald rode up.

“Please let me come with you!” he begged. “I know you’re both angry with me but, really, I thought telling Brother James would help all of us. He said he would talk to the abbot of Fitero. Mayah could be freed without us having to pay.”

“You
sauvagin!”
Solomon looked at him in exasperation. “Everything has a price. Your monkish friend told me that he would only free Mayah if she submitted to baptism!”

“Well, why not?” Arnald asked. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Aaron mounted his horse. “Let’s go.”

Arnald followed them through the town and out the southern gate. “I’m coming with you. You can’t stop me,” he declared. “Please! I won’t do anything without asking your permission. I swear! You said you needed me.”

His litany continued unceasingly until the sun hung low in the sky. Finally Aaron gave in.

“Very well, Arnald,” he called. “I accept your apology. But if your heedlessness has endangered Mayah, then our friendship is at an end.”

Arnald gave a grin of satisfaction. “I knew you’d relent,” he said. “Don’t worry. You can rely on me!”

As they continued on the path, Solomon reflected that the only thing he could rely on Arnald for was more trouble. If the young man did anything to keep them from saving Mayah, he would lose more than friendship.

It was well past Compline and nowhere near Lauds when Brother James was unceremoniously shaken awake by the monastery porter.

“There’s two men down at the gate,” he said. “They roused me from a good solid dream to say they had one of your guards tied up over a rafter at the Squealing Pig and unless you pay the money he owes them, they’re going to flay it off him.”

By the end of this announcement the rest of the room was also awake. Curious faces peeked out from under the blankets. Brother Martin sat up and yawned.

“That will be Guy,” he said. “Would you like me to take care of it, Brother James?”

“That would be a generous act, Brother Martin,” James answered. “Thank you.” He took a couple of coins from the bag at his neck. “But if he has lost more than five deniers, then the rest will have to come from his hide.”

Martin left with the porter and James tried to return to sleep. But he was far too angry. When Arnald had come to him with his plans for the ransom money, James had told him to stay with Guy until Jehan and Berengar returned from Leire. He should have known when Solomon showed up that the boy had ignored his orders once again. Very well. If Arnald insisted on casting his lot with the Jews, he would be treated like one. When they returned to Toulouse, his father and the local clergy would be informed that Arnald was outside the benefit of the sacraments until he atoned for his desertion.

It was near dawn when Martin stumbled back to his bed. James found him there, snoring like an enraged boar, upon his return from the Night Office. Gentle nudging had no effect and James hadn’t the heart for more violent methods, so he left the solid monk in his bed and went down to the porter to get information.

There he found a chastened Guy kneeling on the stone floor, praying and scrubbing.

The knight bent even lower when he saw Brother James.

“Ave Maria,”
he greeted James.
“Plein de grace.”

“Try saying ten
Ave
s for each
maille
Brother Martin had to give your creditors,” James responded. “And another hundred
Nostre Peres
for robbing the poor man of his sleep.”

“Those bastards cheated me; I know they did,” Guy muttered from the floor.

James squatted until his face was on a level with the penitent knight’s.

“Guy, when will you learn that they
all
cheat you?” he said. “You were born to be gulled. Your only hope is to run the other way the moment someone brings out a
tric-trac
board or asks you to guess which walnut shell hides the white stone.”

Guy sighed. “I know. Every time I start to win a little and decide to bet more, my luck deserts me. But I keep thinking that one day it will decide to stay.”

“Even if it did, Guy,” James said sadly. “It would never give you enough to make up for all you’ve lost. You have no horse; your mail is in disrepair. It’s only a matter of time before you wager your sword and then you’ll have nothing left to earn your bread. What will you do then, beg in the streets? Or become one of those who preys on others?”

Guy didn’t answer. James could read his thoughts, though. Guy’s mind wasn’t on contrition, but revenge.

“For now,” he continued. “I still need your sword. Use the penance Brother Martin set you to beg God’s help. There is a demon in your heart that can only be expelled through divine grace. Take my hand. I’ll pray with you.”

Guy attempted to pull away, but for a small elderly man, James was surprisingly strong. The monk began the Lord’s Prayer, in French, not Latin. The words in his own tongue drew Guy back to childhood. His mother had led him and his sisters in prayer every morning and evening. He had been sent away at the age of eight to be fostered, but the sound of a
nostre pere
always reminded him of his mother’s love. By the end, he was sobbing into the scrubbing brush.

Brother James felt a thrill of satisfaction at the success of his homily. He wished his abbot could see him at this moment.

“There, there,” he said. “Once you’ve placed your fate in the hands of the Lord, you’re certain to succeed. Now, if I can just use your shoulder to stand. See, your strength is needed. Thank you!”

He left Guy to finish the floor and his prayers.