The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (34 page)

“How far is it now?” Arnald asked.

They had been riding since first light. The area was rocky and dry, with few trees. Solomon hoped they had brought enough water. Even if they found a pool or well, it might not be drinkable.

“As I recall, Fitero is in the foothills of those mountains.” He pointed toward the south but it was unnecessary. The mountains filled the horizen.

“Do you remember the way?” Aaron asked. “It doesn’t look like we’ll come across any villagers to ask.”

“I think so,” Solomon said. “I can get us close. If the monks are in the middle of building their monastery there should be a road wide enough to bring in the stones from the quarry. We’ll find it.”

“Today?” Aaron asked plaintively.

Solomon bit his lip. “With luck and if we can find safe water for the horses. A stream would be good. Don’t trust any still water. There’s something in it that burns the insides of men and animals.”

Conversation ebbed after that. Arnald kept a close watch on both sides of the track, half expecting bandits to leap out from behind the rocks brandishing deadly flasks.

Solomon concentrated on finding the way. He believed that he had conquered his fears of what they would find at the end of this quest. Then the reins slipped from his fingers. He looked down and realized that the leather was soaked with sweat. He wiped his damp palms on the front of his tunic, hoping the others hadn’t noticed.

Yusef was preparing for the trip to Tudela. It had been easy to find a party of Jews heading that way. Pamplona was on the trade route only two days north of the town. His heart already felt lighter. No more having to observe the Law unobtrusively or under the mocking eyes of Christians. If it weren’t for Babylonia, he would have looked forward to the rest of the journey.

But what was he to do with her?

She had finally ceased her weeping but was still lethargic, eating little and moving only when told to. Her skin was sallow and her hair worse than ever, greasy and badly braided. He couldn’t present her to her son in such a state. Could he make her understand that she had to bathe and wash her hair before they left? And if so, could he trust her in the bathhouse alone?

She was sitting by a window that looked out on a stone wall. A ragged bit of ivy clung uncertainly along the top. Other than that, there was nothing to see.

“Babylonia?” Yusef said softly. “Can you understand me? Do you know who I am?”

“Senhor
Yusef,” she said without looking up.

“Yes,” he said. “I know this journey has been hard for you. I’m sorry we had to keep you bound. It was to keep you safe, mostly.”

No response. Yusef forged on.

“We need to leave here tomorrow. This will be your last opportunity to wash for a few days. Pamplona has a fine bathhouse for women, or so I’m told. I can pay for a tub for you and an attendant to do your hair and even your nails, if you like. Won’t that be nice?”

Still no answer. Yusef bent down to see her face. To his dismay, he found that Babylonia was crying again.

“What is it?” he asked. “Did I do something to cause this pain?”

Babylonia turned her face to his.

“Aaron,” she said.

Yusef was taken aback. “Aaron? What did he do to you?”

She sighed deeply. “Aaron wants to find his bride. He doesn’t care that the gentiles have used her. Yusef, why did no one want to find me?”

Jehan and Berengar were surprised to find Guy at the monastery guest house instead of the inn.

“What happened?” Berengar asked. “Did you decide to throw lots with the monks for your soul?”

Jehan gave him a kick in the ankle.

“What?” Berengar said. “I was just making a jest.”

Jehan glared at him. “This isn’t a tavern. Show some respect.”

Berengar scratched his head. “If you say so.”

“Did you find out about the prisoners?” Guy asked.

“Yes.” Jehan put up a hand to keep Berengar from relating every detail of the excursion. “We should report to Brother James. Has he been sent for?”

“He should be here soon,” Guy said. “We can wait here.”

The two men started to cross the room but Guy stopped them.

“Wipe off your boots,” he said. “This floor’s just been cleaned. No point in tracking dirt through it.”

They had just sat down and were reaching for the pitcher when the monks entered. Jehan stood to give his report.

“I spoke with the prior at Leire,” he stated. “He informed me that the French knights were indeed ransomed by the knights of the Temple. I asked if there were any more captives of the Saracens needing rescue. He informed me that with the help of God and the Emperor Alfonso, the armies of Christ have had much success recently. He had some suggestions for the charitable distribution of any extra funds we might have, however.”

“I’m sure he did,” James said. “They’re building a new church, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Jehan answered. “How did you know?”

“If there is an extra
maille
in the treasury, an abbot will decide to build something,” James said. “I would rather not support the greater glory of Leire.”

“So, what are we going to do?” Berengar asked. “Will we still get paid if we don’t go all the way to Valencia?”

Brother James put his hands together and bent his head a moment, as if in prayer. The afternoon sunlight shone on the crown of his tonsure. There was still some black among the gray hair that curled around it. The monk pressed his hand against his lips.

Jehan suspected that the pause was more for effect than piety. He wished the man would get on with it. He had just spent the better part of two days in the saddle and wanted a hot bath and a soft pillow.

Brother James was in no hurry to reveal his intentions. He considered the three knights gravely.

“When you were at Leire,” he began. “Did they happen to mention their recent part in redeeming some captives?”

“Oh, yes,” Berengar said. “They were very proud of themselves. The captives were an important nobleman and a royal counselor. The families of the men were very generous in their thanks.”

“That’s what I understand,” James said. “These nobles were prisoners of the Saracens, is that correct?”

“I guess so,” Berengar said. “I didn’t ask.”

“I did,” Jehan interrupted. “They had been captured by the king of Navarre, not infidels. Where are you taking us with this, Brother James?”

James smiled.

“Would the three of you be interested in rescuing a noble-woman, even if she had been captured by Christians?” he asked.

“Is she an heiress?” Berengar asked.

“Possibly, although her father’s property may all have been lost in the wars.”

“Does she have any family who will pay to have her back?” Jehan wanted to know.

“I think the price might be as much as your trip to Valencia would have been,” James said.

“Well, then, of course,” Jehan said. “She must be well guarded for that amount. How many walls do we have to breach?”

“I don’t believe that a direct assault will be called for,” James told them. “More a certain amount of stealth. You see, there are others who wish to rescue this woman. But they only want possession of her body. I want us to redeem her soul. She must be saved in the name of the Lord.”

“I will go gladly!” Berengar exclaimed.

“And I.” Guy stepped forward, ready to take the oath, as the pilgrims had before they left for the Holy Land.

Only Jehan was silent. He had seen such ardor multiplied a thousandfold at Vezeley, when Bernard of Clairvaux had preached. Since then Jehan had spent nearly three years in the army of Christ. He had seen hundreds die; many at the other end of his lance. He had seen other things, too. Acts of great bravery and goodness. Deeds of unspeakable depravity. He had come to believe that the soul was a much more slippery thing than he had been taught. And the price for its redemption much higher than most men were willing to pay.

But when Brother James asked, he agreed to go.

It hadn’t been that difficult to find the road to Fitero after all. They had just followed the dust until they reached the town.

“This looks like the camp of a great army!” Arnald exclaimed. “What are all these people doing here?”

Solomon laughed. “Working, of course. You don’t think even the Cistercians dig their own foundations and mix mortar, do you?”

“All of this is for the monastery they’re building here?”

“Most of it,” Solomon said. “When the town belonged to the Saracens, I think it was a popular place to come for the mineral hot springs. They still attract people in search of a cure.”

“For what?” Arnald looked about nervously for lepers.

“To tell the truth, I don’t know,” Solomon said. “Do you, Aaron?”

“What?” Aaron had been looking around, too. “Where do you think she is?”

The town had a rawness to it. Most of the huts were new, the reed thatch of the roofs still green. The walls were made of clay bricks, some whitewashed, others still the color of the earth. There were no tavern signs that they could see, but Solomon followed his nose to a place with a curtain for a door and the sound of a plaintive melody being tortured on a vieille. Cautiously, he lifted the curtain and stuck his head inside.

There was a brief conversation and then Solomon’s head emerged.

“This is what we want,” he told the other two. “Now, remember, Arnald, you are to say nothing. Nothing! And Aaron, you don’t have to drink their beer but you do have to order some and pay for it. Is that understood?”

Both men nodded. Solomon pushed the curtain aside and they entered.

A short stocky man with a grizzled brown beard was wiping something white and sticky from the counter. Aaron looked at it in horrified fascination.

“I don’t have to eat anything here, either, do I?” he whispered to Solomon.

The man gave them a bright smile.

“Good afternoon,
Senhors,”
he said. “Come in! I have the best beer in all Fitero! Or would you prefer wine? We also have a fish pie. Fresh caught this morning!”

“Beer and the pie,” Solomon ordered for them all.

“When do we ask about Mayah?” Aaron asked, when the man had left to fetch the pie.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Solomon told him. “You’re sure that the women taken in Almeria were sold to the monks here?”

“The message was that she had been sold to Catalonians along with many other women. All were supposed to have been Moslem. I went to Catalonia first and managed to find someone who had been at the auction. She and two others were sold to an agent of the monks. He said they were for the Saracen slaves who were building the new monastery here. That’s as definite as anything.”

“Good,” Solomon said. “I just wanted to be sure. Ah, here’s the pie!”

The innkeeper brought it in on a wooden board and placed it before them.

“There, just like in the great hall of the king,” he said proudly. “My cook even made a braided fish to top the crust.”

“It smells wonderful,” Solomon told him. “Arnald, this is your feast day, would you like to break the crust?”

“What?” Arnald started. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

He dug into the pie, sniffing in delight as a spicy steam rose from it.

“My friend and I are giving our young lord a treat for the first feast day of his majority,” Solomon confided to their host.

“You can’t start it better than with one of my pies,” the man answered.

“I can tell,” Solomon went on. “It should give him the strength he’ll need for the rest of the evening, if we can find the right place to celebrate.”

The man grinned. “In Fitero you can find most anything. You’d be surprised. I know where you can meet a woman with hair like spun sunlight and skin so white you can see the blood running blue through her veins. Tall, too, with long, long legs. You won’t believe the ways she can twist them.”

“Interesting,” Solomon said. “But we’re from the North. We can get women like that anytime.”
I only wish,
he thought. “What my friend here needs is a supple Saracen girl.”

“Oh, that will be no problem,” the man said. “I can give you a score of names.”

“Not your usual
jael,”
Solomon said. “We don’t want to bring him home diseased. We have heard that there is a house set up just for the needs of the Saracen workers.”

“What, the Saracen Hole? You don’t want that place!” The man laughed. “Disease would be the least of your worries with that bunch!”

Aaron stiffened and drew breath to speak. Quickly Solomon knocked against his arm so that the beer spilled over his tunic.

“Sorry,” he said, turning back to the tavern keeper. “Now, what were you saying?”

The man seemed eager to gossip. He sat down on the bench across from them.

“First of all, I hear they aren’t the most willing whores, or very talented,” he told them. “The monks picked them up cheap somewhere, because they didn’t want complaints from the rest of the workers that the Saracens were polluting Christian women.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t pay them a visit, does it?” Solomon asked. “It sounds like a real adventure for my friend, here.”

“Not the kind for a feast day.” The innkeeper got up. “We’ve got any number of good brothels in town. Look down by the baths. I go myself now and then. Nothing like hot water and a supple woman to get the knots out of your muscles.”

“Thank you,” Solomon told him. “We’ll try that. But just out of curiosity, is the house we spoke of near there?”

“Nah, it’s out of town, up by where the monastery church is going up,” the man said. “And that’s another problem with it. There’s no place to get a decent drink. Saracens have some odd rule about anything fermented, they say. Although most of the ones I know don’t seem to pay it much mind.”

Solomon and Arnald shared the pie before they left.

“It really is good,” Arnald told Aaron. “There’s nothing in it you shouldn’t have, you know.”

“I’m not hungry,” Aaron said. “Fill your stomachs quickly and let’s go.”