The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (4 page)

“That’s nonsense, Uncle,” Solomon said. “Do you think you can redeem him? He is a black monk who spits on Israel.
Kaddish
was said for my father. Let him stay in his grave.”

Hubert rubbed his forehead. “I would like to, believe me. I have no desire to debate him. Only the Holy One, blessed be he, can change Jacob’s heart. But, if that should happen, I am prepared to forgive him. Are you?”

Solomon snorted. “No, Uncle, I’m not.”

He started up the path to the Cité. “If that’s what you wanted of me,” he continued over his shoulder. “Then you’ve wasted your time. I’m grateful for the warning and will be sure to stay away from any taverns where monks are likely to congregate.”

“Solomon.” Hubert’s voice followed him. “It may not be that simple.”

Solomon continued up the path. Hubert hurried after him.

“Jacob is here for a reason,” he insisted. “Easter is coming. The monks of Moissac have priories throughout Toulouse. I think they’re planning something.”

Solomon covered his ears with his hands.

Hubert tugged at his arm. “You can’t ignore this. All of Provence is in turmoil. There have been rumors for weeks that something dreadful is going to happen.”

Solomon slowly lowered one hand. “Like a forced baptism?” he asked. “Accept Jesus or die?”

“No one knows,” Hubert said. “But Jacob may be in Toulouse to try to confound our community in one way or another. Certainly, it would elevate him in the eyes of the other monks if he brought more of us to his faith. Jacob is a skillful speaker. He was the scholar of the family. He knows the Law as well as any of our teachers.”

“So, the Edomites want to have another debate. That isn’t a reason for panic,” Solomon tried to reassure him. “They talk; we talk. They say they’ve won and everyone goes home. Along with throwing stones at us in the street, it’s just another part of their Easter rituals. Forgive me if I don’t attend. Although,” he added sadly. “As I recall, we usually aren’t give the chance to decline.”

Hubert puffed as he followed Solomon up the path.

“There’s more! Things are different this year,” he gasped. “Slow up a bit, Nephew!”

Solomon turned and saw that Hubert was indeed pale and breathless. Too late he remembered the fainting spell his uncle had suffered in Paris a few years before. He wasn’t used to thinking of Hubert as old; he wasn’t sixty yet. But now that he looked closer he realized that beneath the flowing beard Hubert’s skin was lined and that his clothes hung loosely.

Solomon leaped back to give his uncle an arm for support.

“You’ve been fasting, haven’t you?” he accused. “I’ve heard there were scholars practicing foolish asceticism, aping the Christian hermits. As if starving ever made a man holy.”

“Just because the Christians do it, doesn’t mean there isn’t some virtue in it,” Hubert snapped. “Fasting cleanses the body and allows the spirit to break free. And a man who is looking inward for enlightenment often finds that earthly needs are meaningless.”

“Clearly you haven’t reached that level, yet,” Solomon snapped back. “Or you wouldn’t be here now. Perhaps you should go back to your cell and leave me to deal with the world.”

Hubert sagged and lowered himself to sit on a stone block.

“I would like nothing better.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for my harsh tone. You haven’t been in Provence recently. There’s something in the air, I think. The usual rumblings against the Jews are only a background to some other change that’s coming. But we will be caught up in it and we must prepare.”

Solomon put his hand on Hubert’s forehead.

“I repeat,” he said, “you’re sickening for something. Have you been to a doctor? When were you last bled?”

Hubert shook him off. “I tell you, the signs are there. Danger, upheaval, strange weather, a host of falling stars. It all portends a new order. At first I tried to ignore them but then the count left for the Holy Land and now the bishop has gone to the Pope’s council in Reims. We are left without our guardians. Something evil is coming. It may well devour Christian and Jew alike.”

Solomon squatted to look his uncle in the eye. “Hubert, you’re giving me chills. What are you talking about? What signs? Are you involved in divination sorcery?”

“Lower your voice!” Hubert leaned toward him. “Of course not. I only seek such knowledge as the Holy One deigns to reveal to the least of His servants.”

“What does that mean?” Solomon asked wearily.

Hubert leaned so close that his whiskers were brushing Solomon’s ear. “I believe I have been sent a revelation,” he whispered. “While meditating on the Holy Name.”

Solomon rocked back on his heels. “God’s blood! I’m surrounded by saints and lunatics! Eat more than bread and bitter herbs. Have some good wine. Then, if you still have visions, I’ll pay attention.”

His uncle looked up at him with such misery that Solomon forbore making any more comments. He helped Hubert up and led him to the synagogue, giving him over to the care of the other scholars.

“Rest now,” he ordered. “Eat something. I’ll return this evening and we can talk then.”

Hubert looked as if he would protest, but then nodded.

“Just be careful,” he begged.

“I promise.” Solomon laughed. “I’m only going to talk with Bonysach about the spices Edgar and I want. The worst danger I shall face is his lovesick daughter.”

In the dortor of Saint Pierre des Cuisines, Brother James changed his travel stained robe for a fresh one. He had waited until his fellow monks of Moissac had left the room before removing his clothes. They all knew what he had been born but still he was ashamed to have them see the circumcision. He considered it the mark of a pact his father had made with Satan in his name, but without his permission. After thirty years, James had managed to destroy almost every part of the man who had been Jacob ben Solomon of Rouen. Only the scar of his mutilation remained to remind him every day. Once he had attempted to cut his member off entirely but he had fainted at the first touch of the knife. His abbot had forbidden him to try any such thing again. James had listened patiently to the sermon. It was better, the abbot insisted, to fight temptations, even if they were only those of memory, than to make oneself a eunuch.

The abbot didn’t have James’s memories.

“Brother James, aren’t you dining with us?” The voice had a laugh in it that roused James from his gloom.

“Just finished lacing my sandal,” he said as he rose with a smile. “Thank you for coming back for me Brother Victor.”

The young monk brushed away the thanks. “I wouldn’t have you miss another fine Lenten supper with a reading from Saint Ambrose all because you were lost in your private devotions.”

“You are always thoughtful.” James forced himself to smile. “I look forward to both Ambrose and the supper.”

Brother Victor took his arm. “And then a good night’s rest,” he said. “You’ll need all your strength for the task ahead.”

James gave the young monk a tired smile.

“I don’t know how I would survive without your help,” he said. “Certainly I could never have faced leaving the cloister if you hadn’t volunteered to come with me.”

Victor laughed. “This is a treat for me, Brother James! I haven’t been back to Toulouse since I entered the monastery. And then there’s the adventure of travel as well as the knowledge that we are on a mission of great importance. I’m grateful you were willing to let me join you.”

James looked at the young man. Victor’s bright brown eyes showed no trace of deceit. Or fear. James’s heart warmed to him. He had a boy’s hopeful, trusting view of the world. If only the world were as he saw it!

James sighed and allowed Victor to take him in to dinner.

In his small room, Hubert ate a meal more simple even than that of the monks. A bit of bread was enough, and a cup of water to keep the crumbs from sticking in his throat. Too much food clogged the mind and promoted drowsiness and he had so much more to learn, to understand, to seek. He knew he would never be a great scholar or judge. The fine points of the Law were too complicated for him. But the Torah, the words that made the world, yes, that was something he could study. Over and over he read them aloud, gently pointing to each letter with the silver
yad
that had once belonged to his brother Jacob.

Perhaps the learning that Jacob had abandoned when he converted was somehow contained in the slim pointer. It seemed to Hubert that meanings became clearer when he used it. The letters were reflected in the silver as it caught the light of his lamp and illuminated the page. Sometimes the words seemed to grow until they filled his vision and then he could see into the space beyond them, as if they were windows into the palace of the Lord. At these times he felt no hunger, thirst, or bodily pain. It was as if he were surrounded by joy and wonder.

But not tonight.

The letters lay still and lifeless on the page. He read the same passage a dozen times before realizing that he hadn’t taken in the meaning. The ghost of his brother had come between him and the words. He wanted to curse Jacob. But all he could feel was grief and his own self-doubt.

Jacob had abandoned his family to follow a false god. But Hubert had been raised to believe in that god. Lately he had come to believe that, like Moses, he had found his way home to his own people at last. But hadn’t he also abandoned a family? His daughter, Agnes, despised him. His other daughter, Catherine, grieved for him although she loved him still. His poor son, Guillaume, had no idea what he had done or even that Hubert had been born a Jew. Guillaume thought that his father had gone on a long and dangerous pilgrimage, from which he was not expected to return.

The only difference between the brothers was that Hubert still loved his family. He had left Paris to protect them. Jacob had done everything he could to eradicate any connection to his old life. Six years ago he had proved that when he allowed his own son, Solomon, to be arrested for murder. His vicious denunciation of the Jews at that time had left deep scars in Hubert as well as in Solomon.

Hubert suddenly sat up straight on his stool. He hadn’t been seeking a revelation tonight, but one had just come to him anyway. He wondered how he could have ignored this truth for so long.

He really didn’t like his brother, Jacob. He hadn’t liked him when he was an observant Jew. It was just possible that, even if Jacob hadn’t converted to Christianity, he would still be unlikeable.

Jacob was an unpleasant person, no matter what his faith.

“If he wasn’t my brother, I’d have done my best to avoid him,” Hubert said aloud.

Hubert arose from the stool, wincing at the creak of his knees. He needed to walk and think. He had told Solomon that Jacob was still part of Israel, no matter how far he had strayed. The lost lamb must be sought, even if in this case it was more of an old and ornery ram. Hubert believed this in his mind but not his heart. It astonished him how much he still resented Jacob for what he had done. Despite all his fine talk, Hubert could not bring himself to forgive.

No wonder he had not been allowed to make the ascent even to the first of the halls of the palace of the Lord! He was unworthy.

What could he do?

For now, Hubert knew only that the room was too small for his anguish. He put on his cloak and stepped out through the dark meeting room into the chill evening air.

“Welcome, Solomon!” Bonysach’s wife, Josta, greeted him with a warm hug. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen you. Sit down, have some wine and tell us the news from the North.”

Solomon took the cup gratefully. “A blessing on you, Josta!” he cried. “I have missed your smile and, even more, your cooking.”

He settled himself into a chair in the courtyard, next to a table laden with a platter of olives, cheese and dried fruit. As he reached for a plump prune, he spied a small hand come out from under the table, snatch a handful of olives and vanish.

Solomon bent down and lifted the tablecloth. Two pairs of identical mischievous brown eyes gazed back at him.

“Peace to you, little ones,” Solomon said. “And who are you?”

“My brothers,” a female voice said in disgust. “And they give us no peace, so they deserve none from you. Muppim! Huppim! Get out from under there! Go wash your hands!”

The two boys grinned at Solomon, not at all fazed by the wrath of their sister.

“Go on,” Solomon told them. “Has no one told you what I do to those who would steal the food from my plate?”

“No, tell us now!” They spoke at the same time.

Solomon seemed to consider. “No, it’s too terrible. You would both have nightmares.”

“You’ll never get them to move that way.” The girl came over and pulled the boys out by their ankles. “Now go!” she ordered.

They scrambled up and, laughing, finally obeyed.

The girl smoothed her skirts and adjusted the silver band holding her dark hair in place. She then faced Solomon and held out her hand. His eyes widened as the light from the setting sun fell on her face. He dropped the prune, stood, and bent over her hand.

“Belide?” he asked. “Can it be? What has happened to the little girl who used to go for rides on my back?”

Belide sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, her childhood ended sadly.” Her voice rose again. “When her twin brothers arrived creating too much work for her poor mother to do alone!”

From just inside the house there was the sound of giggling.

“Fortunately,” Belide continued. “My mother and father are even now looking for a good man to take me away and give me a nice, quiet home of my own.”

She gave a short laugh at Solomon’s expression. “You needn’t fear, my former donkey. Father has explained that you think I’m far too ugly and useless to attract your attention.”

“Belide! That’s not what I said!” Solomon sputtered.

“Never mind.” She patted the hand she was still holding. “I’ve decided that you don’t wish to marry me because your heart has been broken and you are pining away for the love of a high-born woman who can never be yours.”

Solomon started and dropped her hand.

“Daughter, stop teasing our guest.” To Solomon’s relief, Bonysach came out to the courtyard. “She listens to those troubadours in the streets and gets such idiotic ideas. What ever happened to the great stories of battles and honor? All the songs today are full of innuendo and adultery.”

“Papa, you are hopelessly antiquated.” Belide gave him a kiss. “Now that you are here to entertain our guest, I’ll see if Mother needs help with the dinner.”

Bonysach seated himself on the other side of the table and refilled Solomon’s wine cup before filling his own.

“I apologize for not being here to meet you,” he said. “We had some trouble dividing the goods we brought back. Yusef insisted that there was a parcel of Flemish wool missing. We finally convinced him that his tally must have been wrong. Japhet’s and mine agreed. But that’s nothing to bore you with. Have you seen your uncle?”

Solomon nodded. “He’s much more frail than I remember. I would think that after all he’s given to the community in Arles, they could at least feed him.”

“Oh, didn’t he tell you?” Bonysach offered him some olives. “He left Arles and is now living in Lunel. There are some great scholars there who have allowed him to study with them.”

“But he can’t possibly have learned enough in two years to understand the subtleties of
halakhah.
” This had been troubling Solomon since the discussion that morning.

Bonysach shrugged. “I don’t know about that. Our scholars certainly respect him. Perhaps someone taught him the secret word of memory.”

Solomon grimaced. “That’s as much a fireside tale as the ones the
jongleurs
sing. But it is his health that worries me. He must be made to rest more.”

“That, my old friend, is more than I can do.” Bonysach offered him some cheese. “Or you, I would guess. He is attempting to touch the mind of the Creator. That’s a noble and terrifying task. Of course it’s wearing to his body. One can’t approach the Throne on a full stomach, which is why I have no ambition to be more than I am.”

“A good thing, too,” Josta said, as she entered from the house. “If all the men were scholars then we women would have even more work to do and we’d have you underfoot all day while we did it. Come in now, my dears. Your dinner is ready and the poor young man has arrived, bearing sugared almonds for Belide. The twins have already finished them and he looks as though he fears that they’ll start nibbling on him next.”

“Come, then!” Bonysach laughed. “We’ll see if this man has wit enough to survive marriage to Belide.”

As soon as Vespers ended Brother Victor and Brother James went to meet with the men who had been hired to protect them during their journey. One, Berengar, was a native of Toulouse and an old friend of Victor’s. He was the younger son of a local nobleman and had been asked to find other trained knights willing to undertake the assignment.

“It will certainly be dangerous going into Saracen territory,” Berengar said. He was a burly young man, who had aspirations of an heiress and a castellany of his own. “But the purpose is a noble one. Saint Maurice and Saint Nicolas will certainly watch over us. Don’t you agree, Jehan?”

“What you propose is a task that God must approve,” the other knight agreed. “But even so, my good monks, there’s no reason for you to put yourselves in danger. The road will be full of hazards even if we are not betrayed in the end. We could be your emissaries and fulfill the mission guided from afar by your prayers.”

Brother James studied the man carefully. Jehan was older than Berengar, perhaps forty, with a face that had seen too many campaigns. He had the air of one who did not expect life to improve but endured it anyway. James regarded him with suspicion.

“I’m afraid that will be impossible. You’ll need us for the negotiations,” he explained to the knights. “I can speak their language. Can you? You wouldn’t want to rely on their interpreters. Most of them are Jewish, after all. And the abbot made it clear that Brother Victor is to be in charge of the funds. He is very proud to be so trusted.”

Berengar stiffened at the presumed insult, but Jehan just smiled. “A wise precaution,” he said. “Large sums can tempt even the most honest man.”

Brother Victor laughed. “I believe that the abbot simply thought thieves wouldn’t guess that I was carrying anything of value.”

Jehan looked at Victor’s fresh, naïve face and agreed with the abbot.

“Yes, that’s wise,” he considered. “Perhaps you should let people think you are with us by chance, on your way to visit another monastery.”

“That is an excellent suggestion.” Brother James was relieved that there would be no more argument. “It will draw attention away from us entirely. Who would notice a couple of poor monks in the wake of stalwart warriors? You’re sure that all the arrangements have been made?”

“Of course,” Berengar answered. “My father and the others have been planning this all winter. And Jehan, here, just returned from Spain with the latest information on the progress of the fight to reconquer the Saracen lands.”

“So you know the route?” James asked. “Very good. I’ve heard that God has given the armies of Spain great victories.”

“The war is going well,” Jehan agreed. “Far better than the one King Louis has undertaken. Almeria is in Christian hands now and Tortosa will be soon.”

“Yes.” Brother Victor nodded. “We’ve heard about the call for armies to lay siege to Tortosa. They say that even the Vicountess Ermengard of Narbonne will lead her men into battle.”

“She’s a formidable woman,” Berengar said. “I wouldn’t doubt it. All the more reason for us to succeed in our mission so that more men will be able to fight, don’t you agree, Jehan?”

The knight shrugged, causing the mail shirt he wore under his cloak to clink. Brother James looked at him in surprise.

“Why are you wearing armor?” he asked. “This is a town, not a battlefield. And we are in a house of God.”

Jehan looked the monk up and down before he spoke.

“You have the appearance of a man on the far side of your prime, Brother James,” he said consideringly. “Thin, from fasting no doubt, and wrestling with Satan. But the greatest earthly danger you are likely to face is from a fish gone bad. I was born the year King Philippe died. For a monk, my age would be of no great merit. But I can tell you that among men who live by fighting there are few gray hairs. I have survived this long by assuming that evil can enter even the house of God and that it often carries a sharp knife.”

Brother Victor leaned over to whisper something in Brother James’s ear. James nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “Berengar, we agree that you have chosen the right man for this task. I’ll rely on you to choose two more men to accompany us.”

He reached into a small leather bag at his belt and drew out a few coins.

“Only
ramondins,
I’m afraid,” he said, handing them to Berengar. “But they should buy the two of you a bed for the night and food. Come back tomorrow and we’ll give you twenty
moneta decena
of Count Alphonse. That should be enough for supplies and to show our good faith.”

“Twenty deniers of Toulouse.” Jehan pursed his lips. “Your faith will have to be stronger than that. If I return alive from this, I expect no less than twenty gold
marbottins
.”

“But this is an act of charity!” Brother Victor protested. “Wouldn’t you want us to do the same for you?”

Jehan rubbed at a flea crawling up his arm. “Yes, I would. If not, I would have insisted on a hundred.”

James laughed. “A man who knows his own worth! But just in case you don’t succeed, where should we send your wages?”

“In that case”—Jehan’s hard face grew almost wistful; but it was only a momentary change—“give the money to the Knights of the Temple, to keep the road to Jerusalem safe. And send to the canons of Paris enough for ten masses to be said for my soul. Come, young Berengar. Let’s see what kind of bed these few sous will get us.”

After they had left, Victor turned to James. “I’m sure you’re right that this Jehan will be an asset to our party. He’s rough but battle hardened. He’ll not shrink from a foe. It saddens me, though, that he is so alone in the world. Everyone needs a family to care if they live or die.”

“No they don’t,” James said sharply. “All anyone needs is Our Lord Christ and his Virgin Mother. Beside them all other relations are meaningless.”

Victor rested his hand on James’s shoulder, waiting until he grew calm. He smiled gently at his friend.

“You are right to chide me,” he said. “I am blessed with all my brothers here and the love of Our Lord, especially since my parents in the flesh have died. But I suspect that this Jehan of Blois hasn’t found such a happy replacement. He seems a very sad and lonely man. I shall pray for him.”

James shook his head. “Victor, you shame me. Sometimes I think you are almost with the angels already. Of course, when you explain it like that, I shall certainly pray for him, too.”

It was a good evening. Solomon’s stomach was full; his wine cup was as well. Muppim and Huppim had provided uproarious entertainment, often at the expense of Samuel, Belide’s befuddled suitor. But once the sweets had been served, Josta took pity on the young man and sent the twins off to bed in the care of a stern nursemaid.

“The nights are growing milder,” Josta said. “Soon we’ll be able to take all of our meals in the courtyard again.”

“I’m amazed to see fresh greens on the table,” Solomon said. “In Paris the first shoots have barely appeared.”

“Why you live in that cold, damp place, I’ll never understand.” Bonysach shivered at the thought. “I dread making the trip to the fair at Troyes each year. I always return with the grippe.”

“You need a son-in-law to take over the traveling for you, as I did for my uncles,” Solomon said, with a glance at Samuel. “Do you enjoy travel, Samuel?”

“I? Well, Toulouse is the farthest I’ve ever been from home.” A bright blush started up the young man’s neck. “But I would like to see more of the world.”

“Samuel is a fine scholar,” Bonysach said. “His teacher is the great Rabbi Abraham, head of the
Bet Din
of Narbonne. It would be a waste of his talent to send him on errands.”

“Oh, no,
Mar
Bonysach,” Samuel began. “That is…however, I fear I don’t have the skill to be a successful trader.”

“Nor need you,” Solomon said, taking pity on him. “I have more than enough competition. And the way we all argue about our contracts we need more wise judges well versed in the Law to keep us from doing each other violence.”

“Oh, yes!” Samuel nodded. “I mean, I’m sure you wouldn’t…”

Josta intervened. “Stop teasing him, both of you. Belide, why don’t you and Samuel take a stroll around the courtyard? There’s just a tiny slice of the old moon left. It’s lovely, set up against the stars.”

“Of course, Mother.” Belide looked down modestly. “Samuel, would you care to examine the moon with me?”

Solomon suppressed a laugh.

“Leave the door open to light your way,” Josta said mildly.

Samuel rose and bowed to the elders, then offered Belide his arm.

“You weren’t kind to the boy,” Josta said when they had left.

“If he’s to endure life with this family, he’ll need the leaven of humor,” Bonysach replied. “Now, Solomon, about the goods you wanted.”