The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (11 page)

Berengar stopped Hubert at the gate.

“I’ll announce you,” he said. “Brother James may be at his prayers. If so then you must wait until he finishes.”

“Yes, of course.” In a calmer state Hubert might have been amused at the young man’s dim respect for the duties of clerics. Now it was just another moment of torture.

Hubert rubbed the sweat from his palms as he waited while Berengar approached the monk seated on a stone bench beneath a towering elm tree. The man seemed old, his shoulders hunched, hands shaking even in repose.

Berengar returned.

“He’ll see you now,” he said and added with a warning glance, “I’ll be here to escort you back.”

“You needn’t worry. I have no plans to harm him.” Hubert opened the gate and went in.

At first the man only watched as Hubert walked across the grass. The leaves of the elm cast dappled shadows that obscured the features of the person coming toward him. As he came closer, James’s look of polite suspicion slowly changed to one of confusion. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out the shape of Hubert’s face.

“You are the man who found Brother Victor?” he asked, standing to meet him.

Hubert nodded.

“But I know you!” James brought his face close to Hubert’s.

He bent his head to one side. His mouth fell open.

“It can’t be!” James recoiled in horror. “Oh, Christ protect me! Oh, Hubert! Oh, sweet Jesus! What have you done?”

“I’ve come home, Jacob,” Hubert said softly. “To the true faith. At last our mother’s ghost no longer weeps in my dreams. How well do you sleep, my brother?”

“No!” James backed away. “This is a test, a diabolical vision. You have a wife, children. You can’t have dragged them into this…this depravity with you.”

He covered his eyes and began reciting a
Pater Noster
.

“Jacob, I won’t vanish at the sight of a cross,” Hubert spoke over the Latin. “If it’s any comfort to you, among my children, only Catherine knows that I have returned to the faith and she has shown no interest in converting.”

“…libera nos ad malo.”
James peered from between his fingers. Hubert was still there.

“Did you kill Brother Victor in order to punish me?” he asked, his voice quavering.

“Jacob! Of course not!” Hubert stepped toward him, arms open. “The poor man! I would have saved him if I could but I came too late. It was only chance that brought me to where he lay. I knew nothing of who he was or where he came from. Certainly I never imagined that he was a friend to you.”

He stepped closer.

“Don’t touch me!” Brother James backed into the tree. He raised his hands in command.

“Jacob.” Hubert spoke as to a wounded animal. “I mean no harm to you or any of your brother monks. I only want you to remember that I was your brother first. Jacob, please.”

“Stop calling me that!” James lunged sideways, putting the bench between him and Hubert.

“Is anything wrong?” Berengar called from the gate.

“No! Stay where you are!” James ordered him.

Berengar frowned, but came no closer.

Hubert sighed. “Very well…James. You see, I can say it. I don’t mind the name, you know. Catherine named her first son James, for the saint of Compostella.”

There was no sign of interest from the monk. Hubert sighed again.

“I can tell you nothing about the one who attacked your friend,” he said. “Someone bumped into me as I entered the passageway, but I had no sense of his size or appearance. I’ve already explained this to the watch and to your prior. So, unless you wish to torment me with false accusations as you did your son, I shall return to my studies.”

He thought the jab about Solomon would provoke a reaction, but Brother James seemed not to have heard. He continued to stare at Hubert.

“What you have done is worse than murder.” His voice held more wonder than rage. “To deny your Savior. You will spend eternity in Hell.”

“There are those, my brother,” Hubert answered. “Who would say the same of you. I didn’t seek you out, knowing what you have become. I would have been content to leave you as you are. But now that I see you…oh, my brother…I’ll pray that if you don’t find the truth, you may at least find peace.”

He expected another outburst, but Brother James was silent, one arm stretched out as if to ward off attack. To his dismay, Hubert saw James’s fingers moving in the old signs to ward off evil. His eyes were closed and he may not have even known that he was using the gestures his mother had taught him a lifetime ago.

There was no point in trying. Hubert shook his head in sorrow.

“Good-bye, Jacob,” he said softly. “May the Holy One, blessed be He, protect you and show you the way home.”

There was no response. With a sigh, Hubert turned and left the garden. He nodded to Berengar at the gateway.

“Perhaps you should see to Brother James,” he said. “I believe he has overtired himself.”

The walk back from Saint Pierre des Cuisines seemed endless to Hubert. What had he been hoping for? Jacob had left them thirty years ago. This monk was not his older brother. Brother James was a stranger who wanted desperately to destroy any vestige of Jacob of Rouen.

Would that include denouncing his own brother as an apostate Christian?

Hubert understood then that the millstone weighing down his spirit, making each step, each breath a burden wasn’t caused by age or illness, but dread.

“Berengar!” Jehan greeted the knight from across the tavern. “We have a cup here engraved with your name. It’s dying of thirst. What took you so long?”

Berengar made his way to the table where Jehan and Guy sat. By the look of it, they had been there for some time. Cheese rinds were scattered on the floor around them. The men were using some of them in an attempt to build a fortress perched on a mound of olive pits.

“Maybe we should get some honey to stick them together,” Guy suggested. “What do you think, Berengar?”

“I think you’re both drunk,” he said. He reached for the ewer and turned it upside down but only a dribble of wine ran out.

“We are that,” Jehan admitted. “But don’t worry, you can join us.”

He got up and poked at a child of about ten, dozing next to the wine cask. “You! Ganton! Get your spigot and draw us another
sestier
of wine.”

The boy opened his eyes and yawned. Then he smiled at Jehan and unfolded himself slowly.

“Algramen, Senhor,”
he said. “As soon as I have your money.”

Jehan made as if to cuff the child. The boy didn’t flinch, but stood smiling, his hand out. Jehan fumbled in his purse.

“Here.” He dropped a quartered
raimondin
. The boy caught it, tested it with his teeth and then went off to get the wine spigot.

“Now, Berengar.” Jehan sat down again. “Don’t look so sour. We have nothing better to do while waiting for this expedition to set out. Why not become better friends with the local wine?”

“And cheese,” Guy added, still trying to get the fourth wall of the tower to stand.

Berengar tapped his cup on the table impatiently.

“I live here,” he reminded them. “This is the food I was weaned on. But don’t let me keep you from wallowing in it. I suppose you’ll want to try the local whores next?”

“Did that last night,” Guy said. “Maybe later. Oh,
merdas!
There it goes again. There must be something we can use to keep these stones from sliding.”

“Berengar.” Jehan wasn’t showing the effect of the wine as much as Guy. “Why are you so upset? Has something happened?”

The boy arrived with the brimming pitcher and another dish of olives. Berengar filled his cup and took a long swallow before answering.

“I think I just saw Brother James confront the devil.”

The other two looked at him and then each refilled his cup.

“Tell us all about it,” Jehan said.

Before he left for Carcassone, Solomon felt obligated to visit Bonysach. He hoped that Josta had suffered no permanent harm from her attack. But he also hoped that the incident would relieve him of his promise to speak to Belide about the gold.

The servant had barely let him in when Muppim and Huppim were upon him, dragging him into the courtyard.

“Papa has gone to see the elders,” Huppim explained. “He’s going to make Yusef pay for what his maid did to Mama. We’ll entertain you until he gets back.”

“I can stand on my head,” Muppim offered.

“Thank you,” Solomon told them. “But I would really like to see your mother, if she’s well enough. Or your sister.”

“Mama needs to sleep.” Muppim sighed. “That’s why we can’t stay inside. I’ll get Belide.”

Huppim remembered his manners and got a basin and jar of soap for Solomon to wash his hands.

“Oh, I forgot the towel,” he said.

“Never mind.” Solomon wiped his hands on his tunic. “Why aren’t you and your brother at
cheder
? Don’t you have lessons?”

“Not yet; we’ll start this Shavuot.” The boy didn’t seem eager for education. “Do you want me to do a somersault for you?”

He was energetically rolling across the court when Belide appeared.

“Huppim!” She grabbed him by the neck and pulled him up. “That’s a silk tunic! Look, it’s all over mud and grass stain. What were you thinking?”

Her glare included Solomon.

“He was trying to be a good host,” Solomon told her. “Thank you, Huppim. I was extremely entertained.”

Huppim wrenched himself from her grasp, tearing the collar off the tunic. Before she could scold him further, he ran back into the house.

Belide turned back to Solomon.

“I came to see how your mother was doing,” he said.

“The doctor gave her a draught for the pain,” Belide answered. “She’s sleeping now. He face is swelling and the bruises are darkening, but Rahel says she’s suffered no serious harm.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Solomon waited.

“Oh, forgive me!” Belide suddenly realized that he hadn’t even been asked to sit. “Would you like some water? Lombarda!” she called the servant. “Would you bring a plate of prunes and cheese for
Senhor
Solomon.”

“I won’t stay long,” Solomon said as they sat by a small table in the courtyard. “I’m leaving for Carcassonne tomorrow and just wanted to be sure everything was taken care of here first.”

“I thought you’d be with us for Pesach,” Belide said.

“I’ll be back by then,” Solomon said. “I hope your mother will be well enough to participate in the Seder. What a terrible thing to happen! I still don’t understand about this woman of Yusef’s. Where did she come from? Why does he keep her?”

Belide shook her head. “No one knows the answer to either of those questions. She seems to have been part of a group of pilgrims that stopped at the hostel of St. Raimon about five years ago. Why she stayed in Toulouse and how she came to work for Yusef are complete mysteries.”

“If her hatred for Jews is so great, why does she work for one?” Solomon wondered. “And why did she go with him so docilely?”

“I don’t care,” Belide said angrily. “She attacked my mother in our own home. If the elders won’t drive her out, then I hope my father goes to the vicar or the Good Men of the town for justice. Are they waiting for that
cecha
to kill someone?”

“Belide.” Solomon paused while the servant set the plate of food on the table along with a cloth and bowl of water. “There’s something else I have to ask you about.”

Belide jumped up. “She didn’t bring you anything to drink. I’ll fetch the pitcher.”

If she hoped Solomon would forget his question, she was disappointed. After he thanked her for the water, he started again. He was tired of her evasions. This time the question was blunt.

“Did you and Arnald steal a bag of coins from the monk who was murdered?”

“No!” Belide’s eyes were wide with indignation. “Where did you hear that? Brother Victor
gave
it to me, to help free the poor woman.”

“He gave you money for a Jewish ransom?” Solomon found that unlikely.

“Yes.” Her head bobbed in emphasis. “Arnald told him all about it and he said that it was his duty to undo the misdeeds of his fellow Christians, even if it meant that not all the knights the Ishmaelites are holding could be freed.”

“Belide, did you hear him say this?”

“Yes.” She leaned closer to him so that he couldn’t avoid her eyes. “I swear that’s what he told me when he gave me the coins.”

Solomon pushed his chair back and stood. He dipped his sticky fingers in the bowl and wiped them on the towel.

“I believe you’re telling me only as much of the truth as you think you can get away with,” he told her. “But not all of it. You should know that your mother found the bag and is greatly worried. She would probably heal much more quickly if you confided everything to her. You have no idea of the disaster your actions could bring. I hope your parents can make you realize this.”

There. He had done as Josta had requested. His conscience was satisfied.

But like a rat left alone with the cheese, his mind couldn’t help from nibbling at the problem.

What if Belide were lying to protect Arnald? What sort of monk would choose to save a Jewish girl from slavery rather than a Christian knight from death? But why would Brother Victor be carrying gold at all? What if Victor hadn’t been assaulted by chance?

Who else knew that he had the ransom money?

Solomon was brought up short by the face of his father as he had last seen him. If ‘Brother James’ knew Victor meant to help the Jews, would he kill him to prevent it?

Solomon felt a spasm deep in his gut. He clenched his teeth, fighting back nausea. He was furious that even the thought of this man could make him feel so sick. His anger flowed to Aaron, Belide, Arnald, even to Edgar for leaving him to finish the journey alone. What right had they to make him a part of their problems? He wanted no more of it.

Right now all he really wanted was to take care of Hubert’s business in Carcassonne and continue on far into Spain, leaving the whole mess behind.