The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (31 page)

It was a difficult decision. James brightened. And a perfect excuse for him to consult with the guards. Now he just needed to seek them out individually and then lead the conversation to what he really wanted to know.

First he had to see about Brother Martin.

Martin had hurried to the guest house as soon as released from Lauds. James found him sitting on his cot with a linen bag to his nose. He dropped it as soon as he saw his fellow monk.

“You haven’t folded your pack yet,” he said to James.

“We’ll stay here today. If the Jews observe their Sabbath even while traveling,” James said. “We should be no less mindful of ours. Also, we need supplies and the markets won’t be open until after None. How are you feeling?”

“Me? Fine.” Martin smiled. “Hale as a horse.”

“Good,” James answered. “I’ll arrange for the supplies then.”

As soon as he had gone, Martin picked up the bag from the cot, loosened the tie and tried again to smell the pungent mixture. Even though his eyes began to water, his nose refused to clear. The pain across his cheeks was so strong that he could barely see. He had to find a remedy for this or resign himself to being left behind.

The inn where the guards were staying wasn’t far from the monastery. James strolled over, enjoying the mild air and the scent of flowers. As he’d hoped, all three were still abed when he arrived. He sat at the foot of the ladder and waited.

Berengar was the first to come stumbling down. When he saw Brother James, he missed the last rung and landed with a clatter.

“Good morning, My Lord Berengar,” James said pleasantly. “Did you enjoy your bath last night?”

“Oh, yes,” Berengar managed to croak through his hangover. “Just what I needed.” He tried to focus his bloodshot eyes. “Is it time to leave? I didn’t hear the bells.”

“No, no.” James offered him a hand. Berengar managed to stand up. “It’s not yet Tierce. We may not leave until tomorrow. Our route will soon diverge from the pilgrim way. We’ll pass through less populated areas. Brother Martin and I think we should get fresh provisions now.”

Berengar tried to cover a deep yawn. “Good idea. Is there anything to drink around here?”

James raised a pitcher from the counter and sniffed the contents.

“Mint water,” he said. “With a touch of wine. Shall I pour you a cup?”

Berengar sat down across from him and held out his cup. He drained it and held it out for more.

“Very dry throat this morning,” he said. “Must be the weather.”

James refilled the cup.

“Martin is in charge of replenishing our supplies,” he said. “But he also seems to be affected by the weather. He gave me a list.”

He fumbled with a knot in his sleeve and took out an irregular piece of parchment, scraped and written over many times. He squinted at the writing.

“Dried meat, raisins, oranges.” He handed it to Berengar. “Can you take care of these?”

Berengar looked at the list, at Brother James, then back to the list. He studied it for a while.

“Perhaps you should ask Arnald to do this.” He handed the parchment back to James. “He has more experience with buying and selling than I.”

“Ah, yes, his father is a merchant of some sort, isn’t that right?” James asked.

“Salt,” Berengar said. “He’s only with us because my father owed his father a favor. Not that he has no training at arms,” he added hastily, remembering that he had been the one to recommend Arnald. “Those men train their sons far above their station.”

James gave a thin smile. “He’s raw, but willing, I’ve noticed. His only flaw seems to be in his choice of friends.”

“You mean Aaron?” Berengar asked. “Well, that’s natural, you know. They’re really all the same, the burghers and Jews. And, in the Cité, people don’t pay so much attention to the proper order. If a man can build a fortified house with a tower, he’s seen as practically a nobleman, even if he doesn’t know the name of his own grandfather.”

Berengar’s voice was sour with old resentment.

“But the other men you recommended, Guy and Jehan,” James prodded. “They seem to be of a different sort.”

“They’re real knights!” Berengar said with enthusiasm. “Sons of noblemen who live on the skill of their arms. You wouldn’t believe some of the deeds they’ve performed!”

“I understood that Jehan’s recent deeds have been performed in expiation of a crime,” James commented.

Berengar set his cup down with a clink.

“You’ve been talking to that Solomon, haven’t you?” he challenged. “They knew each other in Paris, Jehan says. Solomon bears him old resentments and so spreads lies. Jehan killed a man in defense of a lady’s honor. But Solomon and his Christian friends accused him of base murder. He was sent away in chains but his natural aristocracy of manner shone through and soon he was released to destroy the enemies of Christ.”

Berengar poured another cup of water.

“Personally,” he said. “I think he should start with Solomon.”

James controlled his expression to mild surprise.

“Really?” he asked. “Why kill Solomon, particularly?”

Berengar had finally quenched his thirst. Now he wanted something to eat. He knew his stomach would stop roiling if he gave it some bread.

“Even before Jehan told me about him, I was suspicious.” As Berengar spoke, he wandered about the room, looking in jars and boxes for something edible.

“Just the thing,” he said finally. He came back and sat down, holding a handful of small cakes made with anise and caraway. He stuffed them in his mouth one at a time as he continued telling James his opinions.

“He’s too much at home with Christians,” he said, spraying crumbs across the table. “But I know he sneers at us in private. He corrupts our women. Jehan says that the innkeeper the other night isn’t his only conquest. I know he carries a knife and not just for cutting meat. That’s forbidden both to Jews and merchants. What do they think we guards are hired for?”

“It’s the custom for most travelers to arm themselves, even if they are guarded,” James said. “Has he done anything else that worries you?”

Berengar shook his head. “But I’ve had my hands full seeing that no one robs you and Brother Martin,” he said. “We all think it would be safer if you let one of us carry the ransom for you.”

He was struck by a thought.

“I’ll bet that’s why Samuel died. He seemed a decent man. What if Solomon had decided to take advantage of the search for the madwoman to sneak into the monastery and steal your gold? Samuel could have tried to stop him and been killed for his trouble.”

“That is an interesting theory,” James said. “I’ll certainly consider it. As for entrusting the money to you and your fellows, that’s a burden laid on me and Brother Martin alone. It would be wrong to make you responsible for it.”

Berengar wiped his face, brushing bits of cake and caraway to the floor. “Yes, I can see that,” he admitted. “And, while I think Guy is a good warrior and an honorable man, he does have trouble resisting the rattle of the dice. Better not add the temptation of all that money.”

He stood up and gave his clothes a shake.

“If Arnald doesn’t show up soon, I’ll take care of the supplies,” he said. “But I’m sure he’d get you a better price.”

He vanished back up the ladder. James could hear him rousing the other two. The monk left the inn. He didn’t want to be late for the next Office. He also wanted to digest the information Berengar had given him.

First, it was obvious that Berengar didn’t want to take the list because he couldn’t read it. James wondered why he hadn’t wanted to admit that. There was no shame attached. True, more of the nobility in the south took the time to have their children taught their letters and numbers, but only those intended for the Church had a serious education.

Second, Berengar very much admired Jehan. A murder or two in the man’s past wasn’t important. If anything, it made him more intriguing to the young lord. Berengar had been the one to arrange the hiring. At the time it hadn’t seemed odd that a man of good family would take on the task. The knights of the Temple had set the example and the ransom of captives was one of the reasons they were founded. But now James wondered just what the young man’s prospects were. His father had both wealth and power. How many other sons did he have? Was this sort of task all the future Berengar could expect?

It would be enlightening to know what the two older men thought of him.

Finally, James needed time to control the disquiet that rose in him at the thought of Solomon as the murderer. It was true that he had once accused Solomon of killing a monk, but that was before he found out that the man was his son. James tried to quell his feelings. He told himself that the relationship shouldn’t matter. Berengar’s suggestion deserved to be considered dispassionately. James could imagine Solomon capable of any crime. The man was a cauldron of resentment. A perfect example of all that was wrong with the Jews. The sight of him was like a constant reproach to Brother James.

All at once it hit him, like a sponge of cold water squeezed over his sleeping face. He covered his mouth to stop the cry of pain. “Good fruit comes from good seed.” It wasn’t residual affection for his son that made him hope Solomon wasn’t a murderer. It was his own pride. He couldn’t bear the thought of having produced something twisted and rotten. The abbot had often told him that the sin of arrogance would be his downfall. Without humility he could never find true
caritas,
and without charity, he would never have peace.

Brother James sighed. Believing in Christ had been so easy. Becoming a Christian seemed to be almost impossible.

Solomon barely noticed the town of Pamplona growing closer. He was lost in his own world of concerns. The mood of the rest of the group did nothing to dispel his worries. Aaron had still not provided them with a sensible plan for rescuing Mayah and from his brooding silence, Solomon suspected that he didn’t have one. Babylonia hadn’t spoken at all since the night before, nor had she stopped crying. Her tears welled and spilled over from some bottomless spring of silent grief. They seemed to drain her of anger and with it, the strength to live. She was slumped on her horse, held up only by the high front rim of the saddle.

And he still didn’t know where Yusef was really taking her. The man had managed to tell them her story without revealing his plans at all.

Of course, Solomon admitted, he had avoided telling the younger men about his father.

This was not the kind of trust needed among friends on a mission.

“Solomon!” Arnald’s voice called from behind. “Did you mean it when you said you would come to the baths with me?”

Solomon rubbed his eyes and tried to pinch back the headache that was forming just behind them. With a sigh, he reined in long enough for Arnald to catch up.

“You need to find the monks first,” he told the young man. “If they have no objection, I’ll take you tonight. Although it would make more sense if you stayed with the other guards.”

Arnald scowled at the approaching town. “I don’t feel at ease with them. Berengar looks down on me because my father sells salt. Guy’s accent is so thick I can’t understand most of his jokes and Jehan, well, to be honest, he frightens me.”

“I see.” Solomon nodded. “Guy does have a strong Norman flavor to his words but he’s clear enough to me. Berengar is angry because he thinks your family is wealthier than his and resents it. But why does Jehan scare you? Has he done anything threatening?”

“No, not exactly,” Arnald admitted. “It’s more the way he looks, the way he moves. I keep feeling that at any moment, he might spring at me.”

“Then you have his measure,” Solomon said. “He says he’s changed and I have noticed a difference in his manner from the old days, but I’d no more turn my back on him than an enraged bear. Still, these men are supposed to be your comrades in arms.”

“Only because my father is such a pig!” Arnald complained. “He forced me to do this. I only agreed so that I could get out of Toulouse with Aaron. I never meant to stay with them.”

“I know that and we need to think of a good reason for you to go on with us to Fitero. There must be a Christian in the party. But first find out from the monks what they expect of you,” Solomon told him. “Your father may be back in Toulouse, but Jehan is here and what he’ll see is a man who took on a job and now wants to desert.”

Solomon let him chew on that until they reached the town. It was time Arnald learned to consider consequences. His life so far seemed to be one rash act after another. It amazed Solomon that he was still among the living.

The Basques called Pamplona simply Iruñea, ‘the city’. It was the first town of any size they had stayed in since leaving Toulouse. Solomon had been there many times before and always enjoyed it. There was a small Jewish community to stay with, if he wanted to. There were also a number of inns run for the benefit of French-speaking pilgrims. Once the kings of Navarre had retaken the town from the Saracens, they had encouraged settlers from the North. So even travelers from Paris had no problem finding someone who would fleece them in their own language.

For this stop Solomon agreed to stay with Aaron, Yusef and Babylonia in the house of a Jewish widow who welcomed the chance to give traders a properly prepared meal and a place to pray without being mocked. She was a good woman, still attractive in her fifties with a smile that offered a warm welcome to the right man, but Solomon had no interest. He was haunted by Caudiza and the child he had helped to create.

Except when his travels brought him to her door, Solomon had never really thought about Caudiza. She was refreshingly different from the women he usually passed time with. She wasn’t interested in another husband and not eager to make public her relations with a Jew. When he appeared at the inn, her bed was usually open to him. She had made it clear from the start that she wanted nothing from him beyond the use of his body. He never thought that he might have given her something more. Anna had been a thunderclap that shattered his complacence.

His reaction to the child unsettled him acutely. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Anna had a joyful radiance that shone on all. Caudiza had said that Anna was pure love. It was easy to believe that she was a special gift, something to be treasured, certainly. But it was also obvious that however long she lived, she would never reach the age of reason. If that meant she didn’t know how to sin, did it also mean she would never know how to pray? What was she in the eyes of her Creator? And, Solomon cringed inwardly, there were also the eyes of men. There was no way he could convince himself that she was a pretty child. Her flat face and large protruding tongue could never be molded into conventional beauty.

Caudiza was adamant that he not acknowledge Anna as his daughter. Solomon was ashamed at his relief. What if Anna was God’s message to him, a warning to stay away from gentile women? Would all his children be born defective? He wished he could see Anna as Caudiza did, a household saint who would smooth the path to heaven for those who loved her. Instead he only felt that he had done something terrible and the penalty for his sins had fallen on a fragile and innocent child.

The guilt ate into him, biting more deeply each day.

He found himself hoping that they would have to fight to free Mayah. Life was so much simpler when someone was trying to kill him.

“I’m completely well,” Brother Martin assured Brother James. “I haven’t sneezed in hours. The herbal bag worked again. My mother sent it to me. She had it blessed at the shrine of my name saint at Tours.”

“I’ve heard that Saint Martin takes care of those who honor him,” James said. “I shall say a prayer of thanksgiving for your recovery. It would have been a great sorrow to me to have to leave you behind.”

“To me, as well,” Martin said. “I have so wanted to be part of a true mission. I know how important our prayers are to the faithful, but lately it has seemed to me that I could serve Our Lord better in some other way.”

“You cheerfully take on any task you are set and perform it as best you can,” James told him. “That is the essence of true service.”

The platitude seemed to comfort Martin.

“So we set out again in the morning?” he asked.

James nodded. “I have our guards out getting more provisions. The only one still missing is Arnald. The boy spends too much time with his friend, Aaron. I’m concerned that he isn’t committed to our goal of ransoming the imprisoned knights.”

“He’s a boy on his first real journey,” Martin said. “It’s natural that he wants to stay close to the ones he knows best. The other guards haven’t welcomed him as much as they might have, either.”

“Really?” James was surprised at the accuracy of his fellow monk’s observation. He hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps he should talk with Arnald next. The boy might be a good source for the misdeeds of the others if he didn’t feel any loyalty to them.

James adjusted his cowl to cover his head. “I need to make certain that the other three were able to get everything we need. If Arnald reports to the monastery, will you tell him to wait here for my return?”

“Of course.” Martin grinned. “I’ll stay here until you come back.”

He liked having an assignment that required no knowledge of Latin or music.

Guy cursed and scratched at a flea that was eating its way across his leg.

“Le malfé!
I don’t think that laundress did more than dump my hose in a bucket with a hundred others and pour them out again,” he grumbled. “There are more fleas in them now than before I gave them to her.”

Jehan agreed. “You’ve got to watch out for that. I’ve a powder that you can put on your hose before you wear them. It kills the fleas but you need to rinse it out again right away or the stuff eats through the wool.”

Berengar looked from one to the other of them in disgust.

“I thought you two were fighting men!” he said. “You sound like old women comparing cures for flatulence.”

Guy and Jehan stared at Berengar and then both began laughing. Berengar smiled uncertainly.

“Were you doing that to tease me?” he asked.

“Not a bit,” Jehan said. “You still think that a soldier’s greatest enemy is the army ranged against him. What brings most men down is fleas, biting flies, ague-laden air, bad food, and worse water. You try to fend off an enemy while you’re doubled over with cramps and diarrhea and you’ll understand.”

“Or try to ride when your hands are shaking with fever and you’re coughing so hard that you can’t keep your seat,” Guy added. “Sometimes the only reason you survive is because the other poor bastard feels even worse.”

“Then there’s blazing sun,” Jehan continued.

“Or cold rain and mud,” Guy added.

Berengar was becoming angry. “You’re only talking like that to make sport of me again. What about tournaments and great battles and winning the hearts of beautiful heiresses?”