By now the small crossroads was crowded with people, all wanting to know what had happened or giving out their speculations as fact. From windows, others leaned out and added their opinions of this interruption of their sleep.
The watchman cursed as someone ducked under his arm to get a better view of the man lying in the street.
“Ot! Rufus!” he shouted to his campanions. “Move these people back. They’ll trample the monk.”
Another man was pushing to get through. The watchman started to bar passage but then saw his face.
“Senhor Bonysach!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got an injured monk not of this town and this witness, or perhaps attacker, also a stranger. I don’t know who to report to.”
Bonysach bent to examine the monk, still bleeding quietly into the hard earth of the street.
“I don’t know this cleric, either, Malet,” he said. “Although his face is familiar. He must be a visitor at one of the priories. What on earth was he doing out after compline?
“Now, this man”—he nodded in Hubert’s direction—“is one of my people, a scholar visiting from Lunel. I can vouch for his character.”
“Thank you, Senhor. I’m glad to know that, at least. But his story will need investigation just the same. You’ll see that he stays in town until the matter is resolved?” Malet asked.
“Of course,” Bonysach told him. “I’m sure it will be soon. When the monk regains consciousness, he can tell us what happened.”
“Of course.” Malet was doubtful. He had seen the wound in the torchlight and it was deep. He turned to Hubert. “You may go, Senhor, but be prepared to answer the vicar’s summons for questioning.”
“I will be. Thank you,” Hubert said. “I am staying at the synagogue, if you need me.”
He started to leave, but Bonysach caught his arm, leading him away from the center of the crowd, but also in the opposite direction of the synagogue.
“Belide is missing,” he told Hubert in a low voice. “We thought she was in the garden with Samuel, but she slipped out instead. We have to find her at once!”
“Of course.” Hubert had daughters. He didn’t stop to ask who Samuel was or what a girl of that age was doing out at night, hopefully alone. “What can I do?”
Solomon had ignored the furor at the marketplace. Whatever was going on was well attended. If Belide were there, she would be found.
He wasn’t sure what to do next. For all he knew, Bonysach had found his daughter among those who had responded to the cry of the watchmen. She may even have been the one who screamed. But something told him that if she were unharmed, she wouldn’t have stayed when the crowd started forming. It was better to start from the house. There must be some sign indicating which way she had gone.
As he hesitated, he felt someone coming up behind him. Solomon pulled his knife from the sheath and spun around.
“No!” There stood Samuel, his hands up in supplication. Solomon relaxed.
“I’m sorry,” he told the young man. “I didn’t realize that you had followed me. Do you remember anything Belide said or did before she left that might help us find her?”
Samuel shook his head. His face crunched in concentration.
“I was so nervous,” he explained. “She was laughing at me, I know. I was relieved to be alone for a few minutes.”
“Girls of that age can be unthinkingly cruel,” Solomon told him. “Actually all women can. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you. Now, please, think! Anything. Did you hear or see anything odd before she left?”
“An owl hooted,” Samuel said. “It had the strangest cry. I looked to see what kind it was but, of course, saw nothing. For some reason, that made her laugh, too.”
“Of course!” Solomon put his knife back in the sheath. “Idiot child! Someone signaled to her and she went. Well, if he’s still with her when Bonysach finds her, I just pray he’s Jewish or he may find out what forced conversion feels like.”
Samuel’s jaw dropped. “You mean she used me to find a way to go meet a lover? I can’t believe it!”
“Actually.” Solomon paused. “I can’t either. She couldn’t have thought there would be time for joliveté. I know that in the heat of lust one does insane things, but still…”
He thought a moment.
“Samuel, let’s go back to the garden and see if we can find some trace of your owl.”
At first, Hubert was too stunned by his easy escape from the crowd to focus on what Bonysach was saying.
“I thought surely the guards would accuse me of attacking the monk,” he said as they left the square. “A stranger and a Jew. What else did they need?”
“Proof, I would think,” Bonysach said shortly. “And I spoke for you. I’m considered one of the leaders of the town, after all.”
“Really?” Hubert was impressed. “It would never happen in Paris.”
“Another reason not to live there,” Bonysach answered, quickening his pace. “I just hope I don’t have to raise the cry to find Belide. It would ruin my standing among the other leaders of the Cité if it got about that my daughter had turned whore.”
“You don’t know that.” Hubert was panting as he tried to keep up.
“Why else would she rush out alone into the night?” Bonysach didn’t notice that Hubert was falling behind.
To Hubert his friend’s voice was distorted, as if under water. He felt as if he were under water, as well, his lungs gasping for air.
“Help!” he managed to force out as he fell.
“Hubert!” Bonysach reached him in time to keep him from collapsing. “Here, lean on me.”
“No,” Hubert managed to gasp. He leaned forward, letting his head drop until the dizziness passed and he could breath again. “It’s nothing, truly. Give me a moment. We must find Belide.”
“I must find my daughter,” Bonysach said firmly. “You are going back to your room and rest.”
Hubert nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I’ll be no use to you. I can find my way back. Don’t waste your time on me. She could be in grave danger.”
“I know,” Bonysach said quietly. “But I can’t leave you in this state.”
Hubert took a deep breath and stood up straight.
“There,” he said. “I told you it was a passing attack. The night air, I suppose. I was down at the river’s edge. Stupid of me. Now go, find Belide. And, when you do, don’t punish her too severely. I don’t think she ran out just for a moment’s pleasure.”
“It’s not like her,” Bonysach agreed worriedly. “But her mother says she’s been odd lately. I should have listened to her, but Belide seemed no different to me.”
“Bonysach,” Hubert said. “Stop trying to understand. Just go.”
The street was empty, the noise from the crowd fading. Bonysach thought of thieves and cutthroats prowling in the darkness. Hubert was in danger from them but his only daughter much more so.
“I’ll come by the bet midrash and look in on you as soon as she is safe at home,” he promised.
When he had gone, Hubert made his way slowly back to the synagogue. He saw no one on the way.
“Josta, is she back?”
Josta didn’t need to answer. Solomon knew from the woman’s face that Belide was still missing.
“Forgive me, Na Josta,” Samuel said. “I should never have let your daughter out of my sight.”
“I think someone signaled to her to come out,” Solomon told her. “She may have only intended to be gone a few moments.”
“Yes,” Josta said. “I had figured that out. But something happened.”
She clenched her teeth to keep her mouth from trembling. Solomon wanted to say or do something to comfort her but feared that any such gesture would make her break down entirely. So he waited.
With an effort, Josta regained her composure.
“Belide is a good girl,” she said. “But she listens too much to all these new songs and stories the wandering jongleurs tell. Her head is
full of blighted passion and noble sacrifice. As if life didn’t give us enough opportunity for that.”
“Is there any friend she might be trying to help?” Solomon asked. “Someone she would risk your anger to meet?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to think!” Josta rubbed her forehead. “Belide has many friends. She sees them at the market or walking by the river. I try to know who they are, but the Christian ones don’t often visit.”
“What about a boy named Arnald Barleysilk?” Solomon asked. “His father is a salt merchant, I think.”
“Yes, I know him,” Josta said. “He lives close by. He and Belide played together when they were children but I don’t think she’s seen him outside of the market since then.”
Solomon told her of his meeting with Arnald on the barge. As he did, the worry in Josta’s face turned to anger.
“He said that he and Belide were helping Aaron Ha-Cohen?” she asked. “That’s nonsense! How could they help him? What could Belide and Arnald be plotting?”
“I don’t believe they’re lovers,” Solomon said, trying to reassure her.
“Oh, no.” Josta gave a humorless smile. “Belide wouldn’t do anything that simple. From what you say, they’re still playing some sort of game and Aaron is involved. I thought he, at least had more sense. My servant, Jermana, says that an injured monk has just been found in the street. Is he part of it, too?”
“I don’t know; I didn’t see him,” Solomon said. “I only heard the commotion. Perhaps he was attacked by a robber.”
“Monks have no money,” Samuel spoke up. “Who would try to steal from one?”
“Maybe it was too dark to tell what he was,” Solomon said. “Or perhaps he was set upon by one of these preachers who want to do away with clerics. The point is that I don’t think it concerns Belide.”
Josta went to fetch her head scarf and shawl.
“Solomon,” she said when she returned. “Will you come with me to the salt merchant’s house? If Arnald isn’t with Belide, he may still know where she has gone.”
“And if he is?”
“Then we had better find him before her father does.” Josta set a small oil lamp inside a closed lantern and handed it to Solomon. Then she turned to her other guest.
“Samuel,” she said. “I apologize profoundly for the behavior of my daughter and, I assure you, she will also do so as soon as she is found. We would be honored if you would return to dine with us on the second night of Pesach.”
Samuel seemed taken aback.
“You want me to go now?” he asked. “Shouldn’t I stay to help you.”
Josta put a hand on his arm. “You have been put out far too much already. We meant only to give you a pleasant break from your studies and look what happened. We’ll let you know in the morning if Belide is home.”
With a hurt look, Samuel acquiesced, bowed, and left.
“Now.” Josta took a deep breath. “Let’s go find my daughter.”
Brother James was deeply asleep. The rigors of the journey had reminded him that he was no longer young. So it was several minutes before he realized that the man shaking him wasn’t part of some troubled nightmare.
“Adonai!” he cried, raising one arm to protect himself.
“Brother James! Please wake up!”
James finally became aware of where he was. He opened his eyes. There was a man standing over the bed, not a monk. He carried a small tallow candle that gave off more smoke than light.
“Who are you?” James demanded. “What do you want from me?”
His voice held a quaver of terror.
“It’s Marfan, Brother James,” the man told him. “I’m the bailiff for the monks here at Saint Pierre. There’s been an accident. Your friend, Brother Victor, has been hurt. The prior sent me to take you to him.”
James was now fully awake. “Victor! What happened?”
He looked over at the bed next to his. It was empty.
“I don’t know exactly,” Marfan told him. “A watchman from the Cité arrived a few moments ago. He said that a monk had been attacked in the street. They took him to Saint Étienne, but he wasn’t from there. The watchman has been going from one priory to the next to find who had strangers staying with them. Brother Victor is the only one missing.”
“Attacked? I don’t understand.” James fumbled with the laces on his sandals. “What was he doing out of the priory?”
He stopped. “Senhor Marfan,” he said. “Could you wait for me in the porter’s alcove? I’ll only be a moment.”
As soon as the bailiff had left, James went to the pack Victor had brought with him. During the day, Victor always carried the gold in bags tied to a belt under his robes. He had taken the belt off and put it in the pack before going to bed. James felt for it in the darkness. When he reached inside, his hand touched one of the bags, the coins solid under his fingers. He exhaled in relief. Whatever Brother Victor had been doing, it wasn’t because he had succumbed to cupidity. He hurried to where Marfan was waiting.
“I’m sorry to keep you,” he said when he rejoined the bailiff. “I was still stupefied by sleep. Now, can you tell me more about what happened? How seriously was Victor hurt?”
“The watchman said he took a blow to the head,” Marfan told him. “Knocked him out cold, but the watchman said he’d seen worse. He’ll probably be awake by the time we get there.”
“Gratia Deo!” James made the sign of the cross. Marfan did likewise.
The streets were now completely deserted. Even the taverns were quiet, the last customer having been thrown out or rolled under a table to await the dawn. A cat leapt silently from a wall, intent on chasing a rat. The motion startled James and he quickened his pace. It was less than a mile to the church of Saint Étienne but it seemed to the monk as if they were trapped in an unnatural shadow from which they would never escape.
Marfan was unaware of the fancies of his companion. He assumed the monk was praying for the welfare of his friend. So he was surprised at the joy with which James greeted the sight of the lantern at the gate to the church of Saint Jacques, at the back of Saint Étienne.
“Ah, the porter is waiting for us, no doubt,” he said. “I’ll leave you then. I’m sure they’ll give you a place to rest the remainder of the night. I hope Brother Victor is recovered by now. Good night to you.”
James rang at the gate and a moment later it was opened, not by the porter but by a fellow monk.
“You must be here about the injured man,” he said.
James nodded. “Brother Victor, of Moissac,” he said. “We only arrived today. How is he?”
“I’ll take you to him,” the monk said.
Solomon had some qualms about waking a respectable salt merchant and his family in the middle of the night but Josta didn’t hesitate. She pounded loudly on the thick door, waited a moment, then pounded again.
“Give them time to put on a robe,” Solomon told her.
But the door opened at once. The man facing them was wide awake and fully, if hastily, dressed.
“Josta,” Vidian said. “You’ve come for Belide. It’s all right; she’s here.”
He led them up the stairs to the family chamber.
“I’ve been trying to get some sense out of them,” he said as they climbed. “But neither one is talking. They’ve had a fright, I’m sure, but aren’t hurt.”
“Belide will be soon,” Josta promised, “for the fright she’s given me.”
“I don’t blame you,” Vidian said. “But wait a bit. She seems to be punishing herself quite effectively.”
He opened the door.
Belide sat by a coal brazier, a blanket around her shoulders and a bowl in her hands. On the other side sat Arnald, devouring a leg of chicken. When they saw Josta and Solomon, both of them stood.
“It’s all my fault, Na Josta,” Arnald began.
“No, Mother, I was the one who talked him into it,” Belide insisted.
Josta glared at her daughte
r from the doorway but Solomon noticed that her hands weren’t clenched, but open, as if she desired nothing more than to hold Belide in her arms.
However, her words were not of comfort.
“You have shamed yourself and your family by your actions tonight,” Josta said. “You will now apologize to Senhor Vidian for disturbing his rest. Then we shall go home.”
“Na Josta.” Arnald put an arm around Belide, forgetting the drumstick he still held. “I swear to you by all the saints that your daughter is blameless in this.”
Josta sighed. “Arnald, don’t perjure yourself. Belide, come. We shall discuss this at home.”
Arnald was about to protest but Belide gave him a warning look. She handed him the blanket and bowl, then bowed to Arnald’s father.
“Senhor Vidian,” she said. “I humbly beg your forgiveness for the trouble I’ve caused. Thank you for taking me in at this hour and for the warm broth. Please don’t be angry with Arnald. He has done nothing wrong.”
Vidian shook his head. “If that is so, then I want to know what the pair of you did do.”
Belide and Arnald looked at each other and then at the floor.
“You see?” Vidian turned to Josta and Solomon. “And they expect us to trust them. Take your girl home, Josta. Maybe you and Bonysach can get the story from her.”
As they were leaving, Arnald spoke up.
“Solomon, is Brother Victor all right?”
“Arnald!” Belide cried.
Solomon raised his eyebrows. “If you mean the man who was attacked, I don’t know. And I’m sure your father will want you to tell us how you know his name when no one else seems to.”
But Arnald was taking his orders from Belide.
“I can’t tell you,” he said. “I swore an oath.”
Vidian snorted his disgust. “What do you think you are, boy, some knight on a mission?”
“No, Father,” Arnald said miserably. “But I still can’t tell.”
The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 6
