The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Sharan Newman

  Twelve

  The priory of Saint Pierre des Cuisines, Toulouse. Wednesday, 16 Nissan 4908, Pesach II, first day of the Omer. 18 kalends May, (April 14) 1148.

  Ben es mortz qui al cor non sen

  D’Amor qualque doussa sabor

  E que val viare ses amor

  Mas per enuey far a la gen?

  Death is welcome when the heart does not feel

  The sweet savor of love

  And what use is it to savor one’s love

  If it causes jealousy in others?

  —Bernart de Ventadorn

  “Brother James!” Martin took the steps to the dortor two at a time, causing the whole building to shake. “Lord Falquet has sent us his offering ahead of time. There is enough now to free all the captives. We can leave by Friday!”

  James met him at the top of the stairs.

  “Friday? Domine gratia! That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “But how will everything be arranged so quickly?”

  “Most of the supplies have already been prepared,” Martin said. “I understand our guards are more than ready to depart. And I just spoke to Aaron, the horse trader. He told me his party was also eager to start out and they will share the cost of the guards. Your prayers must have been heeded, Brother James.”

  “Yes, I can’t believe it,” James said. Then he stopped. “Aaron is willing to set off early? But it’s the middle of Pesach.”

  “It’s what?” Martin only half heard. His mind was already on the final preparations.

  “Nothing.” James caught himself. But the news worried him. Why would a Jew be so willing to start a journey in the middle of Passover? Was it that he considered trade more important than faith? Or was it essential that he travel in this particular party? Had Hubert told the other Jews of Toulouse about their encounter? Could they think that, after so many years, he could be brought back to Israel? Or was this somehow connected to Brother Victor’s murder? Did Aaron know how much gold the monks were carrying? Could he be under orders to prevent the release of the knights?

  James’s conjectures raced to even greater extremes. What if this Aaron were in league with the Saracens? He might have promised them new monastic hostages. Or perhaps Aaron was planning to kill him. If the leaders of the Jewish community had given up on his reconversion, they might have decided it was better for him to die than risk the possibility of him convincing other Jews to follow his path.

  The thought of martyrdom cheered the monk considerably.

  His mind had wafted to selecting appropriate readings for his feast day when a loud cough from Brother Martin brought him back.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “What task has been assigned to me, Brother?”

  “Nothing, Brother James.” Martin smiled proudly. “I have taken care of everything for you. I just need to inform Senhor Aaron of the time of departure on Friday.”

  “Friday, you said?” James had to share his suspicion. “A man named Aaron Ha-Cohen is willing to set out on a journey on a Friday in the middle of Passover? That doesn’t seem strange to you?”

  Martin shrugged. “I told him that we would travel on his Sabbath and he said that the urgency of his mission permitted it as long as he didn’t ride.”

  “What could be that important?” James asked.

  “He didn’t say,” Martin said. “But I overheard some friends of his talking. It seems he has contracted for a Spanish bride. I guess that the burning of his loins is more important to him than his superstitious rites.”

  He nudged James.

  “Perhaps you could use the time on the road to help him appreciate the joy of accepting Christ,” he suggested. “And how much greater it is than satisfying the craving of the flesh.”

  James gave the massive monk a long look.

  “How long have you been in the monastery?” he asked.

  Martin seemed puzzled by the question.

  “I was an oblate,” he said. “My parents gave me to St. Peter and Cluny when I was eight.”

  “That makes many things clear to me,” James told him with a pat on the arm. “I promise that I shan’t miss an opportunity to preach the faith. But I don’t think this is a time when Senhor Aaron is most likely to be receptive.”

  Aaron raced down the narrow streets of Toulouse, oblivious to what he stepped in. He leapt over barrels and swung around carts with the ease of a tumbler, never breaking his stride.

  When he reached the house of the tanner he didn’t so much knock at the door as collide with it. Nazara opened to find him panting and dripping, too out of breath to greet her.

  She closed the door and returned a moment later to hand him a basin and towel.

  “My thanks, Na Nazara,” he gasped. “I apologize for my state. Is Solomon here?”

  “At the bet midrash visiting his uncle, I think,” she told him. “At least that’s what he said when he left this morning.”

  Aaron finished wiping his face and returned the towel and basin.

  “Thank you.” He took a deep breath and set out again.

  Solomon was seated in the court with Hubert when Aaron burst in.

  “We leave Friday at dawn,” he said without preamble. “I don’t want to hear any rebukes.”

  “I’ve already said I can go at once,” Solomon answered. “Now, Uncle, please have a bit more soup. I don’t care how sustained you are by the Torah. You need real food, as well. You don’t want me to tell Catherine that you’re starving yourself.”

  Hubert picked up his spoon. His daughter had enough worries without that. Dutifully, he swallowed the soup.

  Aaron let his wobbly legs fold onto the ground but didn’t stop talking.

  “Galde is furious with me,” he said. “She can’t understand the rush to fetch Mayah, since the marriage can’t be held until after Shavuot.”

  Hubert looked up from his soup.

  “Who’s getting married?” he asked.

  “Aaron,” Solomon told him. “To the daughter of Yishmael of Córdoba.”

  “Little Mayah? But she’s just a baby,” Hubert said.

  “That was the last time you saw her,” Solomon answered. “Mayah is now well past the age of consent.”

  “Then congratulations, Aaron!” Hubert smiled at him. “Will my old friend, Yishmael, be coming for the event?”

  Solomon gestured to Aaron not to tell Hubert that Yishmael was dead, but Aaron didn’t need to be warned.

  “Yishmael won’t be able to make the journey,” he answered. “Although I know how much he would like to be here.”

  “A shame.” Hubert sighed. “I’d like to see him again. Well, I had planned to return to Lunel after Pesach but perhaps I should stay for the wedding.”

  “Aaron!” Samuel had joined them. “I just heard that you are finally going to get your bride. That’s wonderful. But you need more than Solomon to accompany you. Let me come, too.”

  Aaron’s head jerked up in alarm.

  “Samuel, this isn’t a ride to the next town,” he explained. “Mayah lives in Spain. We may be gone a month or more.”

  “I know,” Samuel said. “But I’ve been thinking lately that I’ve been looking for wisdom in the Talmud alone. I need to understand the world, as well.”

  “I’m sure you can do that in a less radical manner,” Solomon said. “And with more planning. We leave the day after tomorrow, you see. Not only in the middle of Pesach but Sabbath eve.”

  Samuel regarded them thoughtfully.

  “I’m surprised that you would do this, Aaron,” he said. “I thought you were more observant. But that’s all the more reason why I should come along. The three of us can make an eruv at our camp to observe the Sabbath.”

  Solomon bit his lip. “I don’t think three men are enough, especially if I’m one of them. Samuel, we won’t be in the company of Jews, but Christians. The only group Aaron could find to travel south now is that of the monks of Saint Pierre.”

  Instead of disturbing Samuel, this information made him even more avid to
go.

  “I’ve always wanted a chance to talk with monks,” he said. “Outside of the churches, of course. I’ve been studying Latin in Narbonne and I believe that they really need a better translation of the psalms for their prayers.”

  Solomon threw up his hands.

  “I think you’re mad,” he said. “But it’s not my job to bring you to reason. I’ll meet you Friday, Aaron. Where are we gathering?”

  “Just outside the Narbonne Gate,” Aaron said. “Samuel, why don’t we speak with the elders about this. It’s a noble offer, but I really can’t let you make such a decision without counsel.”

  They went in search of authority.

  Hubert finished his soup and then stood slowly, leaning on the table.

  “Help me back to my room, please,”

  He held out his arm to Solomon.

  As they started back, Solomon had the odd sensation that Hubert wasn’t so much leaning on him for support but tethering himself lest he float away.

  Neither spoke until they entered the room and Hubert shut the door. He sat on his bed, looking up at Solomon. All at once, his eyes were sharp, without a trace of uncertainty.

  “You know that Jacob will be in the party with you,” he said. “And still you are going.”

  “Yes.” Solomon spit the word out.

  Hubert nodded. “In that case, you must make a promise to me, Nephew, by anything you consider holy. You can’t get away with mouthing words to humor an old man. This is a vow I want you to keep, no matter what.”

  Solomon sat down next to him.

  “Don’t ask it,” he begged. “I can’t be tied to such a thing.”

  “You must be.” Hubert’s voice was firm. “Swear it. There has to be something you believe in enough to keep you from an act that will damn you forever.”

  Solomon tried to look away, but Hubert’s gaze held him fast.

  “There is nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. But you are wrong in your fear. I’m not plotting to kill Brother James. I’ll avoid him as much as possible. I loathe the thought of having to see or speak to him.

  “I am not a man who plots murder. Nevertheless, I can’t promise that he won’t come to harm.”

  “Solomon, please,” Hubert insisted. “It’s not for him, but for yourself.”

  “No.” Solomon put his arm around Hubert’s shoulders, trying to soften the harsh words. “If he threatens me as he did before or tries to hurt any of my friends, he shall be stopped. And I will do anything I must to see to it. Hubert, don’t you understand? Now that he knows you are living again as a Jew, he has the power to have you put to death for apostasy. He can destroy the lives of your children and grandchildren. What is my soul compared to that?”

  He tried to smile, perhaps to reassure his uncle that a soul wasn’t that great a loss. Beneath his arm, he could feel Hubert sag in despair.

  “I would not have you trade your soul for my life,” Hubert said at last. “Or even Catherine’s. I would gladly die for my children and theirs, despite the danger to them that my actions have caused. So it would dishonor you to imply that you would do less.”

  “Thank you, Uncle.”

  “All the same,” Hubert added. “Just remember that if you harm Jacob, you may well lose everything, including the lives you would protect.”

  “How do you think I could forget?” Solomon snapped back.

  At this point, he felt that he would rather face his own execution than the next three weeks on the road.

  “Na Josta?”

  Josta opened her eyes. She had been dozing over her embroidery.

  What is it, Jermana?” she asked the servant.

  “That man is here,” Jermana answered. “That Yusef. Shall I tell him you are still too ill to see him?”

  “No.” Josta sighed. “He knows I’ve been up for days. He didn’t bring that woman with him, did he?”

  “If he had, I’d have turned him away without bothering you at all,” Jermana huffed.

  “Tell him I’ll be down in a moment,” Josta said. “And offer him some wine. I don’t want to be remiss in my manners.”

  “If you insist,” Jermana answered. “But it won’t be from a new jug.”

  When Josta entered the hall, she found Yusef standing nervously. He held a cup of wine in one hand and a piece of matzoh, spread with oil and herbs, in the other. Jermana had served him and taken away the tray.

  “A blessing upon this house and all in it,” Yusef greeted her, looking for a place to put down his cup.

  “And to you,” Josta answered. “What brings you here? Bonysach is at the Bazacle, inspecting a shipment of silk.”

  “I have come to see you,” he explained. “I have the money the elders set to recompense you for the hurt my servant caused.”

  Josta went to an alcove and brought back a small table. Yusef set the cup on it, balancing the matzoh on top. He took out a bag from around his neck and carefully counted out the coins.

  “Two-thirds to you,” he said. “And the rest to Bonysach.”

  “I’ll let him know,” Josta told him. She didn’t touch the money. “Is there something else?”

  Yusef nodded. “I wanted to tell you again how grieved I am by Babylonia’s behavior. I thought she was getting better but this last outburst was one of her worst. The elders are right; I can’t risk the safety of my friends by keeping her in my home.”

  Josta exhaled in relief. “May the Holy One, blessed be He, be thanked! You should have sent her away long ago! Let the Edomites take care of her.”

  “I can’t do that, Na Josta,” Yusef said sadly. “I’m not sending her away; I’m taking her.”

  “What! Where?” Josta couldn’t believe it. “Yusef, this woman can’t mean so much to you. You are a good man, who has always followed the Law. Why would you accept exile for her sake?”

  “This is a burden I have taken up,” Yusef answered. “I can’t set it down until I know Babylonia has found peace. Samuel told me that Aaron is leaving for Spain. We shall go with him. Or, if they won’t let us join the party, we’ll follow behind like beggars.”

  He bowed to her. “Thank you for seeing me, Na Josta,” he said. “Give my respects to Bonysach. I have told the elders that, if I do not return, my share of our goods is to be given to the poor of our community, since I have no family.”

  Josta was so stunned that she forgot to see him out. Jermana heard him fumbling with the catch on the door and hurried to open it for him. When she returned to the hall, she found her mistress still standing, shaking her head in confusion.

  Jehan poked his head through the hole into the loft at the inn.

  “No falling into a wine vat tonight!” he told Guy and Berengar. “We set off at dawn on Friday and I expect you to spend tomorrow checking every piece of gear you have. We’ve had our respite. From now on lives will depend on our being vigilant. What was that?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” Berengar grinned.

  Jehan frowned. “Just remember, my Lord Berengar, that all your father’s wealth and position won’t keep a Saracen sword from lodging in your gut. Nor can you call on him to defend us when we are attacked. The men we are going to ransom learned that.”

  “I know,” Berengar answered, the smile gone. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  “He’s been working,” Guy told Jehan. “He’s getting better at aiming for vulnerable spots instead of just parrying blows. And he’s not at all bad with a sling.”

  “My friends and I use them for hunting small game,” Berengar explained. “But Guy pointed out that a well-shot stone could bring a man down from a horse.”

  Jehan nodded approval. “Never tried it myself, but I’d like to see what you can do. Get your gear. We’ll find an open field and test it.”

  Berengar was down in an instant, dropping through the opening onto the floor below. Guy came more slowly down the ladder, trying not to cry out as his feet hit the rungs.

  “What’s wrong with your feet?” Jehan asked
.

  “Stepped in a nettle patch by the river,” Guy answered shortly.

  Berengar stifled a laugh.

  “I hope you got all the thorns out,” Jehan warned. “Those things can fester. You don’t look like you’ll be good for much for a while.”

  “Don’t worry,” Guy said. “I can still ride.”

  “Maybe,” Jehan said. “But can you walk far enough to reach your horse?”

  Berengar snorted. Guy glared at him.

  Jehan regarded them both with suspicion. He guessed that they had been making wagers again. Idiots! All he could hope was that this new man, Arnald, would have more sense than these two.

  Solomon had little to prepare. He had money enough, carefully secreted in various places in his packs and on his body. He had the tokens from his other uncle, Eleazar, in Troyes. These would identify him and release the goods from the ship in Almeria. He wondered if he would ever get there. The danger involved in freeing Mayah was only a small worry. What he doubted was his ability to survive days in the company of both Jehan and Brother James.

  So when Aaron came to him with his troubles, Solomon found he had used up all sympathy.

  “The elders have decided that Samuel may come with us!” Aaron moaned. “And that’s not the worst of it.”

  “Josta told me about Yusef.” Solomon forestalled a recitation of this new woe. “He has his own concerns. I doubt he’ll try to follow us up to the monastery.”

  “But he’ll know I didn’t go to Córdoba!” Aaron complained.

  “Perhaps,” Solomon answered. “He may not notice. That servant of his will occupy most of his attention, I’d guess.”

  “But what can we do about Samuel?” Aaron persisted. “If he sees that we’re leaving the group, he’ll want to come with us. If he finds we’ve gone, he’ll want to know where and why!”

  He was sitting on a log across from the vineyard his sister and brother-in-law owned. The vines were covered with soft green leaves. Hidden among them were the buds of wine to come. From nearby came the hum of bees. Solomon thought wistfully that this would be a good time for a nap.