Instead he grabbed Aaron by the shoulder and shook him hard.
“What is wrong with you?” he shouted. “While you agonize over who might find out what happened to Mayah, she is still enduring it! What is more important, her honor or her life?”
“But if it’s known, our marriage will be forbidden!” Aaron wailed.
“Aaron, even if it’s not known, the marriage is forbidden,” Solomon said. “Do you think you can keep a secret from the Almighty One? What you care about is the community and how they will treat you and Mayah?”
“No! I only care about Mayah!” Aaron said.
“Then let’s go save her.” Solomon released his hold. “And let the dice fall where they may.”
Thanks to the skill of Brother Martin, Brother James also had little to do. But he did it with great energy. He went to the priory barber to have his face and tonsure shaved. After checking to see if the moon was in the proper phase, he also decided to be bled. He was worried that the presence of Jews among his traveling companions might cause an over production of choleric bile in his system. Better to drain some of it off as a precaution.
He also had realized that the bags of gold coins were chafing his skin. He accepted the discomfort gladly but decided that the strings tying the bags to his belt were too easily broken. After much thought, it came to him that he could fold over the edge of his cowl and sew the coins inside it. While living in the monastery he would normally not get the same clothing back from the laundry, but for this journey he would only have one change of his outer robe and the cowl would be the same all along.
When he put it on he was pleased with how much less noticeable it was than in the lumpy bags at his waist. He wished he’d thought of it sooner. Perhaps Brother Victor would still be alive if he had carried the money where a thief could not find it.
James crossed himself and said a prayer for his lost friend.
“I promise,” he whispered. “Every man we free will know that you are the one he should thank.”
The morning was crisp and pale as Solomon led his horse through the streets to the Narbonne Gate. People were already stirring. He could hear the squawking as chickens and ducks fought for the grain a little girl tossed to them. A woman passed him, buckets of new milk hung from a pole across her shoulders. He stopped her and bought a cup. The warm liquid helped calm his agitated stomach.
There was no point in asking himself why he was doing this. He was caught in a nightmare. Any way he turned would bring him to the same end. Each time he thought he was free, a new monster rose to attack. Like a fly caught in a web, he had ceased struggling and now awaited the spider with worn submission.
The juvenile exuberance of Arnald’s greeting fell on him like a bucket of icy water.
“This is wonderful!” he cried, rising in his stirrups to wave as Solomon passed through the gate. “It’s going to be a beautiful day. Perfect for a ride. The monks and their guards and servants are already here. Father wants me to stay close to them, but I don’t see why I can’t ride with you and Aaron.”
Solomon looked around. Above him loomed the massive fortress of the Château Narbonnais, where the count stayed when he was in the Cité. A watchman gazed down on him. Solomon moved farther away from the wall, in case the man was thinking of relieving himself between the merlins.
“Where is Aaron?” he asked.
Arnald moved closer. “I think he and Yusef and Samuel are saying morning prayers.”
Solomon rolled his eyes. Of course they were.
“You watch,” he said. “The three of them will spend this whole trip dancing around and through the Law, trying to offend the Almighty as little as possible and still do what they want.”
“Are you calling them hypocrites?” Arnald asked.
“No more than the rest of us.” Solomon laughed at his expression. “I’m one, myself, for that matter, on some subjects, but when I break one of our laws, I don’t pretend it’s anything but a transgression.”
Arnald chewed on that a moment. “Senhor Solomon,” he said at last. “I like you, but I don’t understand most of what you say.”
Solomon was saved having to reply to that by the arrival of the others.
As the two groups moved closer to each other, Solomon tensed for the moment when his father would recognize him.
But it was Brother Martin who caused the first disruption.
“That’s a woman!” he cried, pointing.
All eyes turned to Babylonia, sitting pillion behind Yusef on his horse.
“This is my servant,” he told them.
“Ha!” Brother Martin replied. “Your concubine, I have no doubt. We won’t share the road with fornicators.”
Berengar gave a loud guffaw and even Aaron smiled.
“Then it will be a lonely road, Brother Martin,” Jehan said.
Yusef didn’t join in the humor.
“Babylonia is my servant,” he repeated. “That is all. She has fallen ill and I’m taking her to a family in Spain who will care for her. I am willing to pay for the protection of your guards if we may travel with you. I already arranged this with Aaron.”
“Then welcome!” Guy called. He paused and reconsidered. “Wait, it’s not leprosy, is it?”
The word brought them all to attention.
“Of course not!” Yusef denied it at once, but fear echoed more loudly in their ears.
“Let’s see her.” Martin gestured to Jehan and the other guards.
They didn’t move.
“Jehan, bring her over so I can see if she shows signs of the disease,” he ordered them.
Jehan crossed his arms. “My men and I took your coin to protect you from bandits, marauders, even bear and other savage beasts. Lepers weren’t in the bargain.”
Babylonia herself broke the impasse.
“Pig! Bastard!” she screamed as she slid from Yusef’s horse. “How dare you call me unclean! I’m whole as you are. More. There’s not a blemish on my body. I’ll prove it.”
She tore off her veil and started pulling her bliaut over her head.
“Babylonia!” Yusef dismounted hurriedly, landing on the ground with a thump.
He tried to keep her from removing anything more, but she was strong in her fury.
“Called me a whore, he did!” she shouted. “A Jew’s whore! I spit on them all. Bad enough! Now he says I’m leprous. I’ll show him. Let me go!”
“You see?” Yusef told them as he attempted to control his servant. “It’s not her body but her mind that’s ill. Will someone help me?”
No one moved. By now a small crowd had collected.
“Beat the demon out of her,” someone suggested. Several others agreed.
“Where will it go, if he does?” someone else asked. “Anyone have a goat? They’re born possessed.”
Since no one had brought a goat, the spectators started backing away. No one wanted to be caught by a demon on the run.
“Idiots!” Brother Martin strode up to Yusef and Babylonia. “You can’t bring a madwoman with us, either. She needs a good exorcism. Let me baptize her. That will drive the devil out.”
“She’s already one of yours; it seems the devil returned,” Yusef panted. “I know of a convent that will take her in and keep her from hurting anyone else. But I have to get her there.”
Martin hesitated. He had assumed that Babylonia was Jewish. That changed things.
“Why haven’t you taken her to the local priest, then?” he asked.
Yusef had managed to get Babylonia calm enough to put the bliaut back on. His own hat had fallen on the ground and his cloak had been turned almost back to front in the struggle.
“I have,” he said shortly. “To the parish priest, the hospice of Saint Jean. I even asked the bishop for help. No one wanted her. She’s not of Toulouse.”
Martin was silent. He watched the way that Yusef held the woman, firmly but not lustfully. She was still at last, head bowed. He couldn’t imagine anyone taking on such a
burden if he could have passed it to someone else.
“She’ll have to be restrained day and night,” he told Yusef. “And gagged if her outbursts continue. Do you agree to that?”
Yusef put one hand on Babylonia’s shoulder. With the other he lifted her chin.
“Do you understand what Brother Martin said?” he asked.
Her eyes flicked to the monk with a look of undiluted hatred.
“Yes,” she said. “I will be good.”
Yusef turned back to Martin. “Thank you,” he said.
Martin looked at the sky.
“We’ve wasted enough time,” he said. “We need to be at L’Isle Jourdain by nightfall. Is everyone ready?”
“My friends and I are,” Aaron said.
“We wait only for you,” Jehan told him.
Brother James said nothing, only pulled his cowl farther over his face.
Yusef got back on his horse. He reached down to pull Babylonia up behind him. She couldn’t make the leap and was about to try again when Brother Martin strode over and picked her up as easily as if she’d been a child, setting her on the horse.
“Now,” he said. “May God grant that we have no more such disturbances and that our journey be swift and uneventful.”
None of the travelers had trouble saying “Amen” to that.
As they set off, Solomon saw his father look around at the others in the party. When his gaze came to the Jews, it passed without interest.
It was almost worse than rejection. Brother James hadn’t recognized his own son.
Thirteen
Saturday, 19 Nissan, Fifth day of Pesach, 4908, 15 kalends May (April 17) 1148. Feast of Saint Fructius, bishop of Braga, who, before he cleaned up, was mistaken for an escaped slave and a wild beast.
Ad omnem quippe anime virtutem vera Dei et hominum dilectio suficit…Sed sicut nos Domine ab infidelibus separe voluit, ne per ipsos scilicet corrumperemur ita et operum ritibus, ut dixi, faciendum esse decrevit.
True love of God and men is sufficient for every virtue of the spirit…but just as our Lord wished to separate us from unbelievers that we not be corrupted by them, so he decreed that this be accomplished by means of ritual acts….”
—Peter Abelard,
Dialogue of a Philosopher with a Jew and a Christian
(1079–1144)
On the first day of the journey, Brother Martin discovered with surprise that the Jews both irritated and fascinated him. Having spent most of his life in the monastery, his vision of the Hebrew people was a tangle of revered Patriarchs and despicable slayers of Christ. These men fit neither image. They seemed much more like the Christian laymen he knew both in appearance and dress. Of course, they did have some customs that set them apart. The little boxes they tied to their heads and arms while praying were delightfully absurd. Martin wondered how a grown man could permit himself to look so foolish.
Other customs, however, were harder to mock; the way they observed their Sabbath for instance.
Saturday morning, the party left at sunrise from the village of L’Isle Jourdain following an ill-kept path through the woods.
When the road widened enough for a horse to pass, Berengar, in the lead with Jehan, fell back to see how everyone was doing. He noticed Brother Martin watching the Jewish men behind him.
“They make good time, don’t they, considering,” he commented.
Considering that the men were all walking, he meant. Brother Martin had been surprised that morning when the Jews had announced that they couldn’t ride on the Sabbath. After an inner struggle, even Solomon had decided to observe the prohibition. His reason was not piety, but a determination to distance himself from anything Brother James might approve of.
But James paid them no attention. He rode near the front of the line of men, keeping close to Jehan and Berengar. It was Brother Martin who found the behavior of the Jews annoying, as if they were flaunting their devotion to their religion. This implied that, somehow, his was lacking.
Added to this was the obvious eagerness of the young man, Samuel, to engage him in theological discourse. Martin was acutely aware that although his faith was firm, he was no match for the wiles of a scholar.
It was these things that made the monk feel that Jews in the flesh were even more aggravating than those in monastic readings. It puzzled him that no one else seemed to be uncomfortable. Berengar and Arnald took their behavior for granted. Jehan just grunted total disinterest in anything Jewish and Guy followed his lead. That left only Brother James to ask. But here Martin’s courage failed.
James had hardly spoken since they set out. He rode with head bowed, as if carrying a great weight. He ate little and, although they had been given a dispensation allowing them to forego their duties, he recited the hours as close to the proper times as he could manage. Martin had been warned that Brother James needed protection from the temptations of his former coreligionists. But Martin wasn’t sure what form these would take. So far there had been no contact between them at all. He wondered if the abbot had meant that the Jews might try to abduct Brother James and drag him back to their synagogue. That would be easy for the burly monk to prevent, but if anything more subtle were attempted, he feared he would be useless.
As the days progressed, Martin had the feeling that James had no need for spiritual protection. He seemed to be building a wall of prayer around himself. The psalms mounted, solid as bricks, with not even a chink for the alluring sound of Hebrew to enter. But sadly, there wasn’t any way for Martin to reach in, either. Inside his cell of words, James was alone.
They were following the great pilgrim route that ended at the shrine of Saint James at Compostella. In many ways it was a good choice. There were inns and shelters at regular intervals. The monks could be certain of a bed at a monastery or priory at each stop. But, especially as one came closer to the mountains, the hazards increased.
“I thought our job was to fight off bandits, not pay them,” Guy grumbled on Monday as they were stopped by yet another toll taker blocking the road.
“Be grateful; our swords keep them from doubling the price,” Jehan said. “Keep good watch at the rear. Tell that Arnald boy to do his best to look fierce. The ones who collect the tolls will signal their friends ahead if they think we’re easy picking.”
“Won’t be anything left to pick at this rate,” Guy grumbled.
“Wait until we get to Saint-Jean-de Sorde,” Jehan told him. “The ferrymen there not only charge a fortune, they do their best to tip the raft over. That way they can scavenge what they like from the drowned pilgrims.”
“I don’t suppose they’d throw dice for the crossing fee?” Guy wondered.
“Then they could fleece you without getting wet!” Jehan couldn’t believe it. “Guy, when are you going to face it that, in your case, Lady Fortune is a disease-riddled whore?”
Guy set his jaw in defiance. “My luck will change soon. I know it,” he insisted.
“Yes,” Jehan agreed. “It will get worse.”
It was Tuesday afternoon when they reached the infamous ferry. The eyes of the ferryman lit as he saw the party approaching, a tic at one corner computing the number of coins he would get for each mule and packhorse on top of the price to take the men across the river.
By the time they reached the bank, his grin was ecstatic.
“Greetings, my lords.” He bowed. “Good monks. On your way to the shrine of the blessed apostle, no doubt? I’ll be pleased to assist you, unless you want to walk across.”
He roared at his own joke. It tickled him every time he told it. Once a heretic had taken him up on the idea. He hadn’t gone more than three steps before his faith failed him and the devil dragged him under. That tale had earned the ferryman free cider and wine in the taverns for many a year.
No one in the group laughed.
“How much?” Jehan asked. He casually took out his knife to clean his fingernails.
“Ten pogesia for each man, eight each for the monks.” Th
e man bowed to Martin and James. “Two sous for each horse and mule. Three if they are sous of Narbonne.”
Jehan looked at Brother James.
“Three pogesia for each of the soldiers,” James said. “We are clerics traveling in the service of Cluny. You have no right to charge us at all.”
The ferryman laughed again. He was feeling very cheerful that day.
“The bishop doesn’t feel that way,” he explained. “Nor does my lord of Saint-Michel. When they come for their share of the toll, they expect each pilgrim and priest to have paid.”
“We shall pay the normal fee,” James said calmly. “Plus a pagosi as your cut. But you have more than doubled the amount they charge.”
“I have my own saints to honor.” The ferryman smirked.
“Saint Mammon and Saint Luxuria, I have no doubt,” James answered.
The ferryman rubbed his forehead. “I never heard of those, but I’ll light a candle to them if you think I should. Now, you can pay my fee or find your own place to ford. There may be one a day or two upriver. Or maybe not.”
James beckoned to Jehan. Behind them, Solomon and Aaron were becoming restive.
“The monk can’t think he can bargain with that old thief,” Aaron said. “Doesn’t he know that the man will have a score of friends waiting in the woods?”
“He should,” Solomon answered. “Perhaps he’s forgotten.”
His friend looked questioningly at him and Solomon realized that Aaron hadn’t heard the story of Jacob the convert. Perhaps only the older men knew, the ones who had met Jacob and his brother Eliazar when they were young merchants. The knowledge gave him a pang of sadness that he couldn’t understand.
Jehan and Brother James had finished their consultation. Jehan seemed particularly pleased. The ferryman’s smug expression faded to worry as the knight rode up to him. His hand moved in a series of gyrations.
The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 20
