The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Sharan Newman

  “No!” Solomon interrupted. “That is, I should go instead. The two of you could get into serious trouble inquiring about a Christian woman. I know how to find out.”

  “They probably all know you by name there anyway,” Arnald leered.

  They soon worked this out and the men prepared to leave. Solomon agreed to search by the river. Cabo-le-Puente was a funnel for several mountain streams. Mills, waterfalls, conduits, there were too many places where one could be trapped by the water.

  “What about me?” Samuel asked. “I want to help, too.”

  Even Yusef was alarmed at the thought of this innocent outside after dark.

  “Someone should be here if she returns,” Solomon told him. “And to relay messages when we come back and go out again.”

  “Please! Let’s go at once,” Yusef begged. “Babylonia may be lying in the muck, drenched and feverish. We can’t delay any longer.”

  They were soon wrapped as well as possible against the weather. Yusef and Solomon carried closed lanterns, oil lamps enclosed in glass balls with a vent at the top and hung from leather straps.

  “See that you don’t break it,” Cauzida told Solomon.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Will you wait up for me?”

  “After putting Anna in danger from a madwoman?” she answered. “We’ll sleep with the door barred.”

  Solomon didn’t have to ask which side he’d be on.

  Jehan and Berengar had taken Brothers James and Martin to the gate of a priory of their order. The porter greeted the monks with little enthusiasm but told them that, yes, there were spare beds. Jehan was relieved to hear that. He didn’t relish spending another night in the draft from Brother Martin’s snoring.

  “You’ll be ready to leave tomorrow right after Lauds?” he asked Martin.

  “Oh, yes,” the monk assured him. “It’s not as though we have much to pack.”

  “Are you certain that you want to stay here?” Berengar asked. “It’s not a very secure place. These walls would be easy to climb, if anyone wanted to enter.”

  “But why should they?” Brother James asked him. “What would monks have to steal?”

  “Gold patens, silver candlesticks, reliquaries encrusted with precious stones,” Jehan recited. “Good wax candles, silk and linen altar cloths, food, horses, leather shoes.”

  “You see?” Berengar said. “Not to mention the money you carry. You’d be safer with us guarding your door at the inn.”

  “We’ll remain with our brothers and trust, as always, in God’s protection,” James said. Martin nodded his agreement.

  Jehan shrugged. “It does seem as if Our Lord has sent weather that not even the most determined thief would risk. If it continues like this, we may have to wait before attempting the mountains. For now, Berengar and I will return to the inn.”

  The monks vanished into the shelter of the monastery. Berengar shivered inside his lambskin cloak. The rain was dribbling from his hat down his neck.

  “Go on back,” Jehan told him. “I want to check all around the monastery. You’re right that it would be easily entered. The wall may be even worse in the back by the gardens.”

  “But you said yourself that no one would try to harm them on a night like this,” Berengar said. “After all, no one knows they’re carrying anything of value. And they’re the ones who insisted on staying here.”

  “Perhaps,” Jehan answered. “But I’m being paid to foresee even the most unlikely situation. Go ahead. I won’t be long.”

  The last of the daylight was enough for him to follow the wall around the priory. Like the rest of the town, it was new and mostly built of wood, or even withey reeds woven to make a fence. Enough to keep pigs and chickens in their places but not to stop an invader.

  The land went down to a stream. At this time of year it was too fast to risk a boat on. The bank was steep and mostly mud but it appeared that cattle had been watered here recently.

  He realized this when he slipped on a pile and landed flat on his ass. For a moment, he lay there, letting the rain wash him. Then he made himself get up, wincing at a pain in his right knee that seemed to get worse every year.

  What was he doing here at this time of life? By now he had meant to have a castle of his own with a fine well-born wife and sons to leave his land to. Merdus, he thought. He knew men his age who had grandsons. But he was standing in a pasture in the rain, covered in cowshit and owning little more than his sword and his horse.

  Solomon was part of the reason he didn’t have the life he wanted. But even more it was Hubert LeVendeur and his daughters who had ruined every thing. Catherine was a witch who cast a curse on him so that her sister, Agnes, would never love him. Between them the two had driven him insane.

  He didn’t know what miracle had given him back his senses. Perhaps God had blessed him for fighting the Saracens. That had been awful enough to drive any man sane. But Jehan always feared a return of the madness. When he had first seen Solomon in the street, he had almost believed it was a fantasy. It was the hate on his old adversary’s face that had reassured him.

  And now, oddly, of all the people in the party, Solomon was the one person that Jehan was sure he could trust.

  The insight was enough to shake him from his self-pity. That and the rain and the smell of the cowflop. He started to work his way back to the road, suddenly aware that the last of the light had vanished.

  When Berengar got to the inn, he was surprised to find it empty. He banged on the table until a woman came out, carrying a child.

  “We’re full up,” she said.

  Berengar looked around. “With what? I’m supposed to meet my friends here. A couple of soldiers and a pack of Jews.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “You have a place in the loft. Clean straw. Your friends all went out hunting a madwoman. I’ll leave a brazier burning and some spiced wine for when they get back. And tell then to be sure the door is barred unless they want to be murdered in their beds. I’m not sitting up all night.”

  With that she went into her room.

  With nothing better to do, Berengar poured himself some wine and set about cleaning his boots.

  Jehan had passed from introspection to anger. It was dark, windy, cold, wet, and he hadn’t had dinner. He was using the wall of the priory, now stone where it backed on the chapel, to feel his way. Loose strands of ivy whipped his face and he caught at them to steady himself. At first he swore at the monks who had hired him. Then at Berengar for already being someplace warm and dry. Finally he settled into a rage that covered anything in his way, from the ivy to the sharp stones on the ground that kept sending him off balance.

  It was one of these that sent him crashing against the wall. At least that’s what he had expected. But he felt only empty air. He managed to save himself by grabbing wildly at the ivy but he still landed hard on one hand, gashing his palm.

  “Saint Stephen’s broken stones!” he swore, shaking it to ease the pain.

  The next moment he felt his wrist seized by an iron cold claw, the nails digging in.

  “Holy Virgin, Mother of God!” He screamed in blind terror. “Save me!”

  He tried to pull away but the thing only dragged him down, into the dark mouth of Hell. As it did, Jehan caught a whiff of a smell he was all too familiar with. He had thought he had reached the pinnacle of terror, but now he knew how much worse it could get.

  The smell was fresh blood.

  Fourteen

  In the midst of the storm.

  Oh mourn, my soul, and with a mourning cloak be clad and put ropes upon thy sackcloth;…Sell thy joy forever; it shall never be redeemed.

  —Moses b. Jacob ibn Ezra

  Dirge on the Death of His Brother

  “Get off me!” Jehan screamed. “Let go!”

  A sudden light shone on his face.

  “Thank you, oh Blessed Mother, thank you!” Jehan breathed, half thinking an angel had come to save him.

  He looked down at what
was holding him. He wished he hadn’t. Babylonia’s face was a handsbreadth from his. She looked worse than ever, her headscarf missing and her braids undone. Her face was smeared with blood as was the hand that gripped him like a claw. Jehan drew his knife. He’d make her let go if he had to slice off her hand. Then he saw what was across her lap.

  “Sweet Jesus!” He gagged. “Woman, what have you done?”

  The light behind him came closer and became an oil lantern. Solomon held it higher to see what Jehan was leaning over.

  “You bastard!” he cried when he saw the knife. “Jehan! Drop the knife! Don’t kill her, too!”

  The light seemed to frighten Babylonia. She released Jehan and covered her eyes. Jehan turned on Solomon, anger overcoming his fear.

  “Don’t be an ass,” he said. “I just found her here, like this. It’s the madwoman that’s killed him. Look for yourself.”

  Cautiously, Solomon came closer.

  “You can’t have him.” Babylonia bent protectively over the body. “Go away!”

  She pushed at Solomon, who recoiled from her gory hand. Laid across the woman’s lap was Samuel. His face and chest were covered in blood; his eyes wide open, staring into infinity.

  “My baby, my poor innocent child!” Babylonia crooned to the body. “But now you are with the angels. Kiddush ha-Shem. They won’t take you from me again. You’re safe in heaven.”

  The two men looked at each other, united in shock.

  “What’s she babbling?” Jehan said. “And how did she get loose?”

  “I…I’m not sure.” Solomon tried to tear his eyes from the sight as Babylonia kissed the bloody wounds on the boy’s neck and face. “It doesn’t make sense. I know she hates Jews, but I can’t believe she’d do this.”

  “She’s completely mad,” Jehan said. “she could do anything.”

  “I know,” Solomon said. “But look at her; she’s mourning him.”

  “That doesn’t mean she didn’t kill him,” Jehan said firmly.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Solomon admitted.

  “We have to get her tied up again,” Jehan said when Solomon didn’t move. “And find out if there’s a place in town to bury a Jew.”

  “Yes,” Solomon said, unable to look away. “I’ll guard her. Go get help.”

  Jehan nodded and left. Solomon lowered the lantern. He didn’t need to see Babylonia to know she was there. Her keening was constant and shrill, piercing even the storm.

  Someone else had heard it.

  “Babylonia!” Yusef called out from the darkness. “Solomon, did you find her?”

  He stumbled toward the scene.

  Solomon was suddenly filled with rage at this man. If Yusef hadn’t taken Babylonia into his home, if he hadn’t brought her with them, poor Samuel would still be alive. It took all his strength not to swing the lantern at Yusef’s face as he approached.

  “Come see what your misplaced charity has done!” His words came from between clenched teeth.

  “What do you mean?” Yusef stumbled in the dark and fell, scraping his hand. Solomon made no move to help him.

  “Solomon, what is it?”

  Rubbing his muddy hand on his cloak, Yusef reached Solomon. When he saw Babylonia, he gave a great wail.

  “Oh, woman! How could you?” he wept. “He had done nothing to you! The boy was innocent.”

  She looked up at him. “Yes, my poor baby,” she said. “My innocent child.”

  She caressed Samuel’s face, leaving streaks of blood. Then the keening started again.

  “I don’t understand,” Yusef turned to Solomon. “She never minded Samuel. I don’t think she even noticed him. And she’s been calmer since we left Toulouse. I thought she was improving. What could have made her do this?”

  “How can anyone guess the reasons of the insane?” Solomon said. “That’s why they should be kept under guard. In her ranting, she said something about kiddush ha-Shem. Why? Who told her about that?”

  Yusef dropped his head and covered his face.

  “Oh, Babylonia!” he cried. “Solomon, I had no idea she had relapsed so far. You must believe me. She was doing so well, despite her attack on Josta. It’s too long a story. One I hoped never to tell. Later. Now we have to get her out of here.”

  “And what do we do with Samuel?” Solomon said coldly. “Leave him for the ravens?”

  “No, no,” Yusef said. “Of course not. His poor father!”

  “And poor Belide,” Solomon said. “She was to marry him.”

  They heard shouts from the road. “This way! Mind your step!”

  “That’s Jehan,” Solomon said. He signaled to him with the lantern.

  Yusef tried to see who was there. The light fell on three men, first Jehan, then Aaron then…Solomon’s heart sank. Brother James.

  “Jehan, what’s he doing here?” Solomon shouted.

  At the same time Yusef called, “Aaron, don’t come any closer!”

  Aaron stopped. The other two continued.

  “I thought Brother James should be informed,” Jehan said. “And why don’t you want Aaron? He’s young and strong and he was already out in the wet. We need him.”

  “He can’t help.” Brother James knelt to examine the body. “Aaron is a Cohen. He can’t be contaminated by contact with a body.”

  “Hein?” Jehan looked at Solomon who nodded.

  “Jacob, I swear I don’t know how she got loose,” Yusef was saying. “Nor why she would have killed Samuel.”

  The monk took in the scene, his eyes passing over Solomon without a flicker.

  “She didn’t kill him,” Brother James said.

  “What?” the other three spoke at once.

  “Are you all blind as well as stupid?” James asked. “For one thing, he was stabbed in the stomach and then his throat cut for good measure. Do you see a knife anywhere near her? For another, look at the blood. It’s on her face and hands and where she’s held him, across her breast and shoulder. If she faced him and made those cuts she’d be covered from head to feet. Now, is there a great pool of blood on the ground here?”

  “Well, the rain,” Jehan began.

  “This alcove is sheltered both by the vines and by the stone arch of the wall.” James pointed up without looking. “If he’d been killed here, there’d be splatters all over and your boots would be sticky with blood.”

  Behind him, Solomon examined his boots and had to admit that the bastard was right.

  “She could have killed him out in the rain and dragged him here,” Jehan suggested. “And it’s easy to dispose of a knife.”

  “Possibly.” Brother James bent further down to examine the hem of Babylonia’s robe. “And, even though it would be a great task for a woman of her size, madness often confers unusual strength. But the stains on her clothes still aren’t right. Nor are these cuts the sort made in a frenzy. I think that she either saw the murderer dump the body here or simply stumbled on it while hunting for a refuge. I’d guess the former, by the freshness of the blood on her hands.”

  “She didn’t kill him?” Jehan was still having trouble with the idea.

  “Then why is she talking about kiddush ha-Shem?” Solomon asked.

  “That is something I’m sure Yusef knows much better than I.” Brother James stood. He could feel his back creak as he did. A midnight walk in a cold spring storm was just what he had needed for it to give out completely. If only he could get back to his bed at the monastery before that happened.

  He carefully avoided looking at the man with the lantern. It was hard not to. He could feel the fury of Solomon’s hate burning through the chill, the damp, and his woolen cloak. A time would come, he knew, when he would have to face it, but not now.

  “What should we do with them?” Jehan asked. “We can’t stay out here all night. I’m freezing and drenched to the core.”

  “Someone take this woman away, wash her, and see that she’s restrained,” James ordered. “As for the body, that’s up to his people.�
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  Solomon growled deep in his throat. The old monk must have heard, they were less than an arm’s length apart, but he gave no sign of it. James turned to Yusef.

  “He may have been set upon by thieves,” he said. “Just as they tell me Brother Victor was. No one is safe out alone after dark. You can go to the local lord or his provost for justice if you like, but I doubt anyone will do anything.”

  “I know,” Yusef said. “You’re sure Babylonia didn’t kill him?”

  “Moderately,” James told him. “That doesn’t excuse you from being lax in your custody of her.”

  “I know that, too.”

  Yusef leaned down and gently pried Babylonia’s hands from Samuel’s body.

  “Come with me,” he said. “Come, Babylonia. I’ll see that no one hurts you.”

  “Better see that she can’t hurt anyone else,” Jehan said. He wasn’t convinced by Brother James’s interpretation of the scene.

  “There’s nothing I can do here,” James announced. “Jehan, please escort me back to the monastery. I presume we won’t be able to resume our journey in the morning. It’s just as well, since Brother Martin needs rest. But I can’t let this delay us more than a day.”

  “What’s going on?” Aaron yelled from the path. “Is Babylonia all right?”

  “I’ll tell him,” Yusef offered as he pulled the woman to her feet and forced her to move away from the body.

  “I suppose that leaves me with guard duty,” Solomon grumbled. “We’ll have to bring Samuel back to the inn. Tell Berengar, Guy, and Arnald to bring blankets and poles to make a stretcher.”

  This was all that was needed, he reflected, to guarantee Caudiza’s refusal to share her bed with him. He’d brought violence into her house, the one thing worse than not paying one’s bill. She would see that he received no more special care. He was ashamed of the thought but couldn’t deny it. He had been anticipating this night since he left Paris. Even the shock of Samuel’s violent death couldn’t erase his yearning.