I have been asked about a Jew who made an agreement regarding the price of a horse on the Sabbath and who received the horse and brought it into his domain. [Is this permitted?]
—Responsa of Rabbenu Gershom (c. 960–1028)
“Don’t tell me they’re going to walk all day again,” Guy said to Jehan. “Do they do this every Saturday?”
“The really devout ones do,” Jehan said.
Guy shook his head. “Insane. It would be like going to Mass and taking communion every Sunday. Nobody has time for that. That’s what monks are for. With all those laws to obey, how do Jews ever get any work done?”
James overheard this and would have given an impromptu sermon on the importance of lay attendance at Mass, but at the last minute he managed to restrain himself.
“Jews are wily; they find ways around the rules. Sometimes they hire Christians to do what the law forbids them,” he told Guy instead.
“Really? Lazy bastards.” Guy stretched before mounting his horse. “So the road is all downhill from here, right?”
Jehan gave him a humorless smile. “Right,” he said. “Smooth roads, easy fords, and featherbeds every night from here to Valencia.”
“Just watch out for the Navarrese,” Berengar warned. “We’ll be going through their land next. They’ll steal your clothes and rape your horse.”
“What?” Guy looked at him in alarm and then back at Jehan.
“Oh, yes, it’s well known,” Jehan told him. “The Navarrese put a lock over the rumps of their animals at night, so no one else can get at them. Then they attack travelers passing through, steal their goods and violate the horses. You’ll see.”
“I hope not.” Guy wondered if this story was like the one about the floating cows. Of course everyone knew that shepherds got lonely in the summer pastures, but horses! This was too much. Did they think he was as gullible as Arnald?
“Are we ready?” Brother Martin asked. “I might walk part of the road today myself. My poor mule is worn from climbing all that way yesterday with my weight on her back.”
“That would not be wise,” James told him. “It would appear that you were following their customs.”
“But Placida, here”—Martin patted the mule’s back—“she’d think it a blessing to have a day of rest.”
“Then give it to her tomorrow,” James said. “Do you want the others on the road to think you’ve been judaized?”
Brother Martin hung his head, abashed. “No, I would never want that. Of course I’ll ride.”
“Sorry, Placida,” he whispered as he climbed on. “I’ll see if I can find you some wild carrot for a treat tonight, instead.”
Jehan rode over to Brother James. “Do you want me to make Arnald ride, as well?” he asked.
James pursed his lips. He did, but it would be better not to annoy the young man until he had been questioned about his friends.
“Arnald is not wearing the robes of a monk,” he said. “Likely other pilgrims will assume he’s one of the Jews. That might make him think twice about spending so much time with them.”
“Very well,” Jehan said. “Arnald can be the rear guard today. Then Aaron can’t say we aren’t keeping to our end of the bargain. The rest of us won’t need to slow our pace for them. We might even make it to Pamplona by sundown.”
Berengar and Guy approved the plan with enthusiasm.
“I know of a bathhouse in Pamplona,” Berengar told them, “where you can get food, wine, and women without ever leaving the tub. My uncle told me about it.”
“I wouldn’t mind a bath,” Guy agreed. “And a shave, and a pretty girl to wash my hair and back. Of course, I’d need some money in hand to get those things.”
He looked at Brother James without much hope.
James cleared his throat. “It might be possible to advance you a sum for the purpose of cleanliness,” he said.
Jehan turned around to make sure it was really Brother James who had said that. The monk looked at him and shrugged.
“Of course I would expect you to refrain from licentious behavior,” he added.
“Oh, most certainly!” Berengar grinned. “I intend to say a prayer of thanks as soon as my tired body enters the water and I know God won’t be far from my thoughts throughout the evening.”
“I pray all the time,” Guy assured him.
“I’ve noticed,” Brother James said. “Especially,” he thought, “Just before you turn over the dice cup.”
They set off down the mountain. Sometime later, Brother Martin looked back and noticed, with concern, that the men on foot had fallen so far behind that they were out of sight.
The other people at the hospice that morning gave Aaron’s group some curious looks, but not because they were leading, rather than riding, the horses. It was Babylonia who attracted their attention
“What’s she done?” a man asked Yusef as he put her onto his saddle and then tied her hands to the harness.
Yusef didn’t answer. The man turned to Arnald.
“If she’s a criminal, why does she get to ride?”
Arnald thought quickly. “She’s not a criminal. She’s taken a vow not to make rude gestures while on this journey and is afraid that, without having her hands bound, she might forget.”
The man looked up at Babylonia, who wiggled her little finger at him.
“I see,” he said, and backed away.
Solomon laughed. “Very good, Arnald. You’re learning.”
Arnald basked in the praise. He had been feeling unprepared to deal with the variety of people they were encountering and he was still unsure about the cows. But it did seem that most people preferred to create tales rather than give a stranger the truth.
“Aaron told me that we’re only a couple of days from Fitero,” he said to Solomon. “What are we going to do with Yusef? Aaron doesn’t want him to come with us.”
Solomon threw up his hands. “I have no idea how to get away without making it seem that we’ve forsaken him.”
“That is a problem,” Arnald agreed. “Maybe Aaron has a plan.”
“He’d better,” Solomon muttered.
As people passed them on the road, more than one stopped to stare at Babylonia. With her wild hair and rough stained clothing, she was out of place on horseback. Several greeted her, asking about her penitential pilgrimage. She ignored them all, leaving Arnald to invent various explanations.
“Do you mind his nonsense?” Solomon asked Yusef after listening to Arnald telling a family from Dijon that Babylonia was his aunt, afflicted by sudden fits of wanting to walk on her hands.
“No, it keeps people from making their own conclusions,” he answered. “I didn’t know the boy had such a good imagination. He was always just one of those drunken troublemakers in Toulouse.”
“His father may have been right in sending him with us,” Solomon said. “But you and I know Babylonia isn’t on a pilgrimage. And I don’t believe in some physician in Tortosa with miraculous cures. Where are you really taking her, Yusef, and why?”
Yusef set his jaw. “That is our business,” he said.
“Very well.” Solomon sighed. “Then where did she learn about the sanctification of the Name? I know that, when the Christian mobs came through Germany on their way to free the Holy Land, many Jews chose suicide instead of conversion. But most gentiles don’t know that it’s called kiddush ha-Shem. Babylonia does.”
“She’s worked in my house for several years.” Yusef avoided looking at him. “I imagine she overheard it in a conversation.”
“Of course,” Solomon said. “And when she found poor Samuel’s body, she immediately decided that was what he had done. Why would she leap to that conclusion?”
Yusef shrugged. “You know her mind is twisted. Her thoughts don’t follow the usual paths.”
“That’s not good enough, Yusef,” Solomon insisted. “Why would she treat him as a dead child? Did she lose a child? Did she commit infanticide?”
Yusef stop
ped in the middle of the road and looked Solomon straight in the eyes.
“No,” he said. “Babylonia did nothing wrong. Nothing.”
And that was all he could get from Yusef.
Solomon decided that it was time to tackle Aaron.
They were coming to the lower slopes of the mountains. The countryside was green with new shoots and the drone of bees could be heard from flowering bushes along the road. In Toulouse spring was settling in. Here in Navarre it already felt like summer. They shed their cloaks and rolled down their hose, savoring the touch of the sun on winter skin. Even Babylonia seemed affected by the gentle weather. She let her hood fall back, showing a less forbidding expression than Arnald had ever seen. He dared to ask if she needed a drink of water.
The question startled her. “Water. To drink. Yes, I am thirsty, thank you.”
He poured a cup from the skin slung from his shoulder and handed it up to her. She took it between her bound hands and bent down to tip it toward her mouth.
She managed to get a few swallows before the cup slipped out of her fingers and to the ground.
Arnald ran after it in a crouch as it tumbled down the path.
“Arnald! Watch out!” Babylonia screamed.
He looked up to see an enormous horse bearing down on him. The rider was trying to pull up on the reins but he had been cantering on this open stretch, not paying attention and didn’t see Arnald until the last moment.
“Roll, you idiot!” Solomon shouted, running toward him.
As the great sharp hooves descended, Arnald fell to the ground and rolled out of the way.
The cup was smashed to shards.
The next moment, Arnald felt the sting of a whip across his back.
“Vilanet!” the man shouted. “Why didn’t you watch where you were going? You could have crippled my destrier!”
With another lash at Arnald he rode off.
“Arnald, are you hurt?” Aaron ran up to him.
Arnald rubbed his shoulder where he had landed on a rock. “No, I’m fine,” he said. “Did anyone see his face?”
“I couldn’t make out his features under the helm,” Aaron said.
“Well, I won’t forget his voice.” Arnald was furious with himself for leaving his sword in its sheath hung around the neck of his horse. “And people ask me why I loathe noblemen.”
Babylonia tried to reach down from the horse to pat him.
“Poor innocent,” she murmured.
Solomon gave her a look of alarm. “Arnald is fine, Babylonia,” he said. “And he’s not an innocent.”
“What are you talking about?” Arnald asked.
“Yusef knows.” Solomon’s voice carried a warning. “And he’s going to tell us the whole story tonight if he wants to continue on with us tomorrow.”
“But, Solomon!” Aaron protested.
“I’m not traveling with a woman who’s liable to slit our throats or smash our skulls,” Solomon declared. “No matter what that monk said, I’m not convinced that she’s innocent in Samuel’s death.”
“You only say that because you can’t stand the monk,” Yusef responded. “Jacob based his opinion on the evidence, not his prejudices.”
Arnald was beginning to think that the near accident had shaken his wits as well as his body.
“I don’t understand anything you’re saying,” he whined. “Except that we’ll never reach Pamplona today and I wanted to go to the bathhouse with the others.”
He slapped at the seat of his brais, raising a layer of dust.
“It can’t be helped,” Solomon decided. “The sun is too low. We’ll still be north of the town by the time it’s full dark. You can have your bath tomorrow. I’ll take you there, myself. For tonight we’ll find a place to make camp and then Aaron is going to tell Yusef where we’re really heading and Yusef will give us the complete story about Babylonia.”
“And you, Solomon?” Yusef asked. “Will you also disclose your secrets?”
“Me? I have no secrets that have anything to do with the journey we’re on now,” Solomon said.
Yusef shook his head. “I think that you do. Before we rejoin the monks, you need to tell your friends about Brother James.”
The bathhouse in Pamplona was everything that Guy had dreamed of. The tubs were in private curtained chambers. Next to each was a table laden with cups, wine, fruit, and meat pies within easy reach. Every so often more hot water would be brought in by beautiful women barely covered in thin saffron-colored, sleeveless tunics.
“A Saracen captive told me once that this is their idea of heaven,” Jehan commented as he leaned back to have one of the attendants pour soap over his hair.
Berengar frowned. “That’s sacrilegious. I don’t like it. Heaven is where you are free from the demands of the body, no longer tormented by temptation.”
“I thought that was only because saints don’t have bodies,” Guy commented. “In heaven, I mean. They’re all over the place down here.”
Jehan ducked his head under the water to rinse. “Well, at the final judgement, we get our flesh back, they say and in perfect form. If so, I want a heaven where I can give it some fun.”
“That reminds me,” Berengar asked. “Did the old buzzard give you enough coin for a bit of jeu d’amor?”
“I’m astounded he released any coin at all,” Guy said. “I thought he had it glued to his chest.”
“I’ll bet he keeps the ransom money stuffed up his ass,” Berengar said. “He has the look of a man who’s permanently constipated.”
“Ahem,” Jehan interrupted. “You are speaking of our patron. The man who unwittingly handed me three rossol instead of three pogesi. We have enough for a woman each, my lords. And another pitcher of wine.”
“At last!” Guy sighed. “I never thought I’d see a maille from all those tithes I’ve paid over the years. About time the Church put my money to good use.”
Vespers was ending. In the chapel James stood with the local monks feeling more at peace than he had in days. If only the journey could continue without the Jews. Those people brought discord wherever they went. Who would know it better than he? They couldn’t even observe the Sabbath without disrupting the routine of those around them. By flaunting their heterodoxy, they were almost begging to be murdered.
Of course, it was sad to think that the young man, Samuel, would never have the chance for salvation. In that sense, it was worse than the death of Brother Victor, who was certainly in paradise now.
And what about the two bags of missing gold? Whoever had taken them had condemned valiant Christian knights. Even though Berengar’s father had made up the loss, the theft itself was a deliberate effort to thwart the liberation of pious noblemen who had risked their lives for the Faith.
He wondered if Samuel had discovered who had taken the missing gold. Many an unwary man had died because he’d seen something he shouldn’t. Or he might have been part of the plot and had second thoughts.
James would prefer the culprit to be one of the Jews but he wasn’t going to exclude anyone, especially the men he had hired to guard the treasure. All of them had been in Toulouse the night Victor died. And none could be accounted for every minute on the night Samuel was killed.
Three rossols was a lot of money but James was confident that it would be well spent. A night of debauchery would make the guards much more pliant when he set about wringing information out of them.
Just after sunset, Aaron found a place not too close to the road that was safe for them to pitch their tents. Although they didn’t need the campfire for warmth, they made one anyway. It was something comforting to sit by. Other travelers must have felt the same for there were bright splashes of light dotted across the plain. They made sure that the nearest one was well out of hearing range.
The men had washed, prayed, and eaten. Aaron brought out a skin of his sister’s wine. Babylonia was curled up next to a tree, the rope extending from her feet and hands to a branch above.
�
�You first, Aaron,” Yusef said when they had started on the wine. “Solomon says I can help you in your quest. Since when do you need me to get yourself married?”
“Are you sure he’s safe to tell about this, Solomon?” Aaron asked.
Solomon poked at the fire with a long stick. “If he’s kept Babylonia’s story to himself all these years, it’s likely you can trust him with yours.”
“He’s right about that, Aaron,” Yusef said. “I keep my own counsel.”
“Very well.” Aaron took a deep breath. “I am going to fetch my bride, just as I said, but there’s been a complication.”
He told what had happened briefly, holding back all emotion, ending with, “She’s being held at Fitero near the monastery. Solomon and Arnald are going to help me get her back.”
Yusef was silent.
“Well?” Aaron asked. “When we return home, are you going to keep the secret of what happened to her or will you betray us?”
Yusef stared into the flames.
“I won’t betray you, Aaron,” he said finally. “You’ll have enough without that fear. I don’t know how much use I’ll be in your rescue, but I’m willing to do what I can. It does seem to me that it was wrong of you not to tell the community at once so the ransom could be raised. She’s had to endure her shame that much longer.”
“We don’t even know if she can be ransomed,” Solomon spoke up quickly. He didn’t want Aaron carrying any more guilt. “As far as we know, her owners think she’s Saracen.”
“Don’t they ransom their women?” Yusef asked.
“I don’t know,” Solomon said. “If we can, we’ll pay. If not, we’ll kidnap her from them. Anything we must do to save Mayah. You don’t know her, Yusef. She was…is, the gentlest, brightest child. The jewel of her father’s heart. I’ll cheerfully gut the men who have her now.”
Arnald wasn’t paying attention to the debate. His course was decided. He would do whatever Aaron asked. That was why he was the first to notice the odd noise. At first he thought it was from the creek or wind in the trees. Then he realized that someone nearby was weeping in a steady, low tone of perpetual despair.
The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 26
