The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Sharan Newman

  “Babylonia?”

  He started to get up, but Yusef stopped him.

  “You can’t comfort her,” he said. “Let her be.”

  “Are you sure?” Arnald sat down reluctantly.

  Yusef sighed. “Yes. Now that I’ve learnt what you plan, Aaron, I hate even more to reveal Babylonia’s history. But before you attempt this deception, you should hear how one step outside the Law can destroy a whole community.”

  They all waited, but he didn’t begin the story right away. First he went over to where Babylonia wept. He untied all the ropes, helped her to stand, and brought her back to the campfire.

  “Look at her,” he told the men. “Ten years ago she was a respected woman with servants of her own. She had a wealthy husband, children…”

  “My innocents,” Babylonia interrupted. “Beautiful babies.”

  Yusef put a hand on Babylonia’s shoulder.

  “I’m not sure I have the whole truth of the matter yet,” he went on. “Her family lived in one of the smaller towns in Spain, not far from Tudela. The place was one that had recently been taken over by the Christians. One day Babylonia was walking in to the market when she was overtaken by a group of soldiers.”

  “And they abused her so vilely that she lost her senses?” Arnald said in horror, “Just as I always said. It’s the chain mail. Makes them think they’re gods.”

  “I think that was only part of what happened,” Yusef said. “They carried her off with them. It was nearly a month later when a neighbor spotted her in the streets of Calaverra. It appeared that she had been raped, badly beaten, and thrown out when they were done with her. He brought her home.”

  Solomon thought of Edgar’s sister, Margaret, who had been left for dead by a mob. She still had scars on her face and body. He wasn’t sure if her spirit had ever healed.

  “I’m sorry, Babylonia,” he said to the trembling figure huddling next to Yusef. “It must have been an appalling torment. But, Yusef, I still don’t understand how she came to your door.”

  “She came because mine was the only door open to her,” Yusef said. “I haven’t told the worst part yet. When she was brought back, her husband refused to let her return to him and his family and friends supported him.”

  “That’s not right!” Arnald exclaimed. “How could that be?”

  “Finding the answer took a long time and several trips to the area to learn,” Yusef continued. “It seems that Babylonia’s marriage was not a happy one. Her husband berated her often in public and some of the people I spoke to had seen him hit her. There were rumors that she hadn’t been kidnapped, but had run away. She denied them, but he had the support of the community. He couldn’t have taken her back in any case but the accusation that she was a willing adulteress meant that he owed her nothing. So she was thrown out of her home, without even a marriage portion. Her husband forbade her to come near her children. She had no family of her own in the town. There was nowhere for her to turn.”

  “That’s terrible,” Arnald said. “No wonder she went mad.”

  “There’s a piece missing in your story,” Solomon said. “What have you left out?”

  “Just one thing.” Yusef paused. “Babylonia’s husband was able to do this because the Law said he should. He was a Cohen.”

  Aaron inhaled sharply, as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

  “She’s Jewish? But how? Why?”

  “Solomon understands,” Yusef said. “I can see it on his face.”

  “She went to the Christians, didn’t she?” he guessed. “When her own people wouldn’t have her. They baptized her, of course, and then what? Tried to find a man of the parish to marry her? Or did they send her to the nuns?”

  “No nuns, nothing of nuns,” Babylonia chanted.

  Yusef stroked her arm softly. “I suspect that by then she was already unbalanced. From what I can find out, the local bishop made an example of her, bringing her up during sermons to tell everyone how she had been saved by Jesus.”

  “Godesblod!” Solomon exclaimed. It was one of Edgar’s favorite invectives and seemed to fit at this time.

  “Exactly. Eventually she became too erratic to show off, so she was dumped on some pilgrims heading for Rome. They mistreated her, as well. She tried to get help from the Jewish community. She even went to our courts in Narbonne but her husband’s version of the story had already reached them. No one would help. Finally, she arrived in Toulouse. I found her at the Bazacle. She was about to throw herself under the millwheel.”

  Aaron could stand it no longer. He stood up and moved away from the fire. After a moment, he turned to face them.

  “I understand what you’re saying.” He kicked up a clump of sweetgrass with the toe of his boot. “It’s a horrible thing that happened to Babylonia, but I have no intention of turning Mayah out, no matter what has been done to her. I want to take care of her and protect her.”

  “So you’ll live your whole life as a liar and lawbreaker?” Yusef asked.

  “If it’s with Mayah, yes!” Aaron said proudly.

  Solomon got up on his knees to bank the fire. “I’ve tried to reason with him,” he told Yusef. “It didn’t work. There’s nothing you can do unless you expose them to the community. It’s something Aaron has to decide. He’s the one who’ll have to live with the consequences.”

  Babylonia had spent all her tears and was dozing with her head on Yusef’s lap. He roused her and led her back to her pallet. He picked up the ropes.

  “Yusef, do you have to keep her tied up?” Arnald said. “It seems cruel after all that’s been done to her.”

  Yusef hesitated. Then Babylonia put out her hands, wrists together.

  Solomon went to help him.

  “It is cruel,” he told Arnald. “But it would be worse if she went wandering alone in her state. Or if she decided that we were a threat to her and had to be stopped.”

  They made sure the knots were tight.

  The next morning they awoke to a blend of raucous birdcalls and distant church bells.

  “I don’t think I was meant to sleep on hard earth,” Arnald complained. “I never found a place to lie that didn’t have rocks sticking into me.”

  The others were in no better mood. Aaron was sulking. The idea that he might treat Mayah as Babylonia’s husband had, made him angry. Solomon and Yusef should know him better. And, as for the Law, well this one was stupid. So he was a Cohen. There was no more Temple, no priests. He didn’t officiate at services; he was just a horse trader. What did it matter who he married?

  Babylonia was also worn out. She slumped half-asleep behind Yusef as they rode.

  To Solomon, the last miles to Pamplona felt like the walk to the gallows. Babylonia’s story had rattled him. All his life he had held the firm conviction that his people were better than the Christians. He believed that the scholars and judges could find a way to soften the harshest of God’s inexplicable commandments. If her husband didn’t want her back, then Babylonia should have been given her marriage portion and been allowed to start again. Instead, she had been driven to the Christians. The fact that they had treated her no better was small consolation.

  He finally thought he understood why Yusef had taken her in. ‘Israel is still Israel’ and Yusef believed in caring for his own. He might have told his friends about Babylonia and trusted them to show her some charity as well, but that was Yusef. He would consider it impious to disclose good deeds. Nor would he expect others to participate in them.

  He wondered if Babylonia’s children believed that she had run off and left them; that she didn’t love them anymore. Or had they just been told that she was dead? It was easier to pretend that the missing parent no longer existed. That’s what his family had done with him. If only he had never come face to face with the truth.

  And now, in Pamplona, he knew he would have to face it again.

  Brother Martin was sure that if he bowed one more time, his head was going to fall off. He had awakened with a pain
across his eyes and an inability to breathe through his nose. He called it the spring sickness and there was never a year when he escaped it. The infirmarian at Moissac had made him try a dozen different compounds but nothing helped for more than a day or two. Sometimes the symptoms lasted only a few hours, sometimes for days.

  So far, he had always recovered. But he was miserable while the disease lasted. It was a weakness that he hated to admit to. If Brother James saw him in this condition, he might send Martin back. No one enjoyed traveling with a man who had a head full of mucus.

  James had already noticed that Brother Martin’s chanting was even less musical than usual. The man’s eyes were red and he gasped through his mouth at the end of every phrase. It looked to James like a case of ague. That could pose a problem. He didn’t want to be the only cleric in the party. Martin’s bulk was a support in his dealings with the guards and others. Yet it would be unconscionable to drag a sick man on a journey like this.

  It was a difficult decision. James brightened. And a perfect excuse for him to consult with the guards. Now he just needed to seek them out individually and then lead the conversation to what he really wanted to know.

  First he had to see about Brother Martin.

  Martin had hurried to the guest house as soon as released from Lauds. James found him sitting on his cot with a linen bag to his nose. He dropped it as soon as he saw his fellow monk.

  “You haven’t folded your pack yet,” he said to James.

  “We’ll stay here today. If the Jews observe their Sabbath even while traveling,” James said. “We should be no less mindful of ours. Also, we need supplies and the markets won’t be open until after None. How are you feeling?”

  “Me? Fine.” Martin smiled. “Hale as a horse.”

  “Good,” James answered. “I’ll arrange for the supplies then.”

  As soon as he had gone, Martin picked up the bag from the cot, loosened the tie and tried again to smell the pungent mixture. Even though his eyes began to water, his nose refused to clear. The pain across his cheeks was so strong that he could barely see. He had to find a remedy for this or resign himself to being left behind.

  The inn where the guards were staying wasn’t far from the monastery. James strolled over, enjoying the mild air and the scent of flowers. As he’d hoped, all three were still abed when he arrived. He sat at the foot of the ladder and waited.

  Berengar was the first to come stumbling down. When he saw Brother James, he missed the last rung and landed with a clatter.

  “Good morning, My Lord Berengar,” James said pleasantly. “Did you enjoy your bath last night?”

  “Oh, yes,” Berengar managed to croak through his hangover. “Just what I needed.” He tried to focus his bloodshot eyes. “Is it time to leave? I didn’t hear the bells.”

  “No, no.” James offered him a hand. Berengar managed to stand up. “It’s not yet Tierce. We may not leave until tomorrow. Our route will soon diverge from the pilgrim way. We’ll pass through less populated areas. Brother Martin and I think we should get fresh provisions now.”

  Berengar tried to cover a deep yawn. “Good idea. Is there anything to drink around here?”

  James raised a pitcher from the counter and sniffed the contents.

  “Mint water,” he said. “With a touch of wine. Shall I pour you a cup?”

  Berengar sat down across from him and held out his cup. He drained it and held it out for more.

  “Very dry throat this morning,” he said. “Must be the weather.”

  James refilled the cup.

  “Martin is in charge of replenishing our supplies,” he said. “But he also seems to be affected by the weather. He gave me a list.”

  He fumbled with a knot in his sleeve and took out an irregular piece of parchment, scraped and written over many times. He squinted at the writing.

  “Dried meat, raisins, oranges.” He handed it to Berengar. “Can you take care of these?”

  Berengar looked at the list, at Brother James, then back to the list. He studied it for a while.

  “Perhaps you should ask Arnald to do this.” He handed the parchment back to James. “He has more experience with buying and selling than I.”

  “Ah, yes, his father is a merchant of some sort, isn’t that right?” James asked.

  “Salt,” Berengar said. “He’s only with us because my father owed his father a favor. Not that he has no training at arms,” he added hastily, remembering that he had been the one to recommend Arnald. “Those men train their sons far above their station.”

  James gave a thin smile. “He’s raw, but willing, I’ve noticed. His only flaw seems to be in his choice of friends.”

  “You mean Aaron?” Berengar asked. “Well, that’s natural, you know. They’re really all the same, the burghers and Jews. And, in the Cité, people don’t pay so much attention to the proper order. If a man can build a fortified house with a tower, he’s seen as practically a nobleman, even if he doesn’t know the name of his own grandfather.”

  Berengar’s voice was sour with old resentment.

  “But the other men you recommended, Guy and Jehan,” James prodded. “They seem to be of a different sort.”

  “They’re real knights!” Berengar said with enthusiasm. “Sons of noblemen who live on the skill of their arms. You wouldn’t believe some of the deeds they’ve performed!”

  “I understood that Jehan’s recent deeds have been performed in expiation of a crime,” James commented.

  Berengar set his cup down with a clink.

  “You’ve been talking to that Solomon, haven’t you?” he challenged. “They knew each other in Paris, Jehan says. Solomon bears him old resentments and so spreads lies. Jehan killed a man in defense of a lady’s honor. But Solomon and his Christian friends accused him of base murder. He was sent away in chains but his natural aristocracy of manner shone through and soon he was released to destroy the enemies of Christ.”

  Berengar poured another cup of water.

  “Personally,” he said. “I think he should start with Solomon.”

  Seventeen

  Pamplona, Navarre, Spain. Sunday, 27 Nissan 4908, twelfth day of the Omer. 7 kalends May (April 25) 1148, Feast of Saint Mark, physician and author.

  Et quidam miles Toleti, cum aliis militus Christianis captivus factus est in supradicto bello et ductus est in Codubam et miserunt eum in carcerem et aflixerunt eum fame et siti. Post multos autem dies dedit pro se aurum et argentum multi et mulos et equos et arma multa et redimens se venit in Toleto.

  And a certain knight of Toledo, along with other Christian knights, was captured in the aforesaid war and led to Cordoba and they threw him in prison and afflicted him with hunger and thirst. After many days he gave them much gold and silver and also many mules, horses and weapons and, having been redeemed, he came home.

  —Chronicle Aldefonsi, 1148

  James controlled his expression to mild surprise.

  “Really?” he asked. “Why kill Solomon, particularly?”

  Berengar had finally quenched his thirst. Now he wanted something to eat. He knew his stomach would stop roiling if he gave it some bread.

  “Even before Jehan told me about him, I was suspicious.” As Berengar spoke, he wandered about the room, looking in jars and boxes for something edible.

  “Just the thing,” he said finally. He came back and sat down, holding a handful of small cakes made with anise and caraway. He stuffed them in his mouth one at a time as he continued telling James his opinions.

  “He’s too much at home with Christians,” he said, spraying crumbs across the table. “But I know he sneers at us in private. He corrupts our women. Jehan says that the innkeeper the other night isn’t his only conquest. I know he carries a knife and not just for cutting meat. That’s forbidden both to Jews and merchants. What do they think we guards are hired for?”

  “It’s the custom for most travelers to arm themselves, even if they are guarded,” James said. “Has he done anything e
lse that worries you?”

  Berengar shook his head. “But I’ve had my hands full seeing that no one robs you and Brother Martin,” he said. “We all think it would be safer if you let one of us carry the ransom for you.”

  He was struck by a thought.

  “I’ll bet that’s why Samuel died. He seemed a decent man. What if Solomon had decided to take advantage of the search for the madwoman to sneak into the monastery and steal your gold? Samuel could have tried to stop him and been killed for his trouble.”

  “That is an interesting theory,” James said. “I’ll certainly consider it. As for entrusting the money to you and your fellows, that’s a burden laid on me and Brother Martin alone. It would be wrong to make you responsible for it.”

  Berengar wiped his face, brushing bits of cake and caraway to the floor. “Yes, I can see that,” he admitted. “And, while I think Guy is a good warrior and an honorable man, he does have trouble resisting the rattle of the dice. Better not add the temptation of all that money.”

  He stood up and gave his clothes a shake.

  “If Arnald doesn’t show up soon, I’ll take care of the supplies,” he said. “But I’m sure he’d get you a better price.”

  He vanished back up the ladder. James could hear him rousing the other two. The monk left the inn. He didn’t want to be late for the next Office. He also wanted to digest the information Berengar had given him.

  First, it was obvious that Berengar didn’t want to take the list because he couldn’t read it. James wondered why he hadn’t wanted to admit that. There was no shame attached. True, more of the nobility in the south took the time to have their children taught their letters and numbers, but only those intended for the Church had a serious education.