The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Sharan Newman

  Solomon liked the idea but the logic didn’t work. Brother James saw the same problem.

  “If he saw Arnald receive a bag of gold, then any sensible thief would follow Arnald, not the monk who gave it to him,” he said. “But also, if Victor intended to give Arnald one of the bags of ransom money, then why did he take two with him?”

  Solomon looked at Aaron. “The man is your friend. What do you think? Could he have killed the monk for the rest of the money?”

  “Of course not!” Aaron was indignant. “Arnald’s a bit thoughtless and inclined to pranks but, at base, he’s a loyal good-hearted friend. Why would he steal from Victor? Victor was his friend, too. And everyone knows that Arnald’s father is one of the richest men in the Cité.”

  “He’s taking a long time in the privy,” Solomon commented.

  He was becoming worried. What if Arnald didn’t return to vouch for him? Perhaps he and Guy had some scheme of their own. What would he do if they didn’t return?

  “Senhor Aaron.” James had another thought. “Arnald told us he was sitting at your bedside all afternoon; was he?”

  “I have no idea,” Aaron said. “I slept like the dead. But, if he says so, then I believe him. Arnald is my friend.”

  “Thank you, Aaron.” Arnald came in from the back of the inn, followed by Guy.

  Solomon relaxed. He wouldn’t have to fight his way out after all. “There you are!” Aaron exclaimed in satisfaction. “I knew it. You didn’t kill Brother Victor, did you?”

  “Me?” Arnald stared at him. “Where would you get such a bizarre idea?”

  “If you didn’t,” James said. “Then what did you do with the second bag of gold that Victor was carrying that night?”

  “Didn’t know he had one,” Arnald answered, eyes wide with surprise.

  “Would you mind if we looked through your pack and your purse,” Brother James asked. “Just to be sure you didn’t forget he gave it to you?”

  “Anything for the Church.” Arnald took the purse from around his neck and handed it to James. “My pack is up above with the others.”

  “Brother Martin, will you go up and search?” James asked.

  Martin eyed the ladder nervously but started the climb. The rungs creaked with each step, but held.

  James emptied out the purse. There were a few small coins, a medallion from a local shrine, a twist of dark hair wrapped in oilskin, nothing more.

  “You see?”

  “Brother James?” Martin’s head appeared at the opening in the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I think I found the other bag.” He held it out for them to see. “It’s full of marbottins. I’ve never seen so many in one place. It was in this pack. Is that Arnald’s?”

  “Now wait up here!” Guy said. “That’s my pack!”

  “Oh, Guy! How could you?” Arnald turned on him. “Why? What did Brother Victor ever do to you?”

  “Nothing! No!” Guy stepped back, his hands outstretched to ward off the accusations. “I didn’t!”

  “Where were you this afternoon?” Arnald continued. “I didn’t see you here while I was with Aaron.”

  “I…I was out losing my hauberk at dice, if you must know.” Guy looked away from Brother James. “And Berengar’s. He’s going to kill me when he wakes and finds I lost it to a Saracen.”

  “You needn’t worry on that score.” The woman who was tending to Berengar spoke up. “He isn’t going to wake.”

  Most of the people in the room crossed themselves and muttered a prayer.

  “Poor Berengar,” Arnald said, shaking his head at Guy. “I’m sorry now I mocked him. So you took his armor and then attacked him? Guy, that’s not how a knight behaves.”

  “No, I didn’t!” Guy cried in panic.

  Brother James put a hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Guy. Let me take care of this.”

  Arnald stood with his arms crossed, his expression the picture of a friend betrayed. Brother James moved closer to him.

  “Arnald,” James said quietly. “I am so grieved. I had faith in you. But now, you just made your third mistake.”

  “What?” Arnald’s expression changed to confusion.

  “The first was when you decided to keep half the gold for yourself,” James explained.

  Aaron gasped and would have spoken, but Jehan hushed him with a gesture.

  Even though the room was crowded, a circle was beginning to open around the young man. Arnald noticed the change in atmosphere. His eyes went back and forth, searching for the best way out.

  “You had to make sure Victor didn’t tell anyone that there were originally two bags, didn’t you?” James moved closer.

  “You’re mad.” Arnald smiled at Aaron. “Totally insane, isn’t he? Must be all that chastity.”

  “I don’t understand why Samuel had to die,” James went on. “Did he discover what you had done?”

  “Solomon!” Arnald appealed to him.

  With a thrill of horror Solomon knew. Suddenly all the pieces tumbled into place.

  “You killed that poor boy because he wanted to marry Belide!” he said. “She’s the one you really want, isn’t she? You have dreams of owning your own vineyard. Your father is rich, but you can’t have the use of even your own funds until you turn twenty-five. You planned on convincing Belide to convert and marry you, didn’t you? But you knew it would be impossible if she were already married to Samuel. Arnald, you’re a fool. She never would have turned to you, no matter how much wealth you offered.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Arnald hissed. He was backing away from them now, but there was only a wall behind him.

  “Your second mistake”—James acted as if Solomon hadn’t spoken—“was to hide the bag in Guy’s pack. You must have done it this afternoon, after Guy left. That was incredibly stupid. We all know that if Guy had been carrying a fortune with him since Toulouse, he would have been gambling at every stop. And he certainly wouldn’t have been driven to wager his chain mail.”

  Arnald’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of an answer to this.

  “Which leads to your third and, I hope, final misjudgment.” James was within arm’s length of him now. “You knew that Guy had taken Berengar’s hauberk. You left after he did. Was that how you got Berengar out of town? Did you tell him that he needed to get to the game before Guy had bet and lost?”

  Suddenly, Arnald grinned.

  “Stupid, orgoillos pig. He didn’t even take his sword. Anyone that arrogant deserves what he gets.”

  Aaron gave a deep moan. “Arnald, you don’t mean that! Listen to yourself! He thinks you’re admitting that you attacked Berengar.”

  Arnald’s grin grew wider. “And so I did. Didn’t think I had it in me, did you? No one guessed. I was just foolish old Arnald, always getting into trouble, embarrassing my friends and family. No one suspected what wonderful plans I had. I am sorry about Victor. He was trying to help. But then, he was so good, he’s probably already in heaven. So I really did him a favor, sending him to God, don’t you see?”

  “Arnald, stop!” Aaron pleaded.

  “And Samuel was an infidel so that wasn’t a sin.” Arnald seemed unperturbed by the growing horror directed toward him. “He’d have made Belide a terrible husband. He didn’t even have the sense to stay out of the rain. The idiot saw Babylonia pass by the inn and followed her. He ran right into me. It was too good a chance to ignore.”

  “My son, you must realize what you are confessing to.” James tried to remember that his first duty was to save souls. He longed to run a knife into Arnald’s heart for what he had done to Victor. How many times would God test his resolve? “These are all mortal sins of the deepest hue. You took the lives of three people.”

  “But that’s what a brave knight does,” Arnald insisted. His arms were still crossed over his chest. He now began rubbing his left wrist nervously. “He has to win the lady. All those who come between him and the fulfillment of his destiny must be crushed. No one can stand in the way. Belide w
ill be proud of me.”

  His right hand vanished into his left sleeve.

  Solomon saw it coming before James did.

  “STOP!” he screamed as he threw himself toward the monk.

  It was too late. The knife strapped to Arnald’s arm slid out like warm butter. He lunged forward, thrusting the blade deep into James gut.

  James looked down in astonishment. The hilt protruded from his robes. A wet stain was spreading across the dark cloth.

  “Brother James!” Martin dropped from the hole in the ceiling with a thump and reached out to catch James as he slowly crumpled to the floor.

  Arnald made a leap for the doorway. As he flew past, Solomon caught his right arm and bent it back, causing Arnald to drop the knife with a cry of pain.

  The rest of the people in the room were on him at once. In a few moments Arnald emerged from the crush, battered and bound.

  “Why did you stop me, Solomon?” he asked in a voice filled with betrayal. “You hate Brother James. You said so all the time. You should be helping me defeat him.”

  “My feelings toward him make no difference, you monster.” Solomon lifted him by the cords wound around his arms and chest. “He was an unarmed man. And, no matter how much I loathe him, he is still my father.”

  He dropped Arnald like a sack of table leavings and went to see to Brother James.

  “Your father?” Jehan scratched his head in amazement. His face lit with pleasure. “A monk! That’s priceless.”

  Aaron shook his head and sank slowly to the floor.

  “This is all a nightmare,” he whispered. “I don’t understand any of it. I’m going to sit here quietly in the corner until someone wakes me up.”

  Brother Martin was praying over James, but made room for Solomon.

  “Did he tell you who I was?” Solomon asked.

  “No, I knew Brother James was a convert and I saw how similar you were in appearance,” Martin said. “You have the same eyes, you know. But I said nothing. It wasn’t my place. Your anger against him is obvious and perhaps you have good reason. But can’t you try to make peace? You won’t have another chance.”

  Solomon looked down on the face of the man who had abandoned him. Years of struggle and self-deprivation had lined it deeply. Solomon could barely remember his father, but he had an image of someone tall and strong with a thick black beard. This man was a stranger.

  James’s eyes were closed and his lips moving in prayer. His skin was pale as life drained away. Solomon felt Brother Martin watching him. He wanted to protest that James didn’t deserve absolution. He wanted to keep his hatred pure.

  Just once, he wanted his father to say his name with love.

  “Father.” Solomon forced the words out. “I don’t understand what you did. But I will try to forgive you.”

  James opened his amazing green eyes. They looked directly into Solomon’s.

  “The last test,” he murmured. “He tempts me to the end. No forgiveness from you; I had to follow my Lord. I was right. Tell my brothers, no kaddish. I want only Masses for my soul.”

  Solomon jerked away as if slapped.

  James eyes closed again and his head rolled back. Martin’s prayers grew louder. Around the room, others joined him.

  “Here.” Jehan gave Solomon his hand and helped him to stand. Solomon was surprised to find that his legs wouldn’t hold him.

  Jehan supported him as they wove their way across the small room. “We need to get out of here and get some wine into you,” he said. “This place is as bad as the carnage at Lisbon.”

  Solomon believed him. Berengar’s body lay draped on the table, Babylonia’s under a bench against the wall. Arnald was tied up in a corner, his loud protestations about to be gagged by a couple of the women. James was the central figure in the room now, ringed by people praying for his soul along with Brother Martin bent over the body, weeping.

  The two men stumbled out into the warm spring air. With a grunt of relief, Jehan released Solomon onto a stool under a chestnut tree. Then he found a seat for himself.

  “Your father, was he?” Jehan said. “No wonder you hate us so. You’d think the old bastard could have died a Christian and still given you a word of kindness.”

  “Not him.” Solomon took a deep breath. He blinked back tears and steadied his voice. “No matter. It would have been years too late, anyway.”

  He stood, taking time to dust himself off before facing Jehan.

  “We should go tell Mayah that no one will try to take her back into slavery,” he said.

  “Yes, it’s the one good thing that’s come from this.” Jehan stretched and got up, too. “You know, Brother James didn’t have to pay for her freedom. You might give him credit for that.”

  “He only did it so he could convert her,” Solomon said.

  “Maybe,” Jehan said. “But maybe it was the only way he had to tell you that he was sorry.”

  “What are you talking about?” Solomon asked in irritation.

  “Well, I think that when your father decided to accept Christ, he knew that he had to renounce everything.” Jehan fumbled for the words. “The greatest gift he could offer was the one God had given us. He had to give up his only begotten son. You were the price he paid to become a Christian.”

  “That’s cod tripe,” Solomon told him. But the thought gave him a spark of comfort.

  There was no need to let Jehan know that, though.

  Twenty-One

  On the way back to Toulouse, Thursday, Iyyar 8 4908, pridie nones May (May 6) 1148. Feast of Saint John at the Lateran Gate.

  Etsi christianus voluntarie homicidum fecerit, ominibus vite sue publicam agat penitentiam et in exitu vita sue communicet.

  And if a Christian willingly commits homicide then he must perform public penance all the days of his life and at the end of his life let him take communion.

  —Penitential Cordubense

  Brother Martin and Jehan insisted on bringing Arnald back to Toulouse to be sentenced for his crimes. Guy was for hanging him at once.

  “We can’t do that,” Jehan insisted. “It’s for the families of the victims to judge him.”

  “After God, of course,” Martin added. “But his fate in this world has to be decided by those he wronged most.”

  “And what about Samuel?” Aaron asked.

  “His family, too,” Martin said. “If they wish to come from Narbonne. If not, then the Jews of Toulouse should have a say, as well. Don’t you think so, Jehan.”

  The knight frowned. “In this instance, yes,” he agreed reluctantly.

  “This will cause a terrible disruption in the town.” Aaron sighed. “Arnald’s family will be destroyed. Poor Vidian! He told me this journey would make a man of Arnald. He made me promise to watch out for him. If I hadn’t been so absorbed in my own problems, I might have seen what was happening.”

  “Nobody saw,” Solomon told him firmly. “Arnald’s demon is a master of deception. I never thought of him as more than a rather annoying overgrown puppy.”

  Solomon turned to regard the “puppy” who was tied hand and foot to a two-wheeled cart that was bumping along the road home. Arnald gave him a pathetic smile. Solomon shuddered. Why couldn’t the boy understand the iniquity of his crimes? He seemed to believe that, when they reached Toulouse, his father would take care of everything and, even more unsettling, that Belide would be proud of him for all he had done in her name.

  “It’s all right,” he told Solomon sadly. “I don’t blame you. But I thought Aaron would be a better friend. I’m afraid he’ll have to pay for that.”

  Solomon moved far back from the cart. He didn’t want to be near anything that evil.

  Mayah and Zaida were also in the party. Aaron had insisted that his betrothal to Mayah had not been broken and that the marriage would be celebrated as soon as it was permitted. Solomon had offered to pay for the women to stay in Fitero until they had recovered from their ordeal, but Mayah feared that with her rescuers gone, the
slavers would return for them.

  “Zaida will come with me for now,” She explained. “She lost all her family in Almeria. There may be some friends left in Córdoba who will take her in, but she needs to send someone to contact them first. And I don’t want to lose her, not yet. She’s all I have. Will you take us both to Toulouse with you?”

  “Of course. Do you intend to marry Aaron then?” Solomon asked.

  “I can’t, Solomon.” Mayah sighed. “I’ve tried to talk to him, but he won’t understand. First of all, as a Cohen, this marriage is forbidden to him. Even if we told no one that I had been taken by gentiles, we would know. Our children would be mamzers under the law. What if all this were discovered years from now? Think of their fate!

  “Secondly.” She paused. “I don’t know how to say this to Aaron, but I don’t want to marry him, or anyone. Not now, perhaps never. The thought of sharing my bed with a man is so repugnant I can barely speak of it. Even being touched makes me want to scream.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist as if to forestall any movement Solomon might make toward her.

  “I understand that you feel that way now,” he told her. “But you’re young, Mayah. Time will heal you.”

  “Perhaps.” She dismissed his platitude. “But there is no reason for Aaron to wait while it does. He owes me nothing. The ketubah was never signed. We have no contract. And I don’t love him. I barely know him. What he loves is the image of a woman who doesn’t exist any more. Help me to make him understand that he should find another bride.”

  “But what will you do?” Solomon asked.

  She shook her head. “I haven’t been able to think of anything yet. I would like so much to resume my studies, but I have no money. My books are gone, stolen, or burnt. I would be a laundress or scrub stone floors at a bet midrash somewhere if I could only listen to the teaching and use their library.”

  A germ of an idea planted itself in Solomon’s mind.