The Wandering Arm: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Sharan Newman

  “I swear,” Ullo said. “I held the lamp into the darkest shadows and the demons fled from me.”

  There was something about him, so innocent and certain. Catherine wanted to protect him, that he might never meet a demon he couldn’t send running.

  Johannah saw her look. She patted Catherine’s hand.

  “Put away your grief, child,” she said. “You and Edgar will have many more children, I’m sure.”

  Catherine smiled and nodded. That was it, of course. As Edgar knew well, being immobile was bad for her. It was too easy to brood and fall into the sin of despair. What she hadn’t told Edgar was that her melancholy was overlaid by mortal terror of enduring another birth like the last one. She shook herself. This was foolish. She had chosen her path: nettles, thorns and rocks. Now she had to walk it and there was no logic in complaining.

  Johannah was digging through the basket for anything of value that might have been dropped by accident. Catherine leaned over in idle curiosity.

  “What’s this?” Johannah held up a torn piece of parchment. “There’s writing on it. How odd. Not French. Is it Latin?”

  She handed it to Catherine, who squinted to make out the smudged letters.

  “‘Laurentius bonum opus operatus est, qui per signum crucis caecos illuminavit,’” she read. “‘Laurence performed a good deed, he who through the sign of the cross gave light to the blind.’ It’s an antiphon for the saint’s feast, I think, perhaps from a breviary.”

  “How could a thing like that have come to be in our cellar?” Johannah wondered.

  “I have no idea,” Catherine said. “May I keep it?”

  “Certainly,” Johannah said. “It’s of no use to me.”

  “Ullo,” Catherine asked, “do you remember where this was?”

  “Oh, yes,” Ullo said. “It was caught on a crack between the stones of the fort.”

  Catherine sighed. “I’m not familiar with the geography, Ullo. Which fort?”

  Ullo sighed back. “The boxes against the wall opposite the stairs,” he said in disgust.

  “Thank you, Ullo.”

  Catherine folded the bit of parchment carefully and tied it in her sleeve. She tried not to show her worry. That was the place where she had found the beads and bit of metal. Three things that seemed to have belonged to a Christian, all of them broken. They frightened her.

  She had to find a way to make Uncle Eliazar tell her what had happened last year. But first she needed to know everything she could about what Natan had been doing and with whom.

  “Lucia,” she said, “would you like to eat with Edgar and me tonight? We’re having bread and soup left from the jug we took back from your mother’s last night. It’s not much, but you’re welcome.”

  “You’ve worked hard today,” Johannah agreed. “If you wish it, you may leave when Catherine does. I’ll take care of Eliazar and Ullo.”

  Lucia did not look delighted at the invitation, but responding to Catherine’s pleading expression, she agreed.

  They left soon after. Catherine was too obsessed with her new speculations to wait any longer.

  So there had been another cleric, Thomas, who didn’t come anymore. There were a dozen possible explanations for that. He may have become bored and given up the study or been given a new assignment by his superiors. He may have gone home to care for his mother. Catherine could imagine many reasons for Thomas to have stopped visiting Eliazar.

  But the bits she had found were just the sort that a poor canon might carry: beads and a prayer book or breviary with thin metal clasps listing the verses and responses for the daily Office throughout the year. But why would these shreds be in her uncle’s cellar?

  Catherine refused to believe the answer that tried to leap into her mind. She didn’t want to think it. But she had been trained to take all information, organize it and form a logical conclusion. One can’t ignore the facts simply because the answer isn’t palatable. Catherine forced herself to list the questions.

  What if Natan had not been the first person to die in the cellar?

  What if someone had decided to dispose of a young canon of Saint-Victor and Natan knew about it?

  What if that someone was her dear Uncle Eliazar?

  Catherine flinched at the thought. These are not conclusions, she told herself, merely propositions. But they must be considered.

  Catherine prayed that Lucia would prove her wrong.

  Fifteen

  That evening, Edgar and Catherine’s room

  Et quoniam magna ex parte huius libri explanationem quantum ad sentiarum summam spectat, secundum alios qui ab Hebreis sicut et nos litteralem sensum pentateuci edocti sunt nullis penitus mutatis supra posuimus, nunc littere quam illi indiscussam reliquerunt insistamus.

  The explanation of this book is given for the most part

  without any changes, as far as the main idea is concerned,

  according to others who, like ourselves, have been taught the

  literal sense of the Pentateuch by the Jews. Now let us take

  up the letter which they have left undiscussed.

  —Andrew of Saint-Victor

  “Notes on Leviticus”

  Although Lucia had agreed with reluctance to go home with Catherine, she settled in comfortably once they arrived. Catherine could tell that the small room with its crude furniture surprised her but, beyond a puzzled look, Lucia gave no indication that it wasn’t what she had expected.

  She helped Catherine heat the soup and arrange the bread ends on a platter. Not exactly a meal from Arthur’s court, but when Edgar arrived with the lidded pitcher full of cider, it was more than adequate for three people.

  Especially when one of them showed no inclination to eat.

  Lucia emptied her cider bowl quickly but spent more time than Catherine did examining and stirring her soup. Edgar was finding it difficult to remain patient. Under the table Catherine took his hand. He squeezed it and forced himself to wait.

  “I’ll tell you what I know about Natan’s business,” Lucia said finally. “But I want you to use it to find the one who killed him, not to protect your own friends. You must swear this or I will say nothing.”

  She tore a corner off the bread and crumbled it into the soup. The bowl in front of her was already filled with a gelid mass of crumbs and broth that Edgar was tempted to save for plastering the cracks in the window frames.

  “We need to find the truth,” Edgar said. “Right now, there are people who think Eliazar arranged to have Natan poisoned. We don’t believe it, but if we find that is what happened, we won’t conceal it. I promise you that.”

  “I don’t know that I can trust you,” Lucia sighed. “But no one else seems to care at all.”

  She glared across the table at them both. Her glance fell to their clasped hands. Catherine let go. She felt as if she had stabbed the woman. Lucia wiped her eyes with her wrist and dug savagely at the soup with her spoon.

  “Why does Natan’s death matter to you?” she asked. “Either of you? What difference does it make if some greasy Jewish trader is murdered? The only person I’ve heard of who has any interest is that nephew of his. And he only cares because he thinks Natan left a hidden legacy somewhere.”

  “Could he have?” Edgar asked. “Not that it’s important to us, of course. We have no claim on it. But Catherine says Natan was hunting for something when he died. Perhaps he had put treasure in the cellar that he wanted you to have.”

  “Me?” Lucia seemed surprised, then laughed. “He often said that one day he would drape me in jewels and silk, but that’s the sort of thing men always say when they want to get you into bed.”

  “Did you believe him anyway?” Catherine asked.

  Lucia looked down at the soggy bread. She took her spoon out. “He gave me presents from time to time, a bracelet, sweets, a scallop from Saint-Jacques. I always wondered how he came by that. They were enough for me. I don’t trade myself for gold.”

  Edgar understood from Cathe
rine that they would have to be very careful or Lucia would tell them nothing. But he found it difficult not to be impatient. It embarrassed him to hear the tender details of her encounters with Natan.

  Catherine knew that Lucia had to talk about those first. Before the world she had to pretend he meant nothing to her. Catherine could only guess how much that hurt. This was Lucia’s only chance to grieve with others and part of her comfort was in telling them what he had been to her. Edgar was sitting on the stool with the uneven leg and he was rocking it with an emphasis that was a clear signal to Catherine of his distaste for further teary memories.

  “Edgar,” she said, “I don’t think we have enough coals to last the night. Could you see if the weaver has extra to lend? And then perhaps you could refill the cider pitcher?”

  He got up with such alacrity that Lucia was impressed by his devotion. As Catherine tied his cloak for him, he bent and whispered in her ear, “How long should I be? I owe you, carissima.”

  “Not over an hour,” she answered. “Don’t worry. You’ll pay.” She went back to Lucia. “Now,” she said. “Tell me all about Natan. Did you meet him when he came to Un … to Eliazar’s?”

  Lucia shook her head. “I met him a little before then. He came to the tavern sometimes. I help Mother in the evenings, especially on feast days when business is good. He would have a mug or two and talk with a few people he knew. I think he was a friend of my brother, Goliath. Natan may have given Goliath the loan to buy his own cart a few years ago. I’m not certain. It’s not a thing men talk about.”

  “That’s not usually a basis for friendship,” Catherine said. “More resentment at having to pay the interest.”

  “I don’t know,” Lucia said. “Goliath seemed happy with it, said Natan was a good man, for his kind. Samson told him he was addle-brained to trust a Jew.” She laughed. “Goliath told him it was addle-brained to trust anyone, that he had good reason to know Natan wouldn’t cheat him.”

  Catherine shelved that statement along with others that made no sense in this matter. She was sure that if Natan had given Goliath a loan at good rates, he must have had a hidden reason. Was it Lucia? Was that what Goliath meant?

  “Had Natan, um, noticed you by then?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Men generally ‘notice’ me when they think I work in the back. Mother lets Jews drink in the tavern, if they want, but she won’t have them in the brothel. She’s afraid the priests will complain at having to use women who’ve been touched by infidels and she doesn’t want to lose such regular customers. So Natan never even looked at me.” She smiled. “Or so I thought.”

  “When did you start working for Johannah?” Catherine asked.

  “A little over a year ago,” Lucia answered. “No. Longer. I started just after Michaelmas, so it must be a year and a half.”

  “Was Natan a frequent guest there? Is that how you got to know him?”

  “Not at first.” Lucia crinkled her face in an effort to remember. “As far as I know, he came to dinner for the first time the following winter, sometime after Ash Wednesday. I think he had been to see Eliazar a few times before that.”

  Catherine held her breath. “Do you know what sort of business he and Eliazar were doing?”

  Lucia shook her head and Catherine exhaled in disappointment.

  “It seemed to be a deep secret, but I never understood why,” Lucia said. “All Natan did was take some worn clothes and a few other things to sell. Goliath took him to Argenteuil with the beer cart one day and he got rid of the things there. Natan told me later that he’d never do anything like that again unless the return was much greater.”

  “Old clothes?” Catherine repeated.

  “Yes. I never saw them, but Natan said that he couldn’t sell them for much. He thought Eliazar was a fool.”

  “Did he say why?” Catherine asked.

  “He said … Wait, let me think.” Lucia rubbed her forehead.

  Catherine wished Edgar would return with the cider. It might help Lucia’s memory.

  “Oh, yes,” Lucia said. “He told me that one can take piety too far and then it becomes nothing but suicide. He thought that’s what Eliazar was doing.”

  “But he never told you exactly what it was?” Catherine pressed.

  “No.” Lucia shook her head sadly. “I think somehow he admired Eliazar; he just thought the old man was insane to take whatever risk it was.” She looked wistfully at Catherine. “There were a lot of things he didn’t tell me,” she admitted. “And I know he never would have converted and married me. But he loved me all the same, you know. He did.”

  Catherine swallowed her doubts and assured Lucia that he must have. “Why are you so sure he wouldn’t have converted?” she asked. “By all accounts he dressed like a southern lord and associated mostly with Christians.”

  “I know,” Lucia said. “But that was to protect himself and to make it easier for his business. And I think he liked the feel of velvet. He looked very good in gold, I thought. Dark men do.

  “But what he really wanted was to be a great leader among his own people, or at least one who was a force in the community. He wanted to be able to support scholars and adorn the synagogue with silver and rare wood. He said that every one of the scholars who sneered at him would one day bow as he passed in the street. He’d make them pay for their scorn. He even wanted to raise an army that would give Jerusalem back to the Hebrew people.”

  “What?”

  Lucia laughed. “I know. It was a ridiculous idea. Even Natan didn’t believe it could be done, at least not until the coming of their Messiah. But he wanted it every bit as much as the men who fought to regain the Holy Land for the Christians. No, I’m sure he loved me, but not more than his God.”

  “Would you have converted for him?” Catherine asked.

  “Of course not!” Lucia seemed scandalized by the very idea. “I gave him my body, and gladly, but not my soul. What do you think I am?”

  Fortunately for Catherine, Edgar returned and she didn’t have to answer that question. They passed another hour or so, drinking the cider and chatting, but Lucia had no more information she wanted to share.

  They walked her home in the moonlight, Edgar carrying the lantern. Catherine decided she was feeling well enough to exercise her ankle, although her pace was slower than before. When they reached the tavern it was full. Either Saint Joseph was still being celebrated or the students were anticipating the end of Lent by a week.

  “Our rooms are in the building in back, on the other side of the alley,” Lucia explained, leading them around the long block and down the narrow passageway.

  As they came closer to the rear of the tavern, they realized that the space between it and the house was completely filled by Goliath’s cart.

  “Now, what’s that doing there?” Lucia said angrily. “He knows better than to leave it blocking the way. Goliath! Samson! Come move your blasted cart! How am I supposed to get into the house?”

  There wasn’t even enough room for one of them to edge between and pound on the outer door.

  “We’ll have to go back around to the front and find them,” Lucia said. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to stay. I’m perfectly safe.”

  “We can walk around with you,” Edgar said. “To be sure that your mother knows you’re home.”

  As they started back to the front of the tavern, Catherine lagged behind, then stopped. She was sure she had heard something moving in the cart.

  “I think I’ll wait for you here,” she called. “I need to rest my foot before we go home. I’ll just lean against the cart.”

  Edgar gave her a scowl. He never trusted that casual tone from Catherine. But he was torn between two duties and, he reasoned, they would only be a minute.

  As soon as they turned the corner, Catherine climbed up to where she could look between the slats of the cart. Her ankle protested at being twisted in this manner, but she ignored it.

  At first she couldn’
t make out anything but the dark shapes of barrels and boxes. Then she heard it again. A rustling sound and a high keening, like a kitten in pain.

  She wondered if somehow an animal had climbed into the cart and been unable to get out. It sounded hurt. She pulled herself over the side and stepped in carefully, trying to find the source of the noise.

  Her foot touched something soft and the keening grew to a shriek of panic. Catherine knelt in the cart and felt for it. Instead of kitten fur, her hand touched burlap. The animal was trapped inside a sack. She stopped. Perhaps it was some game animal that Goliath and his brother had trapped for food or fur. In that case, she had no right to let it escape. She touched the bag again and whatever it was wriggled in terror.

  Her pity for the poor thing was too great. Catherine knew she couldn’t leave it. And if she released it, she had better do so quickly before anyone came. But she was experienced enough to know that wild things aren’t always grateful to the one who rescues them. Gingerly, she pulled the cord at the neck of the bag and opened it.

  When nothing appeared, she bent to lift the other end of the bag to force the animal to run. It was heavier than she expected and a much bigger animal. She was having second thoughts when she saw something appear at the mouth of the sack.

  “Oh sweet baby Jesus!” she prayed and quickly pulled at the ropes that were around the child’s hands. She got him out of the bag and freed his feet as well, after pulling down the gag over his mouth.

  “Who are you?” she whispered as she helped him out into the alley. “How did you get here?”

  “Silas ben Menahem,” the boy said. “They’re going to sell me into slavery. Help me!”

  Catherine had just lifted Silas over the side of the cart when she heard voices at the end of the alleyway. Edgar’s wasn’t one of them. The boy’s terror was contagious. Without even looking, she jumped down, pushed him under the cart and followed, crawling between the wheels to the other side. Then gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle, she took his hand and they ran as fast as they could.