Mattie looked at Alain and answered, “Her mother left the child. There wasn’t anyone to take her. Her grandparents died from the pestilence when she was small. She had no one else but me.”
“So all these years you’ve hidden that disgraced knight’s daughter in this peasant household? Oh and, of course”—Alain thumped his forehead with the heel of his free hand—“there was Luc, the count’s secret son. And, of course! He was helping Pons fish? You’re all mad.” Alain shook his head. “What will become of the girl here in this village? Even if her father was a criminal, she is quite a beauty. I could make inquiries. Find her a position in a household back home. That would be more fitting. This is no place for someone of her class.”
“My father lost his knighthood. That makes me as common as you.”
Beatrice grimaced as Alain tightened his grip on her arm. “You don’t know your place, girl. You should show me respect,” he snarled.
“Please accept my apology,” said Beatrice, glaring at Alain and finally freeing her arm. Her eyes filled; she was angry, but she was also scared.
“I beg you, Alain, forget you saw her,” said Pons, stepping in between Alain and the girl.
“I promise only that I shall not repeat her outrageous claim about Luc. Thank you for the boudin; I must be going.”
Alain rose to leave and stopped.
“What about the dog?” he asked.
“The boy’s dog?” asked Pons.
“I’ll pay you for that animal.”
Beatrice wiped her eyes. “He is Luc’s dog,” she said. “And Luc will be back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Abraham
SALAH WAS SEATED on floor cushions in a corner of his room, reading by lantern flame and by the winter sunlight that filtered through the iron grillwork of a high window. A charcoal fire glowed in a brazier at his feet. Books were jumbled at his side. A paper scroll rested across his lap. He looked up when Luc entered carrying a bowl of dried apricots and almonds.
“It is a lovely December morning, Luc, is it not?” said the old man, pointing to the stripes of sunlight that patterned the floor.
Luc nodded and slid the bowl in front of Salah.
“Praise Allah,” added Salah, nibbling an apricot. “I am as old as the mountains, but today I am as young as your eyes and your hands.”
Luc tilted his head and smiled. The old man unfurled the scroll, and Luc knelt beside him.
But before Salah could begin, Bes ushered in an unexpected visitor from the nearby city of Tunis: a balding, bearded European with a small black cap and heavy-lidded eyes. When Salah saw the visitor, he smiled broadly and clapped his hands.
“Bring refreshment for my honored guest, Bes.”
The little man bowed and turned.
“Abraham, my esteemed colleague, it has been too long,” said Salah to his visitor.
“Good morning, learned friend,” said Abraham. “Your face is a wonderful sight.”
“My face? It is anything but.”
“Ah, Salah, your smile is almost as famous as your wisdom.”
“So much flattery, Abraham? You must want something.”
“I want only your friendship, old man. And to see that you are in good health.”
“I am alive, and that is enough at my age. Sit,” said Salah, snapping his fingers at Luc, who pushed aside the brazier and scrambled to pile cushions across from Salah.
Abraham lowered himself onto the pillows just as Bes reappeared with a bowl of dates and two clear glasses of water, sweetened with sugar and infused with rose petals and mint.
“Thank you, Bes,” said Salah.
When the little man bowed and took a step backward, Luc turned to follow, but Abraham pulled Luc’s sleeve.
Abraham asked Salah, “Your student?”
Salah nodded.
Luc made a slight bow to Abraham.
“You are most fortunate to have the great Salah as your teacher,” said the visitor.
Luc nodded and began to back out of the room with Bes.
“Stay, Luc,” said Salah.
Bes waited, but Salah said nothing. He bit his lip, glared at Luc, and left. Luc knelt next to Salah.
“Luc, this is the great Abraham Zacuto, a famous astronomer.”
Abraham shook his head. “Not as famous as you, Salah.”
Salah said, “Abraham, your fame will outlive a hundred generations.”
“But not the smallness of man,” said Abraham. “There are very few homes where a Jew is welcomed as a friend.”
Salah clasped his hands in front of his chest and studied his visitor.
Abraham squinted at Luc. “Your student has the coloring of a Christian.”
“Alas, it goes deeper than coloring,” said Salah.
Abraham shrugged. “A poor choice for a student.”
“To be sure,” said Salah. “But you taught many.”
“Look where it brought me.”
Salah turned to Luc. “This man was an eminent professor of astronomy in Salamanca and Saragossa. He perfected the astrolabe and charted the skies. His work made it possible for Spanish sailors to explore distant seas.”
Abraham smiled. “It did me no good. I was forced to leave Spain with the rest of my people.”
Salah said, “A travesty. But then, the followers of Islam were defeated. Al-Andalus was lost.”
Abraham nodded. “I fled to Portugal, where I found a place in the court of King Jaoa in Lisbon.”
“Yes?” asked Salah. “And did you encounter the explorer Vasco da Gama there?”
Abraham nodded.
“What sort of man is he?” asked Salah.
“After a kiss from da Gama, you should count your teeth. I do not like that man. He will not end well. He sought my advice and my charts, but there was little reward for me. Jaoa’s successor, King Manuel, was weak, and he bowed to the Spanish king. The Portuguese passed brutal, murderous laws against the Jews,” said Abraham. “Almost everything I owned was confiscated.”
“Being a king does not make a man wise.”
“I had a terrible time leaving Portugal.”
“Hate has no medicine,” said Salah.
Abraham held his glass up. “Beautiful, Salah.”
Salah held up his and said, “Yes. A gift from Venice; a visiting scholar brought this pair to me. They are indeed lovely. Glass is a thing of wonder; it’s like holding water. And there is nothing more beautiful than water.”
Abraham sipped his drink. “Except when one is forced to embark on a long sea voyage. My son Samuel and I thought we were fortunate to book passage to Tunis, but that journey was a horror. Twice we were set upon by pirates.”
“This boy was captured from a fishing boat. It is how he came here,” said Salah, pointing to Luc, who rubbed a thumb along one ankle band.
“So the boy and I are both unwilling travelers, longing for home?”
Luc nodded.
“This life is neither easy nor fair,” said Abraham, turning to Salah. “A man ought to be measured for his merit. I never cared if you followed your god. Just let me have mine.”
“My god?” Salah smiled. “My god is the same god who spoke to Moses. God revealed his truth to the Christians and the Jews, but you chose not to follow what was revealed.”
Abraham closed his eyes for a few moments.
“This boy?” said Salah, pointing at Luc. “He chooses not to become a Muslim. Faith cannot be imposed by force. But he is in error. There is but one true religion.”
“Ah, Salah!” said Abraham. “I though you were a tolerant man.”
“Tolerance does not require agreement,” said Salah. “I respect the boy’s other virtues. Just as I respect your intelligence and your honesty, Abraham.”
“So the boy is your slave, but you are educating him?” asked Abraham.
Salah nodded. “How could I not? He was utterly ignorant, but he is curious and smart. I am, above all, a teacher. He is already more than he was.”
“Yes, but they are free. I am not, and that is everything,” said Luc.
“Isn’t learning freedom?” asked Salah.
Luc rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and said nothing.
Salah narrowed his eyes. “Against stupidity, even Allah is helpless, don’t you agree, Abraham?”
Abraham held out his palms. “You just said this boy is smart.”
“That doesn’t mean he is not stupid.”
“Ah, Salah, you speak in riddles. I came today to pay my respects. I heard you were unwell, but I see you are yourself.”
“Who else could I be?”
“No one,” said Abraham, and he rose. “I shall not remain in Tunis.”
“You will resettle once again, Abraham?”
“The wandering Jew,” said Abraham, striking his heart with two fingers. “I will go to Jerusalem.”
“Jerusalem?” asked Salah.
“It has always been Jerusalem.”
Tapping his cap, Abraham Zacuto turned and left. When Luc rose to leave, Salah held up his hand and spoke in his deepest voice.
“If an egg falls on a rock, too bad for the egg. If a rock falls on an egg, too bad for the egg. As Abraham said, life is not fair, Luc. Look around. And remember, tenacity is admirable. Obstinacy is foolish. You are not a fool. Now, sit here next to me. We have work to do.”
Luc looked down at his hands, which were clenched into fists. He spread his fingers and looked at Salah. Salah waited for a few moments, studying the boy before he spoke.
“You have just met a brilliant man, Luc. His life has been hard and unfair, but his learning has changed the world. Can you appreciate that?”
Luc nodded and sat down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Christmas
IT RAINED FOR three days; the unusual cold was biting. Pons and Beatrice sat by the hearth drinking hot cider. Pons had collected bark, twigs, and stones, and he and Beatrice created a small stable with a manger on the wooden chest. They had just finished setting up the nativity scene when the door opened, and Mattie slogged in. She left her mud-stained wooden shoes by the door and snapped her soaked woolen cloak before draping it on a peg near the hearth.
“Awful weather to start our Christmas. Here, child, lentils and wheat sprouts for Saint Barbara’s Day,” she said, handing a little cloth sack to Beatrice. “Lovely stable,” said Mattie bending to look at the assembled scene.
Beatrice and Pons joined her at the chest. “I can’t wait to see this year’s carvings,” said Beatrice.
Mattie went to a shelf and, from behind a large basket, she pulled a wrapped bundle that she handed to Beatrice who carefully unwrapped four new figures. She kissed Mattie and set them around the manger. Pons put his hands on his knees and bent down to study the additions.
“Villagers,” crowed Mattie. “Villagers to worship the Christ child.”
Pons chuckled. “Am I really so ugly and crooked?”
“What do you mean?” asked Mattie, lifting the little figure of a fisherman. He was bareheaded and had a coil of tiny baited hooks draped over his shoulder. “This is a handsome, strong fisherman. What do you think, Beatrice?”
“Very handsome,” she said, smiling at Pons.
“Well, you carved our Beatrice just right,” said Pons. “A beauty. And the boy. I am glad to see him.”
Beatrice picked up the statue of Luc. “It is Luc,” she said, rubbing her thumb on the smooth left side of the head. “Wearing the shirt I made.”
“Boy never took it off,” said Mattie, picking up the statue of herself and setting it next to the one of the girl.
“See,” said Beatrice, putting Luc’s statue next to the one of Pons. “Luc belongs here.”
“I made him for you,” said Mattie, patting Beatrice’s hand.
“It wouldn’t feel right without him,” said Beatrice.
“But you forgot someone, Mattie,” said Pons.
Beatrice laughed. “Someone furry and brown.”
Mattie went to the same shelf and pulled out a half-finished carving of a dog. “You mean Cadeau? I’ll have him finished by tomorrow.”
Mattie and Beatrice hung evergreen branches over the windows, and the cottage smelled of pine, wet wool, and wet dog.
“I met Oubert with his new bride in the village,” said Mattie as she stood back to admire the Christmas decorations. “She’s in the family way.”
“He wasted no time,” said Pons.
“Such a wan thing; this is no weather to be out, not in her state,” said Mattie, shaking her head. “He could have servants to help her, but he wouldn’t spend a coin to save his own neck, let alone a second wife.”
Beatrice put her arm around the old woman.
“Oubert asked me to carve the holy family for him,” said Mattie, pulling Beatrice close.
“I hope you set a high price,” said Beatrice.
“Very high. And I refused to bargain, so there we are. Oubert will be paying for this year’s Christmas feast. What do you think? A fat duck and chestnuts?”
“Mmm,” said Beatrice.
“Blanche sent you olive wood. Hervé stopped by when you were in the village,” said Pons.
“He asked about the dog,” added Beatrice.
Cadeau was curled near the hearth. Beatrice knelt to pat him, and he rolled onto his back so she could rub his belly.
“You belong to Luc,” said Beatrice.
“He is a fine dog,” said Mattie. “Too fine for us. But then, so are you, Beatrice. Another Christmas with Pons and me? It’s past time we think of your future.”
“I am happy here, Mattie.”
“I fear there is a change coming. Did you hear all the crows this morning?” asked Mattie.
“It’s the rain they were complaining about,” said Pons, cracking open the front door to check the rain drumming on the stone threshold.
“And Cadeau? You heard him howling last night,” said Mattie, reaching in front of Pons to pull the door closed.
“He’s howled before,” said Beatrice, still rubbing the dog’s fur.
Mattie frowned. “And things have happened before. They’re signs. Mark my words. Something is about to happen.”
“Dinner, I hope,” replied Pons.
Just then there was a loud knock at the door. Cadeau jumped up and began barking. Pons looked at Mattie and crossed himself. Opening the door, he found Alain and the young soldier Henri.
Pons took a step back.
“We’ve come for the girl,” said Alain, pushing the door open and marching in with Henri, both drenched and dripping, their boots squelching and their cloaks clinging.
“No!” cried Beatrice.
“You whoreson!” said Pons. “How could you!”
“Hold your tongue, old man. I have done you all a great service. I bring good news.”
“What news could be good that takes the girl?” asked Pons.
“Her father had a younger brother,” said Alain, shaking water from his sopping cloak. Taking off his soaked hat, he hung it over Mattie’s cape.
“I don’t remember any uncles,” said Beatrice.
“I remember him,” said Mattie, moving Alain’s wet hat to another peg. “He was just a boy when his father, Beatrice’s grandfather, sent him off to be a page. That was before the pestilence struck. That plague took Beatrice’s grandparents.”
“It was a bad time. Lot of people died in my village. More than a dozen or so years ago,” said Alain, nodding.
Mattie said, “Anyway, Beatrice never heard a word from him.”
Water puddled under both soldiers. Henri just stood, drenched, hat in hand, eyes to the ground. Alain blew on his chubby hands and rubbed them together.
“Course not. He had nothing to offer the girl. But now Sir Étienne’s brother—”
Beatrice cut Alain off. “Sir Étienne?”
“That
’s what I’m trying to tell you. The young count has restored your father’s knighthood and his manor.”
“What?” asked Beatrice. “But why?”
“Your uncle is this count’s dear friend; they were pages together as boys. So the count investigated your father’s case. He talked to everyone in his father’s household. It’s true Sir Étienne had debts and that he gambled. But he never stole. It was one of the stablemen. A lot of the servants knew, but the old count hadn’t waited long enough to hear the true story.”
“That would be just like the old count,” said Mattie. “Well, amen to this. Sir Étienne’s name has been cleared.” Beatrice closed her eyes, and Mattie put her arm around the girl. “You see, I always said you were a lady.”
Beatrice sighed, then she looked at Alain. “But why are you here to take me?”
“Let me finish what I have been trying to say. After my last visit, I told your uncle that I had seen you, and he was overjoyed.”
“Overjoyed? Why?” asked Mattie.
“He has no other family. Like you said, the plague killed his parents. And then after his brother was killed, he thought the girl was lost.”
“And so now he wants you to take me away?” asked Beatrice. “Why?”
“To visit him. I’m here to escort you. The count has invited you to spend Christmas in his castle with your uncle. Your uncle sent this gift,” said Alain, offering Beatrice a bundle wrapped in heavy sacking.
“Invited?” asked Beatrice. “Not ordered?”
“Right,” said Alain. When Beatrice did not take the gift, Alain unwrapped it. He held out a thick fur wrap.
Mattie put her hand to her mouth and caught her breath.
“It’s beautiful, and I appreciate it,” said Beatrice, tentatively reaching out to touch the fur. “But I shall not go with you. This is my home, and this is where I plan to spend Christmas. I’ll never leave Mattie and Pons.”
Beatrice sat down, and Pons lowered himself onto the bench next to her. She put her head on his shoulder.
“What about Beatrice’s mother?” asked Mattie. She was standing with her arms folded in front of her.
“Ah,” said Alain. “Sad news there. She remains in the convent, and that’s where she’ll stay. She’s gone,” he said, knocking his head. “She remembers nothing. If you met her today, she wouldn’t recognize you tomorrow. She has no idea who she is, or ever was. But the nuns are taking fine care of her.”
The Unfortunate Son Page 13
