“They won’t dare enter here,” Abelard said.
“Master, I don’t think they would care if the pope were staying here,” Emma said. “The leader acts like a madman. Dame Alys told me he’s kin to the girl.”
“It must be Roger,” Catherine said, getting up. “Let me go to him. If he sees I’m all right, they’ll go away.”
Abelard restrained her. “Believe me, this is not a time to expect rational behavior. From what you both have told me, Catherine’s family is not likely to stop the search for Edgar when she is found.”
“I can’t run away again!” Edgar said.
From outside, there were shouts and crashes. Someone screamed in sudden agony.
“Do you remember that story we heard from home, Edgar?” John said mildly. “About the family who found that their daughter had run away from the convent with a man. When they were caught, the relatives castrated the man and”—he looked at Catherine—“fed the parts to her.”
“Can you think of a safe place to hide?” Edgar asked.
“Very wise, Edgar,” Abelard said. “I assure you, if I had had warning when Héloïse’s uncle sent his men, I’d have run like a rabbit.”
Catherine sighed. “I agree. If he really believes you have dishonored me, I might not be able to convince him otherwise in time. You should go.”
“You also, Catherine,” Abelard said.
“Me? But I’m in no danger!”
“Oh? Then why did you come here?”
Edgar grabbed her arm. “For God’s sake, Catherine, you don’t know who tried to kill you. What if he’s out there with your uncle? Think how easy it would be to finish the job ‘accidentally.’ Listen!”
The screams were closer now. Townsmen had joined the knights, happy to have an excuse to beat up on the students who had so often abused their clerical privilege. The students had taken up cudgels and knives.
“We may have left it too late,” John said.
There was a sound of wood splintering.
“They’re breaking the shutters in on the ground floor,” Edgar said. “Is there a way out?”
“I know,” Catherine said. “If we can make it out the back, it’s only a few houses down to the home of Eliazar.”
“Why would he protect us?” Edgar asked.
“Father told me he would. They’ve been business partners for years. He said if ever I were in terrible need, I was to go to Eliazar Tam and say my name. I would be taken in. This is the worst need so far.”
“Then go!” Abelard shouted. “John and I will stay here and confuse them with syllogisms.”
John took another piece of apple. He smiled and nodded. Edgar and Catherine hurried to the back of the house. Emma checked the back way.
“No one out there now,” she said. “Stay off the streets. You’ll have to go over some fences. Do you think you can, Lady Catherine?”
“She’ll do it if I have to throw her over,” Edgar said. “Hurry!”
They raced through the back garden and over the gate.
Five minutes later, Roger and his men broke into the house.
“Search all the rooms,” he told Sigebert. “The man was sure this was the place.”
He strode into the hall where two men sat, gravely considering an apple.
“Yes, we can both agree on it now,” John was saying. “But what if I eat it, or it rots and disintegrates? Can we still say it is a manifestation of a universal ‘apple’?”
“A good point. I believe that the essence …” Abelard said. He looked up, appearing only then to notice Roger’s presence.
“If you have a message for me,” he told Roger, “say it and go. I’m in the middle of an important discussion.”
“What have you done with her?” Roger pointed his sword at them.
Abelard sighed. “It seems I’ve heard that before. I’m the last man to be accused of ‘doing something’ with any ‘her,’” he said. “If you don’t know that, you’re the only person in Christendom who doesn’t.”
Roger put down the sword. “My niece, Catherine LeVendeur. She may have come here with an English student. She was a novice at the Paraclete.”
“She’s not here,” Abelard stated. “And if by English student you mean John, here, I have great faith in his chastity.”
“Thank you, Master,” John said.
Sigebert came in, rubbing a burn on his arm.
“There’s no one here but an old woman in the kitchen,” he said. “She went after me with a hot poker.”
“Perhaps you would kindly leave now,” Abelard suggested. “And I would repair the door you broke down. My host, Cardinal Guy, will not be pleased when he sees it.”
At the same moment Catherine and Edgar came over the fence to the back garden of the house of Eliazar, merchant. Catherine had torn her skirts and lost her slippers. Edgar had a scrape on his cheek from a fall. Neither of them had remembered to put on cloaks.
Catherine went to the rear door. She knocked softly.
After a minute, a small eyehole slid open and then shut. The door opened to reveal a woman, thin and worn, with her hands covered in flour.
“I’m Catherine LeVendeur,” Catherine began, “My father said …”
The woman’s eyes filled even as she smiled.
“Of course you are. I’m Solomon’s Aunt Johannah, darling. Come in and welcome!”
Nineteen
The home of Eliazar the Merchant, a few minutes later
There are scholars in Paris unequaled in the whole world, who study the law day and night. They are charitable and hospitable to all travelers, and are as brothers and friends unto all their brethren the Jews.
—Benjamin of Tudela
The Juiverie of Paris consisted of one long block with twenty-four houses and a synagogue. In that block were some of the finest Talmudic scholars and philosophers in France. Christian students of theology came to them for counseling on the meaning of the Old Testament and for lessons in Hebrew. The Jews of Paris were under the special protection of King Louis himself.
That did not make Solomon or his uncle Eliazar any more sanguine about giving shelter to Catherine and Edgar.
“You’re sure no one saw you enter?” Solomon asked.
“There was no one about,” Edgar answered. “If you don’t want to take the risk, we’ll go.”
Solomon and his uncle couldn’t take their eyes off Catherine. Eliazar pulled out a silk handkerchief and blew his nose loudly, then wiped his eyes with the clean corner.
“Her very image,” he said. “Who would believe it? Don’t talk nonsense, boy. We won’t turn you out. We simply need to take precautions.”
Edgar looked at the two men, then at Catherine, sitting between them. She was smiling politely, but clearly puzzled at the warmth of their reception. Solomon smiled back at her, like a reflection. She was a bit more fair of skin and his eyes were a hazel-green. Other than that, they could be twins.
Eliazar saw Edgar staring and shook his head in warning.
“Catherine, perhaps you would like to wash before we eat?” Eliazar said.
He showed her to the kitchen, next to which there was an alcove with a basin and ewer of warm water. Then he came back to Edgar.
“She doesn’t know, does she?” Edgar asked.
“We thought it best not to tell Hubert’s children of their ancestry,” Eliazar said. “But Catherine must have felt something. She and Solomon were always fond of each other. And now that she’s grown, we’ve not let them be seen together. It’s so obvious.”
He blew his nose again. “It’s as if my poor martyred mother lived once more,” he sniffed.
Solomon leaned forward, glancing at the curtain behind which Catherine was happily splashing.
“You can understand what would happen if this were known?”
“Of course,” Edgar said. “But Catherine, she is Christian, isn’t she?”
“Never fear,” Eliazar told him. “She was properly baptized. Her mother, Madelei
ne, saw to that. So was my poor brother, Hubert. Our mother and sisters were murdered at the massacre at Rouen over forty years ago. I was traveling with our father. Our brothers, Jacob, who is Solomon’s father, and Samuel, were at the yeshiva in Troyes. Hubert was only a child. He saw the knights who burst into our home and dragged our mother and sisters to the Temple. He saw them slaughtered. Hubert took refuge with Christian neighbors, who had him baptized for his own protection. When my father wished to reclaim him, the bishop wouldn’t permit it. Hubert remained Christian but never abandoned his people.”
“Yes, that explains a number of things,” Edgar said. “Especially why Catherine’s father was so secretive in his business dealings.”
“There are those who might suspect he had returned to the True Faith,” Eliazar said. “But since we do not recognize children of a Christian mother as Jews, Catherine is quite safe, if that’s what was worrying you.”
“Sir,” Edgar said, “since I’ve met Catherine, the entire universe has been turned inside out, and all its contents spilled over my head. A thing such as this is only another drop. I came to Paris to study philosophy. I have learned only that nothing in existence can be completely relied upon.”
“So you regret encountering my cousin?” Solomon smiled.
Edgar grinned. “Not for a moment.”
Catherine returned with Johannah, each bearing a basket.
“You do understand, Catherine, that we must send word to your father?” Eliazar said, as he took the basket from her and set it on the table.
“Can you see that the message reaches only him?” she asked. “I don’t know who else in the household can be trusted.”
“Yes. I will go myself, this very evening,” Eliazar promised. “Now, when were those bandages last changed?”
“This morning.” Catherine held out her hands. “Dame Emma cleaned and rewrapped them.”
“Let me look, if you don’t mind,” Eliazar said. “I’ve some skill at healing. One learns many things in one’s travels.”
Johannah brought a basin of warm water and all watched with interest as Eliazar unbound Catherine’s hands.
“At the castle, they think I’ve received holy stigmata,” Catherine said.
“Let them,” Solomon said. “It’s better than if they thought you’d received divine punishment.”
Edgar peered over his shoulder. He recoiled when he saw the rope burns. “Saint Stephen’s stones! You never made a sound,” he said. “And you never let go.”
Catherine looked away from him. “I couldn’t let you fall.”
There was an embarrassed silence. Eliazar finished his examination of the wounds.
“Your Dame Emma did a good job of caring for this. The healing has already begun. I have a salve which should help the itching. Johannah, could you get my medicine box?” he asked. “Don’t worry; it won’t sting.”
“Todah robah, Uncle,” Catherine said. “Or is it ‘cousin’?”
Eliazar dropped the jar of salve. “Uncle. How long have you known?” he asked.
“You just told me now,” Catherine answered.
Solomon started laughing. “You must have guessed before.”
“No, not until just this minute, although I should have,” she said. “The clues were all there. It was when you took my hand. Something in the way you bent over, a shadow on your face, I felt as if my father were there. Then, all at once, everything fell into place. Why was I never told?”
“For your own safety, Catherine. At this moment, things are not so bad for us here,” Eliazar explained. “But even so, for a man to tell his family that they were once Jews, well, you should know your own world well enough.”
“Yes, I admit, it is an unsettling revelation,” she said. “I need time to think through what this means to me.”
“What it means to me, Catherine,” Solomon said, “is that we’re family. And we will always stand with you.”
“Thank you, Solomon. The way things are at Vielle, teneuse now, you may be the only family I have.” She stopped as another realization came to her. “Mother knows, doesn’t she? Is this the horrible ‘sin’ she thinks she’s being punished for?”
Eliazar nodded.
“But that’s … that’s insane!” Catherine said. “Father is a good Christian … isn’t he?” she added with a qualm.
“Hubert is a good man,” Eliazar said. “That’s all that should matter. He’s spent his life trying to be loyal to both sides of his past, to the race that bore him and the one which saved him.”
“Poor Father,” Catherine murmured. “He must feel so lonely.”
“His life has not been easy,” Eliazar agreed. “But his children mean a great deal to him. He has always had great dreams for you. It was hard for him to let you enter the convent, but your learning has been a source of pride to him. And where else could you be allowed to use it?”
“I only learned recently that he wasn’t ashamed of my education,” she said. “If only I had been a boy, perhaps he would have trusted me to help him.”
“Who knows?” Eliazar said. “But he never told Guillaume. The Almighty One decides these things for His own reasons. It is pointless for us, whose minds are finite, to question.” He looked up suddenly. “What is going on out there?”
The riot had spread from the twisting student quarters onto the Rue Juiverie. They could hear the shouts again augmented by crashes, screaming and clanks of metal against metal.
Solomon went out to discover what was happening. He came back a few minutes later, disheveled, with his sleeve torn.
“The students have gone mad,” he told them. “There are a hundred different stories, all growing as they travel. I heard someone say that a plot had been uncovered to empty the convents of France and sell the women to the Saracens. What that has to do with the students of Paris, I have no idea. Another rumor is that the citizens are paying the knights to destroy the quarter and drive the students out. I heard nothing about Edgar or Catherine. They seem to have been forgotten.”
“Are you all right?” Johannah asked. “You’ve been cut!”
Solomon wiped his face. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing. Someone recognized me and attacked me. He was drunk. I had no trouble disarming him. They also say that the bishop has called out the guards to restore order.”
“Let’s hope they arrive soon,” Eliazar said. “Before they all forget what they are fighting about and decide to ransack our homes for the common welfare.”
Roger was astounded at the response to his plea for help in finding Catherine. Paris in Christmas week was full of men who were bored and drunk and happy to create some mayhem for a good cause.
“Damn students, damn English. Why can’t they stay home and rape their own women,” was the general attitude. “We’ll teach ’em!”
The students were just as eager to fight back. For a while, Roger almost forgot Catherine himself, in the joy of having some real work to do again. The back streets were too narrow to take on horseback and he had a couple of fine moments of solid hand-to-hand combat as he fought his way through. Some of those so-called clerics were suspiciously talented.
All too soon, the search disintegrated into a brawl. Roger let it move on without him.
So, she hadn’t gone to Abelard. If she were in Paris at all, where would she have gone?
She’d come to me, if she could, he thought. She’s either out of her senses or someone is holding her prisoner, or both. I saw the way that avoutre looked at her.
“Roger!” Sigebert called. “They’re talking of looting the Juiverie. Hurry! You’ll miss all the fun.”
Roger shook his head. A few years ago, it would have been fun. Now it seemed pointless. He wished he had never gotten involved with Hubert’s work, never had to deal with those people. Fervently, he wished he had never met Aleran, except that the hermit had been the only one who could save Catherine’s life. But why couldn’t there have been another way?
“Oh, Catte, where are you?” h
e cried. “I need you.”
At that moment, he was jumped by three students, armed with clubs. For a few minutes, he was able to distract himself again.
“The fighting is coming closer.” Solomon was standing at the balcony, watching through a slit in the shutters. “They’re breaking down the boards over Itzak ben Gershom’s storefront. They’ll be here soon.”
“Edgar, Catherine, you can’t be found here,” Eliazar said. “Mobs have no time for explanations.”
“Of course,” Edgar said. “We’ll try to make it across the river.”
Johannah was looking out the back.
“They’ll never make it,” she said. “All the streets are full for a block around. Someone will see them leaving.”
“We can’t endanger you any more than we have already,” Catherine said. “This monster was created by the men searching for me. I must do what I can to stop it.”
“Child, there is nothing you can do,” Eliazar said. “I’ve seen this before. Those who preach reason get trampled. No, we’ll just have to hide you a while longer. Solomon, take them to the tunnel.”
“It was used during the Crusade, and even now we keep emergency stores here,” Solomon explained as he led the way through the long passageway under the house. “But we didn’t build it. There are strange animals drawn on the walls. Maybe the Romans put them there. These tunnels are very old.”
The back of Catherine’s neck tightened as they descended under the streets of Paris. The walls were damp, the stones shiny with slime. In places they were cracked or fallen. In others the passage had been repaired with plaster and wooden beams. She felt as if she were walking into her own tomb. Before and behind her Solomon and Edgar carried torches. In the places where the roof was low the fire sizzled as the root tendrils there were seared to ash. Flakes of it fell onto her nose.
They came to a larger area, a cavern full of boxes and earthen jars.
“Wine, grain, dried figs,” Solomon said, pointing to them. “Take what you need. Aunt Johannah gave me these blankets for you. Here, light your candle from my torch, then give me yours. I have to go back and help.”
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