It has come to our attention that certain jews, having converted to the christian faith, deny it at the prompting of the devil and have returned to judaism. And we have become aware that this is a disgrace to the name of Christ and that they are strongly contemptuous of the Christian religion. Such great presumption being hurtful to the realm we issue a decree to prohibit it. Therefore we decree and we sanction by the authority of the king, that whosoever of the jews, successively having been reborn in Christ through the grace of baptism, should presume to return to the ancient error, may not dare remain anywhere in our kingdom, and should they be captured, either be condemned to death by law or be punished by being torn limb from limb.
—Edict of Louis VII, 1144
Catherine took the wine Martin brought her and carried it up to the counting room. She found that the blot had dried on the page, so she scraped it off, rubbed the spot clean with a bear tooth and redid the numbers. She tried to concentrate on the rest of the records, but her mind refused to focus on them. All she could see was Jehan’s sneer.
Once he had just been one of many knights without a fief, fighting in tournaments and private feuds, carrying messages for her grandfather or Abbot Suger, guarding the goods that her father transported. Then, one incident at a time, he had grown to be her private demon. The hatred he bore for her and Edgar had assumed the posture of some epic nemesis. He carried resentment with him like an aura that made his very appearance sinister. Catherine had long believed him insane. Now she wondered if he might not also be possessed.
Was his malevolence so great that he would kill a man and try to put the blame on them?
Oh, yes.
Catherine shivered and downed the last of the wine.
Edgar and Solomon were having their own problems. Abraham the vintner had told them that the casks they had sent him hadn’t been properly scoured and would have to be purified again before he could use them. The buyer had found someone else to sell him saffron. Now they were in the middle of a shouting match at the Water Merchants’ Hall, the Parleoir de Borjois. It was a huge building with an inner courtyard supported by marble columns. It had been built so long ago that no one knew who had made it or why. But the merchants had it now, and they found the court a fine place to debate.
The provost was doing his best to maintain order.
“My good men!” he shouted over the din. “The king has only proposed that we increase the tolls for goods coming from Normandy and England. He wants the surplus to be used to buy grain to store in case this year’s harvest is as bad as the last. Then the poor won’t starve this winter.”
“The king is starving the poor through his Jerusalem tithe!” a voice called back. “Why should we pay for his folly?”
There were mutters of agreement.
“Do you want people saying that you got rich through provisioning the army of Our Lord?” the provost pled.
“They’ll say it whether we do or not,” another merchant complained.
The muttering grew to shouting again.
Solomon and Edgar stood in the back under the portico, watching the debate.
“I shouldn’t be here today,” Solomon said. “The king will get his way, as usual, and the merchants will need someone to blame.”
Solomon wasn’t a member of the water merchants. One had to be Christian to swear the oath all of them took when they entered. But Jewish traders often attended the meetings, and usually no one questioned their presence.
“You can’t go,” Edgar told him. “I don’t know these people the way you do. Until I learn whom to trust, what their weaknesses are, how they bargain, you have to make sure they don’t try to cheat us.”
“You can’t trust any of them,” Solomon said. “Their weaknesses are greed and their own distrust of each other, and they all want to buy low, sell high and be the only one allowed to trade in some commodity. Now you have all the knowledge I hold.”
“What was I thinking of?” Edgar sighed. “I know less of the art of exchange than James. These men can tell me anything, and I’ll be as trusting as a lamb, and as easily slaughtered.”
“No, you won’t,” Solomon reassured him. “They can’t pass off shoddy goods on you. You know the look of real amethyst and amber. You know when something is well made and, even though you know nothing about the quality of wool, your English accent will make them believe that you must.”
Edgar considered the men around him. He knew some of them already. They were the upper echelon of those who traded in Paris. Only the water merchants were permitted to take boats up the Seine beyond Mantes and unload them in the city. Most of them specialized in only one kind of goods: leather, wine, beef and pork, salt or furs. They were fiercely protective of their rights and monopolies.
Hubert had won their trust by dealing in a variety of items that complemented their goods without infringing on their trade. He brought fine wine from Clos du Val, but only in small amounts for the table of the bishop and the king. He brought unset jewels and rare spices from Spain and the East and amber from Russia. And he used his contacts with the rich abbeys and the court to secure commissions for his fellow merchants of the guild.
But Hubert was gone now. Would his old affiliations carry over to his son-in-law, a foreigner not born to the trade?
As he worried over this, one of the other merchants caught his eye and started toward him. Edgar straightened and prepared himself for anything.
“Edgar!” the man greeted him with a smile. “Good to see you back!”
Quickly Edgar nudged Solomon, who stretched out his hand to the man.
“Archer! We’re glad to be back,” Solomon said. “Edgar and I are impressed with the growth of the association in the year we’ve been gone.”
“Ah, Solomon, yes, well.” Archer hesitated. “The king’s expedition has been good for trade, so far.”
It was clear that he wanted to speak to Edgar alone. Solomon took pity on him and excused himself.
“I’ll be at the Blue Boar when you finish,” he whispered to Edgar.
Archer heaved a great sigh when Solomon had gone.
“Sorry,” he said. “I never know what to say to them. Solomon seems almost a Christian, and his uncle Eliazar was a decent man, but you hear so many things …”
Edgar stared at him, waiting.
“Yes, well,” Archer started again. “You know Genta, don’t you? A very respectable woman, raised at court. She has several mills and ovens in the suburbs of Paris.”
Edgar nodded, more to encourage the man to continue than from any memory of the woman.
“So, it seems that she’s decided to donate some property to the Knights of the Temple next Thursday. There will be a ceremony, of course. She tells me the king and dowager queen will be there,” Archer looked to see if Edgar were suitably impressed. “Afterward, there will be a feast. She asked me if you and your wife would care to attend.”
Edgar was surprised. In the time they had lived in Paris with Hubert, no one had asked them to any festivities. It hadn’t occured to him that anyone would. What had changed?
“Thank you,” he told Archer. “Please tell Mistress Genta that, unless my wife knows of other plans, we would be happy to celebrate her gift to the Temple.”
“And, of course, your sister is most welcome, too,” Archer added.
Edgar froze. Archer licked his lips nervously. So that was how it was. Edgar wondered how many people had learned of Margaret’s ancestry.
“My sister has been ill,” he said. “We shall have to decide if she’s well enough for an evening out.”
“Genta has hired musicians and a dancing bear,” Archer coaxed.
Edgar forced a smile. “I’m sure Margaret would enjoy that if her health permits. I’ll send word to Genta when we’ve discussed the matter.”
He gave a curt nod and left the Parleoir.
All the way to the tavern he was muttering to himself. His face was so angry that a beggar with her hand out scuttled across the roa
d to avoid him.
Solomon wisely waited until Edgar had sat, drained a wine cup and refilled it before asking what was wrong.
“I don’t suppose your indignation is over the fact that Archer is uneasy around Jews.” He gave Edgar a wry smile.
“You would make anyone uneasy,” Edgar answered. “Including other Jews.”
Solomon shrugged his admission of the fact. Edgar took a deep breath to calm himself. The tavern was windowless. The only light came through the open door, dim in the late afternoon and often blotted by passersby. It was hard to see who else was there, but Edgar peered into the gloom and found no one he knew. He lifted the cup again.
“Wæs hael,” he said without much enthusiam.
“Drinc hael!” Solomon raised his beer. “Now are you going to tell me what’s making you so angry, or just drink yourself under the table?”
Edgar explained about the invitation. In this case he felt Solomon would understand his feelings better than Catherine would. He was sure of it when he saw his own anger reflected in his friend’s expression.
“Margaret shouldn’t have to associate with people like that,” he said. “She’s not in trade.”
“Archer said Queen Adelaide would be there,” Edgar considered. “Perhaps even Louis and Queen Eleanor. They are certainly fit for Margaret to meet.”
Solomon snorted in disgust. Edgar laughed.
“Anyone would think you were the girl’s grandmother!” he said. “When did you become a prude?”
“When I promised to care for Margaret.” Solomon didn’t share the laugh.
“Well, I agree with you, although not for the same reasons,” Edgar said. “I don’t want her used by those who wish to reach Count Thibault. And I don’t want people speculating about how she came by her scars.”
Solomon nodded grimly.
“Then we won’t mention this at home?” he asked.
“Not tell Catherine?” Edgar stared. “Are you mad?”
Solomon sighed. “At least not Margaret,” he conceded.
Catherine jumped when she heard the steps in the courtyard. Then Edgar’s voice called out to her, and she felt such relief that she ran to him and embraced him as if he’d been gone a week.
“Carissima!” he exclaimed, returning her affection with joy. “Does this mean the children are out?”
The noise from the hall dispelled that hope.
“Don’t you want to have your family about you?” she teased.
“Not every minute,” he whispered. “Can we send them to bed early?”
Catherine smiled at him. With a twinge, Solomon turned away. It was a source of both wonder and pain to him that they could still look at each other like that after so many years together.
Catherine led them into the hall, where James and Edana were racing around the room shrieking at some imaginary monster. Margaret sat by the window, well out of the way, with her embroidery on her lap. Martin was trying to set up the tables for the evening meal without much success.
“James!” Catherine said sharply. “Edana! Come here and greet your papa like children and not wild animals.”
Edana stopped at once and ran to him, her arms out to be held. James made one more circuit of the room, and then trotted over. He stopped in front of Edgar, put one hand over his heart and bowed.
“God save you, Papa,” he said. “Did you have a good day?”
Catherine’s lips twitched. She and Margaret had been training him for days on this.
With no trace of humor, Edgar acknowledged his son’s obeisance. “God save you, as well, James. My day was satisfactory. I hope to learn from your mother that you have been dutiful and not led your little sister into misdeeds.”
James looked up at Edgar with exasperation. “Papa, you know Edana won’t do anything I say!”
“Just like her mother.” Edgar gave Edana a squeeze. She giggled and patted his cheek, confident of her power to turn away his wrath should she ever deserve it.
“All is well here?” Edgar looked at Catherine. “Those men from the Temple haven’t returned?”
“No, it’s been very quiet,” Catherine answered.
Jehan, she hoped, would be gone soon. Edgar need never know he had tried to beset them again.
It wasn’t until after sunset, when Edgar and Catherine were sitting in the garden savoring the twilight, that they could finally talk. Margaret had gone up to bed when the children did, and Solomon was out visiting Abraham the vintner. They sat for a while without talking, listening to the sounds of the city around them: singing from students in the street; the jingle of the bells around the necks of the pigs as they were gathered and penned for the night; shouting from a nearby house as a woman berated her servants; a wine cryer calling out the latest arrival of casks from Burgundy.
The noises were so familiar to Catherine that she sensed them only as a sign that all was well and she was where she belonged. It was a moment before she paid attention to what Edgar was saying about the invitation.
“Genta!” she whined, when she caught the name. “Oh, Edgar, I know all about her feasts. Father and Mother had to go to them and then Agnes, after Mother had entered the convent. Do we have to go?”
“Yes,” Edgar answered. “I think we do. If we’re to survive in this business, we can’t be seen to be haughty or secretive. If we don’t go, people will say we thought ourselves too good to mingle with other merchants.”
“But it isn’t that,” Catherine protested. “Everything Genta does is so pretentious. There will be eight or ten courses, not counting the sweets, and way too much wine. And we’ll have to hear about each dish and how rare the ingredients are and how it’s not like when she was at court but she does her humble best. She simpers, Edgar. You can’t imagine how awful it is!”
Edgar chuckled at that. “Yes I can, leoffest. I’ve met women of her sort before. Why was she raised at court? Is she a bastard of the old king?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine said in annoyance. “No, I remember now. Her father was the old king’s physician. She’s getting a dancing bear, too, isn’t she? They smell so. I always sneeze. And we’ll have to endure the whispers, the gossip about us, even without Margaret.”
“Ah, yes; about Catherine, the woman who ran away from the convent to marry a poor student?” Edgar grinned.
“Or of Edgar, the Scottish lord who abandoned his prospects in the Church for a merchant’s daughter,” Catherine suggested with a smile. “We’ve both behaved scandalously. No wonder people stare. Must we endure an evening like that?”
“Not if you don’t wish to,” Edgar said slowly. “Of course, the reason for this extravagance is for Genta to celebrate her gifts to the Temple of Solomon. I suppose a number of the knights will be there. Perhaps even the master.”
Catherine sat up.
“Why didn’t you say so?” she chided. “Of course we’ll go. A week from today, you say? Samonie will have to start tomorrow on my bliaut. The best one needs airing and mending. We need to go to Saint Denis and retrieve the box of jewelry we left with the abbot.”
Edgar smiled. “I’m glad to know your interest is caught. I feared you’d forgotten about discovering the story behind the poor man in the counting room.”
“How could I?” Catherine moved closer to him. The evening was growing cool. She nuzzled against his shoulder until he put his arm around her. “I feel him every time I enter the room. He wants us to help him.”
Edgar peered through the shadows to make out her face. “Are you serious?” he asked. In his family, if someone said he saw a ghost, he was taken at his word.
Catherine laughed. “Not the way you mean. I’m only reminded of the fact that he was left for us. We have a duty to the dead, for they can no longer speak for themselves. It’s not just the danger to us if the truth is never found. His family must not even know that he’s dead. No one has said a Mass for him, except the ones we ordered. I keep thinking about how his soul must be so lonely, with no one to pray
for his release from Purgatory.”
Edgar laid his cheek against her head. “My dear, if I were gone on a long journey, perhaps never to return, would you pray for me, not knowing whether I walked the earth or lay beneath it?”
Catherine tried to swallow the terror that rose in her at the very thought. “Every moment,” she breathed. “With every bit of my being. My whole life would be nothing but a prayer for your safety and your return.”
She choked on the last word, and Edgar bit his lip to keep tears from his own voice.
“So what makes you think that this poor man doesn’t have someone who loves him just as much, praying for him as fervently as you would for me?” he said.
Catherine turned her face up to his.
“I can only hope that there is no such person,” she answered. “I would never wish such loss upon anyone. This deep a love is worth any price, but still I pity anyone who must pay it.”
The only answer to that was to hold her close.
They sat together until the darkness was complete, the trees shielding them from the stars until they were roused by the sound of Solomon swearing as he tripped over a toy horse James had left in the hall. Edgar kissed Catherine’s nose to bestir her and took her up to bed.
In the chill dawn a man and woman approached the north gate of Paris. They were riding a knobbly mule that was one misstep from the tannery. As the bells began ringing for Prime, the gate creaked open. A line of carts loaded with firewood, spring vegetables and cheese moved slowly into the city. They had arrived the night before to be the first at the markets that day. The mule wove between them, the riders too tired to guide it well.
To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 12
