The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (5 page)

Josta went out to the kitchen to oversee the cleaning up.

It was some time later when she returned.

“Hasn’t Belide come back in?” she asked. “They’ve been out there far too long.”

“Our daughter is more than a match for that one,” Bonysach answered, his mind still on the negotiations.

“He may be more than he seems,” Solomon suggested. “Perhaps we should go and see.”

But they had no sooner stepped into the dark courtyard than Samuel came running toward them.

“Is Belide with you?” he asked, panting.

“Of course not!” Bonysach answered. “She was with you. What did you do with her?”

“Nothing!” The scholar took a step back. “She told me to wait for her. I thought she had to go…you know. So I waited. It seemed she was taking a long time. I thought she might have become tired of me and gone back inside.”

“She didn’t.” Bonysach was starting to be alarmed. “Which way did she go when she left you?”

“That way.” Samuel pointed toward the other side of the house.

“The garden gate,” Bonysach said. “What is that girl playing at? Come, Solomon. We have to find her. I swear, if she is whole and unharmed, I’m going to thrash her!”

Compline had ended and the monks had all retired for the night. Brother Victor had been especially thoughtful to Brother James, making sure he had a thicker mattress and a hot herb drink to ease the pains in his joints. James fell asleep quickly, grateful once again for the kindness of the young man.

The moon was only a fading sliver when Victor rose from his cot and tiptoed carefully through the straw on the floor of the refectory. He paused before he left, listening for a change in breathing that would mean he had wakened one of the others. After a moment, he decided that it was safe to continue. He slipped through the half-open door and down the stone stairs. If he remembered right, there was a space in the cloister wall where the rock had crumbled and only a tangle of vines separated the monks from the outside world.

He knew what he was doing was strictly forbidden and what he planned to do even more so. He tried to imagine what the penance would be. How could he even confess such a thing? Disobedience, lying, pride, even theft were all sins he could tell. But he wasn’t sure that even his confessor could understand why he had to do this. All he could do was pray that God, who knew his heart, would forgive.

The street was dark but Victor knew the way. He hurried to the meeting place, his heart thumping with excitement and fear.

“Wait!” Josta stopped Bonysach from running out into the dark. “Think first. Why would she leave so suddenly? Is she playing a joke on poor Samuel? If so, it’s gone on far too long.”

“It’s not like her,” Bonysach said. “And to go out alone in the middle of the night! That’s madness!”

“Bonysach.” Solomon lowered his voice and moved closer to his friend. “Is it possible that she isn’t alone?”

Bonysach’s head turned sharply toward his wife. “Josta?” He glared at her. “Has she been seeing those gentiles again?”

Josta turned her hands up in exasperation. “We can’t keep her from the Edomites,
m’anhel
. She knows that she mustn’t go to their gatherings. But she can’t understand that it was permitted when she was a child and not any more.”

Bonysach snorted. “She’s just like your father. I remember when he…”

Solomon didn’t want to find himself in the middle of a family argument. He interrupted Bonysach.

“Can you think of a reason why she might want to run out for a few moments?” he asked. “Belide must have known she’d be missed if she stayed out longer. Is there a festival tonight?”

“No, I’m sure not,” Josta said. “It’s still Lent. The Christians wouldn’t let their children have a public celebration.”

“Something private, then.” Solomon tried again. “At a house nearby. Perhaps another Jewish friend.”

Bonysach shook his head, but more doubtfully.

“I can’t think why, but it’s a place to start,” he said. “I don’t like our friends knowing that we have a wanton for a daughter but I’d rather she lost her reputation than her life. If she’s not with a neighbor, they’ll help us search.”

Josta handed him a lantern. Her hand shook but her voice was steady. “Wear your cloak; the night is growing chill. Hurry back.”

Despite his guilt at being out after Compline and without permission, Brother Victor was enjoying his adventure. He had left Toulouse for Moissac and the monastery when he was ten. Since then his life had been ordered, confined, and predictable. He loved it. He loved his fellow monks, even prickly Brother James. But he had longed for a more dramatic way to prove his faith than the daily round of prayer. This trip into Spain, with the possibility of martyrdom, was just what he had dreamed of. And then he had learned of something that brought him to a true test of faith.

Was obedience more important than conscience? Was it pride that made him think he was doing something noble? Or was his mission just, even if the abbot would have been horrified? Victor wasn’t sure; he only felt that he had to do what he could to redress the wrong done by his brothers.

The stars shimmered in the black sky. It seemed to Victor that he could almost hear them singing. The young monk felt they were telling him that he had done well. He had been given the chance to prove that charity to all was integral to the Faith. And the girl had been so sweetly grateful. Now he had only to return to Saint Pierre, slip back into the dortor and catch what sleep he could before the call to Matins.

He had just entered a narrow street not far from the priory of Sancta Maria when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned. “I have no money, only a blessing to give you. Oh,” he added in relief. “It’s you! What are you…?”

The blow hit him square on the chin and threw him against the corner of the building behind him. His head smashed into the sharp edge of stone and he slumped to the ground.

Down by the river, on the other side of the priory, Hubert was surprised to find himself sitting in the dark. Lost in his internal wrangling, he hadn’t noticed the last of the daylight slipping away. He had gone to sit under the new half-built bridge where the sound of the mill wheels endlessly turning had soothed his weary spirit. Solomon’s confusion at his altered appearance had wounded him. He wished Gavi hadn’t treated him with such honor. He had never pretended to be a great scholar. He had definitely not announced that he was a holy man.

In truth, he felt a fool for trying at his age to attain a level other men had spent their lives reaching for. It was the height of arrogance to believe he would ever learn enough or be able to cast away the passions of the body long enough to be admitted into the divine presence.

But if he didn’t make the attempt, he would never know.

He had sat on the bank, with his head bowed, pondering these things. Perhaps he had also dozed a little. How else could the night have crept across the town without his notice?

The starlight was so intense that all the world around him seemed unreal. He couldn’t tell shape from shadow as he stumbled up the path from the river. At last he reached the top and was able to see pale light seeping through shuttered windows. It only confused his vision and made the way between the buildings harder to tread. He cursed himself for not having brought a lantern.

It was only when he came out into an open space that he realized he had gone too far north. He was in the market square of Saint Geraud. At least here there were torches lighting the doorway to a tavern. For a moment, Hubert was tempted to enter. A bowl of beer, did it really matter who brewed it? Was one drink going to keep him from attaining the garden of paradise?

Yes, he told himself sternly. I will not listen to the voices of the demons of doubt. It’s time I stopped this foolishness and went to my bed.

He turned decisively to the right, in the direction of the synagogue. As he did, someone burst from a narrow side street and nearly knocked him over. The person didn’t bother to stop, but ran across the square and vanished into the night.

Hubert peered into the dark alleyway but neither saw nor heard anyone else. There was a light flickering at the other end. He made his way down cautiously. Suddenly, the light vanished. He walked more quickly. As he did, he stumbled against something in the path and only barely escaped falling.

He leaned over to see what had nearly tripped him and touched rough wool over flesh. A man! Hubert knelt down, feeling to find out if the person were hurt or simply overcome with wine. His fingers ran over a smooth face up to a head with a bald spot at the crown.

“A cleric,” he said. “Your superior will have something to say about your being in this state, my man.”

Then he felt the warm sticky liquid just behind the tonsure.

“Oh dear,” Hubert said.

That was when the woman screamed.

Now there was light all around him. Doors burst open and dogs started barking. Men with torches appeared from nowhere.

“You! Old man!” a deep voice shouted. “Don’t move!”

Hubert looked around. Old man? They couldn’t mean him. He stood up.

“There’s a monk here whose been injured,” he called to them. “His head is cut open and he’s unconscious, but still alive. He needs help.”

The watchmen gathered around Hubert. One bent to examine the body.

“He’s not one of ours,” he announced. “Anyone here know who he is?”

They all shook their heads, then looked at Hubert.

“I’m only a visitor here,” he explained. “I wouldn’t know your clerics.”

“And what were you doing out so late?” The head watchman asked in suspicion.

“Going back to my bed,” Hubert said. “Are you going to send for someone to see to him?”

The watchman signaled to one of the men. “Wake the porter at Saint Étienne and tell him to send some lay brothers and the infirmarian.”

The man nodded curtly and left.

“Now, what do you know about this?” The guard was a big man, who knew the value of looming when questioning a suspicious character.

“Nothing.” Hubert tried to back away from him, but there was a wall behind. “As I entered the street at that end.” He pointed. “Someone rushed by, nearly knocking me down. He may be the one who attacked the monk.”

“What did this man look like?”

“I didn’t see his face,” Hubert said. “If I hadn’t heard him coming toward me, we would have collided. He was cloaked, but I don’t think he was much bigger than I. That’s all I can tell you.”

By now the small crossroads was crowded with people, all wanting to know what had happened or giving out their speculations as fact. From windows, others leaned out and added their opinions of this interruption of their sleep.

The watchman cursed as someone ducked under his arm to get a better view of the man lying in the street.

“Ot! Rufus!” he shouted to his campanions. “Move these people back. They’ll trample the monk.”

Another man was pushing to get through. The watchman started to bar passage but then saw his face.

“
Senhor
Bonysach!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got an injured monk not of this town and this witness, or perhaps attacker, also a stranger. I don’t know who to report to.”

Bonysach bent to examine the monk, still bleeding quietly into the hard earth of the street.

“I don’t know this cleric, either, Malet,” he said. “Although his face is familiar. He must be a visitor at one of the priories. What on earth was he doing out after compline?

“Now, this man”—he nodded in Hubert’s direction—“is one of my people, a scholar visiting from Lunel. I can vouch for his character.”

“Thank you,
Senhor
. I’m glad to know that, at least. But his story will need investigation just the same. You’ll see that he stays in town until the matter is resolved?” Malet asked.

“Of course,” Bonysach told him. “I’m sure it will be soon. When the monk regains consciousness, he can tell us what happened.”

“Of course.” Malet was doubtful. He had seen the wound in the torchlight and it was deep. He turned to Hubert. “You may go,
Senhor,
but be prepared to answer the vicar’s summons for questioning.”

“I will be. Thank you,” Hubert said. “I am staying at the synagogue, if you need me.”

He started to leave, but Bonysach caught his arm, leading him away from the center of the crowd, but also in the opposite direction of the synagogue.

“Belide is missing,” he told Hubert in a low voice. “We thought she was in the garden with Samuel, but she slipped out instead. We have to find her at once!”

“Of course.” Hubert had daughters. He didn’t stop to ask who Samuel was or what a girl of that age was doing out at night, hopefully alone. “What can I do?”

Solomon had ignored the furor at the marketplace. Whatever was going on was well attended. If Belide were there, she would be found.

He wasn’t sure what to do next. For all he knew, Bonysach had found his daughter among those who had responded to the cry of the watchmen. She may even have been the one who screamed. But something told him that if she were unharmed, she wouldn’t have stayed when the crowd started forming. It was better to start from the house. There must be some sign indicating which way she had gone.

As he hesitated, he felt someone coming up behind him. Solomon pulled his knife from the sheath and spun around.

“No!” There stood Samuel, his hands up in supplication. Solomon relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” he told the young man. “I didn’t realize that you had followed me. Do you remember anything Belide said or did before she left that might help us find her?”

Samuel shook his head. His face crunched in concentration.

“I was so nervous,” he explained. “She was laughing at me, I know. I was relieved to be alone for a few minutes.”

“Girls of that age can be unthinkingly cruel,” Solomon told him. “Actually all women can. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you. Now, please, think! Anything. Did you hear or see anything odd before she left?”

“An owl hooted,” Samuel said. “It had the strangest cry. I looked to see what kind it was but, of course, saw nothing. For some reason, that made her laugh, too.”

“Of course!” Solomon put his knife back in the sheath. “Idiot child! Someone signaled to her and she went. Well, if he’s still with her when Bonysach finds her, I just pray he’s Jewish or he may find out what forced conversion feels like.”

Samuel’s jaw dropped. “You mean she used me to find a way to go meet a lover? I can’t believe it!”

“Actually.” Solomon paused. “I can’t either. She couldn’t have thought there would be time for
joliveté
. I know that in the heat of lust one does insane things, but still…”

He thought a moment.

“Samuel, let’s go back to the garden and see if we can find some trace of your owl.”

At first, Hubert was too stunned by his easy escape from the crowd to focus on what Bonysach was saying.

“I thought surely the guards would accuse me of attacking the monk,” he said as they left the square. “A stranger and a Jew. What else did they need?”

“Proof, I would think,” Bonysach said shortly. “And I spoke for you. I’m considered one of the leaders of the town, after all.”

“Really?” Hubert was impressed. “It would never happen in Paris.”

“Another reason not to live there,” Bonysach answered, quickening his pace. “I just hope I don’t have to raise the cry to find Belide. It would ruin my standing among the other leaders of the Cité if it got about that my daughter had turned whore.”

“You don’t know that.” Hubert was panting as he tried to keep up.

“Why else would she rush out alone into the night?” Bonysach didn’t notice that Hubert was falling behind.

To Hubert his friend’s voice was distorted, as if under water. He felt as if he were under water, as well, his lungs gasping for air.

“Help!” he managed to force out as he fell.

“Hubert!” Bonysach reached him in time to keep him from collapsing. “Here, lean on me.”

“No,” Hubert managed to gasp. He leaned forward, letting his head drop until the dizziness passed and he could breath again. “It’s nothing, truly. Give me a moment. We must find Belide.”

“
I
must find my daughter,” Bonysach said firmly. “You are going back to your room and rest.”

Hubert nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I’ll be no use to you. I can find my way back. Don’t waste your time on me. She could be in grave danger.”

“I know,” Bonysach said quietly. “But I can’t leave you in this state.”

Hubert took a deep breath and stood up straight.

“There,” he said. “I told you it was a passing attack. The night air, I suppose. I was down at the river’s edge. Stupid of me. Now go, find Belide. And, when you do, don’t punish her too severely. I don’t think she ran out just for a moment’s pleasure.”

“It’s not like her,” Bonysach agreed worriedly. “But her mother says she’s been odd lately. I should have listened to her, but Belide seemed no different to me.”

“Bonysach,” Hubert said. “Stop trying to understand. Just go.”

The street was empty, the noise from the crowd fading. Bonysach thought of thieves and cutthroats prowling in the darkness. Hubert was in danger from them but his only daughter much more so.

“I’ll come by the
bet midrash
and look in on you as soon as she is safe at home,” he promised.

When he had gone, Hubert made his way slowly back to the synagogue. He saw no one on the way.

“Josta, is she back?”

Josta didn’t need to answer. Solomon knew from the woman’s face that Belide was still missing.

“Forgive me,
Na
Josta,” Samuel said. “I should never have let your daughter out of my sight.”

“I think someone signaled to her to come out,” Solomon told her. “She may have only intended to be gone a few moments.”

“Yes,” Josta said. “I had figured that out. But something happened.”

She clenched her teeth to keep her mouth from trembling. Solomon wanted to say or do something to comfort her but feared that any such gesture would make her break down entirely. So he waited.

With an effort, Josta regained her composure.

“Belide is a good girl,” she said. “But she listens too much to all these new songs and stories the wandering
jongleurs
tell. Her head is full of blighted passion and noble sacrifice. As if life didn’t give us enough opportunity for that.”

“Is there any friend she might be trying to help?” Solomon asked. “Someone she would risk your anger to meet?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to think!” Josta rubbed her forehead. “Belide has many friends. She sees them at the market or walking by the river. I try to know who they are, but the Christian ones don’t often visit.”

“What about a boy named Arnald Barleysilk?” Solomon asked. “His father is a salt merchant, I think.”

“Yes, I know him,” Josta said. “He lives close by. He and Belide played together when they were children but I don’t think she’s seen him outside of the market since then.”

Solomon told her of his meeting with Arnald on the barge. As he did, the worry in Josta’s face turned to anger.

“He said that he and Belide were helping Aaron Ha-Cohen?” she asked. “That’s nonsense! How could they help him? What could Belide and Arnald be plotting?”

“I don’t believe they’re lovers,” Solomon said, trying to reassure her.

“Oh, no.” Josta gave a humorless smile. “Belide wouldn’t do anything that simple. From what you say, they’re still playing some sort of game and Aaron is involved. I thought he, at least had more sense. My servant, Jermana, says that an injured monk has just been found in the street. Is he part of it, too?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t see him,” Solomon said. “I only heard the commotion. Perhaps he was attacked by a robber.”

“Monks have no money,” Samuel spoke up. “Who would try to steal from one?”

“Maybe it was too dark to tell what he was,” Solomon said. “Or perhaps he was set upon by one of these preachers who want to do away with clerics. The point is that I don’t think it concerns Belide.”

Josta went to fetch her head scarf and shawl.

“Solomon,” she said when she returned. “Will you come with me to the salt merchant’s house? If Arnald isn’t with Belide, he may still know where she has gone.”

“And if he is?”

“Then we had better find him before her father does.” Josta set a small oil lamp inside a closed lantern and handed it to Solomon. Then she turned to her other guest.

“Samuel,” she said. “I apologize profoundly for the behavior of my daughter and, I assure you, she will also do so as soon as she is found. We would be honored if you would return to dine with us on the second night of Pesach.”

Samuel seemed taken aback.

“You want me to go now?” he asked. “Shouldn’t I stay to help you.”

Josta put a hand on his arm. “You have been put out far too much already. We meant only to give you a pleasant break from your studies and look what happened. We’ll let you know in the morning if Belide is home.”

With a hurt look, Samuel acquiesced, bowed, and left.

“Now.” Josta took a deep breath. “Let’s go find my daughter.”

Brother James was deeply asleep. The rigors of the journey had reminded him that he was no longer young. So it was several minutes before he realized that the man shaking him wasn’t part of some troubled nightmare.

“Adonai!”
he cried, raising one arm to protect himself.

“Brother James! Please wake up!”

James finally became aware of where he was. He opened his eyes. There was a man standing over the bed, not a monk. He carried a small tallow candle that gave off more smoke than light.

“Who are you?” James demanded. “What do you want from me?”

His voice held a quaver of terror.

“It’s Marfan, Brother James,” the man told him. “I’m the bailiff for the monks here at Saint Pierre. There’s been an accident. Your friend, Brother Victor, has been hurt. The prior sent me to take you to him.”

James was now fully awake. “Victor! What happened?”

He looked over at the bed next to his. It was empty.

“I don’t know exactly,” Marfan told him. “A watchman from the Cité arrived a few moments ago. He said that a monk had been attacked in the street. They took him to Saint Étienne, but he wasn’t from there. The watchman has been going from one priory to the next to find who had strangers staying with them. Brother Victor is the only one missing.”

“Attacked? I don’t understand.” James fumbled with the laces on his sandals. “What was he doing out of the priory?”

He stopped. “
Senhor
Marfan,” he said. “Could you wait for me in the porter’s alcove? I’ll only be a moment.”

As soon as the bailiff had left, James went to the pack Victor had brought with him. During the day, Victor always carried the gold in bags tied to a belt under his robes. He had taken the belt off and put it in the pack before going to bed. James felt for it in the darkness. When he reached inside, his hand touched one of the bags, the coins solid under his fingers. He exhaled in relief. Whatever Brother Victor had been doing, it wasn’t because he had succumbed to cupidity. He hurried to where Marfan was waiting.