The Wandering Arm (5 page)
She looked at him in disgust. Edgar could guess what she’d heard about the scholars of Paris. She seemed about to say more, but turned instead to Catherine.
“Better today, dear?” she asked. “Your color is back some. You haven’t been crying again?”
She glared at Edgar.
“What have you been saying to the poor thing?” she demanded.
“He said nothing,” Catherine told her. “It hurts us both very much that the child didn’t live long enough to be baptized.”
“Not baptized?” the midwife asked. “Who told you that?”
“She was stillborn,” Edgar said. “Marie told me she was dead when she appeared. How could she … .?”
“What do you learn in Paris, then?” the midwife asked. “The child was wiggling when I turned it. As soon as that little foot appeared, I dipped my hand in the holy water Father Anselm gave me and said as I pushed it around, ‘Child of God, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. May Satan never claim thee.’ Just as I was taught.”
“You did?” Edgar and Catherine spoke together, so pleadingly that the midwife softened to them.
“You poor children,” she said. “I will take an oath on it, if you like. Here you’ve been harrowing your souls and all you had to do was ask me. That’s a penance for pride, that is.”
“It is, indeed!” Edgar said and, to her great astonishment, he grabbed the old woman and kissed her. “I am well and truly penitent. Thank you.”
Catherine was trying without success not to start crying again. She felt as if there had been a thick pillow pressing down on her, smothering her, and then all at once it had been released. She took a deep breath.
You see?
the voices were smug.
We told you to have faith.
the voices were smug.
We told you to have faith.
She was so relieved, she let them gloat.
Paris, the home of Eliazar, scholar and merchant, Feast of Saint Timothy, follower of Saint Paul, Friday afternoon, January 24, 1141/13, Shebat, 4901
shelo’ lekach genivat gabbea’ veto’evah u-begadin tzeva’im vesefen tefillot ’avodah zaah ve-kol meshamsheyah mashum sekenah.
[one should] not buy a stolen chalice or cross or ecclesiastical garb, or prayer books of foreign worship or any of the ritual implements, because of the danger.
—
Takkanah
of R. Jacob Tam
“
Y
ou have a visitor,” Eliazar’s wife, Johannah, told him. “I’ve put him in the entryway.”
Y
ou have a visitor,” Eliazar’s wife, Johannah, told him. “I’ve put him in the entryway.”
“A visitor? Now?” Eliazar asked. “But it’s almost
Shabbat.
And you didn’t ask him to join our Sabbath meal? Is he Christian?”
Shabbat.
And you didn’t ask him to join our Sabbath meal? Is he Christian?”
“You know I keep special dishes for our Christian guests,” Johannah reminded him. “I would not be so rude as to send them away without at least offering to share our meal. No, it’s Natan again, with his oily hair and beard and that smile that makes me want to lock up all the serving girls.”
Eliazar laughed. “Charity, my dear. He is one of us, and we owe him an invitation, even if his appearance doesn’t please you.” Or
me,
he added to himself.
me,
he added to himself.
“But if you hurry your business with him, he can be out well before sundown and celebrate
Shabbat
with his own family,” Johannah said. “Go on now.”
Shabbat
with his own family,” Johannah said. “Go on now.”
She gave his shoulder a gentle push. With a sigh, he rose from his chair and went down to greet his visitor.
Johannah was not so unmindful of her duty as a hostess to simply leave Natan shivering in the entry. She had set him down next to a brazier of hot coals set on an iron tripod and given him a measure of warmed spiced beer. All the same, the man was not happy about being left outside the main part of the house. He stood as soon as Eliazar came down, and not out of respect.
“What sort of welcome is this?” he demanded. “Am I, a brother, to be left here in the cold? You wouldn’t even treat an Edomite beggar like this.”
Eliazar spread his hands in apology. “What can I do, Natan? When Johannah starts cleaning for the Sabbath, even I am forced to do business in the street.”
Privately, he was glad he had such a strong-willed wife. In the times Natan had eaten with them, he had criticized the purity of the food, the quality of the dishes and the conversation. His beard and hair were shiny with perfume and oil, like the men of the court whom he imitated. His surcoat was embroidered with sleeves slashed in the latest fashion also. These manners had been brought to Paris four years ago, along with the new queen from Aquitaine, Eleanor, and were considered terribly sophisticated in some circles.
Eliazar had no use for those who aped the behavior of the southerners. In this he was not alone. There had been numerous sermons by the Christian priests against the frivolity of the court, not least those preached by the influential abbot of Clairvaux, Bernard. But the sale of perfume and scented oil continued to rise all the same.
Eliazar smiled at Natan. “I know you are only stopping by on your way to your own home. I don’t want to make you late. What news have you brought?”
“News?” Natan sounded annoyed. “I have no news. I’ve been traveling constantly for the last few weeks and have had no time to spend trading stories.”
Then he, too, forced a smile, as if remembering that he was the guest. “You misunderstood, my dear friend,” he said.
Eliazar reflected that the oil in his beard had penetrated to his voice.
“I’ve only come to ask a small favor. Of course, I will be only too happy to give you something to express my gratitude.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Eliazar said coldly.
“Of course not,” Natan answered. “An upright man has no desire for reward. And it is only a small request.”
He looked down. Eliazar followed his glance. At Natan’s feet lay a sack. He bent over and took a box from it. The box was wooden, about three feet long, six inches or so wide and about as deep. It was nailed shut and then tied with rope.
“I have to go away again for several days and I’d like you to keep this for me in your treasure room,” Natan said.
Eliazar squinted at the box in suspicion. “Why can’t you have your nephew, Haquin, keep it?” he asked.
“Haquin doesn’t have the security you do,” Natan said. “He’s only a draper. His shop can be entered too easily.”
“Clearly this thing has great value, if you won’t trust it to your own kin,” Eliazar said, intrigued in spite of himself. “I thought you dealt in animals. Where did you come by something of such worth?”
“I traded for it honestly!” Natan insisted. “I saw an opportunity to better myself and I took it. Do you have any objection to that? You never did before. It seems to me that your family were once nothing more than fishmongers in Rouen.”
“I only wish we could be so again,” Eliazar answered. “So, what is this treasure you had the luck to acquire?”
Natan hugged the box to his chest like a favorite child. “You don’t need to know that,” he said. “Just put it in a dark corner of your storeroom and forget about it.”
Eliazar shook his head. “I can’t do that, Natan. I need to know what is in the box so that I can give you a receipt.”
“I trust you, Eliazar,” Natan insisted. “That’s why I’ve come to you. I don’t need a receipt.”
Eliazar’s eyes opened wide and his hand flew to his own beard in astonishment. “That settles it,” he said. “I will not keep this unless I see for myself what you have in this box and give you a detailed list of the contents, along with a copy confirmed with your seal.”
Natan started backing toward the door. “I told you that wouldn’t be necessary!” he shouted. “If I’m willing to trust you so well, why can’t you give me the same respect?”
“Because I know you, Natan ben Judah,” Eliazar answered. “Your father was a good man who honored the commandments and wasn’t ashamed of being poor. You smear mud on his name with your velvet tunics and Gentile manners. If you had a tenth part of his integrity, you would tell me at once what you’ve brought to me and how you came by it.”
“How dare you insult me!” Natan said, stuffing the box back into the sack. “I would have paid you well for nothing more than a bit of space. But you treat me worse than you would a leper sitting in his own filth. Have you forgotten what you owe me? You will pay for your arrogance, Eliazar!”
He put his cloak on with a sweeping gesture that nearly upset the brazier.
“Yes, no doubt I will pay,” Eliazar nodded, guiding him to the door. “Don’t you think you should go before you’re caught carrying that thing on the Sabbath?”
He only meant to remind Natan of the prohibition against carrying anything on the day of rest, but the man reacted as if he had been struck.
“You hypocrite! You knew all along!” he shrieked. “You were trying to deceive me into sharing the profit with you. Now you’ll get nothing, nothing from me, ever. Who told you? It was Solomon, wasn’t it? That nephew of yours is half a Christian already. He heard of it from them, didn’t he?”
They were outside in the courtyard now and Natan’s voice carried up and down the narrow street.
“No one has said anything to me,” Eliazar said quietly. “I know nothing of your business.”
“You’re lying!” Natan shouted. “You want to steal it. You want to kill me and steal it!”
“Natan, you’re mad,” Eliazar told him, fearing it was true. “Go home, eat, rest. Come talk to me in a few days, when you’re able to speak reason.”
He opened the gate. Natan backed through it, still yelling accusations at Eliazar, who finally lost his temper enough to slam the thick outer door shut and drop the bar with a satisfying thud. But Natan could still be heard.
“You’ll see! One day I’ll be rich and you and your family will come as beggars to my table,” he screamed. “You’ll live to regret treating me like this, Eliazar ben Meir.”
“No doubt,” Eliazar muttered as he gratefully closed the inner door.
He took off his cloak and put it on a hook. His hands were cold; he had forgotten to put on his gloves. The air was redolent with the aroma of meat and bread. The Christian servant, Lucia, was just finishing laying the table. He closed his eyes and let the tranquillity and order, the small, familiar sounds, restore his humor.
He would go to the synagogue to greet the Sabbath and, when he returned, Johannah would have said the blessing over the candles. It would be just the two of them tonight. Yes, he was glad that Natan had not joined them. It was a rare Sabbath that they had no guests to share their meal.
“You know, my dear,” he said as his wife came in to oversee the preparations, “your price truly is above rubies.”
“I should hope so,” Johannah answered. “Now, hurry. That Natan has made you late for services.”
At about that same time, Catherine’s servant, Samonie, was bringing her dinner up the narrow stairs to the women’s rooms.
“Here’s some stew, Lady Catherine,” Samonie announced as she entered. “I’ll reheat it on the brazier for you.”
Catherine sniffed. “That’s the rabbit stew from yesterday,” she said in horror. “I can’t have that. It’s Friday.”
“You need to get your strength back,” Samonie said. “Even I know people are not required to abstain from meat when they’re sick.”
“But I’m not sick,” Catherine said. “Only sad and tired and still a bit sore. I can’t eat this. I’m sorry.”
“Catherine LeVendeur, you shall eat every bite and lick the bowl.”
Both women started. They hadn’t heard Edgar come in.
“Don’t worry, Samonie,” he said. “I have permission to visit. Catherine, even in the monasteries, people recovering from illness are given meat. You need it.”
He took the stew from Samonie and sat down next to Catherine, spoon in one hand, bowl in the other. “I’ll feed you if I have to,” he threatened. “Please, Catherine. They won’t let you out of here until you’re stronger and I’m so tired of sleeping with a bunch of farting men-at-arms.” He bent over her and whispered, “You do it with so much more elegance.”
“Edgar!” Catherine gasped. “Don’t make me laugh! You have no idea what that does to my stomach.”
They both glanced over at Samonie, only to find she had made a discreet exit.
“Now eat your stew,” Edgar said, “while I tell you about a very odd proposal your father has made me.”
Catherine took a bite. She swallowed. No lightning struck. No voices reproved. She took another.
“Father?” she asked, pulling a bone splinter out of her mouth. “What does he want you to do now? If he’s sending you off to the antipodes the way he does Solomon, I won’t have it … unless I go too.”
“No, it was more strange than that,” Edgar said. “Keep eating. He wanted to know if I knew anything about working in metal.”
“What kind of metal?” she asked, peering into the bowl. “Do you think this white thing is a turnip?”
“Gold and silver, I think,” he said. “Stop examining the food. Just swallow it.”
“Do you?” she asked, swallowing cautiously. It seemed to be a turnip. “Work in metal, I mean?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “You need to be a real apprentice to learn the techniques. I’ve only been able to work seriously with wood and stone, picking up lessons here and there. I’m not sure I’d be very good at metal, although I’d like to try. I used to watch the armorers at our castle. They made some beautiful stirrups and bridle pieces.”
“Don’t they make carved molds for molten ores?” Catherine suggested. “You could do that, I suppose. But why would my father encourage it? He doesn’t approve of your doing manual labor any more than your father did.”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Edgar said. “Now what are you doing?”
“This bit is definitely not a turnip,” Catherine said, poking at a lump with the edge of her spoon. “Didn’t he even give you a clue?”
“Eat it anyway,” Edgar told her. “Not really. He was very close about his reasons. Asked a lot of questions about the time I spent working on the sculptures at Saint-Denis. Did I really do the work or was Garnulf covering for me? How did I adapt to being treated as a workman?”
Catherine snorted and ate around the suspicious lump. “I can answer that,” she said. “You were the most arrogant apprentice sculptor I ever met.”
She leaned back on the pillows. Edgar put the almost-empty bowl on the stand by the bed. He smoothed the curls on her forehead.
“And you were the least spiritual novice nun I ever met.”
They smiled at each other, remembering.
Edgar found himself thinking that he was not going to last the forty days required before resuming marital relations. “So,” he said. “What do you make of it?”
“What?” she asked. Her mind had also wandered from the subject at hand. “Oh, Father. I can’t imagine. But, whatever it is, promise you won’t do it without me.”
Other books
Full Bloom by Jayne Ann Krentz
Why Shoot a Butler by Georgette Heyer
Crossing the Line by Barbara Elsborg, Deco, Susan Lee
Furever Mated (BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance) by Meredith Clarke
Immortal Love by Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban
Cold Eye of Heaven, The by Hickey, Christine Dwyer
We Will All Go Down Together by Gemma Files
Gray Matters by William Hjortsberg
The Notebook + The Proof + The Third Lie by Agota Kristof
Repeat It Today With Tears by Anne Peile