The Devil's Door (19 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General

BOOK: The Devil's Door
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They waited.
“I’m the dung collector,” he went on. “And I saw the men who put poor old Lisiard in Gershom’s shop.”
The Great Hall of the palace, Feast of Saint Leo,
Thursday, April 11, 1140
ve‘ilu shekufin ’oto lehotzi’: mukkah shechin … vehamekametz,
vehametzaref nehoshet vehaburesi …
And these are those who are compelled to free their wives: one who suffers from boils on the skin, … and the collector of dung, and the smelter of copper, and the tanner …
—Mishnah Ketubot 7:10
“
I
’m the best dung collector in Troyes, my lady,” Lascho told the countess. “I can tell just by looking what sort of animal left it. The horse and cattle droppings I sell to the farmers, the dog dung to the tanners. Human’s good for nothing. I just dump it in the canal. But I keep it nice and divided in my cart. And I get it all. When was the last time you stepped into a pile on your way to Mass?”
The countess Mahaut regarded the man standing before her as if he were another species. He was brown all over, with wisps of hay sticking to his hair and clothes. He and his occupation seemed to have merged. Yet his identity and honesty had been vouched for by the required number of people of the town. So his testimony must be listened to.
“I’m pleased to hear that you perform your job so well,” she said. “I will bring it to the attention of Count Thibault when he returns. Now, these people say you have information regarding the murder of the man, Lisiard?”
Lascho’s forehead creased in his effort to form his answer. He had been warned of the dangers, here and in the hereafter, of giving out misinformation.
“Well, not about the murder, exactly,” he hedged. “I didn’t see the man killed. I’d have gone to the bishop or Count Nocher, here, if I’d seen that. But I did see them who took him away and hung him up like a poor dumb beast. I did see that.”
He stood alone in the middle of the hall, a mixture of terror and bravado. It was the grandest place he had ever been in. Since the death of his mother, he had rarely been allowed inside a house. The tanners let him use their sheds on cold or rainy nights or he slept in the entrance to one of the churches. For food he paid when he could and begged when he couldn’t. He was the least noticed human in Troyes.
And now everyone was looking at him.
“Tell us what you saw, then,” Mahaut prompted.
Lascho took a deep breath. “It was nearly dawn, only a few stars left, on the night before last. I was sleeping in the porch of Saint-Urbain but I knew the canons would be along soon and I wanted to be gone before they came and tripped over me.”
He paused. “They do that sometimes. They don’t see me. Then they swear and that makes them angry so they kick me for good measure. I was crossing the court to Saint-Jacques, where it’s not as warm but they don’t get up so early, when I saw these two men, dragging something.”
“It was still dark,” the countess said. “How could you see what it was?”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Lascho said. “But it didn’t seem honest to me, dragging things about before the sun rises, so I ducked behind a row of barrels and watched. They passed right by me and I heard one say, ‘Christ, he’s heavy!’ and the other one answered, ‘Damn bricon spent all his time in the kitchens. We’ll never get him up on that butcher’s hook.’”
Catherine joined in the collective gasp at this revelation. Poor Lisiard! Mocked even by his murderers. But there seemed no doubt that the dung collector was telling the truth. He couldn’t have known about Lisiard’s preference for food over fighting. He wouldn’t have been allowed close enough to a kitchen to hear the gossip.
Mahaut waited for the exclamations to subside. Then she leaned forward in her chair and asked quietly, “Did you recognize the men?”
Lascho twisted his fingers through his beard in his nervousness. He spent a minute in the effort to untangle his hand. Then he shook his head.
“It was too dark,” he said. “One was tall and broad in the shoulder; the other much smaller. They said nothing else; I didn’t know the voices. I’m sorry. Do I still get a loaf of bread?”
“What?” Mahaut was polite, but puzzled.
“Those two said if I came with them and told the story, that I could have a whole loaf, not ever dripped on by anyone, and a mug of beer.”
He pointed at Catherine and Edgar. Edgar stepped forward.
“I did promise him food if he told you what he had told us. Forgive my presumption, my lady countess,” he said.
Mahaut nodded and gestured to her chaplain, Conon.
“Have this man taken to Isembard,” she ordered. “Tell him that Lascho has been most helpful in the search for the murderers of his nephew and that he is to be given whatever he wishes to eat and drink.”
The dung collector was stunned to tears by this largess.
“Thank you, lady, thank you,” he repeated. “May Our Lord reward you for your kindness.”
Mahaut smiled as he was led out.
“The blessings of the poorest reach God’s ears first,” she said. “Are the men of his community here to testify for the butcher?”
“Yes, my lady,” her chamberlain said. “They have spoken with Gershom and are waiting outside to give pledges as to his innocence.”
As the
parnassim
af Trayes came in, Catherine was relieved to see Solomon among them. She and Edgar, their part over, moved back to a seat against the wall and she signaled her cousin to join them.
She hugged him. “I was so worried about you last night,” she whispered. “You should have stayed with us.”
Solomon disengaged himself.
“You keep forgetting, Catherine,” he said. “I’m not one of you. My duty was to my brother, Gershom. I may not keep to the Law like the
tovim
of this town, but I wouldn’t hide under a false name and let you Christians kill one of my people. Nor would I cower behind barred gates.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Catherine sensed that his rebuke wasn’t for her, alone. “You’ve proved that many times. I was only concerned for you.”
Solomon nodded and squeezed her hand.
“It was kind of you, Catherine,” he sighed. “Forgive me, I haven’t slept at all. Of course the elders refused to rest when one of their own was in danger. My throat is full of road dust and my backside is sore from riding.”
“I still have some of that goose grease salve left,” Edgar offered.
“Keep it,” Solomon laughed. “You may have need of it again.”
He got up.
“When the
parnassim
have finished negotiating, they want to meet the two of you,” he said. “They would like you to come to the house of Rabbi Samuel this afternoon.”
Catherine was aware of her own exhaustion and the fact that it had been some time since her hair had seen a comb. In the Paraclete now they would be putting away the manuscripts and writing tools and preparing for Sext. It seemed impossible that it had only been a few days since she left. She was in another world.
She had missed an exchange between Edgar and Solomon.
“Fine,” Solomon was saying. “I’ll return for you then.”
Edgar took Catherine’s arm.
“We must thank the countess for her hospitality,” he said. “Salomon says we can stay in the Jewish quarter tonight and leave tomorrow with some wine traders.”
“But what about Lisiard?” Catherine asked. “And finding out about the land for Mother Héloïse and …”
“We can do that this afternoon,” Edgar said. “The elders may be able to help us.”
He was hurrying her up the stairs almost roughly, his fingers pressed into the flesh of her upper arm.
“Edgar, what is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer until they were back in their alcove. Catherine noticed with regret that the bed had been dismantled. Their things were in a pile on the floor.
“Carissma.”
He held her close. She could feel his heart thumping against her chest. She ran her fingers along his ribs. He was too thin; she could feel each one.
“Dilectissime,”
she murmured.
He drew his hand down her jawline. She had proved herself strong many times, but to him she would always seem fragile. He tilted her face to his.
“Catherine, we came here because your father wanted you someplace safe,” he said. “We were supposed to ask a few simple questions quietly and inconspicuously. On every level we have failed.” He kissed her. “My dear, you are not an inconspicuous sort of person.”
Catherine thought of Count Raynald and his father. She had made herself all too memorable to them.
“So, are you telling me we should run away?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he answered. “Never. But there is little more we can do here. It’s up to Nocher and to Lisiard’s family to find those who killed him. If, as we believe, his death was connected with that of Alys and the disposition of her property, then all this should be brought to the attention of Abbess Héloïse as soon as possible. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes …” She was still unconvinced. “But why shouldn’t we stay here a few more days to get the information we came for?”
For answer he reached out and pulled open the curtain across the alcove. As he did, there was a rustle and they caught a glimpse of a shadow as someone rushed down the winding stairs. Catherine nodded, her eyes wide.
“Of course. Those who would not fear to kill a man who lived here, who had family and friends all around, wouldn’t hesitate to murder a pair of strangers with no kin nearby,” she said. “I wish I knew what this was all about.”
“At the moment, Catherine, I don’t care,” Edgar said. “Abbot Bernard says that a curious person is an empty person. I don’t think he meant empty to the limit that Lisiard was taken, but all the same, I prefer to live in ignorance a while longer.”
“How much longer?” Catherine wanted to know. “I don’t believe curiosity is a sin if it leads to the truth.”
Edgar smiled. “I don’t either. I am as much a student of Master Abelard as you. But I think we should control our thirst for knowledge until we are safely away from the palace and whoever it is who is watching us so intently.”
Catherine shivered as if a cold hand had suddenly clutched at her neck.
“Shall we wait in the courtyard for Solomon?” she said as they gathered up their things. “No one can come upon us unawares out there.”
Upon entering the home of Rabbi Samuel they were given water to wash in and then honeycakes and wine with mint sprigs in it to drink. After they were made comfortable, the other elders came in and thanked them.
“Without you to speak for him, poor Gershom might have been killed before we could arrive,” Samuel told Catherine. “You are a true child of our lost brother Hubert.
Todah robah,
to you both.”
Another of the elders added, “Solomon says you have come here to find out about some land in the forest of Othe. We have noticed a certain interest in this area recently, ourselves. Peter of Baschi and Raynald of Tonnerre’s father, William, have both wanted to know if we held pledges of land in that region and what they could redeem them for.”
“But Joseph ben Meïr said that Peter was in debt to him and we know he also has borrowed from the nuns of the Paraclete,” Edgar said. “How could he redeem anyone else’s pledges when he has so many of his own?”
“That, I cannot tell you,” the elder said. “But Nicholas of Mon-tieramey, Bishop Hatto’s chaplain, has indicated to me that there are those in high authority who would be willing to stand security for him.”
“Really?” Catherine said. “I wonder why they don’t want to deal with you directly.”
The man shrugged. “There are many who don’t wish it known that they do business with us, especially those of the Church for whom anything smelling of usury also smells of sulfur and brimstone. We have always admired Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis for his open honesty in his dealings with the Jews. Most clerics refuse to risk the stigma.”
“And yet, they seem willing to risk their souls to acquire this land,” Catherine said. “What could there be about it? Have you been to the forest?”
Rabbi Samuel nodded. “I’ve passed through it. It’s only a forest. The Othe is mostly unused. It contains great stands of oak and chestnut. It may be that they think they can make a profit from the wood. With the new fashion in building, long beams will be needed for roofing. Suger had to perform a miracle to get enough wood for the roof at Saint-Denis.”
Solomon laughed. “You mean he had to go out himself to find it. His builder tried to tell him that there were no trees left tall enough for his needs and he had to buy further away. He didn’t count on the abbot hitching up his robes and scrambling through the forest, himself, to mark the trees tall enough for the beams.”
Rabbi Samuel laughed, too. “More than one man has regretted equating the abbot’s size with his shrewdness. Rather than confront the builder with his trickery and cause resentment, Suger simply announced that it must be a miracle. The trees had grown overnight in answer to his prayers.”

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