The Wandering Arm (30 page)
Catherine shrugged and unwound the soggy linen from around her neck and head. Lucia took it, wringing it out over the stones in the entry.
“Have you found who killed Natan?” she whispered.
“No, only that Eliazar didn’t,” Catherine answered.
Lucia gave her a sidewise look of doubt. “That’s not enough,” she said. Then she and the wet clothes vanished into the kitchen.
Catherine stood in the entry a moment, then followed the sound of voices upstairs to the main hall.
Eliazar, Solomon, Johannah and Baruch were seated on cushioned chairs close to the fire. As Catherine entered, they all looked up with expressions of guilt. Solomon recovered first.
“Did you swim the Seine to get here?” he asked, getting up. “There is a bridge now, you know.”
That brought Johannah to her feet. “My dear, you’re drenched,” she observed. “Come sit here and warm yourself. Solomon, get her a tisane. What brings you to us on such a day?”
Catherine looked at Baruch, who smiled at her, the firelight gleaming cheerfully off his bald head.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know who you are. I’ve known your father for many years.”
“It was Baruch who found Hubert living in Rouen, when we all thought he had died,” Johannah explained. “He brought your father back to us.”
“That may not be a reason for Catherine to rejoice,” said Eliazar. He regarded her warily. Now that she knew about Brother Thomas and his own role in leading the man from Christianity, perhaps Catherine would begin to agree with Agnes’s opinion of him.
Catherine sat down, unsure herself. Solomon gave her a cup of something warm to drink. She didn’t know what it was, but noticed that no bits were floating in it. She looked at him.
“Chamomile. I strained it for you.” He grinned.
For some reason this made her eyes fill. That this should be the one time in his life that Solomon would choose to be considerate—it wasn’t fair. She drank around the lump in her throat, then turned to her uncle.
“Have you told them?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Do you … do you all agree with his actions?” she asked them.
The other three stared at her and she could feel the space between them grow.
“I am ashamed,” Baruch said and Catherine looked at him with hope. He continued, “Ashamed that I should have mistrusted my old friend. You are a hero, Eliazar. I ask your pardon for my doubts.”
“Well, I’m not ashamed; I’m angry.” Solomon sounded it. “How could you use a man like Natan to help you in something so dangerous? Why didn’t you ask me? I could have sold your canon’s possessions easily. Think of the things I’ve traded for Abbot Suger! Why couldn’t you trust me?”
“Or me?” Johannah said quietly.
Eliazar looked sadly at his wife. “For that, I am sorry,” he said. “And I ask your forgiveness, all of you. I was too proud. I wanted to take all the risk to myself or, even worse, put it on a man for whom I had no affection. It was not distrust, but fear, that kept me from telling you.” He sighed and went on. “I wanted to protect those I loved best. If there was retribution, I wanted to bear it alone.”
“That was very selfish of you, Uncle,” Solomon said.
“Do you think that if the Edomites came to punish you, any of us would be spared, even if we knew nothing of what you had done?” Baruch asked. “Or that, knowing, we would betray you to save ourselves?”
“I don’t know anymore what I thought, beyond believing that I must keep the secret at least until Thomas was safely on his way,” Eliazar said. “After that, I tried not to think of it again. That’s all.”
“Then you didn’t tell them everything, Uncle.” Catherine leaned forward. “They don’t know that someone did find out. Did you reveal that they tried to stab Edgar and very nearly succeeded in killing you?”
“What!” Johannah leapt to her feet and stood over Eliazar, who cowered in his chair. “You told me it was a robbery attempt, that the man tried to cut your purse and got you instead.”
Eliazar put his hands over his face.
“You would have let me be widowed without even knowing why?” Johannah accused. “To think you were the victim of a senseless crime instead of a martyr to the Holy Name? Eliazar, is there no end to your selfishness? I agree with Solomon. Families should die together.”
Eliazar’s fingers parted and he peered up at Johannah with one eye. He gauged the severity of her expression and quickly covered it again.
Solomon tried to stifle a laugh. “I don’t believe I suggested that we all throw ourselves into the flames, Aunt,” he said. “Not unless absolutely necessary. Personally, I feel I have a better chance of avoiding martyrdom if I know what’s going on.”
“Exactly,” Baruch added. “Now, Johannah, stop terrifying us all. Eliazar has said he’s sorry. That should be the end of it.”
“But it isn’t.” Catherine hated to say it. The words made her feel more of an outsider every moment. “Whatever was started last spring is still going on. Natan is dead and whoever killed him may have done it because he helped Brother Thomas. Did none of you ever wonder why, after years of trading in stolen livestock, Natan suddenly began to traffic in gems and ecclesiastical objects? Isn’t that unusual?”
Eliazar shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, I wondered,” he said at last. “I suppose I thought that he had found there was more profit in jewels than sheep. As long as he kept me out of it, I didn’t care. I didn’t like the man. He cheated his own people.”
“Would he have betrayed you?” Catherine asked.
Eliazar shook his head. “No. It’s strange, but I never once thought he might. Perhaps he might have denounced me to the elders, but not to the Christians. Natan had his own honor.”
“But you and Natan were the only ones who knew what Thomas planned?” Solomon understood what Catherine was implying and didn’t notice her attempt to stop him from talking. “Could Thomas have told anyone? Andrew, for instance?”
“Thomas knew what the risk was, especially from the other canons of Saint-Victor,” Eliazar answered. “They would have had him in a cell doing penance and being preached to night and day until he recanted. Isn’t that right, Catherine?”
“I suppose,” Catherine said. “I’ve never known anyone who left the Faith. His superiors would certainly try to convince him of his error.”
“And starve him until he did,” Baruch sniffed.
Catherine turned on him angrily. “What would you do if a child of yours asked for baptism?” she asked.
“I’d never allow—!” Baruch’s repugnance at the thought was obvious. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Yes. I take your meaning.”
“So it isn’t likely that Andrew would know what Thomas planned and ignore it,” Catherine said. “You know him, Uncle. Do you agree?”
Eliazar nodded. “Andrew studies our faith only to find confirmation of his own. But, apart from that failing, he’s a good man. He wouldn’t have permitted Thomas to leave Paris, but neither would he have tried to murder me. If he had wished to, he could have done it anytime this past year.”
“Then who attacked you?” Solomon demanded. “Was Natan murdered because of what he did for you?”
Catherine thought she heard a gasp from the hall. She started up. How long had Lucia been listening? What had she heard?
Eliazar stared at Solomon, about to answer. Catherine raised her hands to stop him. Swiftly, she got up and tiptoed to the curtained doorway. With a sudden movement, she pulled the curtain aside.
Lucia stood in the passage. She showed no indication of being startled or guilty.
“Come in, Lucia,” Catherine said. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to know there’s been more evil done in this house than Natan’s small sins,” she answered, entering the room. “I respected you, Master Eliazar. Natan said you were a good man and he was proud to help you. He was wrong. You used him and then left him out in the dark to die.”
Catherine put an arm around her. “I promised you I’d find Natan’s murderer,” she said. “No matter who it was. We need your help, Lucia. You told me that Natan went to Argentevil to sell some oil clothes. Did you know that after that Natan began dealing in a number of things stolen from a church?”
Lucia shook her head. “Not exactly, although I wouldn’t have cared. My parish does just fine without golden chalices and silk vestments. Our priest says God has no use for such things, so why should the monks and bishops?”
No one offered to disagree.
“Did he ever tell you who he was working with?” Catherine asked. “Someone at Argenteuil?”
“He went there sometimes,” Lucia answered. “But there was also someone from Notre Dame. He hated going near the cloister, but the man insisted. I don’t know his name. Natan might not have, either.”
“That still might help,” Catherine said. “If you remember any more, will you tell us?”
“Of course,” Lucia answered.
“Thank you,” Catherine said. “And what about Brother Thomas?”
“Who?” Lucia looked at them all, as if appraising their worth. She shook her head. “I never heard of a Brother Thomas.”
Johannah looked at the maid with new eyes. But she asked none of the questions that rushed into her mind. “Well, then. Have you finished boiling the pans for Passover?” she asked instead.
“Not yet,” Lucia answered. “I’ll have them done before I go home tonight. I’ll light the lamps for you before I go.”
Johannah nodded. “I’ll be down to help you shortly.”
Lucia left.
Solomon looked at Catherine. “What was that about?” he asked. “Why did you let her go? She could destroy us all. And where did she learn about the canon? How well did she know Natan?”
“She just told you that she’ll say nothing,” Catherine answered.
Solomon still looked doubtful.
“Under my own roof!” Johannah exclaimed. “How could I be so negligent?”
“That well?” Solomon whistled. “And she has very large brothers, too. I did underestimate Natan.”
Catherine got up. “Solomon, would you walk me home?” she asked. “I’ll explain everything and you can tell me on the way what you intend to do about Abbot Suger’s nephew.”
“There’s not a lot I can do if Gerard wants to run about the countryside with chalices in his pack,” Solomon replied. “He could easily argue that I attacked him. Baruch agrees with me. There’s nothing more to be done. And if Natan was working with him, there’s all the more reason to forget the matter.”
He reached for his cloak all the same.
Catherine kissed her aunt and uncle good-bye, but not with the same warmth as before. They all felt it.
Solomon helped her on with her cloak. Her scarf was still dripping in the kitchen so she put the hood over her loose braids. Neither one of them spoke until they were out on the street, heading for the rue de Juiverie.
“Now,” Solomon said cheerfully. “Where are we really going?”
Edgar had tried to find out from Gaudry more about the man who had ordered the reliquary, but either the smith didn’t know or he wouldn’t say. After much prodding, Edgar decided it was the former.
“He’s a medium-sized, pinched-faced man,” Gaudry repeated. “Looks underfed, although I’ve heard the canons do fairly well for themselves, out of rents and suchlike.”
“But you’re not sure he’s from Notre Dame?” Edgar reminded him.
“Sure enough,” Gaudry said. “I’ve seen him about the town. Even though he lives in the cloister, he has property he takes rent from, not far from the tavern where I met you.”
“But you’re certain that you don’t know his name?”
“I never asked.” Gaudry returned to his work. “And don’t start. Neither am I sure where we are right now. I took the directions, but I didn’t look to see what was above us. And if you find out, don’t tell me. It’s always better not to know.”
That was clear enough. Edgar knew he would get no more information. They had finished for the day. He banked the coals and then studied the gold-plated box in the lamplight. At the moment, that’s all it was, a piece of hollow wood shaped like an arm, its only value the cost of the gold and the skill of the craftsmanship.
But add a piece of bone or a lock of hair or even a shred of cloth that had belonged to one of the martyrs or church fathers and that same piece of work would become priceless. It would be revered, honored, displayed on the high altar on feast days, even brought out and threatened with destruction if the community thought the saints weren’t doing their best to protect their people. But what if the saint weren’t in the reliquary at all? What if there were no miracles because the box contained the bone of a farmer or the tunic of a bathhouse cleaner? What would that do to the people who prayed and believed they had received no answer?
Like Catherine, Edgar had a sudden urge to run to someone else who would answer these questions for him. He wanted Master Abelard, but Abelard was now at Cluny, under the protection of Abbot Peter. And the Master was ill, perhaps dying, although Edgar feared it was more from discouragement at the condemnation of his life’s work than from the sickness that had plagued him the past few years.
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