“Perhaps they did,” Catherine said. “You may be right that Raynald and the others want the forest land to sell the wood. Henry Sanglier is looking for material, I hear, for his new cathedral at Sens, but that isn’t enough to explain why they would kill for it. Most of the world is covered by trees.”
“We can’t answer that,” Rabbi Samuel told her. “Nor do we know why poor Gershom was brought into this Christian situation. He does no money lending. He’s simply a butcher.”
“It may be that his was the first shop the men came to,” Edgar suggested. “Lascho said that the men were staggering under the weight of the body.”
“No, Gershom’s wasn’t closest,” Rabbi Samuel said. “They chose him for some reason.”
“If the body had been found in one of your homes, what would have happened?” Catherine asked.
There was a brief consultation in Hebrew.
“The Law on that is fairly clear,” Rabbi Samuel told her. “We would have searched for his family. If we found no relatives, we would have paid for his burial among his own kind.”
“But would there have been such an uproar?” she continued.
“Perhaps,” Rabbi Samuel said. “Who knows? Certainly he wouldn’t have been discovered by Christians. We would have had time to go to the proper authorities. Of course, it would have been just as difficult to prove we had nothing to do with his death. You think that his killers intended to start a riot against us?”
“Well, it occurred to me, …” Catherine hesitated. Now that she had thought of it, the thing seemed obvious and she didn’t want to embarrass these scholars. However … “If the object was to find pledges for property, a riot in which your homes were ransacked would be a good opportunity to search for them.”
“But all our pledges are in Hebrew,” Rabbi Samuel pointed out.
“There are Christians who can make out some Hebrew,” Catherine argued. “Even Abbess Héloïse reads it a little. She studied it in Paris when she lived with her uncle. That was one of the reasons she left Argentueil, where she was a boarder. She wanted to study Hebrew as well as attend the lectures.
“Of course,” she added, trying to imagine Heloïrse so long ago, “then she met Master Abelard.”
Rabbi Samuel was not interested in Héloïse’s background but was clearly startled by the notion that Peter may have had some understanding of Hebrew.
“Peter of Baschi did study in Paris and Melun, both of which have Hebrew scholars,” he said. “It’s possible. We have had a number of Christians come to us. I never considered Peter the sort who would, but still … when I think of the times we spoke in front of him and the things we said … I’ve been a fool.”
“Can you help the women of the Paraclete recover what they loaned Deacon Peter?” Edgar asked.
“I would like to,” Rabbi Samuel said, “if only to repay you for your service to us. But he has powerful friends. What you need is to go to one of them. The Paraclete is under the jurisdiction of Bishop Hatto, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine admitted. “Mother Héloïse didn’t suggest it. Perhaps he’s one of the powerful people also seeking control of this land.”
“I’m sorry,” Rabbi Samuel said. “I don’t have the authority to make this man pay us, much less your abbess. In the end we may have to turn to the bishop, ourselves, or Count Thibault, to get some return on what we’ve loaned him.”
“I wish we at least knew who owned the property adjacent to the pieces Alys left the convent,” Catherine said.
“Joseph, the wine seller, could have told you part of that,” Rabbi Samuel said. “He holds a pledge there as well. In the forest of Othe, the land is divided between the count of Tonnerre, Walter of Grancy and the monastery of Vauluisant.”
“Well, we know that both Vauluisant and Raynald of Tonnerre have shown some interest,” Edgar said. “And if Walter could be proven to have attacked Alys, his lands might be forfeit. I wish we could find him.”
Rabbi Samuel brightened. “There, at least, we can help you,” he said. “Walter is hiding in the forest with the hermit of Lailly.”
“He’s what?”
“The who?”
“How do you know?”
Catherine, Edgar and Solomon all spoke at once. Rabbi Samuel seemed delighted to have made such an impression.
“Yehiel saw him last week when he stopped by to visit Gaufridus,” he told them. “Yehiel, come here.”
Solomon’s friend stepped forward. He was about thirty, so “elder” must have been an honorary title. He was built like a blacksmith rather than a scholar, all but his hands, Catherine noted. They were soft and white. Only the middle finger of his right hand had a callus. Catherine had one just like it, from hours of holding a pen.
“I’d have told you, Solomon,” Yehiel apologized. “I knew he was hiding from Raynald and William; I didn’t realize you were looking for him, too. He’s staying in a hut near the hermit’s cottage. He seemed quite happy when I saw him. Says he might take up the contemplative life.”
Rabbi Samuel nodded in satisfaction. “I should have thought of sending you there, myself. I don’t know what the murders of the cook’s nephew or the countess of Tonnerre have to do with us, but if the links are there, then Gaufridus will have found them. He may not seem to be aware of it, but nothing happens concerning the forest that he isn’t told. If someone intends to chop it down to build cathedrals, he’ll be the one to tell you. He grumbles enough about the damage the charcoal burners do. Yes, that’s the man you should see.”
Catherine and Edgar looked at each other. Edgar spoke for them both.
“Is there no one else?” he asked. “Catherine and I have not had great good fortune consulting with hermits.”
Rabbi Samuel laughed. “You may not with this one, either,” he said. “It depends on his mood. But if you want to unravel this tangle, then you will need his help.”
“Where can we find him?” Edgar asked.
Yehiel answered, “His hermitage is in the forest about a mile from the village of Lailly. Anyone who lives there can direct you.”
“If you can be ready to leave in the morning,” Rabbi Samuel added, “there is a party of brethren from Lyons, who are on their way to Sens. You can travel with them.”
Edgar turned to Catherine. “What do you think?”
“We have no choice,” she answered. “We have vowed to find the answers. We can’t ignore someone who might be able to give them to us.”
“It’s settled, then.” Rabbi Samuel clapped his hands. “In gratitude for your help, Gershom has roasted the first of the spring lamb. Last autumn’s wine should be ready for tasting. Tonight we shall feast. You will join us?”
Lamb and new wine. Catherine’s mouth watered.
“We would be honored,” Edgar said.
That night Solomon sat with them. Tables had been set up in the courtyard of Rabbi Samuel’s home and all the Jews of Troyes were there to celebrate. Solomon ate until Catherine feared he would burst.
“I’ve never known you to be a glutton,” she told him.
“That’s because you usually see me when I have to eat trafe,” he said. “It’s so good to have real food again.”
He ripped off another piece of bread, soaked with juice from the lamb.
“I never thought of that,” Catherine said. “I always knew Jews wouldn’t eat at Christian tables, but you do. Why?”
“I eat what’s there,” Solomon said in annoyance. “Would you rather I starved? For one thing, sometimes it’s safer for me to be Stephen and it would be odd if I didn’t eat whatever was on the plate. But not pork. I never did that, no matter what. I couldn’t. It won’t lie on our stomachs. It’s a known fact.”
Catherine thought of her father, eating hugely of the soups flavored with salted pork. In the winter, it was often the only meat they had. How had he survived? Did baptism, even forced, change one’s stomach as well as one’s soul? She would have to ask Master Abelard his opinion.
Just before they were shown to their bed, Rabbi Samuel came over to Catherine and Edgar.
“The people of the community want you to know that we are not unconcerned about these matters you are seeking answers to,” he said quietly. “We live among you. We speak the same language, sell at the same markets and what happens in the courts of your kings and the abbeys of your monks affects us, too. We are worried that these deaths and this struggle for land are part of something more. And it is especially frightening that we are apparently being made scapegoats. We want you to find out who killed Lisiard. Poor Gershom won’t feel safe in his shop again, in any event. The experience of being dragged through the streets has unsettled him greatly. He has vowed never to sell to Christians again, even if it ruins him. None of us will be completely at ease until those who are responsible are brought before the count and shown to the people of Troyes. It’s not enough to say we’re innocent unless someone else can be proven guilty.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Edgar promised. “But I don’t know how much that will be.”
Rabbi Samuel smiled at him.
“You are a most interesting young man,” he said. “Catherine grew up in Paris and, even before she knew of her father’s family, she knew us. But for you we must seem completely alien. And yet you sit and eat with us and offer your help. It amazes me.”
Edgar shrugged.
“Everything about France is alien to me,” he said. “I was raised to hate Normans and Danes, and several of the families in the neighborhood, not Jews. We have only so much animosity and we spend it on the enemies at hand. It’s not amazing that I have none left for you.”
Rabbi Samuel shook his head. “Nevertheless, I am pleased and ask you to accept my appreciation for your kindness. Good night.”
When he had left and they were settled in bed, Catherine turned to Edgar.
“Do you really think we should waste our time with this hermit?” she fussed, drumming her fingers on his chest.
“I think we need to find Walter of Grancy,” Edgar answered. “If he is staying with this Gaufridus, it wouldn’t hurt to speak with him also.”
“I suppose,” Catherine said, unconvinced. “It just seems that we’re getting farther from the answers. I wanted a chance to speak with Alys’s mother again. I would swear she was utterly taken aback by Raynald’s charge that Paciana was still alive. And her comment that Alys was only interested in worldly matters was very strange. That’s a very odd thing for a mother to say about her dead child, don’t you agree?”
“Mmmm?” Edgar was more than half asleep. “Oh yes, I agree completely.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Catherine?”
“Yes,
carissme?”
“If you’re going to continue moving your fingers like that, would you mind doing it further down?”
Catherine moved her hand. There was another moment of silence.
“Actually, Edgar,” she said, “I don’t think it will be necessary.”
Edgar was feeling much less sleepy. He rolled toward her.
“You may be right,” he whispered. “Can we forget Alys for a while?”
Catherine wrapped herself around him.
“I’ve no objection,” she answered.
The forest of Othe,
Tuesday, April 16, 1140
Il a trové l‘ermite son cortil encloant, …
‘Amis’ dist le ermites, qui fu de bone vie
Et de grant carité, ‘hui mais n’en irés mie;
De la moie viande arés une partie, …’
He found the hermit in his enclosed garden, …
‘Friend,’ said the hermit, who was a man of good will
and great kindness, ‘You will go no further today,
Of my food you will have a share, …’
—Elioxe
Laisse 56—57
T
avelling with a party of merchants made Catherine feel a ravelling with a party of merchants made Catherine feel a little girl again. She had always loved the laughter and singing and the stories the men told as they rode. In those days, she had laughed and sung along and dozed against her father’s back and never noticed that the men all rode with one eye to the forest and one hand on their knives.
Now she dozed against Edgar, delighting in the feel of the sun on her back and oblivious to the rash on her cheek from his woolen cloak. The light was slanting through the trees in golden ribbons and the forest was bright with fresh baby leaves. All the tales of monsters, wildmen and outlaws who were known to roam the woods seeking the weak and unwary seemed impossible on a day like this. Catherine had never seen monsters in the forest; in her experience they were more likely to roam through city streets and dark castle halls.
They arrived at the village of Lailly in the early afternoon. There were no Jews in the town to put them up for the night, so most of the party decided to continue on to Sens. Yehiel offered to stay behind.
“I can introduce you to Gaufridus,” he said. “With him, it’s always better to have someone he knows vouch for you.”
“How do you know him?” Edgar asked. “Is he also a trader?”
“Of course not,” Yehiel answered. “He has no interest in such things, would never dirty his hands with money.”
“Then how could you have come upon him?” Catherine asked.
“Oh, through a friend who brought me to meet him, in the same way I’m bringing you.”
They looked at him with suspicion. Yehiel was clearly not telling them something. He was so full of suppressed laughter that he was in danger of exploding.
Solomon had intended to continue on to Sens with the others and then take a barge to Paris. He was more worried than he had admitted about the attack on Eliazar and wanted to reassure himself that his uncle was recovering. But, watching Yehiel, he decided to stay with Catherine and Edgar instead. Yehiel was known to be a trickster and he had the look of a man preparing a joke. Solomon felt a familial obligation to be sure Catherine wasn’t the butt of it.
The path from the village up to the hermit’s hut was well-worn. Someone had even placed a series of logs across a stretch of mud, a courtesy not often found even on the roads maintained by the local lords. As they approached the hut, they could hear the disputations of a number of quarrelsome goats.
“He keeps goats?” Catherine asked.
“No, his sister does,” Yehiel answered. “She lives in the village with her family and sends one of her children over every day to weed the garden, milk the goats and give the hermit his dinner.”
“I see,” Catherine said. But she didn’t. This didn’t sound like the usual sort of hermitage. Wasn’t he supposed to have exiled himself far from his home to subsist on roots and rainwater?
The hut of the hermit was rude but sturdy, built of stone and wood. Around it was a garden, fenced with brambles to keep animals from getting at it. The roof of the hut was thick with new esseules to keep out the rain. In the door, a small slit had been made in the form of a cross. Yehiel knocked.
They waited.
He knocked again.
“Perhaps he’s not home,” Catherine suggested.
“He’s in there,” Yehiel said and pounded the door with his fist.
Finally they heard a scraping as the bar on the other side of the cross was lifted. A sleepy voice greeted them.
“A blessing on all who come here,” it said. “What the devil do you want?”
“Gaufridus!” Yehiel shouted through the door. “It’s Yehiel. I’ve come to visit you. I’ve some friends with me who are in need of your assistance.”
There was a mumbling from the other side. It sounded to Catherine like, “How can I ever be expected to find the way to heaven with all these interruptions!”
Finally, the door opened. A man of indeterminate age peered out at them. He was thin, but not gaunt; nor did he show any of the signs of excessive disdain for the body that some hermits affected. His robe was worn, but clean, as was his face.
His sister must see that he washes,
Catherine thought with approval.
“Diex vos saut,”
Gaufridus said in resignation. “Weren’t you just here, Yehiel?”
“May the Almighty bless you, as well,” Yehiel responded. “I’m glad to see you again, too. These are my friends, Solomon, of Paris, Catherine, late of the Paraclete, and her husband, Edgar.”
Gaufridus looked sharply at Edgar and Catherine and tried to slam the door. Yehiel’s foot was in the way.
“I’ve taken in all sorts for you, Yehiel,” the hermit said. “But I won’t be harboring any runaway nuns, do you hear?”
Edgar reached for the leather bag around his neck. Why did everyone seem to doubt that he and Catherine had been properly wed?
“I have the contract,” he began. “Abbess Héloïse …”
“I don’t need harboring,” Catherine interrupted. “We’ve come to beg your help. We need information about Count Raynald and Walter of Grancy. It’s very important.”
Through the gap in the door, Gaufridus looked at each of them in turn. At last he sighed and opened the door all the way.
“I hope so,” he said with resignation. “I suppose you might as well come in.”
The single room contained a table that doubled as a bed, a bench and stool and various baskets and wooden bowls. A lantern hung from a hook by the door, next to it a bucket. That was all. But there was a window in one wall covered with greased cloth that let in light and produced a myriad of patterns that gave the room the appearance of being part of a constantly changing tapestry.
Catherine decided it was a good place from which to search for heaven. But she was still doubtful as to the status of Gaufridus as a hermit.
“I can only offer you water,” he said as they entered. “And maybe a bit of rough bread, and perhaps a little cheese, I think.”
He peered into one of the baskets.
“Yes, cheese,” he said. “And new onions.”
He placed a pitcher, the cheese, the green onions and a hunk of bread on the table.
“You’d get better hospitality from the monks, you know,” he hinted.
“This is a feast,” Edgar said. “You honor us.”
“None of your court talk here,” Gaufridus told him, but he seemed mollified by the praise. “Now, what was it that brought you to me?”
They all began speaking at once. The hermit covered his ears.
“Take it in turn,” he ordered. “Murder, monks, butchers, charters and counts!
Quelle briche
! How can these matters concern me? I’m only a poor hermit, I know nothing of such things.”
“You begin it, Catherine,” Solomon suggested. “It all started with Alys.”
Catherine explained about how Alys was brought to the Paraclete to die and the outrage over her bequest. She was in the middle of describing the problem of who had the right to the land when she noticed a young boy standing in the doorway. He was about twelve and had an aureole of golden hair that appeared to have been cut with a sickle.
“Forgive me, Uncle,” he said to Gaufridus. “Mother wants to know if she can have some of your radishes.”
“Yes, take what you want.” Gaufridus waved him away.
The boy didn’t move.
“And Father Vincon would be grateful if you would preach for him on Sunday. He says his throat feels odd.”
“Tell him to stop swearing so much when he loses at draughts and drink wine infused with peppercorns.” He rooted around in another basket and came up with a small packet of pepper, which he handed to the boy.
“You may say, yes, if that doesn’t work I’ll preach for him.”
The boy still didn’t leave.
“What else?” Gaufridus barked.
“Granny needs some more dockroot. She wants you to come with her tonight to help dig.”
“She doesn’t need me!” Gaufridus exploded. “I’ve told that woman it doesn’t matter when the stuff is dug up, as long as you say three paternosters and make the sign of the cross over the spot before the root leaves the earth. It’s pure superstition about having to dig it under a new moon. She could get it at midday and then you could help her.”
His nephew waited. Gaufridus sighed.
“Tell her I’ll come for her after I’ve said the evening psalms.”
“Thank you, Uncle.” The boy grinned and finally left.
Gaufridus returned his attention to his guests.
“Now, where were we?”
Catherine wasn’t sure. Oh yes, the land.
“The donation lies in the forest of Othe, just east of here. We can’t understand why it’s so important. Everyone involved has other property. No one will starve if the Paraclete receives the bequest.”
Gaufridus shook his head.
“I can’t imagine why anyone would care about this forest particularly. There is a rumor that Henry Sanglier wants to build one of those ‘new towns’ and settle some of the serfs who’ve run away to Sens in it. He thinks they’re dangerous, too likely to join communes and riot. But that’s only gossip, and he’d probably settle them nearer the river. I’ve seen no sign of land clearing, except for those desfaé charcoal burners. I don’t understand it; they never used to be so thick. Why would anyone need all that charcoal?”
“Are you sure there are more than usual?” Edgar asked. “All forests have people hiding in them who make charcoal to survive. Was the winter here harder than normal?”
“No, and we take care of our own in Lailly,” Gaufridus said. “These are strangers and the forest is full of them.”
“Has no one sent men to clear them out?” Edgar asked. “My father would drive them from his forests at the point of his spear.”
“No, the monks have apparently given them permission to use their land, as has the count of Tonnerre,” Gaufridus sighed. “No one asked us.”
“It seems we are left with another mystery instead of answers,” Solomon said. “So you have no idea why the forest would be important enough to kill for?”
“I can think of nothing important enough to kill for,” the hermit said. “Now I really can’t see how I can help you any more. If you don’t want another piece of cheese?”
He stood and began edging them to the doorway. As she got up, Catherine heard a giggle at the window.
Gaufridus heard it, too.
“Annali!” he said sternly. “Have you been listening?”
There was a scurrying and more giggles. A moment later, a little girl appeared in the doorway. She was about six, with long thin legs and large brown eyes. Behind her were two other children, a little younger.
“Annali!” Gaufridus repeated. “I am horribly offended by this breach of manners!”
The children did not seem in the least alarmed. They squirmed past the visitors and circled round the hermit, clinging to his robes.
“Story!” they shouted. “We want our story!”
“Have you cleaned the dovecote?” he asked.
They nodded.
“And filled the goats’ water trough?”
“To the very top,” they assured him.
“Very well,” he surrendered. “First I must say farewell to my guests and prepare the oratory for evening prayers.”
He led the others out, the three children still attached to his legs.
“The oratory is just up the path, here,” he explained. “It’s only a small place to pray, not consecrated or anything. And, of course, Yehiel, you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with it.”
Yehiel extended his hand to Gaufridus.
“No,” he said. “But if anyone could convince me to, it would be you. We thank you.”
“I’ve done nothing,” Gaufridus said. “Oh, yes, in the middle of all that tale, wasn’t there something about Walter of Grancy?”
“Yes,” Edgar said. “We must speak to him. Do you know where he is?”
Gaufridus sighed again, with deep emotion.
“I should have said nothing,” he looked at them sadly. “You may as well follow me. Walter is staying near the oratory.”
As they followed him up the path, Catherine fell behind, catching at Edgar’s hand to keep him with her.
“What kind of hermit is this?” she whispered.