The Moneylender of Toulouse (28 page)

“Nothing like Latin for an oath,” I said. “Was your first guess Arnaut Guilabert?”

“Of course,” she said. “He's the only ‘A.G.' we've encountered.”

I turned the pages. There were about two dozen signatures.

“Peirede Capitedenario, Arnald Ascii,” I read. “They're both consuls from the bourg. So is Guilhem Cascavelerius, I think. So are a lot of these. New money types—De Las Tors, Del Claustre, Roaix. They all have those big houses near Saint Sernin. Speaking of which, here's Brother Donatus, surprise, surprise. These names I don't know, but they don't sound Toulousan.”

“Mercenaries, I'll wager,” she said. “Castilians from the sound of them.”

“There are some pages torn out,” I said, holding it open for her to see.

“If Milon had this book, then he might have removed his own name,” she said. “Or Vitalis could have done the same.”

“Why would Guilabert have entrusted this book to Milon?” I wondered. “Why not keep it inside that fortress of his? Unless…”

“Unless Milon stole it,” finished Claudia.

“And his life became forfeit,” I said.

“But why?” asked Helga. “I mean, fine, a bunch of powerful people are working for Guilabert, but what are they doing?”

“If wealthy men conspire, it's usually about gaining more wealth,” I said. “Everyone involved is from the bourg, and the bourg has been increasing its power in the consulate over the past five years.”

“And the consulate has been waging war on the surrounding towns,” said Claudia. “Conquer the area, conquer the markets, and the rich get richer.”

“But everyone knows they are doing that,” said Helga. “So what's the big secret of the book? Why was it worth killing for?”

“Oh, you didn't read the last page,” said Claudia.

“I was getting there,” I said defensively. “I don't like just jumping to the end without reading everything else.”

I flipped through to the last page.

Raimon de Rabastens. Bishop of Toulouse.

“I don't think this is just about money,” I said. “We were looking for something that would show the Bishop owes Guilabert. Here it is.”

“But Helga's right,” objected Claudia. “We don't know what it means. And why was Vitalis hiding it?”

“Maybe we should ask him,” I said.

“Oh, I don't like the sound of that at all,” she said. “Theo, if Donatus thinks we have it, then Guilabert will think that as well. Someone will come looking for it. Maybe a whole lot of armed someones. We can't keep it at our place.”

“I'm thinking we can't keep us at our place right now,” I said. “Scrub your makeup off, get into civilian garb, pick up Portia and go to the Yellow Dwarf. Tell Hugo we're taking Balthazar's old room for the Twelve Days, but we don't want people knowing about it. By the way, how did your other little errand go?”

“I searched, found nothing,” she said.

“That's what I was afraid of,” I said. “All right, better be on your way.”

“What will you be doing?”

“I need to pick up my gear, then make a few stops,” I said, slipping the book into my pouch. “I'll meet you there.”

“Remember,” she said, patting the book. “That's worth killing for.”

I kissed her.

“And that's worth dying for,” I said. “See you soon.”

*   *   *

I was fairly sure that no one was following me this time, and didn't spot anyone watching Honoret's place, which only ruled out the less skilled. I climbed the steps, checked the padlock to make sure it hadn't been tampered with, and went inside our rooms. I quickly gathered my working gear together, and was about to leave when there was pounding on the bottom of the trapdoor.

I pulled my knife out.

“Who is it?” I asked.

A birdcall was the reply. I put the knife away, and knelt to remove the bar.

“What happened?” I asked as I opened the trapdoor. “We were supposed…”

Careless.

The door swung up hard into my jaw, knocking me back onto my rear, and in the instant it took for the stars to stop cascading, Pelardit unfolded his lanky frame into the room with a look of fury. I thought in my stupor that was the first unfeigned expression I had ever seen on him. I tried to regain my balance, but he stepped forward and kicked me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. Then he sat down cross-legged in front of me and closed the trapdoor, sliding the bar into place.

“What on earth…?” I managed to croak as he sat and watched me clutch my stomach.

He fanned his fingers in front of him, and they shimmered and quivered like flames.

“The fire?” I asked hoarsely.

He nodded.

“Nothing to do with me,” I said.

He snatched my bag from the floor, opened it and pulled out the Benedictine robe that I had borrowed from him. He sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, then shoved it into my face.

“I told you I was going to have it cleaned,” I said, my voice muffled by the robe. He pulled it away. “All right, it does smell a bit smoky at that.”

He threw it down, then pounded his fists against his chest. He shaded his eyes with one hand and swept his gaze back and forth across the room, then pounded his chest again, looking at me angrily.

“The reason I didn't use you as a lookout this morning was because I didn't trust you this morning,” I said. “I'm sorry.”

He looked at me questioningly, holding his arms out to both sides.

“Because of this,” I said, pulling from my pouch the scrap of parchment that I had taken from Balthazar's room. I handed it to him, and he turned it over and over again, bewildered. Then he looked at me.

“It was in Balthazar's hiding place in his room,” I said. “There was nothing else there.”

He drew his knees up and rested his arms and chin on them, deep in thought. Then he sat up and looked at me in alarm.

“Claudia searched your place this afternoon,” I said. “Sorry. But we had to know.”

His jaw dropped. Then he pushed it back up with his left hand and held the right one out to me. I took it.

“It's Christmas Eve,” I said. “Have we sufficiently forgiven each other?”

He nodded, then stood and hauled me to my feet. I was finally able to straighten up. I rubbed my jaw.

“Nice move there,” I said. “You're lucky I didn't take your head off.”

He snorted in derision.

“Fine,” I said. “You can make yourself useful. Be a one-man parade back over the bridge. I'll follow your distraction. Peel off to the north once you get to town. I don't want anyone connecting us.”

He nodded, then opened the trapdoor and dropped out of sight. I gathered my gear, climbed down, and padlocked the place. I opened the front door cautiously and glanced up the road to where the children were clustering around my colleague. I slipped out and followed from a safe distance.

Everyone waved to the gaily prancing motley character as he capered across the Daurade Bridge. No one paid any attention to the ordinary fellow who trudged along thirty paces behind with a couple of bags slung over his shoulder.

Once through the gates, I turned south. I made one stop along the way, then got to the Yellow Dwarf as the sun was starting to set. The few patrons drifting in for supper were concentrating on their beer. Hugo nodded as I entered, and jerked his head toward the steps. I nodded back and climbed wearily up.

Claudia had her arms wrapped around me before I reached the top step. One more burden didn't matter—I picked her up and carried her into our room.

Portia was asleep in her cradle. Helga was rocking it and looking unusually cross.

“We're all going to be in here together?” she asked.

“Safety in numbers,” I said. “We'll take turns standing watch.”

“I had twelve—no, thirteen nights in my own room,” she said. “That's thirteen nights of solitary sleep in almost thirteen years. I was just getting used to it.”

“You could sleep in the hall if you like,” offered Claudia. “Guard the threshold like a faithful dog.”

“When do I get to be my own fool?” Helga moaned.

“When the Chief Fool of Toulouse decides that you're ready,” I said.

I dumped the bags and my wife on the bed.

“Save me some dinner,” I said.

“Where are you going now?” asked Claudia.

“To church,” I said. “It's Christmas Eve, after all.”

“Without your family?” asked Claudia.

“Don't want your foolish minds polluted by that drivel,” I said. “I'll be back soon.”

The evening services were actually ending when I entered the cathedral. I stepped into the side chapel as the Bishop and the attendant priests bid the scattered congregants a good night. Then a deacon went around the cathedral, snuffing out the torches and candles.

I waited until he left, then walked silently through the darkness toward the apse. Off to the left, light flickered from beneath the door to Father Mascaron's office.

I drew my knife, took a deep breath, then rushed through the door. He looked up in surprise and started to cry out, but I dove across the desk and drove him back against the wall, my hand clamping down on his mouth and the tip of my blade just below his ear.

“Forgive me, Father,” I said. “For you have sinned.”

CHAPTER 13

I dragged him over to the door, kicked it closed, then patted him down. Sure enough, there was a dagger in his sleeve. I removed it.

“Any good with this?” I asked him.

He glared at me.

“Down on the floor,” I said. “Cross your legs and keep them that way. I see a foot move, I'll trim your tonsure closer than you've ever had it before.”

“You wouldn't actually kill me,” he said softly.

“What's one more body the way things have been going around here lately?” I scoffed. “It will give your master a new topic for his sermon. What greater sacrifice may a priest make for his bishop?”

“You have come to kill me, then,” he said.

“I'll hear your confession first,” I said. “Start with the lies you've told me, and work your way from there. Any murders you feel like getting off your chest will be held in the strictest confidence until I figure out how to make some money off them.”

“You won't make money if I'm dead.”

“I may not live to spend it if you're alive,” I said. “You're a snake in a cassock, my friend. You used me, and I want to know why.”

“To find Milon's book—”

I hit him in the jaw with the haft of my knife. He rocked backwards. I grabbed him by the collar of his cassock to keep him from falling.

“That's going to be nasty if you live long enough to bruise,” I said. “I found the book. You described it fairly well. At least the outside. What was inside was quite different.”

“It was a book of debts owed—” he began.

I hit him again. Harder this time. I was starting to enjoy this.

“Next lie, I turn the knife around,” I said. “There were no accounts, no debts. Not monetary ones, anyway. And the master of the book wasn't Milon Borsella, was it?”

“You know so much, why bother with me?” he asked, then he flinched as I touched the point of my knife to his tender jaw.

“Why did you want me to go after it?” I asked him.

“Because I wanted to know if the Bishop was in it,” he said slowly. “And if so, why.”

“Didn't you know?”

“I knew nothing about it at all until it went missing,” he said. “That accusation by the Borsella brothers in Milon's office was the first I ever heard of it.”

“Then what were you looking for in his office?” I asked.

“A will,” he said. “Milon Borsella's will.”

“His will? Why?”

“Because in this last will, he had left the bulk of his estate to the cathedral,” he said.

“You're lying,” I said. “Milon Borsella was a Cathar. He would never do anything to help the Church.”

“He had been a Cathar,” said Father Mascaron. “But I had convinced him to come back to the Church. Or at least, I thought I had.”

“When was this?”

“Six weeks ago. It was part of my ministry.”

“But he didn't live in your parish,” I said. “Why would he be part of your duties?”

“Because my principal duty was helping the cathedral stave off financial ruin,” he said. “It's become desperate here. Bringing in Milon would have been an enormous help.”

“But why did he want to come here instead of Saint Sernin? His brother was there.”

“That was why,” said Father Mascaron, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Explain.”

“I won't, and there is nothing you can threaten me with that will make me,” he said calmly.

“Brave words,” I said. “Or … is it something you learned from a confession?”

“I couldn't answer you if that was the case,” he said.

“So Milon made a will leaving his estate to the cathedral,” I mused. “And now it's missing. But that's not what he and the Bishop were arguing about when we first saw them.”

“No,” he said.

“And he wasn't coming after him for a debt,” I said. “That whole conversation was about something else. Was it the book?”

“That's what I have been trying to find out, Fool,” said Father Mascaron. “The Bishop was in that book, wasn't he?”

“Yes,” I said, a suspicion growing within me. “The Bishop didn't know that you were looking for it, did he? That's why he looked so confused when I said I was still on the hunt. He didn't know you had hired me to find it.”

“No,” said Father Mascaron. “He didn't.”

I slid my knife back into my sleeve.

“Get up,” I said. “Stretch your legs if you need to, then sit in your chair. Bear in mind that I will kill you if you take so much as a deep breath.”