The Moneylender of Toulouse (11 page)

“I am for anything that takes the place of me doing actual work,” I said.

“Since you don't actually work here, your desires have been achieved,” said Borsella. “Thank you for your assistance, but who are you?”

“My name is Tan Pierre,” I said. “At the moment, I am an unemployed jester waiting for Christmas.”

“And you've come looking for employment to tide you over?”

“Not in a sawmill,” I said. “But I am a musician and singer as well. I have come to offer my services for your brother's wake. My condolences, by the way.”

“It is not my family's custom to have music at the wake,” he said. “I am afraid that you have wasted your time. But if you need help—it is the season, after all.”

He reached for his purse. I held up my hand.

“Please, Senhor, I do not seek charity,” I said. “I ask for honest pay for honest work, and nothing more.”

“Well said. Forgive me for my impertinence,” said Borsella. “Let me walk you out.”

“On the contrary, I thank you for your intended kindness,” I said. “Now, if you would like entertainment during the Twelve Days, or anytime after, we are available. That is, if the period of mourning will be over by then—I do not know the local custom as to that.”

“You are not from Toulouse,” he observed as we left the mill for the sunshine.

“No,” I said. “I had heard that a jester here had passed away, and thought there might be some opportunity.”

“Balthazar,” said Borsella. “Funny man. So he dies, and you try to move in on his territory. My brother dies, and you try to pry some silver out of my hands. You are quite the scavenger of the dead, aren't you?”

“Every profession has its competitors, Senhor,” I said. “You are trying to outdo other sawmills, I am trying to outdo other jesters. Should I mock you for employing these wonderful wheels that take the place of a dozen men? As for prying silver from your hands, if it is the expense that concerns you, l will make you a better offer. I will perform at your house gratis.”

“You will?” he said in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What favor would you request from me?”

“Only that your favor fall upon me,” I said. “We are new to your town, and seek the influence of the mighty. To have the patronage of a consul and a wealthy businessman such as yourself would be most advantageous.”

“I see,” he said. “My brother is dead but two days, and you are here turning this sad occasion into a business proposition.”

“No disrespect intended, Senhor,” I said. “His death does not stop you from attending to matters in your own profession.”

“I should have my men throw you out on your ear,” he said.

“That's not where I usually end up landing,” I said. “Why, just yesterday, when I was thrown out of that bordel in Comminges, I did a most elegant pair of somersaults at the far end of my trajectory.”

He looked at me, his eyes suddenly widening in recognition.

“Of course, we all mourn in our own way,” I said. “I know many who have sought comfort in such establishments after the loss of a family member. Usually in the arms of women, but I do not judge you for your particular tastes.”

“You were the man who was breaking down doors looking for his wife,” he said. “Or was that just a ruse?”

“Not my concern if two men have to meet in a bordel to satisfy their illicit lust for each other,” I continued. “I had a cousin who was that way, and still just the nicest man…”

“I should have cut you down on the spot,” he spat. “So your true purpose in coming here is to offer your silence for sale.”

“Gossip is a sin,” I said. “Among the vast panoply of sins, one of the lesser, but still one that I indulge in. I am seeking to mend my ways, but it's difficult.”

“You are wasting your time, Fool,” he said. “That man and I are not lovers.”

“There, see how a simple misunderstanding can cause so much trouble?” I said. “I am glad to hear it. No doubt that there was a perfectly legitimate reason for the two of you to be meeting in a bordel, and you have nothing to fear from such knowledge being let loose.”

“It was about a business arrangement,” he said carefully.

“Then that clears up everything,” I said cheerfully. “Who would doubt that a man like you would not want to have a business relationship with a man like him in a place like that? Why, I am certain that the baile investigating your brother's death would have no interest in your clandestine business arrangement with the man who supposedly witnessed it.”

“How did you…”

“So much idle time for a jester during Advent,” I said. “Having nothing better to do, I seek what entertainments this town has to offer during this holy season. I attended the inquest, and saw Armand's performance. Unconvincing, I thought, but I am a professional, so I tend to judge amateur theatrics harshly. Lucky for him his audience had lower standards. It certainly bodes well for my success once I start up again.”

“You have a vivid imagination, Fool,” he said. “To suppose that anything between Armand and myself had anything to do with my brother's death…”

“I do have a vivid imagination, Senhor,” I said, “but a man of none, say, for example, our esteemed baile, would still be struck by the coincidence.”

“What would it take to prevent him from being struck?” asked Bonet.

“Your patronage would go a long way toward soothing my restless mind,” I said. “And if you have any influence over the Bishop, I would dearly love to see the Feast of Fools restored.”

“I am a man of business, not religion,” he said.

“In Toulouse, the men of business approach business with religious devotion, while the men of religion run the Church like a business,” I said. “I have heard that you are not without influence in these matters. A younger brother who is a Benedictine, yes?”

“A monk at Saint Sernin,” he said begrudgingly. “But Saint Sernin and Saint Étienne are two different worlds. The Bishop takes his orders from Rome, not from my brother.”

“He doesn't take his orders from the order? Pity,” I said. “All I can say then is that a church that is more favorably disposed to fools will find this fool more amenable to amending his sinful behavior.”

“Will that be all, milord?” he said with a sneer.

“Now that you mention it, could you spare a bag of sawdust?” I asked.

“What?”

“All this talk of silence put it in my mind,” I said. “I have use for it, and you do provide it, do you not?”

“You are a strange man,” he said.

“I have been known to act irrationally upon occasion,” I admitted.

He went inside the mill, then returned a few minutes later with a sack about the size of a loaf of bread. He tossed it to me.

“How much?” I asked.

“Helping bend that pole is worth a bag of sawdust,” he said. “Consider us even.”

“For now,” I said.

“For now,” he agreed. “We will speak again.”

I bowed and walked away. I knew without turning that he was watching me, so I did not give him the satisfaction of looking back. At least, not until I had passed out of his sight. Then I doubled back and kept watch on the sawmill, waiting to see what he would do next.

I did not have to wait for long. Bonet bustled out of the mill minutes later, barking orders over his shoulder. He was not worried about being followed, being one of those men who saw only his own path. I could have walked one step behind for the entire journey in safety, but I chose to honor my training and stay unobserved.

His path led east, and as I drifted along behind him, I saw him dwarfed by the bell tower of Saint Sernin directly ahead.

His brother. Of course.

There was a ring of fortified houses and towers surrounding the church, each a formidable display of new money. In the city, one was forced to confine one's building to the lot defined by one's neighbors, but in the bourg, construction was unfettered by such petty problems. Each house competed with the others in height and ornament, and it would not have surprised me in the least to see trebuchets installed on the roofs just in case the neighbors got feisty.

The church itself made the cathedral look like a doghouse. They had started with a mix of brick and stone when they built it, but must have run short of funds, for they continued with just brick after they reached the top of the doors. Nevertheless, the entrance was a grand double-arched affair, surmounted by a rose window that must have been twenty-five feet across.

North of the church were its cloisters, and it was to them that Bonet proceeded. I was forced to hang back, given the large open space surrounding them. As I watched, Pelardit joined me.

“Anyone meeting there would easily see us coming,” I said. “No doubt that is why he chose that spot.

Pelardit nodded.

A monk emerged from the church and walked slowly toward the cloisters, head bowed, for all appearances deep in contemplation. From this distance, I could not make out his features, but he had the burly build of the belligerent Benedictine I had seen in the Borsella courtyard.

The two brothers walked together while engaging in a conversation that quickly became heated. I would have given a week's worth of drinking to know what transpired between them, but could not see any way of doing that undetected. Whatever the subject, it was clear that Bonet was the more agitated of the two. He began gesticulating angrily, pounding his right fist into his left palm several times. The monk responded by holding his palms up, placatingly. Bonet glowered at him, then made one brief statement, pointing at the monk's chest. The monk put his palms together and nodded. Bonet nodded back, then stormed off in our direction. The monk disappeared back into the church as the bell started to ring for noon prayers.

“I'll take the merchant, you take the monk,” I murmured.

Pelardit nodded and slipped away.

I stepped into an alleyway to let Bonet pass, then back into the road behind him. But all he did was go back to the sawmill, where he spent most of the rest of the afternoon. Then he went home. So much for that.

I stopped by Jordan's house before going home. Martine was in her shop, adding a brocaded piece to a gown of light blue. She did not look pleased to see me.

“Your husband about?” I asked.

“Not yet,” she said. “He was doing something for you, he said. That is what he's doing, isn't it?”

“It should be,” I said. “Very well. Tell him I came by, if you would be so kind.”

“Oh, and he said you all have an appointment with Oldric tomorrow afternoon.”

“Excellent,” I said, pleased. “We will rendezvous here late morning. Now, I was wondering if I could commission a small project from you.”

“Me?” she said suspiciously. “What do you want me to do?”

I plunked down the bag of sawdust on her worktable. She looked inside, then back at me.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

I told her, and she softened immediately. We agreed upon payment, and I left for home, just making it out of the city before vespers.

Helga and Claudia were already home, my wife supervising the girl as she stirred something in a pot on the brazier. Portia was asleep.

“That smells delicious,” I said.

“Helga has profited from her time with the Borsella cook,” said Claudia.

“It's a chicken stew,” said Helga. “At least, it's supposed to be chicken stew. With fennel, parsley and almonds.”

“I'm glad that somebody learned something useful today,” I said.

“No luck with Bonet?” asked Claudia.

“I'm not sure,” I said, and I told her about my encounter with him and his meeting with Vitalis.

“You're going to have quite the reputation as a ruffian before people even learn that you're a fool,” commented Claudia. “Do you think the two brothers did in the third?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Did either of you get any sense from the household that there was that kind of enmity among them?”

“Cook said that Milon always envied Bonet getting the family business,” said Helga. “He always thought he had the best chance of making a go of it. He always talked about Bonet throwing money away on big, impractical machinery when there are plenty of men who will do the same thing for cheap.”

“Sounds more like a reason for Milon to want Bonet dead rather than the other way around,” I said. “What about the widow? Were you able to pay your respects?”

“Lute in one hand, baby in the other,” said Claudia. “Béatrix was grateful for both. She held Portia while I played.”

“How did she seem?”

“Very subdued,” said Claudia. “I think that they have been giving her something in her wine to soothe her. Vitalis came to visit for a while. He held her hand and prayed with her.”

“When was that?”

“Late morning. He had to leave in a hurry when the bells sounded for noon prayers. I heard nothing useful from either of them.”

“What about Evrard?”

“He waited upon his mistress for the most part,” said Claudia.

“He did go out in the afternoon,” volunteered Helga. “For about an hour. Told the cook he had an errand, but didn't say what it was.”

“You didn't follow him?”

“I couldn't,” she said, feeling my disappointment. “I was in the middle of helping the cook prepare the evening meal.”

She finished stirring, and tasted the spoon.

“At least I got this recipe,” she said, ladling the stew into wooden bowls and handing them around.

It was the best meal we had had in weeks.

After dinner, I moved the table against the wall.

“Rehearsal time,” I said. “We have an audition tomorrow.”

“With the Master of Revels?” asked Claudia.

“Oldric himself. Jordan came through. At least on that count.”