The Moneylender of Toulouse (15 page)

“It would be very useful,” I said.

He took me around the town, pointing to fortunes kept and fortunes lost, towers built and towers crumbling.

“Do you think the bishopric could be shifted over to Saint Sernin?” I asked as we passed the cathedral.

“That would be up to Rome, I suppose,” he said. “But the counts of Toulouse have always prayed at the cathedral, even though the abbey has that fancy entrance on the side just for their personal use. The current bishop does enjoy the current count's favor, so that should keep him safe for a while.”

“Except from us,” I said. “The sun is starting to set. Let's get to our meeting place.”

We came up along the riverside, downstream from the Comminges quarter. There was a line of waterwheels on the bank by us, turning without purpose now that the millers had left for the day, spinning like toys for a giant child. Except for one, which was stuck in position, shifting slightly back and forth.

“Looks like that one got jammed,” observed Jordan. “Something must have drifted into the sluice.”

I glanced where he was pointing, then took off at a dead run.

A man was floating facedown in the sluice, his head caught under one of the blades of the waterwheel, which kept mashing it into the riverbed over and over.

“Call for the guards!” I shouted to Jordan.

I jumped into the river and waded into the sluice. He was heavy, his clothing waterlogged, and as soon as I pulled him back, the freed wheel started turning again, the river loosed around me. I felt my boots skidding along the muddy bottom as the current pushed me toward the wheel, the wooden blades slicing through the water ahead of me. I tried to heave him onto the bank, but he slid back against me. I lost my footing, and suddenly found myself sliding toward the wheel.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, grabbing a handful of cloak.

“Hold on!” shouted Jordan. Other men were clambering down the bank, holding ropes which they looped around the body. One of them was kind enough to throw an end to me, and he and Jordan managed to haul me up.

“No guards when you need them,” Jordan gasped, more winded than I was. “Found some mill workers.”

“I don't find it in my heart to be choosy at such moments,” I said.

They succeeded in getting the other man out of the sluice and rolled him onto his back. The waterwheel had played havoc with his face and head, but there was enough left to recognize him.

“It's Armand,” said one of the mill workers.

“Always knew he'd come to a bad end,” said another.

“Cathars got him, I'll bet,” said a third.

“Let us go bravely into the night,” muttered Jordan, “though it be our last.”

CHAPTER 7

We stood in a line, our backs against the city wall while Calvet the baile stood over Armand's body, deep in thought.

“His usual method of investigation involves a dark, damp cell,” muttered Jordan. “Moldy bread and filthy water.”

“One night won't kill you,” I said.

“The moment he asks who found the body, we're done for,” he moaned.

“Who found him?” asked Calvet.

“We did,” I said as Jordan winced.

He stood in front of us, giving me a thorough once-over while barely giving Jordan a second glance.

“I know this fool,” he said to me, “but I don't know you.”

“Tan Pierre,” I said. “Also a jester, recently arrived.”

“How did you happen to find Armand?” he asked.

“We were walking around, preparing the routines that we are to perform at the Count's dinner on Monday,” I said. “As we—”

“The Count?” he interjected.

“Count Raimon the Sixth?” I explained. “Count of Toulouse and about thirty other places, I can't remember them all. Why, do you know him?”

“Of course,” he barked. “Don't be impertinent!”

“My apologies, it's what I do,” I said. “Anyhow, we were walking along the river, and Jordan said, ‘That's curious,' and I said, ‘What's curious?' Didn't I say that, Jordan?”

“Those exact words,” said Jordan. “Or words to that effect. Certainly, you have the gist of it.”

“And he said, ‘That waterwheel—something's jamming it,' and I went to take a closer look and saw that man in the sluice, so I did what any good Christian would do and jumped in to help him.”

“Jumping into a mill-run is quite dangerous,” said Calvet. “Near suicidal, in fact.”

“Well, I know that now,” I said. “But I am not from here. I didn't think, I just jumped, which is a bad habit of mine. I'm only sorry that I couldn't save him, but my guess is he was murdered before he went into the river, so there wouldn't have been anything I could have done, anyway.”

“Aha, so you knew he was murdered!” he pounced. “You admit it.”

“Well, it was the knife wound in his back that clued me in,” I said. “Surely you noticed it.”

He started, and glanced nervously back at the body, which was still laid out faceup. He signaled the guards, and they rolled Armand over. Sure enough, there was a single wound in the middle of his back. Calvet squatted down and examined it.

“Knife, possibly a dagger,” he pronounced. “A single, quick thrust. The killer knew what he was about.”

He turned back to us.

“You saw that while he was still in the water?” he asked. “The blood was washed away.”

“I saw it as they dragged him out,” I said.

“You have sharp eyes, Senhor Jester,” he said. “Did you know him?”

“I have seen him around,” I said. “He apparently liked taverns. I like them, too.”

Calvet looked upriver toward the Daurade Bridge. The arches between the supports were each filled by more waterwheels, except for the two outer ones.

“If he was killed by the riverbanks and fell in, he could have passed under the bridge without hitting any of the mills there,” he mused. “He could even have been dumped into one of the canals flowing into the Garonne. And there is no telling when it happened. Senhor Jordan, you can vouch for this fool's veracity?”

“As I would my own,” said Jordan smoothly.

“Where do you live?” Calvet asked me.

“In Saint Cyprien, at the house of Honoret.”

“You mentioned the Count's dinner thinking that would influence me to let you go,” said Calvet, softly so that only the two of us could hear him.

“Yes,” I said.

“It worked,” he said. “I expect both of you at the assizes in the morning. You are free to go.”

We bowed and left.

“Those damn Cathars will pay,” I heard him say as we walked away.

“I'm afraid they will,” said Jordan.

“He could be right about them,” I said.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why not?” I argued. “Armand was the one who started stirring up trouble against them. They have ample reason for wanting him to shut up.”

“But the Cathars are not violent,” he protested. “Not the ones I know.”

“Do you know them all?”

“No, of course not. But Armand was a loudmouthed, foulmouthed drunk. There's plenty who might get mad enough to do him in on any given day.”

“Actually, I saw him get into a brawl with a bunch of tanners earlier today.”

“There you go,” said Jordan. “And that's a profession prone to proficiency with knives. A quick thrust through untanned flesh would be nothing for one of them.”

“Point taken,” I said. “Reach out to your Cathar contacts. Find out if anyone knows anything.”

We came to the gate to the bridge.

“I appreciate your help with the baile,” I said.

“Self-interest,” he grinned. “I didn't want to spend the night shackled to you. One wife is enough.”

“Right. See you at the assizes.”

“Such an annoying inconvenience,” he sighed.

“On the contrary, a tremendous boon,” I said.

“How do you figure that?”

“Why, consider what it will do for our notoriety,” I said. “All of Toulouse will know that there are new jesters in town, teaming up with you and Pelardit. The scandal will make us the most wanted entertainers for miles around. We couldn't do better for ourselves if we led a parade down the Grande Rue.”

“When you put it that way—Huzzah! Our fortunes are made!” he cheered unenthusiastically.

We thumbed our noses at each other and parted ways. Vespers was sounding in the distance as I passed through the Daurade Gate, the last person to be waved through before it closed. I glanced toward the mills by the Ile de Tounis, and saw the guards lifting Armand's body onto their wagon. The wheels, indifferent to the spectacle, kept turning.

*   *   *

“Your clothes are wet,” observed Helga when I climbed into our home.

“I aimed for the bridge, and missed,” I said, closing the trapdoor behind me.

“You don't look any drunker than usual,” said Claudia, eyeing me critically.

I sat on a chair and stuck my legs straight out.

“Boots,” I said to Helga.

She stood at my right foot and tugged mightily until the boot abruptly came free, sending her into a series of fast backward somersaults until she fetched up against the wall in a headstand, which she held for a moment before toppling slowly back onto the floor.

“Not bad,” I said. “Try it again, only play up the effort more.”

She picked herself up, stood at my left foot and pointed at it sternly.

“You're coming off,” she growled. She spat into her hands and wrapped her arms around my foot like she was hanging onto a ship's mast in a tempest. She braced her feet and arched her body away. When the boot finally came off, the resulting tangle of arms, legs and boot spun across the floor in a blur. The resulting collision of Helga and wall had me fearing for the wall.

“I think that should be the maximum speed,” suggested Claudia. “Any faster, and she'll end up crashing into the street below. Dinner's almost ready.”

“I'll go get my clothes off,” I said, heading into our room.

“I could help you,” offered Claudia slyly.

“Later for that,” I said.

Portia was asleep. I kissed her nose, and she smiled without waking. I stripped my clothes off and hung them on a line we had strung across the room for costumes. I found myself shivering, and I don't think it was from the cold.

I grabbed my motley and put it on. Hell, if a jester couldn't wear motley in his own home, then there was no point in being one, Advent be damned.

“Why, there's a fool here,” exclaimed Claudia when I came in.

“A hungry one,” I said.

“Feed us the gossip of the day, and we will feed you in turn,” said Claudia.

“There's been another murder,” I said.

“You have my attention already,” she said. “Who?”

“Armand,” I said, and I told her what had passed.

“Sounds like he had served his purpose, and was no longer of use,” she said.

“Harsh treatment for mere uselessness,” I said. “Who among us shall escape?”

“He gave his testimony and put the hounds of the law on the wrong scent,” she said. “If he lived, sooner or later he would have ended up bragging about how he pulled the wool over the baile's eyes.”

“That makes Bonet the likeliest suspect,” I said. “With Brother Donatus as my second choice.”

“There is one more obvious explanation,” she said. “The one you are refusing to talk about.”

“Why bother?” I said. “I knew you would bring it up.”

“Someone saw you talking to him, and put two and two together,” she said. “They killed him to keep you from finding out what he knew.”

“But for all they know, he had already told me,” I said.

“In which case, they may be coming after you next,” she said.

“So I should constantly be on the lookout for someone trying to kill me”

“There's a thought,” she said, placing a bowl of stew in front of me.

“As opposed to my normal behavior, which consists of constantly being on the lookout for someone trying to kill me,” I said.

“Which may be me if you persist in being contrary,” she said. “Just be a little more wary than normal.”

“I will not be contrary, I'll persist in being wary, for my wife is very scary,” I sang.

“Not scary, Theo,” she snapped. “Scared. There are two men dead, and I'd rather you not be the third. Or the fourth, or any number in single, double or triple digits.”

“Only if you grow old along with me,” I said, taking her hand.

“Some days, I already have,” she said.

“Speaking of widows, how was Béatrix today?” I asked, clumsily changing topics.

“She managed very well,” said Claudia. “The usual swarm of locusts came for the funeral feast. The Borsella brothers stayed by her throughout. When the crowd left, Bonet mentioned something about going over the books with her tomorrow, then left. Vitalis stayed on to pray with her.”

“Bonet didn't leave right away,” said Helga.

“He didn't?” I asked as Claudia looked at her in surprise.

“I was watching Evrard while I was serving the guests,” said Helga. “When Bonet left Béatrix, Evrard slipped out a moment after. I followed him. Bonet was standing by Milon's office. Evrard unlocked it, and they went inside together and closed the door after.”

“What did you hear?”

“As a faithful servant of the household, it would have been wrong for me to listen at keyholes,” she said haughtily.

“But you're not a faithful servant of the household,” I reminded her. “You're an apprentice fool.”

“Which is why I listened at the keyhole,” she said. “Bonet said, ‘Any luck?' and Evrard said, ‘None. I've turned the place upside down. It isn't here, it isn't anywhere in the house.'”