The Moneylender of Toulouse (24 page)

“You didn't cut the taxes,” said the consul. “We did.”

“With my consent,” said the Count. “Freely given, mind you. And I have been doing everything in my power to keep the peace with our neighbors. We are at peace with Aragon, which means the Trencavels can't stir up any mischief; with France, and with England, which means they are free to go at each other without our needing to get involved; and Rome—well, I'm holding them off as best I can. But the last thing I need is trouble from my own city.”

“Yet you permit your own baile to send his men into the bourg to harass ordinary citizens,” said another consul. “People who live peaceably, indeed more peaceably than most.”

“You mean the Cathars,” said the Count.

“I do,” said the consul.

“Tell your Cathar friends it would go easier if they would simply turn over whoever did these murders,” said the Count. “Until they are brought to justice, my baile will continue his investigation in whatever manner he deems fit.”

“What makes you think a Cathar did this?” shouted the consul.

“Raise your voice in here again, and I'll have you thrown in a dungeon,” said the Count softly. “I can still do that, despite what you think. Now, get out, the lot of you.”

They looked defiant. But they shuffled out for all that.

“You were supposed to soothe them with that instrument of yours,” the Count said to me.

“If they had been savage beasts, I would have,” I said. “Alas, they were merely men.”

“They've been savage enough since the last election,” grumbled Comminges. “We should throw them all into a single dungeon. A small one.”

“You see, Fool, I am the master of everywhere in the Toulousain except for my own city,” explained the Count. “My father ceded local rule to the consulate to keep from being overthrown. Now, I suffer the consequences of that ill-fated decision. Is Calvet here?”

“He is, Dominus,” said the viguier.

“Send him in,” ordered the Count.

The baile strode forward and knelt before the Count.

“Thank you for being the first person this morning to show me the proper respect,” said the Count. “Rise, my friend, and tell me if you're any closer to catching any murderers.”

“We have no solid information, Dominus,” said the baile. “No witnesses, but many rumors, and each one is being investigated.”

“Good,” said the Count. “Do you believe that these deaths were the work of Cathars?”

“Based on Armand's testimony, and more upon his murder, I do.”

“In death, he gains credibility, whereas in life, he had none,” said the Count. “Very well. You keep shaking them out of the trees until you find the right one.”

“And then?” asked the baile.

“Bring him to justice,” directed the Count.

“But should I bring him to you first?” asked the baile.

“I think we should maintain the appearance of integrity in this matter,” said the Count. “Hang him in public. Let justice be done so that all may see it.”

“Very well, Dominus,” said the baile, bowing.

He left, and the Count signaled to his viguier to close the doors to the room.

“If the murderer turns out to be a Cathar, there will be trouble,” he said to the others.

“Half this town is either a Cathar or related to one,” said Foix. “If this gives the Church more cause to stir up resentment against them, then these two deaths may be a drop in the bucket compared to what will come.”

“Do you think Calvet will find his man?” asked Comminges.

“He won't rest until he drags him to the gallows,” said the Count. “Let's hope that our murderer turns out to be nothing more than an insanely evil Christian. That would keep the peace for a while. Good, we're done here. Go off to your assignations, my friends. I expect full reports later.”

They laughed as they left him, still in his chair.

“Fool, you may stop playing,” he said, noticing me. “Your fingers must be numb by now.”

“If you wish, Dominus,” I said. “But I can play all day if you like.”

“What did you think of this morning's business?” he asked.

“I thought, how magnanimous is this count to so entertain a jester.”

“You found it entertaining?”

“You put on a show for me, Dominus,” I said. “For all the pomp and formality, you can't tell me that this was anything more. The real work will be discussed in your private chamber, hidden from casual observation.”

“No one is observing us here,” said the Count.

“You have two men hidden in the balcony at this very moment,” I said. “No doubt armed with crossbows.”

“Apart from them, of course,” said the Count. “Alfonse, you're getting careless.”

“Sorry, Dominus,” called one of the men in the balcony.

“You are a shrewd observer,” said the Count, softly so that his elevated guards could not hear. “What have you discovered about these murders?”

“Why would a fool bother about such things?” I replied.

“Try answering a direct question directly,” said the Count.

“I have not discovered the identity of the murderer, or murderers,” I said. “But I have kept my eyes and ears open. Let's say I do learn something useful—should I bring it to Calvet, or directly to you?”

“Do you think Armand told the truth about seeing a sandal-shod man?”

“Not for an instant,” I said.

“Then you might as well bring it to me,” he said. “Calvet's a good man, but he's obsessed with the Cathars.”

“Very good, Dominus.”

“Tell me something, Senhor Fool.”

“Yes, Dominus?”

“Why is my friend the Bishop so jumpy around you?”

“I cannot say for certain, Dominus,” I said. “But I enjoy seeing it.”

“I know that you are disappointed over losing the Feast of Fools,” he said. “But the Bishop is an ally of mine. Tread carefully.”

“Dominus, I can walk a rope so thin that it could have been made by a spider,” I said.

“Ropes can be cut,” he said. “And spiders can bite. You may go.”

He tossed me a coin. I bowed and left.

*   *   *

It was past noon. It occurred to me that I had spent the morning performing for the Count without being fed. Shameful. I stopped in a tavern for a quick lunch and a slow drink. I wondered about the whereabouts of my colleagues. They wouldn't be likely to be working the taverns this early in the day. More likely at the markets or the squares.

I walked up the Grande Rue until I passed through the Portaria into the bourg. I glanced at the courtyard of the Borsella place, but saw no Helga amongst the children playing. I kept going until I reached the plaza in front of Saint Sernin, where I saw a small crowd circled around my wife and our apprentice, who were busy juggling clubs back and forth to each other.

The bells rang for None, and monks began filing toward the church from different directions. I had a sudden inspiration. I ducked into a doorway and pulled out Pelardit's Benedictine robe. I threw it on and tied it quickly, then plodded toward the church, my head bowed inside the cowl so the whiteface would not be visible to anyone. I trailed the last monk I could see toward the north entrance, but held back at the last second while the doors closed for services. Then I turned and walked to the dormitorium. I listened for a moment at the door, then went inside.

There was a set of stone steps leading up, and another leading down. I went up. An entrance opened up into a long, narrow room. There were twenty-four beds, a dozen on each side, each with a freestanding wooden closet next to it. All identical. I had no way of knowing which belonged to Vitalis, or Donatus, for that matter. Which meant I had to search them all, and be out before the monks resumed their chores.

I started reciting the service for None as I searched quickly through each bed and closet, making sure to replace everything as I had found it. I had gotten through one side of the room by the time I reached the
Rerum Deus tenax vigor
. I came back down the steps, humming the hymn, and walked toward the cloisters, my hands folded in prayer. No one took any notice. It helped that Claudia by this point was juggling knives instead of clubs, Helga holding Portia a safe distance away. I found some cover, stripped off the robe, and stuffed it inside my pack. I put my cap and bells where they belonged, and was a fool again.

I wandered to the edge of the crowd watching Claudia, and led the applause when she was done. I swooped in on Portia, who was sitting on the ground, playing with some juggling balls, and lifted her high in the air.

“Well met, husband,” murmured Claudia as Helga dashed about with her tambourine to collect a few coins. “How was the dormitorium?”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Should I not know my own husband, even in disguise?” she said, smiling. “Especially when you are taller and leaner than any monk in that abbey. I thought you might show up here.”

“There is no surprising you anymore,” I sighed. “I must remember to slump next time. I have to take another turn tomorrow. I only got halfway through the beds. And there's a kitchen as well.”

“And you're still looking for that book?”

“Or whatever Vitalis is hiding there. Thank you for providing a distraction, by the way.”

“I had my own reasons for coming here,” she said.

“We have enough for dinner,” said Helga, coming up with her tambourine.

“Let's go to one of the taverns by the Bazacle Gate,” I suggested. “And you can tell me about why you're here while we walk.”

“After you left, I thought I would pay another visit to Béatrix Borsella,” said Claudia. “It's been a few days, and I didn't want her to think I had only been there to play mourner for a day. I sent Helga on ahead, because they haven't connected us yet.”

“I visited the cook,” said Helga. “I told her that I was earning some money helping out at the big Christmas dinners everyone is having, which is why I haven't been by as much.”

“You could tell her you're a fool,” I said. “She's going to see you performing at the markets sooner or later. How fares the widow?”

“Still in mourning, still being comforted by Brother Vitalis,” she said. “She was surprised to see me in makeup and motley, but I explained about Advent. I played for a while, then she asked me to leave because she was planning to visit her husband's grave.”

“A proper thing for a widow to do,” I said.

“Only she hasn't,” said Claudia. “I came there straightaway, and she hasn't been all day.”

“But she did leave after Claudia did,” said Helga.

“And you followed her.”

“I did,” declared Helga proudly. “She left with Vitalis and Evrard, but Vitalis took the road to Saint Sernin.”

“And where did the widow go?”

“To the Château Bazacle,” said Helga. “She was there for an hour, then came home again.”

“That place keeps coming up, doesn't it?” I said. “Here's the tavern.”

The Tanners' Pit had mutton stew, watery but hot. We secured a table and ate. I took some small pieces of bread and sopped them in the stew for Portia, who sucked on them with a quizzical look before deciding she liked them.

“What's interesting to me about the Château Bazacle is that the defense of the northern part of the city is entrusted to a private citizen rather than the Count,” I said. “That makes him tremendously powerful.”

“Guilabert is powerful because he's rich,” said Claudia. “He controls Bazacle, which means he controls anyone who makes their living from Bazacle.”

“That would include Bonet Borsella,” I said. “He built that new sawmill. And Milon had been complaining about him throwing all of his money into that venture. It doesn't sound like he would have lent him any more. I wonder if Bonet had to borrow from Guilabert?”

“But how would that lead to Milon's murder?” asked Helga.

“I don't know,” I said. “But with the widow Béatrix choosing to visit Bazacle instead of her husband's grave…”

“We know that her husband beat her and cheated on her,” said Claudia. “Could she have turned to Guilabert for solace? He wouldn't be my first choice, but that's because I don't like the way he kisses. She might find money and power to be enough to compensate for that failing.”

“Or maybe Milon the moneylender owed money to him, and his debt passed to her?” I speculated. “Whatever it is, it's our first real connection between the dead man and Guilabert.”

“Second,” said Helga. “There's Evrard and Audrica, the Bazacle maidservant.”

“True enough,” I said. “Then there's Brother Donatus. Let's say he was Guilabert's conduit to Saint Sernin.”

“Why would Guilabert want a man in the abbey?” asked Claudia.

“If he wants to control the bourg, then influence in the abbey would be useful,” I said. “It's the religious center for all the new money in the bourg, and it controls Saint Pierre, the Taur, Saint Cyprien—everything but the cathedral itself. And even there…”

I stopped as a thought hit me. Hard.

“What is it?” asked my wife.

“The Bishop was elected by a council of local canons,” I said. “Brother Peire said it was a closely contested election between Raimon de Rabastens and the Bishop of Comminges, and that Rabastens wasn't considered a strong candidate. I wonder if Brother Donatus could have been the deciding vote.”

“You mean Guilabert could have bought the bishopric,” said Claudia. “If that's true, then he controls the consulate and all of the ecclesiastic power in Toulouse. What does he want to do with all of this?”

“I think we had better find out,” I said.

CHAPTER 11

I went through the beds on the other side of the dormitorium as quickly as I could. In one, I felt a small leather-bound book inside the straw stuffing. I pulled it out with a surge of hope, but it turned out to be a set of erotic illustrations. I was tempted to confiscate the source of this poor monk's temptation, strictly as a lesson to him, of course, but reluctantly decided to replace it so as not to call any attention to my handiwork.