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Authors: Sharan Newman
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Hubert answered. “And because, according to Solomon, he has the skill to pretend to be an artisan. He may be able to insinuate himself into the group that is actually reshaping these things.”
“And you think Natan is working with these people, too?” Eliazar said. It was hardly a question. He knew the answer.
“Natan is an embarrassment and a danger to all of us,” Baruch stated. “He should have been placed under herem years ago.”
“None of his clients have ever brought a complaint against him before the community,” Solomon said. “I never understood why. I would have borne witness against him after I found he’d bought the sheep those brigands stole from the village of Saint-Marcel two years ago.”
“That wasn’t our affair,” Eliazar said. “I’m not certain this is.”
Hubert looked at his brother in astonishment. “What has Natan done to you?” he asked. “You know that if the Christians discover him with one of their stolen holy objects, we’ll … you’ll all be blamed for it.”
“Or we’ll have to turn him over to their justice,” Baruch added. “And much as I despise the man, I don’t like abandoning him. It provides a bad example.”
Eliazar slowly nodded agreement. “So. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” Baruch said. “We will handle the matter, now that we know you’re not involved.”
“Do you mean you came all this way simply to assure yourselves that I wasn’t a thief and dealer in idols!”
Since that was what they had done, they all immediately assured him that it was never a consideration.
“We needed to come to Paris anyway,” Hubert said. “The abbot wants to establish another special feast for the monks when they’re given something extra at their meal. He thinks cloves in hot wine would be nice, but he needs more cloves. I held some back from the last shipment for just such a possibility.”
“I came to help him carry them back,” Solomon said with a straight face.
“And I wanted only to be with my brethren to observe the Sabbath,” Baruch added, daring Eliazar to contradict.
Eliazar gave them a look of deep sadness. “I had hoped that my own kinsmen and my friend of forty years would have more faith in me,” he said. “There is no more to be said. I will have beds made up for you by the fire. Good night.”
The other three watched in gloomy silence as he went up the stairs. Johannah had excused herself and gone up long before. When they heard the door close, Hubert turned to Baruch.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked.
“No,” Baruch answered, “but I think we should continue in the plan, all the same. You will speak to Abbot Suger about it?”
“Yes,” Hubert said. “I’m sure he’ll agree. This activity is much more upsetting to him than to us, don’t you think so, Solomon?”
Solomon was still staring up toward the ceiling as if he might manage to look though the boards and into his uncle Eliazar’s heart.
“What?” he said. “Oh, yes, the abbot. I’m sure he’ll help. I only wish I knew what sort of business a man like my uncle could possibly have had that would make Natan ben Judah the best man to accomplish it.”
The ceiling remained solid and Solomon was left to wonder.
It was not quite dawn of Septuagesima Sunday. The air was gray with mist. The streets of Paris were empty. Ice had formed over the trough in the center of the roads where rain, wash water and emptied night waste collected. Natan stepped carefully on the frozen mud as he made his way up the rue du Port Saint-Landry. The bag he was carrying was heavy and seemed to grow heavier the closer he came to his destination. He didn’t like the place he was heading for but the choice had not been his. Something in the bag had come unwrapped from its cloth and was digging into his back, just inside the shoulder blade. Natan tried not to think about what it was. The objects he was dealing in were not of his choosing, either.
All the same, he
“And you think Natan is working with these people, too?” Eliazar said. It was hardly a question. He knew the answer.
“Natan is an embarrassment and a danger to all of us,” Baruch stated. “He should have been placed under herem years ago.”
“None of his clients have ever brought a complaint against him before the community,” Solomon said. “I never understood why. I would have borne witness against him after I found he’d bought the sheep those brigands stole from the village of Saint-Marcel two years ago.”
“That wasn’t our affair,” Eliazar said. “I’m not certain this is.”
Hubert looked at his brother in astonishment. “What has Natan done to you?” he asked. “You know that if the Christians discover him with one of their stolen holy objects, we’ll … you’ll all be blamed for it.”
“Or we’ll have to turn him over to their justice,” Baruch added. “And much as I despise the man, I don’t like abandoning him. It provides a bad example.”
Eliazar slowly nodded agreement. “So. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” Baruch said. “We will handle the matter, now that we know you’re not involved.”
“Do you mean you came all this way simply to assure yourselves that I wasn’t a thief and dealer in idols!”
Since that was what they had done, they all immediately assured him that it was never a consideration.
“We needed to come to Paris anyway,” Hubert said. “The abbot wants to establish another special feast for the monks when they’re given something extra at their meal. He thinks cloves in hot wine would be nice, but he needs more cloves. I held some back from the last shipment for just such a possibility.”
“I came to help him carry them back,” Solomon said with a straight face.
“And I wanted only to be with my brethren to observe the Sabbath,” Baruch added, daring Eliazar to contradict.
Eliazar gave them a look of deep sadness. “I had hoped that my own kinsmen and my friend of forty years would have more faith in me,” he said. “There is no more to be said. I will have beds made up for you by the fire. Good night.”
The other three watched in gloomy silence as he went up the stairs. Johannah had excused herself and gone up long before. When they heard the door close, Hubert turned to Baruch.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked.
“No,” Baruch answered, “but I think we should continue in the plan, all the same. You will speak to Abbot Suger about it?”
“Yes,” Hubert said. “I’m sure he’ll agree. This activity is much more upsetting to him than to us, don’t you think so, Solomon?”
Solomon was still staring up toward the ceiling as if he might manage to look though the boards and into his uncle Eliazar’s heart.
“What?” he said. “Oh, yes, the abbot. I’m sure he’ll help. I only wish I knew what sort of business a man like my uncle could possibly have had that would make Natan ben Judah the best man to accomplish it.”
The ceiling remained solid and Solomon was left to wonder.
It was not quite dawn of Septuagesima Sunday. The air was gray with mist. The streets of Paris were empty. Ice had formed over the trough in the center of the roads where rain, wash water and emptied night waste collected. Natan stepped carefully on the frozen mud as he made his way up the rue du Port Saint-Landry. The bag he was carrying was heavy and seemed to grow heavier the closer he came to his destination. He didn’t like the place he was heading for but the choice had not been his. Something in the bag had come unwrapped from its cloth and was digging into his back, just inside the shoulder blade. Natan tried not to think about what it was. The objects he was dealing in were not of his choosing, either.
All the same, he
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