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reasoned as he walked, it wasn’t expressly forbidden. Even if he suspected the goods had been stolen, he had no proof and it wasn’t as if they were truly sacred. He would never steal a Torah, no matter how valuable the casing. He would die for it, just like the martyrs of Mainz, he told himself smugly. And with the profit from this transaction he would himself pay for a new copy of the sacred books to be made.
    So, warmed by the glow of piety, Natan reached the little alleyway that led to the door in the cloister wall. With a sigh of relief, he set the bag down and pushed against the latch. As promised, it had been left unhooked.
    Someone had taken every precaution. The door swung open smoothly. Even the hinges were silent. Picking up the bag again, Natan crept in and edged along the inner wall until he found the steps leading down. They were slippery and he began to doubt the accuracy of his instructions.
    But at the bottom was another door and through the crack under it came the glow of lamplight. Natan knocked and the door opened to admit him.

Four

    A small room off the staircase at the keep at Vielleteneuse, Feast of Saint Agatha, virgin and martyr, Tuesday, February 5, 1141/26, Shebat, 4901

    … et quae adhuc desunt in utensiliis domus Domini ad explendum aggredere toto mentis conamine, sine quibus divina misteria et officiorum ministeria non valent consistere. Sunt enim haec; calices, candelabra, … sanctorum pignorum scrinia, … Quae si vis componere, hoc incipias ordine.

    … and prepare to undertake with all the effort of your mind
[to create] that which is lacking of the utensils of the house of
the Lord, without which the divine mysteries and the service
of the Office cannot take place. These are: chalices,
candlesticks, … cases for the sacred relics, … If you wish to
make these, this is how you begin.”
    —Theophilus, De Diversis Artibus Book III, preface

    “ I ’m perfectly well now,” Catherine insisted. “And I’m going with Edgar.”
    “I can’t do this unless she’s with me,” Edgar said. “It’s not unknown for journeymen to bring their wives when they go to a new job.”
    Hubert had anticipated her determination but had hoped Edgar would support him. “Do you want Catherine to live in the sort of place they put journeymen?” he countered. “Sometimes it’s no more than a pallet in the workshop.”
    “We can rent a room from Aunt Johannah,” Catherine said. “She has four buildings, two on the Île and two more in the bourg Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois.”
    “She does?” Hubert was doubtful. “Did she tell you that?”
    Catherine nodded. “They were part of her dower and she rents them to students and artisans and people like that. She told me so. No innkeepers or procurers or soapmakers. Nothing smelly or disgusting. We would be fine there.”
    Catherine didn’t say it, but she thought it would be wonderful to have a whole room to themselves, even if she would have to buy most of their food from the bakehouse. And they would be in Paris again. While Edgar learned whatever there was to know about silversmithing, there would surely be a chance for her to stroll down to the Île and listen to the lectures of the masters. Now that she was a proper matron, with her hair covered, there was no reason she shouldn’t. She could always carry a basket and do some shopping on her way home, in case anyone asked where she had been.
    But matters didn’t appear that simple.
    “Edgar will have to spend several weeks working with Baruch in Saint-Denis first,” Hubert said. “And remember, Edgar, if he doesn’t think you can learn enough to convince genuine craftsmen that you’re really a silversmith, even a failed one, then we’ll forget the whole thing.”
    Edgar considered that. “And if I can?” he asked quietly.
    Hubert paced around the tiny room, stopping to check that no one was waiting and listening on the stairs. The farther he got into this thing, the less he liked it.