Gaucher slapped him on the back, causing the monk to inhale sharply, swallowing a passing fly.
“I’ll not come in and I don’t want to see the others,” Rigaud insisted when he had stopped coughing. “I have repented my life with you and I fervently wish never to see any of you again, not in this world or the next.”
“Save your wishes for something else, old compaing .” Gaucher raised his hand for another backslap, then took pity on his friend. “We’re all going to be together from here to Compostela, and if we reach Saint James, you can be sure we’ll all meet again one day in heaven, our sins washed away.”
Rigaud continued moving away from them. “If Our Lord intends such a thing,” he shouted as he left, “it is a certain proof that His mercy is greater than mine. But I don’t believe that’s where you really intend to go. I know what you’re after! And I won’t be a part of it. I warn you both, stay away from me!”
With that, he turned, lifted his robe to avoid tripping and ran as if all the demons of the air were flying after him.
Norbert and Gaucher laughed. “I wondered if Abbot Peter would drag old Rigaud out of his cell for this trip,” Norbert said.
“I wonder what threats he used,” Gaucher replied. “It was the last trip to Spain that sent him into the monastery.”
“Rigaud always did have the pendons of a rabbit,” Norbert said. “We were fighting a holy war, after all.”
“Yes—” Gaucher’s face twisted at the memories “—I know. But why, if it was so damned holy, do I still have nightmares about it?”
Norbert looked him up and down in scorn. “You don’t drink enough,” he answered. “Let’s start taking care of that. Now.”
The overwhelming sense of terror had passed and Edgar was now feeling more than a little embarrassed to have made a fool of himself in front of Catherine and the other pilgrims. He only half-listened to her stream of comments as they walked, searching instead for some alteration in her tone that would mean she had lost all respect for him.
“Edgar, don’t look, but over by the water trough there are three men barefoot and wearing chains around their necks and waists,” she was saying. “What do you suppose they could have done? Edgar?”
“Hmm? Oh, almost anything, I’d imagine,” he told her, “from murder to sacrilege to unnatural lusts.”
“Unnatural … like what?” she asked.
Edgar looked down into her deceptively guileless blue eyes. He smiled. There was no trace of scorn in them, although he saw a bit more amusement than scholarly inquisitiveness in her expression.
“Perhaps we can find a copy of Seneca’s Naturales Quaestiones ,” he said. “There’s a passage in there that might give you some suggestions.”
“Oh, Hostis Quadra and the mirrors,” she said.
“Catherine!”
She had the grace to blush. “I found it at Saint-Denis,” she explained. “I was reading about light and reflections. I didn’t know what was coming.”
Edgar bit his tongue. They hadn’t been married long enough for him to respond to that. “Well, then,” he said finally, “as long as you weren’t assigned it at the Paraclete.”
“I don’t think that part would interest the sisters very much,” Catherine considered. “But in the monks’ copy, that page was very well thumbed.”
Edgar surrendered.
Fortunately, just then a voice called out, “There she is!”
Catherine turned toward it. “Father!” she cried and ran to his arms.
Halfway there, she stopped. She had seen Eliazar and Solomon with him. Who was he supposed to be here, a Christian or a Jew? Would her recognizing him cause him to be exposed? Hubert saw her indecision.
“Come here, ma douce, ” he said. “I have missed you so.”
She threw herself at him, forgetting for the moment that she was no longer eight years old. “Did you bring my blue bliaut with the daisies on the hem?” she asked. “And my extra shoes? And a new pair of
“I’ll not come in and I don’t want to see the others,” Rigaud insisted when he had stopped coughing. “I have repented my life with you and I fervently wish never to see any of you again, not in this world or the next.”
“Save your wishes for something else, old compaing .” Gaucher raised his hand for another backslap, then took pity on his friend. “We’re all going to be together from here to Compostela, and if we reach Saint James, you can be sure we’ll all meet again one day in heaven, our sins washed away.”
Rigaud continued moving away from them. “If Our Lord intends such a thing,” he shouted as he left, “it is a certain proof that His mercy is greater than mine. But I don’t believe that’s where you really intend to go. I know what you’re after! And I won’t be a part of it. I warn you both, stay away from me!”
With that, he turned, lifted his robe to avoid tripping and ran as if all the demons of the air were flying after him.
Norbert and Gaucher laughed. “I wondered if Abbot Peter would drag old Rigaud out of his cell for this trip,” Norbert said.
“I wonder what threats he used,” Gaucher replied. “It was the last trip to Spain that sent him into the monastery.”
“Rigaud always did have the pendons of a rabbit,” Norbert said. “We were fighting a holy war, after all.”
“Yes—” Gaucher’s face twisted at the memories “—I know. But why, if it was so damned holy, do I still have nightmares about it?”
Norbert looked him up and down in scorn. “You don’t drink enough,” he answered. “Let’s start taking care of that. Now.”
The overwhelming sense of terror had passed and Edgar was now feeling more than a little embarrassed to have made a fool of himself in front of Catherine and the other pilgrims. He only half-listened to her stream of comments as they walked, searching instead for some alteration in her tone that would mean she had lost all respect for him.
“Edgar, don’t look, but over by the water trough there are three men barefoot and wearing chains around their necks and waists,” she was saying. “What do you suppose they could have done? Edgar?”
“Hmm? Oh, almost anything, I’d imagine,” he told her, “from murder to sacrilege to unnatural lusts.”
“Unnatural … like what?” she asked.
Edgar looked down into her deceptively guileless blue eyes. He smiled. There was no trace of scorn in them, although he saw a bit more amusement than scholarly inquisitiveness in her expression.
“Perhaps we can find a copy of Seneca’s Naturales Quaestiones ,” he said. “There’s a passage in there that might give you some suggestions.”
“Oh, Hostis Quadra and the mirrors,” she said.
“Catherine!”
She had the grace to blush. “I found it at Saint-Denis,” she explained. “I was reading about light and reflections. I didn’t know what was coming.”
Edgar bit his tongue. They hadn’t been married long enough for him to respond to that. “Well, then,” he said finally, “as long as you weren’t assigned it at the Paraclete.”
“I don’t think that part would interest the sisters very much,” Catherine considered. “But in the monks’ copy, that page was very well thumbed.”
Edgar surrendered.
Fortunately, just then a voice called out, “There she is!”
Catherine turned toward it. “Father!” she cried and ran to his arms.
Halfway there, she stopped. She had seen Eliazar and Solomon with him. Who was he supposed to be here, a Christian or a Jew? Would her recognizing him cause him to be exposed? Hubert saw her indecision.
“Come here, ma douce, ” he said. “I have missed you so.”
She threw herself at him, forgetting for the moment that she was no longer eight years old. “Did you bring my blue bliaut with the daisies on the hem?” she asked. “And my extra shoes? And a new pair of
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