The Wandering Arm by Sharan Newman Page B

that I would be discovered,” he sighed. “Solomon convinced me to at least attend and watch. But it’s too late for me, Eliazar. I don’t remember anything, not even all of the Shema.”
    “It doesn’t matter, the Holy One hears your heart,” Eliazar said. “I’ve told you before, a splash of water doesn’t change what you are. And now that your wife has gone to live with the nuns, why shouldn’t you come home?”
    “Just what I’ve been saying,” Baruch added, as he and Solomon joined them.
    Hubert shook his head. “Not yet, perhaps not ever. There’s too much else to worry about. The state of my soul will have to wait.”
    Eliazar lifted his eyebrows at that, but didn’t press the argument. His brother’s lot was hard enough. “What else is it?” he asked. “Your family? Your Catherine?”
    “Stillborn daughter, a few days ago,” Hubert said gruffly. “She’ll be all right. Hard on them, all the same.”
    “And you. I’m sorry,” Eliazar said. “Johannah will grieve for her.”
    “That’s not what I’ve come about,” Hubert added. “But that business is no subject to speak of in the street.”
    The four men walked the short block home in silence. When they entered the house Johannah greeted them with delight, mentally redividing the dinner and thinking what could be prepared from the larder without breaking the Sabbath.
    “Shabbat shalom to you all,” she said, kissing each of them in turn. “It’s good to have guests tonight.”
    They spoke of trivial matters during the meal: the unusual cold, the quality of the last grape harvest, the growing antagonism between King Louis and Thibault, Count of Champagne.
    “That boy needs a strong hand,” Baruch said sadly. “Even if he is the king. His wife’s sister is living openly with a married man old enough to be her grandfather and he does nothing.”
    “We all know Queen Eleanor leads him around by a halter,” Eliazar said. “He listens to no one else.”
    “What she needs is a few children to keep her busy,” Hubert added. “Oh, forgive me, Johannah. My mind is much occupied with such things now.”
    Johannah patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Hubert. I’m not offended. If the Holy One, blessed be He, didn’t see fit to send us children of our own, he still gave us a fine nephew in Solomon. And I’m sure dear Catherine will be granted another child. But the Queen,” she sniffed. “The way she dresses and goes about. She goes hunting, riding hard and leaping fences just like a man; I’ve seen her. It’s no wonder she hasn’t even gotten pregnant in four years, and she nearly nineteen, now.”
    “There are those,” Solomon interjected, “who say it’s not her fault. Young Louis seems to be more of a monk than a king and insists on abiding by all the religious rules for sexual abstinence.”
    “Well, her convent training doesn’t seem to have had that effect on Catherine, I’m glad to say,” Hubert added. “She and Edgar both know their duty. King Louis should tend to his.”
    They all nodded agreement. The one thing the Capetian kings had managed to do for the past hundred years was produce a son to succeed to the throne. The people had ignored many of their other flaws in the light of this virtue. No one wanted France to go through the turmoil that England and Normandy were now suffering with the disputed succession. Civil war was terrible for business.
    Baruch must have been thinking of that as he set down his cup and folded his hands. Everything had been cleared away and the lamps were burning low. He cleared his throat importantly.
    Eliazar gave him a sardonic smile. “Ah, finally,” he said. “You’re going to tell me what brought you here over seven icy miles. Your piety is beyond doubt, friend, but I know that it would not be enough to bring all three of you to Paris on such a night.”
    Baruch bridled at the insult and then relaxed with a shrug.
    “There is a matter for concern.” He hesitated. “I