Free The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman

What happened?”
    He looked over at the bed next to his. It was empty.
    “I don’t know exactly,” Marfan told him. “A watchman from the Cité arrived a few moments ago. He said that a monk had been attacked in the street. They took him to Saint Étienne, but he wasn’t from there. The watchman has been going from one priory to the next to find who had strangers staying with them. Brother Victor is the only one missing.”
    “Attacked? I don’t understand.” James fumbled with the laces on his sandals. “What was he doing out of the priory?”
    He stopped. “ Senhor Marfan,” he said. “Could you wait for me in the porter’s alcove? I’ll only be a moment.”
    As soon as the bailiff had left, James went to the pack Victor had brought with him. During the day, Victor always carried the gold in bags tied to a belt under his robes. He had taken the belt off and put it in the pack before going to bed. James felt for it in the darkness. When he reached inside, his hand touched one of the bags, the coins solid under his fingers. He exhaled in relief. Whatever Brother Victor had been doing, it wasn’t because he had succumbed to cupidity. He hurried to where Marfan was waiting.
    “I’m sorry to keep you,” he said when he rejoined the bailiff. “I was still stupefied by sleep. Now, can you tell me more about what happened? How seriously was Victor hurt?”
    “The watchman said he took a blow to the head,” Marfan told him. “Knocked him out cold, but the watchman said he’d seen worse. He’ll probably be awake by the time we get there.”
    “Gratia Deo!” James made the sign of the cross. Marfan did likewise.
    The streets were now completely deserted. Even the taverns were quiet, the last customer having been thrown out or rolled under a table to await the dawn. A cat leapt silently from a wall, intent on chasing a rat. The motion startled James and he quickened his pace. It was less than a mile to the church of Saint Étienne but it seemed to the monk as if they were trapped in an unnatural shadow from which they would never escape.
    Marfan was unaware of the fancies of his companion. He assumed the monk was praying for the welfare of his friend. So he was surprised at the joy with which James greeted the sight of the lantern at the gate to the church of Saint Jacques, at the back of Saint Étienne.
    “Ah, the porter is waiting for us, no doubt,” he said. “I’ll leave you then. I’m sure they’ll give you a place to rest the remainder of the night. I hope Brother Victor is recovered by now. Good night to you.”
    James rang at the gate and a moment later it was opened, not by the porter but by a fellow monk.
    “You must be here about the injured man,” he said.
    James nodded. “Brother Victor, of Moissac,” he said. “We only arrived today. How is he?”
    “I’ll take you to him,” the monk said.
     
     
    Solomon had some qualms about waking a respectable salt merchant and his family in the middle of the night but Josta didn’t hesitate. She pounded loudly on the thick door, waited a moment, then pounded again.
    “Give them time to put on a robe,” Solomon told her.
    But the door opened at once. The man facing them was wide awake and fully, if hastily, dressed.
    “Josta,” Vidian said. “You’ve come for Belide. It’s all right; she’s here.”
    He led them up the stairs to the family chamber.
    “I’ve been trying to get some sense out of them,” he said as they climbed. “But neither one is talking. They’ve had a fright, I’m sure, but aren’t hurt.”
    “Belide will be soon,” Josta promised, “for the fright she’s given me.”
    “I don’t blame you,” Vidian said. “But wait a bit. She seems to be punishing herself quite effectively.”
    He opened the door.
    Belide sat by a coal brazier, a blanket around her shoulders and a bowl in her hands. On the other side sat Arnald, devouring a leg of chicken. When they saw Josta and Solomon, both of them