Free The Moneylender of Toulouse by Alan Gordon Page B

someone else.”
    â€œDo you expect me to give someone like you any credence?” asked the baile.
    â€œSwear me in,” growled Armand. “Put me to any oath you like, to the Count, to Mother Mary, to the Devil himself, but I swear to what I saw.”
    â€œAnd you saw who killed Milon Borsella,” said the baile.
    â€œNot his face,” said Armand. “I was lying down. I could only see part of him through a crack in the shed.”
    â€œThen of what use are you to this investigation?”
    â€œBecause I saw his feet,” said Armand as if that settled the matter.
    â€œHis feet,” repeated the baile wearily. “And I suppose that you can identify whose feet they were?”
    â€œWell, no,” said Armand as people started to laugh. “But they were wearing sandals, weren’t they?”
    The room abruptly went silent.
    â€œOh, no,” groaned Jordan.
    â€œSandals, you say,” said the baile, suddenly interested.
    â€œAs sure as I am here,” said Armand. “He was one of them Cathars, he was, and that’s my testimony.”
    â€œWell, well,” said Calvet, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Well, well, that is interesting. Very interesting indeed. Armand, forgive me. You may have proved yourself invaluable today.”
    Armand bowed clumsily, looking quite pleased with himself.
    â€œAnyone else?” asked Calvet, looking around the room. “Very well. It is my preliminary ruling that Milon Borsella is the victim of foul and loathsome murder by a person unknown, but very likely one of the Cathar cultists. We will adjourn until such time as enough information has been gathered so as to bring the guilty party to justice. In the name of the Count, these proceedings are ended.”
    The two soldiers thumped their halberds upon the ground, and we all filed out.
    We conferred under the cover of the general hubbub.
    â€œHow could he allow that to happen?” fumed Jordan. “To let all of the Cathars come under suspicion because of one drunk’s story? This is terrible.”
    â€œHelga, follow Evrard,” I ordered. “If he goes back to the Borsella household, get back inside, see what you pick up. Dearest, are you up to the task of tailing a priest?”
    â€œI don’t follow the Church as much as I used to, but in this case I’ll make an exception,” she said. “And you?”
    â€œMy inclination is to imbibe,” I said. “I will follow the drunkard. Brother Jordan, see what you can find out about this new outbreak of Catharist violence.”
    We walked with the crowd back through the Porte Narbonnaise into the city.
    â€œOur good Father is hanging back,” said Claudia. “I am going to fuss over our daughter for a few minutes.”
    â€œEvrard is in a hurry,” observed Helga.
    â€œWhich is why God gave you young legs,” I said. “Go.”
    We separated, each after our various targets. The crowd was still abuzz over the court proceedings, distorting them into stranger and stranger accounts and rumors and spilling them down the gutters of every street and alley in the city.
    Meanwhile, either the source of the truth of the murder or the propagator of a base and dangerous lie was walking quite happily along the Grande Rue. He turned left at the Rue de Comminges, which took him toward the river. The neighborhood he was aiming for had its share of taverns, not to mention more than its share of prostitutes, so it was not a surprising choice for a man like him. He appeared to be in no particular rush, nor was he paying any attention to anyone else, which made my job easier.
    Except that Father Mascaron was following me, and being rather obvious about it. I doubted that he knew I was following Armand, but I couldn’t risk pursuing the drunkard with the priest hot on my heels. My best chance was to allow Mascaron to waylay me and hope that my wife would switch to