nightfall, where there is a proper pilgrims’ hostel. If you don’t see us on the road, meet us there. Otherwise, all four of us will come looking for you. You’ll have no rebuttal to Catherine’s scorn then, nor will I protect you from it.”
“Thank you, Edgar.” Solomon paused for a moment to take his friend’s hand. “If I don’t find her by the time the Lot meets the other rivers, I’ll know she’s lost forever. But I must be sure.”
“I don’t understand your fascination with this woman,” Edgar said.
“Don’t say it,” Solomon said. “She’s nothing but a jael who’s finally repented her licentiousness, and hides her face only because she’s become old and ugly. That’s what those old men say, and the Lady of Lugny as well. I don’t believe it. And I won’t believe she’s drowned.”
“I never said that you would,” Edgar told him. “At Conques by nightfall. Be careful.”
As Edgar made his way back, he shook his head at this new madness in Solomon. Up until now, he had thought Catherine’s cousin always able to counter his intensity with his logic. Solomon had never studied philosophy but he had long been
a classic cynic, never trusting anything enough to take it seriously. What had happened to him on this last trip to Spain?
Catherine’s unnatural display of patience lasted only until the sun was fully up. By that time, as much order as possible had been restored and the pilgrims had been fed by the monks of Saint-Marcel. By the haste in which the parties formed Catherine knew she wasn’t the only one eager to leave the narrow valley behind.
“What’s keeping Edgar?” Hubert asked. “Solomon couldn’t have been that far ahead of him.”
“Perhaps we should start now and meet him,” Catherine suggested.
“No,” Hubert said. “Everyone isn’t ready yet. Lady Griselle’s men are still loading her packhorses. If he isn’t here by the time the party sets out—”
He stopped. Catherine had spotted the flaxen hair of her husband among the cluster of people milling about on the road below. She was halfway down the slope before Hubert could finish his sentence. He started after her, then noticed that there was no dark head next to the fair.
Eliazarhad found Edgar also, and as Catherine and Hubert approached, the two men seemed to be having a strong disagreement.
“You should have dragged him back by the belt of his brais ,” Eliazar was saying. “Hubert, did you hear this? Edgar found that idiot and then let him go wandering off like some poet in a song, hunting for his true love.”
“I couldn’t force him to return, sir,” Edgar said. “And I don’t think he’s looking for love, not this time.”
“Whatever he thinks it is, a good short yank on the back of his brais would bring him to his senses,” Eliazar grumbled. “I only hope we don’t lose days searching the riverbank for him.”
No one was in a better mood as the pilgrims set off again, this time following closely behind the party from Cluny. There was little talking and only an occasional mournful toot as
Roberto continued to work on his pipes. As the sun rose higher, many of the party gave off steam when their wool clothing began to dry. They looked like bewildered sinners rescued in the Harrowing of Hell, back in the world but still bearing the stigma of their punishment.
Catherine made no objection when Edgar shifted their packs to Hubert’s horse and hoisted her onto their own. She used the vantage point to take an inventory of her fellow travelers.
The two remaining German men were tight-lipped but determined to continue. They agreed that the loss of their comrades was simply part of the price exacted for the saving of their town. To turn back might only bring further disaster. Catherine felt that this was bad theology. But even knowing the correct doctrine on the matter hadn’t kept her from a feeling that everything in life was a matter of reward and punishment, of covenant made
“Thank you, Edgar.” Solomon paused for a moment to take his friend’s hand. “If I don’t find her by the time the Lot meets the other rivers, I’ll know she’s lost forever. But I must be sure.”
“I don’t understand your fascination with this woman,” Edgar said.
“Don’t say it,” Solomon said. “She’s nothing but a jael who’s finally repented her licentiousness, and hides her face only because she’s become old and ugly. That’s what those old men say, and the Lady of Lugny as well. I don’t believe it. And I won’t believe she’s drowned.”
“I never said that you would,” Edgar told him. “At Conques by nightfall. Be careful.”
As Edgar made his way back, he shook his head at this new madness in Solomon. Up until now, he had thought Catherine’s cousin always able to counter his intensity with his logic. Solomon had never studied philosophy but he had long been
a classic cynic, never trusting anything enough to take it seriously. What had happened to him on this last trip to Spain?
Catherine’s unnatural display of patience lasted only until the sun was fully up. By that time, as much order as possible had been restored and the pilgrims had been fed by the monks of Saint-Marcel. By the haste in which the parties formed Catherine knew she wasn’t the only one eager to leave the narrow valley behind.
“What’s keeping Edgar?” Hubert asked. “Solomon couldn’t have been that far ahead of him.”
“Perhaps we should start now and meet him,” Catherine suggested.
“No,” Hubert said. “Everyone isn’t ready yet. Lady Griselle’s men are still loading her packhorses. If he isn’t here by the time the party sets out—”
He stopped. Catherine had spotted the flaxen hair of her husband among the cluster of people milling about on the road below. She was halfway down the slope before Hubert could finish his sentence. He started after her, then noticed that there was no dark head next to the fair.
Eliazarhad found Edgar also, and as Catherine and Hubert approached, the two men seemed to be having a strong disagreement.
“You should have dragged him back by the belt of his brais ,” Eliazar was saying. “Hubert, did you hear this? Edgar found that idiot and then let him go wandering off like some poet in a song, hunting for his true love.”
“I couldn’t force him to return, sir,” Edgar said. “And I don’t think he’s looking for love, not this time.”
“Whatever he thinks it is, a good short yank on the back of his brais would bring him to his senses,” Eliazar grumbled. “I only hope we don’t lose days searching the riverbank for him.”
No one was in a better mood as the pilgrims set off again, this time following closely behind the party from Cluny. There was little talking and only an occasional mournful toot as
Roberto continued to work on his pipes. As the sun rose higher, many of the party gave off steam when their wool clothing began to dry. They looked like bewildered sinners rescued in the Harrowing of Hell, back in the world but still bearing the stigma of their punishment.
Catherine made no objection when Edgar shifted their packs to Hubert’s horse and hoisted her onto their own. She used the vantage point to take an inventory of her fellow travelers.
The two remaining German men were tight-lipped but determined to continue. They agreed that the loss of their comrades was simply part of the price exacted for the saving of their town. To turn back might only bring further disaster. Catherine felt that this was bad theology. But even knowing the correct doctrine on the matter hadn’t kept her from a feeling that everything in life was a matter of reward and punishment, of covenant made
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