The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman Page B

without another woman to share her troubles with.”
    The others considered that horrible fate and continued their work in a spirit of thankfulness.
     
    Once he had made his own arrangements for the night and seen Jehan tucked in with a skin of wine, Walter decided to explore the town. Metz was in imperial territory and had recently been granted the freedom to answer only to Emperor Conrad III instead of a local lord. A ruler had been selected from the local noblemen but not on any inherited or territorial principle. It sounded to Walter something like the anarchy that was currently prevailing in Italy and he was curious about how the locals were faring under such a system.
    He strolled through the streets with the confidence of a man who wore both sword and knife and knew that only a lunatic would dare bother him. The shops were all busy, the shutters open wide to catch the spring air and tables set up in the streets so that there was only a narrow path for people to walk through. Walter bumped and apologized his way along, stopping now and then to buy a sausage or a bowl of beer.
    He was just turning around, the sausage half-eaten, when he came face-to-face with a man who seemed very familiar.
    “Pardon,” the man said as he made to pass him.
    “Of course,” Walter answered, swallowing the rest of the sausage. “Don’t I know you?”
    The man smiled as if used to the question. “I think not,” he answered. “You may have once met my father. If your accent is any guide, you’re from south of Dijon, right?”
    “Grancy,” Walter said. “I’ve some land there.”
    The man nodded. “Well I don’t think we’ve—wait,” he looked at Walter again. “You weren’t at Sens, were you, when my father was condemned by the bishops?”
    “That’s it!” Walter was delighted to have an answer to the puzzle. “You’re Abelard’s son, the one with the funny name.”
    “Astrolabe,” he answered and smiled. “I remember now. You were friends with that poor woman who died at my mother’s convent. Catherine LeVendeur was very concerned about her.”
    “I saw Catherine and Edgar only recently in Paris!” Walter felt he had discovered a lost relative. “You know about his accident, don’t you?”
    They both started down the road again, stomping unconcernedly through the refuse that ran down the ditch in the middle. Walter explained to Astrolabe why he was in Metz.
    “It’s good of you to go to that trouble,” Astrolabe said. “It will make Catherine easier in her mind to know you’re watching over her sister.”
    “Now, are you attached to the church here?” Walter asked.
    Astrolabe seemed embarrassed. “No. Actually, well, actually, I’m here at the request of Abbot Bernard. I know it’s odd, considering his relations with my father, but I happened to be at Clairvaux when he needed someone to carry his letters this way and I offered. My mother feels that I need to have a benefice, or a position tutoring or as a clerk. The abbot may be willing to help.”
    “What does he think of this news that the Jews are being attacked again?” Walter asked.
    “I’m not sure he believes it yet,” Astrolabe said. “He’s sent letters everywhere telling people to leave the Jews in peace. It’s incredible to him that he would be ignored.”
    “I heard that one of his own monks was leading the persecutions.”
    “That’s only rumor.”
    “But it concerns you?” Walter read Astolabe’s expression.
    “Yes.” Astrolabe stopped walking and rubbed his forehead. “I agree with my father and Abbot Bernard that Jews should be brought to Christ through logic and divine grace, not coercion. And I have friends among them whom I would not see hurt.”
    “Yes,” Walter said. “So do I.”
    They continued their perambulation into the wider area in front of the church of Notre Dame de la Ronde. There Astrolabe took leave of Walter.
    Walter started to say good-bye, then bit his lip, as if trying to come to a decision.