Read The Outcast Dove: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery for Free Online Page A

member off entirely but he had fainted at the first touch of the knife. His abbot had forbidden him to try any such thing again. James had listened patiently to the sermon. It was better, the abbot insisted, to fight temptations, even if they were only those of memory, than to make oneself a eunuch.
    The abbot didn’t have James’s memories.
    “Brother James, aren’t you dining with us?” The voice had a laugh in it that roused James from his gloom.
    “Just finished lacing my sandal,” he said as he rose with a smile. “Thank you for coming back for me Brother Victor.”
    The young monk brushed away the thanks. “I wouldn’t have you miss another fine Lenten supper with a reading from Saint Ambrose all because you were lost in your private devotions.”
    “You are always thoughtful.” James forced himself to smile. “I look forward to both Ambrose and the supper.”
    Brother Victor took his arm. “And then a good night’s rest,” he said. “You’ll need all your strength for the task ahead.”
    James gave the young monk a tired smile.
    “I don’t know how I would survive without your help,” he said. “Certainly I could never have faced leaving the cloister if you hadn’t volunteered to come with me.”
    Victor laughed. “This is a treat for me, Brother James! I haven’t been back to Toulouse since I entered the monastery. And then there’s the adventure of travel as well as the knowledge that we are on a mission of great importance. I’m grateful you were willing to let me join you.”
    James looked at the young man. Victor’s bright brown eyes showed no trace of deceit. Or fear. James’s heart warmed to him. He had a boy’s hopeful, trusting view of the world. If only the world were as he saw it!
    James sighed and allowed Victor to take him in to dinner.
     
     
    In his small room, Hubert ate a meal more simple even than that of the monks. A bit of bread was enough, and a cup of water to keep the crumbs from sticking in his throat. Too much food clogged the mind and promoted drowsiness and he had so much more to learn, to understand, to seek. He knew he would never be a great scholar or judge. The fine points of the Law were too complicated for him. But the Torah, the words that made the world, yes, that was something he could study. Over and over he read them aloud, gently pointing to each letter with the silver yad that had once belonged to his brother Jacob.
    Perhaps the learning that Jacob had abandoned when he converted was somehow contained in the slim pointer. It seemed to Hubert that meanings became clearer when he used it. The letters were reflected in the silver as it caught the light of his lamp and illuminated the page. Sometimes the words seemed to grow until they filled his vision and then he could see into the space beyond them, as if they were windows into the palace of the Lord. At these times he felt no hunger, thirst, or bodily pain. It was as if he were surrounded by joy and wonder.
    But not tonight.
    The letters lay still and lifeless on the page. He read the same passage a dozen times before realizing that he hadn’t taken in the meaning. The ghost of his brother had come between him and the words. He wanted to curse Jacob. But all he could feel was grief and his own self-doubt.
    Jacob had abandoned his family to follow a false god. But Hubert had been raised to believe in that god. Lately he had come to believe that, like Moses, he had found his way home to his own people at last. But hadn’t he also abandoned a family? His daughter, Agnes, despised him. His other daughter, Catherine, grieved for him although she loved him still. His poor son, Guillaume, had no idea what he had done or even that Hubert had been born a Jew. Guillaume thought that his father had gone on a long and dangerous pilgrimage, from which he was not expected to return.
    The only difference between the brothers was that Hubert still loved his family. He had left Paris to protect them. Jacob had done