He cast his eyes around until he’d found what he was looking for. The sign of a bookbinder carved above Simeon’s initials. Pelletier smiled with relief. It was the right house. Thanking her, he pressed a coin into the girl’s hand and sent her away. Then he lifted the heavy brass knocker and struck the door three times.
It had been a long time, more than fifteen years. Would there still be the easy affection between them?
The door opened a fraction, enough to reveal a woman staring suspiciously at him. Her black eyes were hostile. She was wearing a green veil that covered her hair and the lower part of her face, and the traditional wide, pale trousers gathered at the ankle worn by Jewish women in the Holy Land. Her long, yellow jacket reached down to her knees.
“I wish to speak with Simeon,” he said.
She shook her head and tried to shut the door, but he wedged it open with his foot.
“Give him this,” he said, easing the ring from his thumb and forcing it into the woman’s hands. “Tell him Bertrand Pelletier is here.”
He heard her gasp. Straight away, she stood back to let him enter. Pelletier followed her through a heavy red curtain, decorated with golden coins stitched top and bottom.
“Attendez,” she said, gesturing he should stay where he was.
The bracelets around her wrist and ankles chinked as she scuttled down the long corridor and disappeared.
From the outside, the building looked tall and narrow, but now he was inside, Pelletier could see it was deceptive. Rooms led off the central corridor to both left and right. Despite the urgency of his mission, Pelletier gazed around with delight. The floor was laid with blue and white tiles rather than wood, and beautiful rugs hung from the walls. It reminded him of the elegant, exotic houses of Jerusalem. It had been many years, but the colors, textures and smells of that alien land still spoke to him.
“Bertrand Pelletier, by all that’s sacred in this tired old world!”
Pelletier turned toward the sound to see a small figure in a long purple surcoat rushing toward him, his arms outstretched. His heart leaped at the sight of his old friend. His black eyes twinkled as bright as ever. Pelletier was nearly knocked over by the force of Simeon’s embrace, even though he was a good head taller.
“Bertrand, Bertrand,” Simeon said affectionately, his deep voice booming through the silent corridor. “What took you so long, eh?”
“Simeon, my old friend,” he laughed, clasping Simeon’s shoulder as he got his breath back. “How it does my spirit good to see you, and so well. Look at you,” he said, tugging his friend’s long black beard, always Simeon’s greatest vanity. “A little gray here and there, but still as fine as ever! Life has treated you well?”
Simeon raised his shoulders. “Could be better, it could be worse,” he said, standing back. “And what of you, Bertrand? A few more lines on your face, maybe, but still the same fierce eyes and broad shoulders.” He patted him on the chest with the flat of his hand. “Still as strong as an ox.”
His arm around Simeon’s shoulder, Pelletier was taken to a small room at the rear of the house overlooking a small courtyard. There were two large sofas, covered with silk cushions of red, purple and blue. Several ebony tables were set around the room decorated with delicate vases and large flat bowls filled with sweet almond biscuits.
“Come, take off your boots. Esther will bring us tea.” He stood back and looked Pelletier up and down again. “Bertrand Pelletier,” he said again, shaking his head. “Can I trust these old eyes? After so many years are you really here? Or are you a ghost? A figment of an old man’s imagination?”
Pelletier smiled. “I wish I was here under more auspicious circumstances, Simeon.”
He nodded. “Of course. Come, Bertrand, come. Sit.”
“I’ve come with our Lord Trencavel, Simeon, to warn Besiers of the army approaching from the north. Listen to the bells calling the city fathers to council.”
“It’s hard to ignore your Christian bells,” Simeon replied, raising his eyebrows, “although they do not usually ring for our benefit!”
“This will affect the Jews as much-if not more-than those they call heretics, you know that.”
“As it ever does,” he said mildly. “Is the Host as large as they are saying?”
“Twenty thousand strong, maybe more. We cannot fight them in open combat, Simeon, the numbers against us are too great. If Besiers can hold the invaders here for some time, then at least it will give us the chance to raise a fighting force in the west and prepare the defenses of Carcassona. All who wish it will be offered refuge there.”
“I have been happy here. This city has treated me-us-well.”
“Besiers is no longer safe. Not for you, not for the books.”
“I know it. Still,” he sighed, “I will be sorry to go.”
“God willing, it will not be for long.” Pelletier paused, confused by his friend’s unflinching acceptance of the situation. “This is an unjust war, Simeon, preached out of lies and deceit. How can you accept it so easily?”
Simeon spread his hands wide. “Accept it, Bertrand? What would you have me do? What would you have me say? One of your Christian saints, Francis, prayed that God should grant him the strength to accept those things he could not change. What will happen will happen, whether I wish it or no. So, yes, I accept. It does not mean that I like it or wish it were not otherwise.”
Pelletier shook his head.
“Anger serves no purpose. You must have faith. To trust in a greater meaning, beyond our lives or knowledge, requires a leap of faith. The great religions each have their own stories-Holy Scripture, the Qur’an, the Torah-to make sense of these insignificant lives of ours.” He paused, his eyes sparkling in mischief. “The Bans Homes, now they do not seek to make sense of the evil men do. Their faith teaches them that this is not God’s earth, a perfect creation, but instead an imperfect and corrupt realm. They do not expect goodness and love to triumph over adversity. They know that in our temporal lives they will not.” He smiled. “And yet here you are, Bertrand, surprised when Evil meets you face to face. It is strange that, no?”
Pelletier’s head shot up as if he’d been found out. Did Simeon know? How could he?
Simeon caught his expression, although he made no further reference to it. “Conversely, my faith tells me the world was made by God, that it is perfect in every particular. But whenever men turn away from the words of the prophets, the balance between God and man is disturbed and retribution will follow as sure as night follows the day.”
Pelletier opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“This war is not our affair, Bertrand, despite your duty to Viscount Trencavel. You and I have a wider purpose. We are joined by our vows. It is that which must now guide our steps and inform our decisions.” He reached out and clasped Pelletier’s shoulder. “So, my friend, keep your anger and your sword in readiness for those battles you can win.”
“How did you know?” he said. “Have you heard something?”
Simeon chuckled. “That you were a follower of the new church? No, no, I have heard nothing to that effect. It is a discussion we will have some time in the future, God willing, not now. Much as I would dearly love to talk theology with you, Bertrand, we have pressing matters to attend to.”
The arrival of the servant with a tray of hot mint tea and sweet biscuits stopped the conversation. She placed it on the table in front of them, before removing herself to a bench in the corner of the room.
“Do not concern yourself,” Simeon said, seeing Pelletier’s worry that their conversation was to be overheard. “Esther came with me from Chartres. She speaks Hebrew and a few words of French only. She does not understand your tongue at all.”