The Sorcerer and the Assassin by Stephen O’Shea

Author:Stephen O’Shea [O’Shea, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brash Books
Published: 2023-01-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Word rocketed through the city like a summer storm. Long before the morning sun had burned off the wisps of mist lingering on the river Garonne, it was known far and wide that the sorcerer sent by the French king had been charged with heresy. Heresy, indeed. More Dominican hypocrisy. That wretched Tuscan, Brother Giuseppe, had taken the good doctor hostage. Balian was a scapegoat, protecting the people of Toulouse from the vengeance of the provincial. If they, the Toulousans, dared free him, there would be hell to pay. If they dared not, then more the shame.

Tancred did not have an opportunity to hear the news. The crack of dawn had brought a messenger boy, one Isaac of Muret, to tell him that the lady Judith demanded his company immediately. She must see him now, without fail.

As he followed the boy through the streets toward the Rue Joutx-Aigues, Tancred could not help but indulge his poetic nature. Yes, the poor girl was in mourning, but she was so beautiful and so in need of consolation that he might be the only man able to ease her pain. True, he was a knight of Christ and she a daughter of Abraham, but were they not just man and woman in the sight of God? And her father was no longer here to protect her.

Isaac expertly inserted the hefty key into the lock on Rabbi Ezra’s door and turned it twice widdershins until a loud click was heard. The door swung open to reveal a servant extinguishing the last of the night candles in the hall. In the main room to the left, a few tapers still flickered on a table. Sitting at it, head bent over the vellum pages of a bound leather ledger, was Judith; she had been up all night, the terrible beauty of her cobalt eyes now ringed with darkness, the long mane of black hair running wild down her white linen shift, immodestly exposed to Tancred’s gaze. He caught his breath at the sight, then cleared his throat.

She looked up, untroubled by the intimacy.

“These are my father’s accounts,” she said, holding up the ledger. “We must avenge his murder. If you don’t want to join me, I will do it myself.”

She pointed to line items preceded by two initials: GF.

Tancred leaned over and looked at the recurring letters, which were always followed by a scrupulous noting of a sum of money. Sometimes two hundred, sometimes five hundred livres.

“I … I don’t understand,” he stammered.

“They indicate a man,” Judith explained. “GF.”

“GF?” Tancred asked, completely baffled.

Judith struggled not to roll her eyes. “Yes, GF. For Giuseppe of Fiesole.”

Tancred surveyed the pages with growing incredulity. The sheer frequency of the payments was astounding.

“But why?”

“Our kinsmen in Narbonne and Béziers need protection. This way my father made sure the Dominicans would not harm them.”

“That’s theft. Forcing somebody to make payments. Threatening them.”

“Most of it was to fund Brother Giuseppe’s many appetites.”

Tancred look at her questioningly, afraid of what he might hear next.

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