Paris: The Novel

Saint-Jacques, the pilgrims’ path, that led toward the south. If they had started for Savoy, they would probably have gone that way.

    And now, two days later, he knew he had lost her. Naomi’s cunning letter made that quite clear. For a long time, he stared at the shining carpet of mist over Paris. The rising sun was starting to strike the towers of Notre Dame, making them gleam.
    He started to read the letter again.
    It wasn’t long. After some expressions of affection, she announced that she had news that she knew must cause them sorrow. She thanked her father for offering her such a fine collection of worthy suitors, and allowing her to choose a husband from among them. But now she must make a confession. She loved another.
    I love another. He is a good young man, but I know he would not be acceptable to you, for he has no fortune. He comes from Aquitaine, where his father is a miller. He came to Paris as a servant in a nobleman’s household. But now he is returning to Aquitaine. And I go with him
.
    I am his woman. We shall marry when we reach his home. He has promised it
.
    Do not try to follow us. It is too late for that. But you shall hear from me again, once we are married. Until then, I beg your forgiveness, my dear parents
.
    He could not fault the letter’s cleverness. There was not a word about Aaron, the Jewish boy. The miller’s son was obviously Christian. Of course, he didn’t believe in the existence of this boy from Aquitaine for a moment. But any outsider to whom the letter was shown would see no reason to doubt it. All they’d see was that she’d run off with a poor boy. She was already living with him in sin. She’d disgraced herself and her family. Such things happened.
    Nor was there any hint that she might have gone to Savoy. Just a false trail to Aquitaine.
    Once or twice, he still asked himself if there mightn’t be a chance of recovering her. What if he brought her back and married her to one of the eligible young men he’d chosen for her? But he knew it was useless. If Naomi was determined to run away with Aaron, then she was never going to settle down with a Christian boy, even if he led her to the altar in chains.
    To make it believable, he’d probably tell a few friends what had happened, and set out for Aquitaine where, of course, he would not find her. Nor would any letter come from her. People would suppose that something had happened to her and her lover on the way, or that the young man had jilted her, and she was too ashamed to return to her parents.
    He’d apologize to the families with whom he’d been negotiating her betrothal. He’d probably show them the letter. They’d hear about it anyway.
    It would be highly embarrassing. But yes, he thought sadly, it would probably work.
    For another hour, he paced about in his orchard, going over the thing this way and that, glancing from time to time at the the city below, where the mist was gradually thinning and the houses beginning to emerge.
    After that, he decided to return home. Out of force of habit, he followed the path that he and Naomi always took, which led down the slope and into the city past the great fortress of the Temple Knights. There were still some wreaths of mist where the ground fell away beside the lane, but he could see the fort’s walls clearly enough from some distance.

    He was about a hundred paces from the Temple’s gateway when he saw the crowd. He wondered what it could mean. Then he noticed a gleam of swords and armor, and saw that a cart was emerging from the gate.
    Was this a bullion shipment setting off? He drew closer. There was something odd about the cavalcade ahead of him, but he couldn’t decide what it was. Another fifty paces, and he realized. The mounted men were not Templars. They were the king’s men-at-arms. There was also a troop of men following the cart. They weren’t armed, though. Some of them looked as if they were only half-dressed. As he stared, he saw that they were shackled together with chains. It seemed to him that he had seen some of their faces before. Then he realized.
    They were Templars. Knights Templar. In chains.
    “What is happening?” he asked a fellow in the crowd before the gateway.
    “The Templars are being arrested.”
    “Which Templars?”
    “All of them. Every Templar in France. In all Christendom, I believe.”
    “By whose orders?”
    “King’s orders. And the pope’s.” The man grinned. “Same thing these days, isn’t it, now