The Moneylender of Toulouse Read Online Free PDF Page B

dressed by the time Helga returned, her face a mask of studied indifference which dissolved into a grin as Claudia hauled her up from the last of the steps and embraced her.
    Portia was awake and burbled, “El, el, el!”
    Helga went over to her, squatted in front of the cradle, and said, “Hug for Helga?” Portia held out her arms and Helga lifted her into a tight embrace and danced with her around the room as the baby laughed and laughed. I quickly closed the trapdoor before any accidents could happen.
    â€œAny luck, Apprentice?” asked Claudia.
    â€œIt’s not luck, it’s skill,” the girl replied. “The man we saw is named Milon Borsella. According to the children who play in that courtyard, he is a mean man who lays about him with his stick at the least excuse. He has a wife named Béatrix who almost never comes out. They said she may be ill, but some think that it’s because he beats her, too.”
    â€œNice,” I said. “What does he do when he’s not beating women and children? Does he kick puppies?”
    â€œI met one of his servants,” she said. “She was taking down laundry from the lines, and I offered to help her. She thought I was very mature for such a little girl.”
    â€œAnd what did you say to that?”
    â€œI said, ‘I’m not a little girl, I’m a big girl!’” she said, thrusting her lower lip out like a little girl. “She said she could tell that I wasn’t from Toulouse because of my accent, so I told her all about our pilgrimage to Rome, and that we came here to look for work, and she said there was work to be had for honest, God-fearing folk.”
    â€œThat lets us out,” said Claudia.
    â€œThat’s a relief,” I said.
    â€œAnyhow, she told me that her master was a middle son,” continued Helga.
    â€œThose are often the ones that cause trouble,” said Claudia.
    â€œTheir father made his fortune in lumber, and left the business to the oldest son, Bonet. He’s on the city council. He was just elected this year. Milon was given the house and enough money to do what he wants, and there’s another son who is a Benedictine at Saint Sernin.”
    â€œWell-connected family,” I said. “What does he do with the money his father left him?”
    â€œTends it, lends it, and spends it,” she said. “They say he likes wine and whores, and he trades with merchants in Narbonne. He also lends money, mostly to old families in the city. She says he likes lending to them so he can lord it over them and their fancy airs. She says she thinks he prefers it when they don’t pay it back, so he can take them to court and humiliate them in public.”
    â€œNice fellow for the Bishop to be beholden to,” I said. “A good afternoon’s work, young lady. You have earned yourself my very own, specially prepared—beans and bread!”
    I dumped some into a bowl, tore off a piece of brown bread, and handed them to her.
    â€œWhat is so special about the preparation?” she asked, looking at them dubiously.
    â€œThis time, I cooked them,” I said. “I would have spent more time on the meal, but I was busy this afternoon following your sound counsel.”
    â€œHer what?” sputtered Claudia. “Fie upon both of you! Discussing such personal matters like that. I’m outraged. Oh, and grateful.”
    â€œShall I go back there tomorrow?” asked Helga.
    â€œMight as well,” I said. “Find out what else he does for fun, and if he has any hold over the Bishop besides the money.”
    â€œI wonder if they paid him today,” said Claudia. “And with what, and if there is anything left.”
    â€œWe need to meet the local fools,” I said. “Jordan first, I think. He’s senior to Pelardit.”
    â€œHow well do you know them?” asked Helga.
    â€œNot at all,” I