Pilgrims of Promise(120)
“Ja, si, oui, sim! I speak many tongues. I am a moneylender and so I must.”
“A Jew?” snapped Wil.
“Ja. A Jew. But I do not eat babies or steal money from the dead.”
Wil spat. He had oft been told of these strange people and their dangerous ways. A village elder had once said they spread evil in their path. He had said they were tricksters of a high order. “Keep away.”
The man laughed. “I’d prefer to. You stink.”
Wil grumbled. “If I wasn’t bound, I’d smash that big nose of yours.”
“And how do you know I’ve a big nose?”
“You all do. I’ve heard it from the priests.”
“Ah … but I thought you said you ought not have trusted your priest.”
Wil grunted. He could hear the grin in the man’s tone.
Heinrich was wary. He wished he knew where the Jew was standing. Being bound and lying on the floor made him feel vulnerable. “Why are you here? Who did you steal from?”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed Beniamino quietly. “Do you think I could be caught? No, I’m here for quite another reason.”
“And what is that?”
“That is why I am here.”
“What is why you are here?”
The old Jew was, indeed, smiling in the dark. “I am here so that I do not say why I am here.”
“Go to Jerusalem and die,” grumbled Wil.
“Ah, my dear boy. And why are you here?”
“None of your concern.”
“He is falsely accused of murdering his mother,” Heinrich answered.
Beniamino said nothing for a long moment. When he answered, his tone had changed. “So I heard you say. A more horrid crime I do not know. When you hang, know that I shall be dancing.”
If Heinrich could have, he would have torn the man’s throat out of his neck. He cursed and flailed about the floor until, panting and exasperated, he simply groaned. “He did not murder his mother!”
Beniamino was an old man and wise. Traveling Christendom he had become wily and intuitive. The anguish in Heinrich’s voice was genuine. “Then who, good sir, did?”
“The priest.”
In the darkness, Beniamino’s lips twitched. “The priest?”
“Aye. Father Pious, the priest of our village, Weyer.”
“I passed through your charming hamlet early this morning. But why would the priest kill the lad’s mother?”
“He wanted my land, and he’s always coveted my bakery. He thought it could further his ambitions.”
Beniamino was quiet. “So, you are the lad’s father, and the woman was your wife.”
“Aye.”
“So why are you here?”
“What does it matter?” Heinrich groused.
“Oh, it doesn’t really. But since you wondered about me, I thought I’d return the kindness.”
Wil grumbled at the man’s sarcasm, but the baker had no ear for such. He answered plainly. “Well, I killed a man defending my son from false arrest. Now, sir, why are you here?”
The Jew thought for a moment. He felt sudden pity for the two. “It cannot hurt to tell a little of it to dead men,” he answered in a whisper. “It seems the clever prior thought it was better that I spend the night far away from his brethren. As I recall, he said, Temptation and good wine might pry loose thy lips.’ So, I was sent here to sleep … with a kind apology, I should add.”
Heinrich did not understand. “Seems like an odd way of business.”
Beniamino chuckled. “Dear man, not so much odd as careful. You see, I am a man with a secret, and secrets, my friend, have value! So I willingly suffer the unpleasantness of one night to secure the profit of this particular secret I bear.”
“Sounds like Uncle Arnold,” muttered Wil.
“Uncle Arnold?”
“Aye,” answered Heinrich. “My old uncle peddles secrets in the village. You would like him.”
“Ha! Perhaps.”
Heinrich’s curiosity was stirred. “Can y’not tell us something of this?” he asked.
The Jew hesitated, then laughed quietly. “It is true; secrets are very hard to keep. It is so tasty to let them roll over one’s tongue and out one’s lips!”
“Then tell us, Jew!” growled Wil. “What could it hurt?”
Beniamino chuckled. “Such spirit from one who will soon hang for a crime he did not do.”
“So you believe us?” asked Heinrich.
“I do.”
“Why?”
“I know the sound of a father’s pain.” The jail was quiet. At last, Beniamino sighed. “Ah, well. I’ve no bread to share with you, so why not share a secret?” He felt his way toward Heinrich and cut him loose with a sharp knife, then stood over Wil. “I should let you lie there for your lack of courtesy.”