Paris. Wednesday, 6 the ides February (February 10), 1148. Feast of Saint Scholastica, virgin and scholar.

Denarii salute mei, per vos ego regno,
Terrarum per vos impero principibus.
Quod probor et veneror, quod diligo atque frequento,
Gratia vestra facit que michi magna facit.

Money, come to me. Through you I rule;
Through you I command the rulers of the earth.
You whom I extol and revere, love and seek out,
Your esteem creates that which makes me great.

Petri Pictoris

The black mud of the streets of Paris had become black ice. The few people insane enough to be out slipped and tripped as they made their way down the slick paths. The ice was doubly dangerous because of the hard chunks of the normal street detritus frozen into it: straw, excrement, rats half chewed by dogs, bits of broken crockery. The dung collectors couldn't be bothered to chisel out most of the leavings and were concentrating instead on the open spaces in front of the bishop's palace and the Grève, where the peddlers set up their stalls and would pay extra to have the ground cleared. So amidst the hard chunks there were also occasional steaming piles. The oaths of those who slid into these could be heard ringing through the crisp afternoon air. The beggars had left the streets and were huddled in the church porches, praying for soup and beer. Even thieves were scarce, having taken their business to the warmth of the taverns.

Catherine stepped carefully through all this in her high wooden sabots, mindful of the fact that she was once again pregnant and that her balance wasn't that good even in her normal state. The wind funneled down the narrow street, catching at her cloak. She pulled it around herself more tightly, her basket of dried fish and herbs tipping as she did so. She snatched at it to prevent everything falling and barely escaped falling herself.

It was the coldest winter in her memory. The weather of the past few years had been dismal, too cold in the summer and damp with many crops failing. Now famine was all around them and illness rampant as people weak with hunger found they had no strength to survive the winter agues. Added to everything else, the news from the king's expedition to the Holy Land was bad.

The army had left in the early summer of 1147, blessed by the pope and Bernard, abbot of Clairvaux. Swords and armor shining, banners waving, King Louis and Queen Eleanor had led an army of pilgrims to free the city of Edessa from the Moslem invaders. Along with them had gone half the lords of France, Burgundy, Champagne, Flanders and Lotharingia. They were supposed to have met up along the way with Conrad, emperor of the Germans, and his army. But almost from the first, things had gone awry. The Germans and French had argued with each other and among themselves. The emperor in Constantinople hadn't welcomed them as expected, and Christian towns had been pillaged on the route. One lord had even ordered the burning of a monastery in retaliation for the murder of one of his soldiers by local townspeople.

Then, last fall, there had been an eclipse of the sun. There were many who feared it was a sign that the expedition to the East was also to be eclipsed by the powerful Seljuk Turks. But the thing that angered those in France the most was the way King Louis kept sending back for more money. Hadn't he taxed them enough to finance the journey? Didn't he know how bad things were in his own country? What business had an anointed king leaving his land in the first place?

Catherine worried about all these things as she made her way back to her home. It seemed to her that ever since this expedition had first been preached, life in France had worsened. She wasn't the only one who was starting to believe that God wasn't happy with the Christian King Louis or his people.

When she arrived at the gate of her house, Catherine felt a deep relief. However dreadful things were outside, she knew that within there was love and warmth and peace.

Peace, of course, could be defined according to many criteria. As she entered, Catherine deducted "tranquility" from the definition. The great hall where they ate, worked, played and fought was currently being used for all these activities. Her six-year-old son, James, was chasing the dog around the room. Or perhaps, Catherine reconsidered, the dog was chasing him. Dragon might have been slowed down by the weight of four-year-old Edana. She was clinging to the dog's back with her arms around his neck. From her happy squeals and his barks, neither appeared to be in danger.

Catherine's husband, Edgar, and her cousin, Solomon, were seated at the table near the fire. There was a pitcher of spiced beer on the table that was rocking perilously as the men alternately pounded the table to emphasize the points in their argument. Neither seemed aware of the rowdiness of the children or the noise.

"I'm home!" Catherine called.

"Why should the emperor help the king?" Solomon shouted at Edgar. "Those desfaë 'pilgrims' have ravaged his towns and destroyed his truce with the Arabs."

"He had no business making truces with infidels!" Edgar shouted back.

"You'd rather Roger of Sicily ruled all of Europe?" Solomon countered. "Manuel's empire has Saracens on three sides and a Norman adventurer on the fourth. He can hardly fight Roger if he has to spend all his time wet-nursing idiotic defenders of Christendom! Even your pope agrees with me on that one."

That was undeniably true. Pope Eugenius had been counting on the help of the German king, Conrad, to defend Italy against Roger of Sicily, whom he privately considered a far more serious threat than the Turks. He was not pleased that Conrad was still in the Holy Land.

"So why are you arguing against Roger?" Edgar shouted. "He's the most lenient of all the Christian kings where Jews are concerned. You should be glad no one's helping the pope."

Solomon paused, realizing that he had just argued himself onto the wrong side. It wasn't easy being a Jew in a Christian household, or a Christian country.

Catherine took advantage of the slight lull to announce herself again.

"Edgar, are you sure we want one more person in the house to add to this cacophony?"

Edana fell off the dog; James tripped over her. Both children started howling. Before Catherine could get to them, Edgar and Solomon jumped up and came to her, each stopping on the way to pick up a child.

"You're frozen, Catherine," Edgar chided. "I knew I shouldn't have let you go out today. Come over here and get warm. Do you want some beer? I'll heat it again."

He let Edana slide down his leg and then pulled the poker from the fire. He had to set it on the edge of the hearth to wipe it off with a cloth before putting it in the pitcher, where it sizzled. No one offered to help him. Even the children knew better than to suggest there was anything Edgar couldn't do with only one hand. Neither of them could remember him with two, but Catherine still had nightmares about the moment when he had stepped between his father's sword and the man it was aimed at. The blade had slid through Edgar's wrist with barely a pause, leaving his left hand in a lake of blood on the floor.

Catherine shook the memory away and returned to the present.

"I needed to get out," she said. "The midwife said that I should keep busy as long as I can. And I wanted to stop by...