Falls the Shadow (61 page)

There was such a wild look on his face that Simon’s anger gave way to alarm. “Gilbert? Are you ill?”

Gloucester blinked, and his panic receded. Leicester was French, he was foreign, he was not to be trusted. But he was no heretic. “You do shame yourself, my lord,” he said unsteadily, “by consorting with these alien disbelievers, these…these agents of evil. God sees—and judges. You’d best bear that in mind. As for me, I’ll not stay in the company of Jews. I value too highly my immortal soul.” He did not wait for Simon’s response. Convinced that the last word had been his, he stalked from the chamber.

Jacob slowly unclenched his fingers from his son’s arm. “Thank you, my lord,” he said huskily, convinced that Simon’s intervention might well have saved Benedict’s life. Simon turned toward him, and he saw how little his gratitude meant to the other man; Simon was furious.

“If Edward and Henry had but one wish,” he snapped, “I daresay it would be for this—a falling-out with Gloucester on the eve of battle!” His eyes fastened coldly on Benedict. “If you’d come here with evil intent, you could not have done more damage to our cause.”

The mere suggestion was enough to chill Jacob, for he knew that even if Simon himself did not suspect their motives, there were men in the room who would. So accustomed was he to dealing with religious bias that he’d rarely given much thought to the political dimensions of their danger. Now he was suddenly seeing his people from Simon de Montfort’s perspective—as the King’s accomplices—and the implications were darkly disturbing.

“I can understand why you would view us with suspicion, my lord. We are a significant source of revenue for the King. I’ll not deny that the tallages levied upon England’s Jews help him to make war upon you. But my lord of Leicester, the fault does not lie with us. We are not partners in crime, we are the King’s chattels. I believe the exact legal concept is called ‘servi camerae,’ but that does not matter. What does is that my people are totally dependent upon the King’s will, the King’s whims. If we keep his coffers filled, it is not by choice. In all the wars and rebellions that have torn England asunder—King Stephen versus the Empress Maud, King John and his barons, King Henry and you, my lord—never have the Jews interfered. We have no vested interest in the King’s victory. We do but obey—to save our lives.”

Simon’s mouth twitched. “If I did not know that Jews were barred from universities, I could believe you were a lawyer.”

Jacob’s relief was considerable. Simon’s response had been sardonic but not hostile, and he dared hope that he had planted a seed. His belief that the Earl of Leicester was an honorable man, one amenable to reason, once more seemed plausible, worth pursuing. But it was then that his son’s bitterness burst forth again.

“Papa, do not waste your breath. How can you expect this man to heed your appeal? One of his first acts as Earl of Leicester was to banish all the Jews from his domains!”

Jacob was appalled, but as he turned back toward Simon, he saw no anger in the other man’s face, only surprise. “Indeed, I did expel the Jews from Leicester,” he said, so matter-of-factly that Jacob suddenly understood why Simon had taken no offense; he did not see his action as one that needed defending. “But it was not done to punish the Jews. My intent was to protect my Christian brethren, to keep them from being sucked dry by Jewish money-lenders. Holy Church imposes responsibilities upon those who wield power, and one of them is to combat the evils of usury.”

The other men had been listening in silence, with varying degrees of interest or amusement or resentment. At that, though, murmurs of approval rose from numerous throats. The Bishop of Worcester was quick to confirm Simon’s concept of Christian lordship, in clipped, dispassionate tones that could not disguise a visceral antipathy, nuances of distaste not lost upon Jacob or his son. But Humphrey de Bohun’s antagonism was not cloaked in even the thinnest veneer of civility; he was known to be deeply in debt to Hereford money-lenders.

“You speak right eloquently of the poor, persecuted Jews. But what have you to say of their money-lending? Are you one of that accursed breed? Do you prey upon a man’s need, lead him on till he’s hopelessly entangled in your web?”

Fitz Thomas’s voice came calmly from the shadows. “Master Jacob is a physician, I believe.”

“I have been charged interest rates as high as sixty percent of the debt!” But Humphrey’s indignation was no longer dangerously directed at Jacob; Fitz Thomas’s interruption had been adroitly timed for maximum effect.

Jacob prudently kept silent; money-lending was about as risky a topic as there could be between Jew and Gentile. It was his son who rushed heedlessly ahead, his son who had always spoken of moneylenders with disdain. “They charge such high interest rates,” Benedict said, “because they have so little chance of ever collecting the debt. The King can cancel it at any time, and often does, a magnanimous gesture that costs him nothing and earns the debtor’s gratitude. A most successful business transaction, for only the Jew suffers. Nor is that his only risk. The King levies tallages whenever he is short of funds, and if a Jew cannot scrape up the money demanded, he’ll find himself rotting in gaol whilst his family and friends beggar themselves on his behalf.”

“How truly heart-rending!” The speaker was obviously a de Montfort son; Benedict just wasn’t sure which one. As he leaned forward, the candles reflected glints in eyes as dark and opaque as wood-smoke, and Benedict decided this must be Guy. They were very close in age, very alike in coloring, and yet they could have been born in different centuries, so alien were their worlds. Guy was smiling, without amusement. “Those do sound like occupational hazards to me,” he said challengingly, “hardly grounds for condolences.”

Jacob did not like the intensity of his gaze. It alarmed him that one of these young lords should single his son out for special notice, and he sought hastily to draw attention back to himself. “You would be right, Sir Guy—if money-lending was an occupation of choice. But that is not so. For most of my brethren, it is the only livelihood open to them. We are barred from the craft and trade guilds. We are not permitted to sell our goods in your market places. Your Church forbids us to work for Christians, or even to employ them. Because we cannot take your oaths of homage, we cannot hold land. Your universities are closed to us. So, too, are your courts, since we cannot swear upon your holy relics. So how are we to live?”

He paused for breath, trying to gauge the impact of his words. While none had yet to interrupt, only a few seemed to be truly listening; he was heartened, though, that Simon was one of them. He hesitated, and then concluded quietly, “Your society barricades all roads but one. Is it fair, then, to scorn us for taking the only path possible?”

His question found no favor with his listeners, save only Benedict, who felt a surge of pride. But of all those affronted by Jacob’s presence there, none were as irate as the Prior of London’s Dominican friary. “What do you expect from us—that we pity your plight? It is God’s Will that you suffer for your sins. Your punishment for the crucifixion of Our Lord Christ was the destruction of your temple. From that day, you were condemned to wander the world, outcasts and Ishmaels, bearing the curse of Cain.”

The exhaustion came upon Jacob without warning, sapping his strength, and he looked yearningly at a nearby footstool. But in the confusion following Gloucester’s return, Simon had forgotten to give him permission to sit. He leaned heavily upon his cane, not realizing how much his fatigue had dulled his caution until he heard his own voice, saying with rash candor, “Your Scriptures may speak of our suffering, but they also decree, ‘Slay them not.’ Your Book of Psalms, I believe?”

“How would you have such knowledge of our Holy Writ?”

The question seemed innocuous; Jacob knew better. No answer he gave would satisfy the Prior, and equivocation would only inflame his suspicions all the more, for the Dominicans were quick to detect the scent of sulphur. He temporized, and then deliverance came from an entirely unexpected quarter.

“In all honesty, I see nothing sinister in his familiarity with Scriptures,” Simon interrupted, with obvious impatience. “He tutored my lord Bishop of Lincoln in Hebrew for years. I’d wager some of that time was spent in theological debate.” A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “The Bishop,” he said, “was a fisherman. But what he angled for was souls.”

Jacob nodded gravely. “The Bishop of Lincoln was a renowned scholar,” he said. “I came to have great respect for him.”

“So did I.” Simon’s eyes fell upon the stool and he gestured, freeing Jacob to sit. Leaning back against the table, for he’d become adept at inconspicuously favoring his weakened leg, he said, “Now…tell me what you want from me.”

Jacob sank down gratefully on the stool. “I want justice, my lord. You were not there to see the horror with your own eyes, and I do not think you realize the full extent of the bloodshed. Men were slain at evening prayers, bled to death in their own homes. Our women were not spared, not even our children…Our synagogue was burned, our houses were looted, our cemetery in Wood Street desecrated. My lord, it was a slaughter of innocents. We—”

Fitz Thomas could bear to hear no more. “It was an abomination unto the Lord, and it shames me that it should have happened in my city. If only I—”

“Nay, you’ve no cause to reproach yourself. You did your best to stop the carnage.” Jacob glanced toward Hugh le Despenser. “As did the Justiciar. But there is a madness that comes over men at such times, a…a lust for blood.”

Simon nodded. “And for gold,” he said grimly.

“Indeed, my lord. Not all of them had killing in mind. Some must have seen the rioting as a rare chance for ill-gotten gains. Men kill for many reasons, they steal for but one—greed.” Jacob drew a bracing breath. “There were your men amongst that mob, my lord.”

Simon didn’t deny it. “Yes,” he said, “it’s likely there were. You would think that if a man embraced a noble cause, he would not be capable of such base crimes, and yet that is not so. I confess I’ve long been baffled by the contradictions in man’s nature. How is it that Edward can have so much courage and so little honor? Men say King John was cruel, vengeful, and faithless. How is it, then, that he cared more for the weal of his subjects than Henry does?”

Moving away from the table, Simon stood for a moment before Jacob, eyes searching the aged rabbi’s face. “On the eighteenth of April, I captured the town of Rochester, laid siege to the castle. Whenever I take a town, I give orders that my men are not to commit sacrilege, that there’s to be no raping or looting. I’ve hanged men for disobeying those commands. Moreover, this was Good Friday, one of the most sacred days of the year. And yet some of the soldiers still plundered the priory of St Andrew, stole holy relics, and stabled their horses in the cloisters, even in the nave of the church.”

Jacob’s fatigue was miraculously gone, alleviated by this sudden infusion of hope. He felt certain that this was the first genuine conversation Simon de Montfort had ever had with a Jew, for a man of his rank would not deal himself with money-lenders, would leave that for his steward to do. This tenuous accord, however tentative, however unlikely, was, God willing, a beginning.

“I agree with you, my lord. I would that I could understand man’s cruelty to man, for we are all brothers in Adam. It must be that they lose their identity in a crowd, become nameless, faceless, and free to sin…I do know how difficult it is to punish them, even to identify them.” He saw that Simon was listening intently, and he got to his feet, no longer choosing his words with care, letting them spill out spontaneously, from the heart.

“But there is one man, my lord, who cannot deny his guilt. There are witnesses, for his arrogance was such that he cared not at all who saw him. When that maddened mob surged into the Jewry, he was in the forefront of the attack. He did his share of looting and burning, and then he led men to the house of Isaac, son of Aaron, a wealthy moneylender. They emptied Isaac’s coffers, stripped the embroidered hangings from his walls, stole his candle-sticks and plate, took all that could be carried out. And then they torched the house. But ere they did, this man ran Isaac through with his sword. My lord of Leicester, he must be punished for this despicable crime. You alone have the power, I entreat you to use it. Call him to account for his sins.”

Simon was frowning. “Who is this man?”

“His name, my lord, is John Fitz John.”

There was a second or so of silence, and then pandemonium. “Who?” If Simon sounded incredulous, the other voices were hotly indignant.

“Do you not know who he is? Fitz John is Gloucester’s cousin!”

“And my friend!” Harry jumped to his feet so hastily that he jarred the table, tipping over several wine cups, which, in turn, set off a wave of startled oaths. Harry paid them no heed, so single-minded was he in defense of Fitz John, a favorite carousing companion. “I’ll not have his name slandered!”

Hugh le Despenser was on his feet, too. “John and I are kinsmen; our wives are sisters. I did what I could to stop the killing in the Jewry, and I would see the offenders punished. But you cannot treat a man of John’s rank as if he were a common churl!”

“Your timing is deplorable, old man!” Guy alone of the speakers did not sound in the least offended. Making no attempt to hide his amusement, he said, “My lord father knighted Fitz John this very noon!”

Jacob had not been disheartened by the uproar; he’d expected no less. But at that, he took a quick step toward Simon, unable to hide his dismay. “My lord, is that true?”

Simon nodded. “Do you have any idea what you ask of me?”

“Yes, my lord, I do. I know this man is of good birth, but that did not keep you from serving justice in Gascony. You protected the Gascon people, townsmen and farmers who were being cheated and robbed by the lords of their province. You called them bandits and cast them into prison. Why can you not do the same for Fitz John?”

“I was right,” Simon said. “You do not understand in the least. It is not Fitz John’s blood that concerns me, it is the life blood of England. Have you paid so little heed to our plight? In a matter of days, we’ll be facing the King across a battlefield, and the odds are not in our favor. Not only is my army badly outnumbered, a good portion of my men are green London lads who’ve never drawn blood. But I cannot spare even one of them. And you’d have me lose one of my best commanders? Not to mention the knights and men-at-arms who owe allegiance to Fitz John! I have risked all for the Provisions; not even my family has been spared. You must be mad if you think I would sacrifice our only chance of victory for your vengeance!”