Lionheart (15 page)

Richenza was staring at him in horror. “God in Heaven,” she whispered, as Jaufre got hastily to his feet and crossed to her side. She ignored his attempt at consolation, keeping her eyes upon her uncle, almost as if she sensed the worst was still to come. “What happened to those Jews?”

“The survivors appealed for mercy, offering to accept Christian baptism, and they were promised that their lives would be spared. But when they emerged from the castle with their families, the mob seized them and murdered them all.”

Richenza shuddered, instinctively bringing her hands up as if to shelter her unborn baby from such a world. “Even the children, Uncle Richard?”

“Yes, lass, even the children.” To Richard, this was the cruelest twist of all, that the mob had treacherously slain people seeking God’s Grace. He’d been taught that the Almighty held His Breath over every Jew, waiting to see if he would choose Christ as his Saviour. He understood that the surviving Jews most likely sought baptism out of fear, but what if their ordeal had awakened them to the Divine Truth? Not only had they been shamefully betrayed, they’d been denied salvation.

“What happened next revealed the real reason for the rioting,” he said. And now his anger was that of a king, not a man of faith. “The leaders of the mob forced their way into York Minster, where the Jews had kept their debt bonds. They terrified the monks into giving up the bonds, and then burned them right there in the nave of the church.”

Richard had begun to pace again. In destroying the bonds, the rioters had struck a blow at the Crown itself, for the debts of Jews were also the debts of the king. The Jews were an important source of royal revenue and they were under royal protection. So this had been an act of political defiance as well as an outrage against the Church and the laws of the realm. And justice would not be done. The citizens of York had sworn that they’d played no part in the assault on the castle, blaming strangers and soldiers who’d taken the cross, and the few men identified—those who’d burned the bonds—had long since fled the city by the time Longchamp arrived. His action in punishing the sheriff and castellan would strike fear into others of rank, men unaccustomed to being held to account for their sins or their blunders. Their fall from favor ought to be enough to prevent another York. But Richard could take little satisfaction from that. When men defied the Crown, they deserved to hang.

“The stupidity of men never fails to amaze me,” he said. “How does killing defenseless Jews aid in the rescue of the Holy City? Only in Winchester did reason prevail. Some fools accused the local Jews of ritual murder when a Christian child died, a charge dismissed by the royal justices as being without merit. A pity they could not have shown such sense in the other towns.”

“The poor and the uneducated are most likely to believe such tales,” Eleanor observed, reaching out to squeeze her granddaughter’s hand. “They think the Jews practice the Black Arts, fear what they do not understand. Fortunately, men of rank are not as susceptible to such superstitions, nor are the princes of the Church. You all know I was no friend to the sainted Bernard of Clairvaux,” she said with a thin smile, remembering the abbot’s oft-quoted declaration that the Angevins came from the Devil and to the Devil they would go. “But when a Cistercian monk began preaching that German Jews must be slain ere war could be made upon the Saracens, Bernard hastened to Germany and single-handedly kept violence from breaking out.”

Richard demurred at that, saying, “Not all men of rank are so rational, though. The French king once told me about a Christian child supposedly killed by the Jews in Pontoise. Even though this took place ere Philippe was born, he harbored no doubts whatsoever that the boy had been sacrificed in some vile Jewish ritual. When I reminded Philippe that his lord father had never believed such tales, he bristled like a hedgehog, claiming that Louis had been easily led astray, and then babbled some nonsense about the Jews meeting secretly in caves beneath Paris to sacrifice Christian children. Philippe Capet,” he said, in a voice dripping with scorn, “may be the greatest fool ever to sit on the French throne, and considering that they once had a king known as Charles the Simple, that is saying quite a lot.”

Jaufre now found himself in an extremely awkward position, not wanting to offend his wife’s uncle, but feeling obligated to defend his liege lord. “King Philippe is not the only one to give credence to those accusations against the Jews. I was just a lad when it happened, but I remember my father telling me that the Count of Blois once executed a number of Jews for killing a Christian child.”

“When was this?” Richard demanded, and when Jaufre said he thought it had occured nigh on twenty years ago, he gave a dismissive shrug. “I was only about thirteen then, know nothing of this.”

“But I do,” Eleanor interjected. “I remember the incident well, and the guilt lay with Count Thibault, not the unhappy Jews. Thibault is the uncle of your cousin Henri of Champagne,” she added for Richenza’s sake, knowing the girl was not yet familiar with the bloodlines of the French nobility. “I hear he has gone to the Holy Land to expiate his sins, as well he should, for he has the blood of innocents upon his hands.”

“I do not understand, Madame,” Jaufre objected, feeling compelled to continue his half-hearted defense of the French king. “How can the count be responsible for a crime committed by Jews?”

“There was no crime, Jaufre. The charge was particularly outrageous, for there was no body, either, nor even any reports of a missing child. A servingman claimed he saw a Jewish peddler throw a child’s body into the River Loire, and the story grew from there, until it was being said the boy had been crucified. Mind you, there was no evidence whatsoever to back up this charge, but Thibault ordered the arrest of all the Jews in Blois, some forty souls. Thirty-one men and women were burned at the stake, the others imprisoned, and their children forced to undergo baptism.”

Richard spoke for them all when he asked, “Why? From what you’ve just told us, Maman, Thibault could not possibly have believed the story. So why did he do it?”

“For the meanest, most unworthy of reasons, Richard—to quell a scandal. You see, Thibault had been imprudent enough to take a local Jewess as his concubine. He was careless, too, and it eventually became known. When it did, he found himself facing the wrath of the Church, the outrage of his fellow Christians, and the fury of his wife—my daughter Alix, from my marriage to the French king,” she explained in another aside to Richenza. “So when this charge was made, Thibault seized upon it to prove that he was no longer ensorcelled by his Jewess mistress, sacrificing those thirty-one men and women to regain the goodwill of his subjects and to appease the bishops of Blois.”

Richenza had a vivid imagination and could envision all too well the horror the Jews had endured, for surely death by fire was the worst of fates. She shivered and Jaufre slid his arm around her waist, angry with Richard and Eleanor for telling his pregnant wife stories sure to disturb her sleep that night. After a somber silence, Richenza thought to ask about the rest of the Jews, those who’d been imprisoned rather than sent to the stake.

“The other French Jews were horrified at what had befallen their brethren in Blois. They were understandably terrified, too, that the anger against Jews would spread to their cities, and they appealed to the French king. Louis too often showed as much backbone as a hempen rope, but he was always steadfast in his protection of the French Jews, never believing those stories of ritual murder. He at once issued a charter to be published throughout his domains, warning his subjects that the Jews were not to be molested or threatened, and they were not. The Jews also turned to Thibault’s brother, the Count of Champagne, for aid. He had already dismissed a similar accusation against the Jews in Epernay, and like Louis, he took measures to see to their safety. Meanwhile, the Jews sought help from the third brother, the Bishop of Sens, and through his mediation, Thibault agreed to release the imprisoned Jews and to return the children who’d been forcibly baptized. Harry heard that Thibault had extorted a hundred pounds from the Jews for that concession, and I cannot say it would surprise me if so. And no,” Eleanor said, anticipating their next questions, “I do not know the fate of his Jewess once she was freed from prison. Nor do I know how Thibault managed to placate his wife.”

Now it was Eleanor’s turn to fall silent, thinking of Alix, the daughter she’d not seen in nigh on forty years, for once their marriage had ended, Louis had banished her from their daughters’ lives, had done all he could to blacken her memory. At least Harry had not entirely forbidden her to see their children during her long confinement, and she had to admit he had far more reason than Louis for doing so.

Looking back at the woman she’d once been, Louis’s unhappy, bored wife and Harry’s reckless, rebel queen, she sometimes felt as if that younger Eleanor was a stranger, one often in need of the guidance she could now have provided. Why was it that wisdom seemed to come only with age, when it no longer mattered as much? No, that was not so. It did matter, and she was determined that her children should benefit from the lessons she’d learned at such great cost in the course of her long and eventful life. Glancing from Richard to Richenza, she tempered her silent vow with a prudent
God willing
, for she finally understood that the race was not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but time and chance happened to them all.

JAUFRE HAD SOON CONCOCTED an excuse to take Richenza back to their chamber, treating his wife with the exaggerated care of one handling a rare and exotic flower that could be bruised by a breath. Hawisa watched them wistfully, but then tossed her head, summoning up a brittle smile. “Men are so solicitous, so awestruck over the first child. Alas, Richenza will find that by her third or fourth pregnancy, he’ll be wondering why she must take a full nine months when his favorite greyhound bitch can whelp in two.”

Eleanor laughed. Richard was not as amused, but he held his tongue until Hawisa had tactfully excused herself and moved out of earshot. “Passing strange that she’d make such a jest when her first marriage was barren. Nor do I understand why you seem to like the woman’s company, Maman. She is as strong-willed as any man, with a tongue sharp enough to slice bread.”

“She jests about childbirth, Richard, for the same reason that men use humor to hide their unease ere a battle begins. And yes, I do enjoy her company. She was courageous enough to resist a marriage she did not want, but sensible enough to yield once she saw defeat was inevitable. And in case you’ve not noticed, I have a mind of my own, too.”

He chuckled. “That would be like not noticing the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.”

Eleanor emptied her wine cup, setting it down in the grass at her feet. “If my memory serves, Will Marshal’s elder brother John was the sheriff of Yorkshire. I thought I saw him in your entourage, and that explains it. He came to beg for his post back?”

Richard nodded. “He can grovel from now till Martinmas, for all the good it will do him. Gross incompetence is the least of his sins. Longchamp suspects him of being hand in glove with the instigators of the rioting, although he admits he has not been able to prove it. That is why he acted so swiftly, dismissing Marshal and appointing his brother, Osbert, as sheriff in his stead.”

Eleanor had no problems with the dismissal of John Marshal, who’d shown appallingly poor judgment. But by replacing Marshal with his own brother, Longchamp was playing into his enemies’ hands, giving them a means of impugning his motives. “You told me that the Pope agreed to name Longchamp as a papal legate—”

“‘Agreed’?” Richard interrupted. “He sold the office plain and simple, extorting fifteen hundred marks from me ere he’d even consider it.”

“Be that as it may, Longchamp is now the papal legate, chancellor, justiciar, and Bishop of Ely. You are entrusting great authority to one man, Richard. Do you think that is wise? History shows us that peace is more likely when you have two rivals of equal power. Should the balance tip too far in one direction, war becomes inevitable, as with Athens and Sparta or Rome and Carthage.”

Richard claimed one of the vacant seats. “And who are you nominating to play Sparta to Longchamp’s Athens? Might it be Johnny, by chance?”

“Yes, John did approach me about that vow you demanded of him. He thinks it would be dangerous if you and he both were absent from England for the next few years. And after giving it some thought, I agree with him. His very presence will reassure those barons who are suspicious of Longchamp’s intentions. And Longchamp might well temper his dealings with those same discontented barons if he knows they can turn to your brother with their grievances. As it is, you’ve denied them any outlet for their complaints.”

“There is truth in what you say, Maman. Longchamp would have done better not to thrust his brother into Marshal’s place. But if I overruled him, I’d be subverting his authority when he most needs it. I know he is not without flaws. I can trust him, though, with no misgivings whatsoever. Can I say as much for Johnny?”