boast in it. I am alive. I do not boast in that either, for that circumstance can surely change with the season.”
The man eased back. His eyes darted about the room, wary.
Crispin’s gaze fell again to the yellow patch on the man’s chest and could not help the welling of mistrust in his breast. “May I ask?”
Jacob sat very still. Robes gathered protectively about him, he seemed more chrysalis than man.
Crispin did not mince words. “Why is a
The man smiled cautiously. His gaze rested steadily on Crispin’s. “Why indeed? To a place where Jews are unwelcome? In fact, so unwelcome that your king made it illegal for Jews to reside here generations ago.”
“Yes.” An unnamed discomfort flushed Crispin’s body. The Jews of England were exiled well before his time and he had been spared congress with them. It was said they had lived in Camden, but if they had, there was little trace there now. What remained was the old Domus Conversorum on Chancery Lane, the place where the converted Jews lived under the grace of old King Henry of Winchester, the father of Edward Longshanks, who expelled them at last. Jews were outlawed from entering England and it was a just law, although there was the occasional new inhabitant to the Domus, those traveling Jews who had come to their senses.
Crispin had been to the Holy Land, seen Saracens and Jews, and their ways were too foreign, too disturbing to his Christian sensibilities. To be sitting with a Jew now in his favorite tavern made him itch to leave. Even so, the man’s demeanor was respectful and cautious. He seemed to know well how he stood and was almost amused by it. “And so,” Crispin pursued. “Why are you here? At court, no less?”
“My specialty was desired. If I may be bold,” he said, his white hand pressed to his breast and his head bowed. “My services are well known far from France. Your king has permitted me passage here to serve the queen.”
“Eh? I was not aware that our queen was ill.”
The man merely blinked. His rosy lips pressed closed and would divulge no more.
Crispin poured more wine, took up his bowl, and drank it down. The warm buzz he sought had settled pleasantly into his head. “And so, our King Richard allows a Jew to live in his palace.”
“Your fee is sixpence a day?”
“Plus expenses, if I must travel.”
“Of course, of course.” Jacob stroked his beard and stared into Crispin’s wine bowl. The light flickered on its ruby surface. “Your discretion—”
“Have done with this,” Crispin growled. “You say you know me and my reputation. Then get on with it.”
The man nodded deferentially, a skill learned, no doubt, from the lessons of subservience. “Very well. Valuable parchments have been stolen from my apartments. They must be returned.”
“Valuable in what way? Deeds?”
“If only they were so mundane. But they are important, nonetheless. Can you help me?”
“Recover lost parchments? For sixpence a day, I will see what I can do. But it might help to know what they are.”
“Oh . . .” He waved his hand and quickly hid it again under the table. “Texts. In Hebrew. You would not find them significant.”
“But clearly someone did. And you called it ‘dangerous,’ if I recall.” Jacob said nothing. He merely blinked, his papery lids folding over hazel eyes. “Some scholar who wished to examine them?” Crispin offered to the silence.
“Perhaps.” Jacob tugged on his beard again before he seemed to realize the habit and lowered his hand to his lap.
Crispin sighed. Lost parchments seemed more trouble than they were worth, especially for a Jew. But coin was coin. “I shall have to see your apartments. And to do that, well, it will be difficult. I must raise my fee and charge one shilling a day for my trouble.”
The man seemed startled. “Why must you see my apartments?”
“To examine the place from which they were stolen. From this I might garner valuable information.” He studied the quiet man and his stooped posture. “Out of curiosity, why have you not gone to either of the sheriffs with this theft? Or complained to the king, since you have his ear?”
“No. I have come to you.”
“That you have. But it does not explain—”
Jacob rose abruptly. “Come to the palace gate, and I will meet you there at nightfall.”
Crispin rose more slowly. The meeting was apparently over. “Very well. There is the warrant of my fee . . .”
Jacob’s eyes widened and he wrestled with his robe for a moment before producing a small leather pouch. He placed it on the table between them. “There is four shillings’ worth of silver there. Till nightfall,
Crispin took up the pouch and clenched it in his fist. “Master Jacob,” he said with a curt nod of his head.
He watched the man hurriedly leave and looked again at the small pouch. He pulled out one coin and left it on the table for Eleanor. At least he had been able to pay his way today.
Upon returning to his lodgings, Crispin explained it to Jack, who had been glad to hear that Crispin was hired but was not as pleased to hear that the man was a Jew.
“You’re taking money from a Jew? Ain’t they the ones who crucified our Lord?”
“So says Holy Scriptures.”
“Then they aught not to be in England. The law was made ages ago.”
“You will find, Jack, that laws and kings are rarely to be met within the same sentence.”
“Eh?”
Crispin snorted. “Whatever King Richard desires, he gets. The man is a physician to the queen. I’ve no doubt he is here to discover why she has not gotten with child.”
“Oh.” Jack looked out the window thoughtfully. “But you’re to be at the palace gate at nightfall.”
“Yes. Have you objections to that?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Why?”
Jack shrugged. “I just don’t. He loses papers he says are not important yet he won’t go to the sheriff. What are those papers about, then?”
“I was wondering that myself. He called them parchments of Hebrew texts. I was trying to think what might be important about that.”
“Scriptures?”
“If so, why did he not say so? Perhaps they are for his physician’s art. Yet he did not admit that either. It makes no matter. I will find them, and I will make a pretty penny from it.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You are not required to like it,” he snapped. “I must take employment where it comes!” He didn’t like to bark at Jack but the boy had little concept of his place. Yet when he turned to Jack and studied the boy’s threadbare coat and hood, he suddenly remembered that Jack did know it. Hadn’t the boy spent the best years of his childhood on his own in the streets as a cutpurse? Jack was lucky to have survived at all.
Reluctantly, Crispin softened. “Do you wish to accompany me?”
Jack’s head snapped up. His brown eyes rounded, catching the firelight. “Me?”
“You are my apprentice. How are you to learn anything hiding out here? And I can keep a sharp eye on you. Keep you out of mischief.”
“I don’t get in no mischief,” he grumbled. And as if to prove it, he grabbed a broom from the corner and began furiously sweeping the clean floor.
The sun bled in streaks of faded color between slashes of heavy gray clouds. Crispin and Jack set out and
