mound. In the middle of the open space stood a scaffold and several whipping posts. The heads of executed malefactors sprouted from poles planted above the castle gate. Aaron the Jew’s house lay within sight of the gateway, on the corner of a street leading down to the haymarket. It was a substantial two-storey stone hall, the ground floor blind, the windows on the first floor barred and shuttered. Steps led up to an arched door braced with iron straps. Vallon lifted the heavy knocker.
A grilled flap opened and a grave-looking eye regarded them through the lattice. Several bolts were struck before the door swung open. A young man with delicate features ushered them inside. Instead of the usual aisled hall, a corridor led down one side of the house past a series of rooms. Vallon had a sense of life lived behind closed doors. He thought he heard muted female voices. The last doorway stood open. The youth bade them enter. The room was neither large nor extravagantly furnished, yet the glint of silver, the thick Moorish carpet and the scent of beeswax gave the chamber an air of restrained opulence. Aaron, dressed in a silk gown and turban, stood at a polished table that held a bowl containing a pot-pourri of rose petals. Behind him a fire burned in a wall-hearth. By the shuttered glass window a pair of goldfinches twittered in a cage.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Be seated.’
‘I believe you’ve received letters from my mother,’ Richard said.
Aaron smoothed a roll of parchment and let it flick back. ‘Lady Margaret wishes to pledge lands in Normandy as security for a loan.’
Richard reached under his cape. ‘Here are the deeds. I understand that the estate is valued at more than three hundred pounds.’
Aaron angled the documents to the candlelight. ‘On paper, yes, but I’ll have to ask my agent to make an independent valuation.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Hard to say. Not more than six weeks.’
‘Six weeks!’
‘It depends on conditions at sea. The last time I crossed to Normandy, I had to wait eight days for a favourable wind.’
Richard shot Vallon an appalled glance. ‘The ransom deadline looms close. My brother’s life hangs in the balance.’
Aaron’s dark eyes remained calm. ‘The property may have deteriorated. I have to make sure that it isn’t entailed. There may be other legal encumbrances.’
Vallon touched Richard’s wrist. ‘I’m the man who carried the ransom terms to Lady Margaret,’ he said. ‘There are complications that Richard is embarrassed to speak about. Sir Walter has a stepbrother of the same age. There’s a long history of rivalry. Until I arrived, he had every reason to believe that his brother was dead, leaving him the undisputed heir.’
‘I see.’
‘He’s already put obstacles in our path. Given enough time, he could sabotage our venture entirely.’
Aaron composed his hands on the table. ‘This isn’t the first ransom I’ve dealt with. You aren’t the first to find yourselves embroiled in a family dispute. I’m sorry, but it makes no difference. If all goes well, we should be able to seal the contract in three weeks.’ He looked past his guests, brows arching. ‘Yes, Moise?’
His son murmured something in Ladino — the hybrid Spanish-Hebrew tongue used by the Sephardim of Iberia.
‘Excuse me,’ Aaron said, and crossed to the door.
‘We can’t wait three weeks,’ Richard whispered.
‘We might not be around that long,’ Vallon said, watching the pair at the door. The interruption was clearly unexpected. Aaron looked startled, concerned, then resigned, but when he returned, his expression had settled into courteous inscrutability.
‘A young man has called at the house — a Greek who speaks excellent Arabic. He claims to be your servant.’
Vallon had been so sure that the visitor was Drogo or one of his agents that it took a moment to sink in. ‘Hero’s no longer my servant. I dismissed him three days ago. No, “dismissed” is too harsh. I released him so that he could return to his studies.’
Aaron frowned politely. ‘What does he study?’
‘Medicine. But there’s no branch of philosophy that doesn’t excite his curiosity.’
‘Do you want me to send him away?’
‘By your leave, it would be better if he joined us.’
Aaron nodded at Moise. In a little while Hero tottered through the doorway. He looked wasted, his eyes as dark and vacant as a moth’s. Richard gasped with concern and ran to him. When Hero saw Vallon he began to blubber. Vallon only just managed to stop the Sicilian from falling at his feet and kissing his hands.
‘Sit down,’ Aaron said, guiding Hero to a stool. ‘You’re exhausted. You’re ill. Which is ironic. Your master says that you’re a student of medicine.’
Hero nodded and snuffled.
‘Which school do you attend?’
‘The university at Salerno.’
Aaron’s face lit up. ‘The finest in the Christian world. Have you ever met Constantine the African?’
‘He was one of my teachers. It’s because of Constantine that I’m here.’
Aaron’s brows rose halfway to his turban. He laid his arm around Hero’s shoulders. ‘You’d better explain. Moise, bring some soup for the boy. Wine and biscuits for our other guests.’
While Hero recounted how Constantine had recruited him, Vallon and Richard sipped wine from rare beakers of Damascus glass. When Hero had finished, Aaron softly pounded the table. ‘Your master’s right: go back to school and complete your education. It’s a ludicrous undertaking. Four gyrfalcons to be carried from Norway to Anatolia by way of Rus, the expedition to be led by men who are neither traders nor navigators. I wouldn’t consider the proposition for a moment.’
‘We run the risk,’ Vallon pointed out. ‘Whatever happens to us, you won’t be out of pocket.’
Aaron ignored the Frank’s bad manners. He warmed his hands before the fire. ‘What’s the minimum amount you need?’
‘Not less than a hundred pounds.’
‘Including the cost of trade goods?’
‘I’m not a merchant. I hadn’t thought of it as a trading venture.’
‘Pardon me, but if I’m to advance the money, I want to know that it’s working. There’s no sense sailing all that way in an empty ship. I imagine Norway lacks many commodities.’
Hero nodded. ‘They have no wine and little corn.’
‘And presumably they have some resources that would find a market in the south.’
‘Woollens, salted and smoked fish, eider down.’
Aaron spread his hands. ‘You see. You must be businesslike. The falcons are perishable goods. At least protect yourselves against their possible loss.’
Vallon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying you’ll give us the money?’
Aaron permitted himself a smile. ‘I’ll advance you one hundred and twenty pounds. The term of the loan is for one calendar year. Interest will be charged at twopence in the pound, compounded weekly. That’s more than fifty per cent in the year. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Usurer. But the King takes more than half. Besides, I don’t expect you to redeem the pledge.’
Vallon couldn’t stop his eyes drifting towards the lower floor. Aaron interpreted the look.
‘I don’t keep money here. Come back the day after tomorrow, at noon.’
Vallon rose. ‘Can you help us charter a ship?’
‘I know several merchants who trade with Flanders and Normandy. I’ll make enquiries, but my guess is that none of them would make a crossing to Norway.’
Vallon wasn’t sure how to express his gratitude, or whether he should express it at all. Eventually he held out a hand.
Aaron held on to it. ‘Your face is familiar. Did you campaign in Castile?’
Vallon looked him in the eye. ‘Yes.’
