demon, for it is whispered that he loves the pain of other men more than he loves meat and drink. My friend Joseph of Lincoln holds his note for twenty thousand marks. He is a ferocious one, Malbete, and he hates all mankind, but especially he hates Jews. More than just for his great debts to us, I believe; he hates us with a passion that surpasses all earthly reason. Perhaps he really is a demon.’
‘He is a close friend of Prince John,’ I added. And both Josce and Robin looked at me in surprise. ‘He was at Nottingham two weeks ago.’
Robin nodded and then said to Josce: ‘And the other man, the white monk. Who is he?’
‘He is Brother Ademar, a wandering lunatic who formerly belonged to a Premonstratensian canonry; he escaped the cloister walls and has been preaching hatred against the Jews for a more than a month now, since your Christian season of Lent began. But the people listen to him for all his lunacy. They say he has been touched by God.’
Robin said nothing. But I remembered his comment earlier in the day: Someone should cut down that madman before he drowns the world in blood.
‘Can we hold out here until things become calmer — or the King sends help?’ asked Josce; he sounded more weary than worried. Robin looked around the small square of the Tower’s ramparts. About a score of angry- looking young Jewish men were watching the bailey from behind the crenellations, occasionally replying in kind to the insults from below. And every five yards or so along the parapet there was a pile of a dozen stones, each one about the size of a man’s head, which could he hurled down on any attacker with devastating effect. Robin always said that the main weapon in any castle’s armory was its height, and we were a good fifty feet above any adversaries. Stones that had been laboriously hauled up to the top by members of the former garrison could be sent back down again at great cost in blood to the enemy.
‘I believe so,’ said Robin. ‘We have enough men to see them off until help arrives or they come to their senses. It would be better if this place were stone-built. But I think we may hold them. As long as that rabble doesn’t get hold of any artillery.’ He looked at me. And I remembered with a shudder how, at the battle of Linden Lea, Sir Ralph Murdac had brought up a machine for throwing great boulders and how, once he had the range, the massive missiles had smashed through our wooden walls as if they were made of straw.
Josce seemed satisfied. ‘Will you come down and speak to everybody?’ he asked. ‘I think it would help.’
Robin stared at him for a second. His eyes were blank and metallic and the silence went on for an uncomfortably long time. ‘I will be down in a few moments. I must speak to Alan, first,’ he said finally.
Josce bowed his balding head. ‘Thank you. I will call everyone together,’ he said and he gathered up his robe to free his feet and moved away to the stairs.
When the old man had gone, Robin took me by the arm. ‘You must go, Alan. You can get out, you know.’ I merely stared at him in disbelief. He continued: ‘Wait until midnight, and take a rope from the stores. You just have to shin down the walls and swim the Ouse; even if you’re caught, as a Christian, you will be safe.’
‘We could both go,’ I said, testing him, although I knew what his answer would be.
‘I can’t leave,’ Robin looked me full in the face. ‘I need Reuben. Reuben is the money and the connection; I need to keep Reuben alive, or… well, I must keep him alive,’ he said simply, then: ‘I think this is going to be very bad, very bad indeed, and so I must urge you to leave — tonight. This is not your fight.’
I squared my shoulders, and looked back into his pale, grey eyes. ‘When I first entered your service,’ I said stiffly, ‘I swore that I would be loyal to you until death. I will not break that oath. If you will stay here and face battle against these madmen, then I will remain with you.’
‘You really are an idiot, Alan,’ said Robin but in a kindly voice, ‘a sentimental idiot. But thank you.’ And he smiled and slapped me on the shoulder. ‘So be it, then. We fight. Now I suppose I’d better go and rally the troops.’
With that, he was gone. I remained at the battlements staring out into the darkness and wondering whether I had made an enormous, possibly fatal mistake. The bailey seemed to be settling down for the night and I saw in the light of the few remaining torches hundreds of people making up beds under the eaves of the castle buildings while others, armed any-old-how with rusty spears and axes, rakes and scythes were standing guard, almost like regular soldiers. The white monk had ceased his shouting and gone, and of Sir Richard Malbete there was nothing to be seen. I looked down to my right, at the black Ouse, and saw that dozens of campfires had been now built between the bottom of the Tower mound and the river. The Jew-hating rabble had not dispersed, not at all: they appeared to have grown in number, and someone was organising them, almost certainly a soldier — for they surrounded us like a besieging army. Whatever Robin had said, it would not have been easy for me to escape. The blood-hungry mob had not gone away, back to their homes, calmed by the falling of night, they were there to stay. And, come morning, they would try to get into the Tower. We were in for a hard fight. My hands went to my waist, to the hilts of my poniard and sword on either side of my body. If I were to die the next day, I would take a few of these damned lunatics with me, I said bravely to myself, but the ice-snake in my belly gave a little slither of fear.
Just then a small hand touched my arm and I jumped like a startled rabbit, jerking the poniard half out of its scabbard. Ruth was at my side, and she was proffering a steaming wooden bowl. ‘Don’t do that,’ I said crossly, ‘don’t sneak up on people. I could easily have killed you.’
She frowned. ‘I am sorry for frightening you like that,’ she said.
‘You did not frighten me,’ I said, still annoyed. ‘I was merely regarding the enemy and considering our best stratagems for tomorrow.’ I was being pompous and I regretted it as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
She said nothing, but handed me the bowl of fish stew, gesturing that I should eat. I sank down on to the floor of the parapet, back against the thick wooden wall and began to spoon the mixture into my mouth. She crouched down beside me, watching. The food was absolutely delicious, and I was surprised that somebody had bothered to make a proper hot meal in these difficult circumstances. I flashed a smile at her, and she smiled back. Friends again.
‘I never thanked you for escorting us here,’ she said. Her brown eyes above her veil filled with warmth and gratitude. ‘I was so scared and you were so brave, like a hero, like Jonathan fighting the Philistines…’
I seemed to be losing my appetite as I stared into those deep twin pools. Gruffly, I said: ‘I’m no Jonathan, I was merely doing my duty…’ I couldn’t think of anything more to say, there was a lump in my throat and my cheeks were glowing. I was secretly very glad that she thought me a hero. But I hoped she could not see my blushes in the darkness.
‘Will you stay and protect us against…’ she made a sideways jerk of her head, indicating the bailey of the castle, ‘… them?’ I put down the nearly empty bowl and took her hand. ‘My lady,’ I said awkwardly, too loud for the quiet of the night, ‘I shall protect you from these evil men, even at cost of my own life. They shall never harm you.’ Ruth lifted her free hand to my cheek and softly stroked the downy skin. ‘Thank you, Alan,’ she said.
I shudder now, looking back after more than forty years, to hear my young self making such rash promises. And I can scarcely bear to remember what happened afterwards — but recall it I shall, as I swore to do so. And perhaps by remembering the past unflinchingly, I shall be granted forgiveness by Our Lord for my sins in those dark days.
I followed Ruth down the spiral staircase in the corner of the Tower, watching with great interest the narrow waist and the way she swayed her hips as she walked, and on the ground floor, we came across a gathering of all the Jewish men of fighting age. They did not look a very formidable force. There were about forty of them, ranging in years from fourteen to fifty, mostly dark or grey haired and with a beaten, hangdog look. They looked ashamed, frightened; no one man wanting to meet another’s eye. Ruth slipped away and I watched as Robin, confidence personified, strode into the centre of the square space and stood on an old wooden box so that everyone could see him. He had an unloaded crossbow held casually over his shoulder, and began, as he had put it, ‘to rally the troops’.
‘My friends, be quiet and listen to me for a moment,’ he said loudly. ‘Give me your ears, my friends, and I will give you the good news, the excellent news about our situation.’ The Jews looked at him curiously, as if they had another madman in their midst. ‘We are fortunate,’ Robin began again, even more loudly, and there was a stirring and muttering in the crowd. ‘I say, we are fortunate because we are here — ’
One man stepped out from the loose circle that had formed around Robin; a big, sturdy man in a dark blue robe with a magnificent bushy red beard. His angry voice cut straight across Robin’s speech. ‘Fortunate, how? Fortunate to be hunted like wild pigs through our own city? Fortunate to be driven from our homes, our friends and
