Crispin shuffled as close to them as he dared.
“I think you are a fool, Cornelius,” said Radulfus to the astrologer. “What have the stars to do with it at all? You are a liar. You have always been a liar!”
The young astrologer ruffled like an affronted guinea fowl.
“Now, now, dear cousin,” said Giles. “Keep your voice down. You know his Majesty barely tolerates us. And for that, I lay the blame at your feet!”
Radulfus snorted. “Blame me all you like, but it does not change the fact that we have not been invited to Christmas in Sheen.”
“But fear not, coz. We will be at my home at the Guest Manor.”
“When will you stop calling it the ‘Guest Manor’?” spat the man. “Is it not the de Risley Manor now?”
Giles made some sort of noise and Crispin smiled to himself. It will always be the Guest Manor, he chortled inside.
“Of course,” said Giles, recovering. “The de Risley Manor. We will be a stone’s throw from his Majesty. We will be close enough when the festivities begin and he will not notice one more lord at his feast.”
“Two, you mean,” said the cousin.
“Th-three,” ventured Cornelius, glaring at the two of them.
“Of course, my dear Cornelius,” said Radulfus. “What would we do without you?” His hand slid around the man’s collar.
The young man did not seem pleased by this knowledge. Perhaps it was the odd tone that Radulfus invoked or the leer he gave him. Cornelius pulled his furred collar and looked around. “At any rate,” he said angling away from Radulfus, his Flemish accent growing stronger the more agitated he grew, “The Feast of Saint Nicholas will be the time. I am absolutely certain.”
“You were absolutely certain the last time, too,” said Giles.
“And the time before that,” said the other man.
Giles hooked his thumbs into his belt. “And there is no new moon on the feast day.”
“No,” said the astrologer. “There is no need. The stars are in the proper position. It will work.”
“It had better. I have risked too much as it is.”
The cousin chuckled. “And a great strain it has been.”
Giles sneered, broke away from them, and crossed toward the exit. They moved on and Crispin watched them go from under his hood. What mischief was here? It worried him that Radulfus seemed to be drawing Giles into his schemes. What could he do to warn Giles? He did not trust this cousin.
He’d have to think on it. There was nothing to be done now. He had other business to attend to.
Down the long corridor he went, lowering his face when he neared others wearing the duke’s livery. The young pages, too young to recognize him, praise God, stared hard at him as he passed, but he skirted by, hoping to escape another encounter with the duke.
The Jew’s door stood at the end of the corridor in the gloom of oil lamp smoke. Crispin flipped his knife from its sheath as he strode toward it and rapped on the door with the hilt.
Julian answered and appeared to be alone.
He pushed his way in and before Julian could shoot him an impertinent remark, Crispin grabbed his collar with his free hand and pushed his knife up to his face. “You are under arrest in the name of the king. I suggest you go quietly, for I do not mind in the least shoving this down your throat.”
Julian stared cross-eyed down at the blade and stammered in French. Even as Crispin dragged him toward the door he dug in his heels and began to struggle. He grabbed the edge of the door and it slipped from his fingers, slamming shut. He wriggled completely out of Crispin’s grasp and ran behind a chair.
Crispin laughed unpleasantly. “You wish to play games. You will not escape me.”
White fingers clutched the chair back. “Why are you so determined to accuse me? I did nothing. My father—”
“Doesn’t know you as I do. Doesn’t know you are a lying, murdering sodomite!”
He shook his head furiously, his brown hair wisping over his angular cheeks. “I am none of those things! Why won’t you believe me?”
“You went to the potters to buy clay to make your own Golem. You stole your father’s parchments.”
“No! I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Still lying. It will avail you nothing. The sheriff does not abide liars any more than I do.”
The young man looked down and bit his lip, leaving it red. “But you are lying to make me seem guilty. Why? Because you dislike Jews? You took my father’s hard-earned silver! He trusted you. He was only worried about your countrymen; men who would just as soon spit on him than help him.”
“Is that why you killed those boys? Because you hate Christians so? Or was it to experiment on them in your vile ways? Oh, I know about you Jews and your Passover sacrifices. The lots that are drawn to determine which town will do the slaughter. The drinking of blood. The eating of human flesh.”
“Seigneur Saint! I would never—!” His eyes flew open and his mouth slackened. For a moment, Crispin thought he might finally see a flicker of honesty on the man’s face. But the door closed quickly and Julian raised that pointed chin of his and pressed his trembling lips together. “Who has told you these lies?”
“They are not lies. This is evidence written down from reliable sources.”
“Reliable sources. And what are these ‘reliable sources’? Christians?”
“Of course! Who else would they be?”
Julian measured Crispin steadily, his eyes narrowing to slits. His nostrils flared and his chest rose and fell in quick succession. “What an absurdity! I do not know from what source you say you read such nonsense, but it certainly is not the Scriptures. Do you even know the word of the Lord?” He waved his hand impatiently. “Never mind. I know that you must. A man who troubles himself to quote Aristotle would take the time to know Scripture. If you want evidence to the contrary, then you had best go there.”
“You waste my time.” He made a move toward the young man, amazed at the coolness of the boy’s demeanor, even as he seemed on the verge of bolting. Julian raised a steady hand and for some reason unknown to Crispin, the gesture made him pause.
“Scripture,” said the boy, voice trembling. “Let us take Leviticus. The Law. It is in Leviticus that the Lord says to Moses, ‘It shall be a perpetual statute throughout your generations in all your dwellings, that ye shall not eat neither fat nor blood.’ And so, consuming blood, any blood, is one of the greatest prohibitions. ‘Whosoever it be that eateth any blood, that soul shall be cut off from his people.’ ”
Crispin listened in spite of himself. He dearly wanted to grab the boy by the neck, but he hesitated. And he listened.
“Do you need more?” said Julian, inching closer. “Hosea. ‘They that sacrifice men kiss calves.’ But we cannot forget the last instance that a Jew even tried to sacrifice another living man. That was in Genesis and it was Father Abraham laying a blade to his son Isaac’s throat. ‘And the angel of the Lord called unto him out of heaven, and said: “Abraham, Abraham, Lay not thy hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him; for now I know that thou art a God-fearing man, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from Me.” ’ ”
Julian shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Crispin who stood dumbly before him. “We draw lots, do we? Such fascinating organization. Across seas? Across borders? How do we accomplish this feat, we who are watched wherever we go? It is decided that this year a boy in . . . in London, is it? . . . is to be sacrificed, no? For the Passover? Is your Michaelmas near Passover, our feast held in the spring?”