“No, good sir,” said Middleton. His anxious expression and beaded forehead did little to allay Crispin’s anxiety.
“Then explain yourselves. You would do well to tell me now. Did you know that man who attacked the boy?”
As one they shook their heads. Some cast their eyes to the polished wooden floor.
“I see,” said Crispin. “How can I help you if I cannot get the truth?”
“Master Crispin,” begged Middleton. “Please. Just leave us in peace.”
“And I would if my way was not barred.” He glanced again to the men at the door. They seemed confused as to what to do.
“Shall I bring the law on this place?”
“No!” Middleton pressed his hands into fists.
“Master Crispin!” The boy was at his side.
He looked down at the earnest child tugging at his coat. He had freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, much like Jack’s. He couldn’t be much younger than the cutpurse. “You mustn’t bring the sheriffs,” the boy went on. “They’re not to know-”
“John!” cried the mother. She reached a trembling hand for the boy.
“No, mother. I can tell him. He’s the Tracker. He protects good folk. I’ve heard the stories.”
“John,” said Middleton urgently. “Listen to your mother.”
“Let the boy speak,” said Crispin slyly. He knelt before the boy and took his shoulders gently. “Go on. What is it you would tell me, lad?”
“You mustn’t tell about us,” said the boy. His grave expression reminded far too much of Jack Tucker.
“I cannot promise until I know your meaning.”
The boy licked his lips. His dark eyes blinked rapidly. “But sir,” he whispered. “We could die.”
As much as Crispin wanted to, he could not look away from those earnest eyes. Against his better judgment, he said, “Then I promise, child. I will keep my own counsel.”
The boy sighed with relief. “I knew you would, good sir. You are like the knights in the songs.” Crispin felt the air in the room fall still. No one seemed to breathe. The boy leaned forward and whispered as if they were the only two present. “Because we are Jews, sir. It’s to remain a secret, you see. Now you understand why you mustn’t tell?”
10
Crispin felt his mouth fall open. He had no need to confirm the boy’s pronouncement. The collective breaths of the crowd were still held, the tension taut in the air.
But the boy seemed satisfied that his deadly secret would be safe with Crispin. He smiled and nodded his assurances. Crispin wished he could be as certain.
Slowly, he straightened and finally raised his eyes to the gathering of men and women. But surely these were Englishmen! They couldn’t be Jews. The edict that had banished them had been clear. The scourge was vanquished from the land almost a hundred years ago.
He looked down at the boy again. The discomfort he had felt in Jacob’s company could not now be summoned. He found it difficult to call the boy before him a “scourge.”
Maybe this was the Domus Conversorum, the House of Converts. These were all converts, then.
But with another search of their anxious faces and John’s confident one, Crispin rather thought not.
“God’s blood,” he breathed.
“M-master Guest,” ventured Middleton.
Crispin flicked a wary gaze his way.
“You have sworn an oath to the boy. We have all heard it.”
Crispin barked a laugh. He couldn’t help it. He was well and truly caught. It could have been a headache-induced illusion. People who should not have existed on English soil were here, right before him. It was laughable.
“How has this remained a secret?”
Everyone seemed to breathe again. The men at the doorway eased back. Someone poured more wine into Crispin’s bowl and he didn’t think twice about taking it. He drank it down and sank to the pallet. Middleton, whom the others had urged closer, sat beside him. Crispin felt no distaste this time. Funny. Was it the wine? Or perhaps the blow to his head had been harder than he thought.
“Master Guest. I know this is difficult. But if you let me explain then surely you can see, surely you will have mercy.”
“You, all of you, trespass on the king’s law.”
“We are London born and raised, sir. Just like you.”
About to object, Crispin spied the boy, who was looking at him with that damned air of certainty. These people mocked the king by their presence. He had a duty to inform the sheriff at the very least. But the boy’s eyes threatened any sense of his duty to the crown.
John took Crispin’s empty bowl from his hand with a curt bow.
“Very well, Master Middleton. You had best tell me and quickly.”
Middleton clenched his hands together. “It began with the Edict of King Edward.” His voice was tinny, small. “All Jews were to convert or to leave. You can imagine the uproar. The heartache. Land that our families had held for generations suddenly snatched from our hands. Our homes, sold to others.” Crispin squirmed. “We had to leave the bones of our ancestors behind. We paid heavy fines to the king, paid our own passage to France and to whatever country would take us. We carried what was left as well as our faith to other places. But there were some who took the waters of baptism and lived in the Domus Conversorum, not far from here. The House of Converts. These were our grandsires and great-grandsires. Many became devoted to the Christian life. But still many others lived as best they could as Christians outwardly, but inwardly, where none could see, lived as our forefathers, preserving the traditions of our faith.”
Middleton paused, gauging Crispin’s reaction.
But Crispin did not know what to think. Not a man of deep faith, he felt only mild distaste at false Christians, but the uneasy feeling in his belly might just as easily be attributed to the other things Middleton was saying. He had never thought about the details before, never imagined uprooting children and families for places unknown with little but what they could carry. Yes, he had seen such an exodus after battles and thought little of it. These were the conquered. It was right that they were sent away. In the Holy Land, were not Christians exiled by the pagan Saracen?
The faces before him were not as he expected. They did not reek of evil or evil intentions. They did not sneer derisively as did the petulant Julian. They seemed like Englishmen.
His neck hairs bristled.
When Crispin had been exiled from court, he had at least been allowed to stay in London among the familiar. But to be exiled to a foreign kingdom. .
His head hurt. That was it. That was why these revelations were turning his stomach.
Either that or the Jewish wine.
He said nothing, waiting for Middleton to continue. The man looked as if he could use some wine himself. “And so. . you see us here.” His gesture included the assembled. “One hundred years later. We make no trouble. We respect where we live. Though we have no rabbi, no spiritual leader, our parish leaders read the Torah in Hebrew to the assembly. At least as much of it as we were able to acquire. We keep the traditions but we keep out of the way. It is always all we ever wanted.”
Crispin glanced at the boy again. The young face was serene, fresh in the knowledge that his savior, Crispin, would also be his champion. He wetted his lips. “Have. . have you been missing any boys, Master Middleton?”
He shook his head. “No, Master. And we are grateful that John was spared today.”
Crispin considered. Boys snatched from the streets. Was the man who wanted the parchment responsible for the other four deaths? Was John to be the fifth?
Or are there two men abducting boys?
And where did this Golem fit in?
Exhausted, Crispin sighed. “Then this man who tried to abduct the boy. I ask again. Do you know him?”
“We do not,” said Middleton.
“Did any of you know the missing boys?”