‘So she sold it to you?’ Jacob asked.
Leo shifted uncomfortably on his seat. ‘She wouldn’t. Said something about it bringing her and her husband together. You know what fools women can be. So I hung around until she and her daughter were busy, then I tackled the husband when I could get him alone. Men aren’t sentimental, not when they can smell money. But he was as stubborn as she was and said if his Matilda didn’t want to part with it, he wouldn’t sell it, not for a king’s ransom.’ Leo shrugged. ‘So what could I do? The next day was Easter Sunday. I knew there’d not be a soul about with all the villagers in the church, so I took my chance then, while the croft was empty. Put another stone in its place, so they’d not notice the gap straight away, especially if they came home merry after the feasting.’
‘You stole it?’ Jacob was shocked. In all his years as a merchant he had prided himself on never knowingly buying or selling anything that was stolen.
‘There was no danger,’ Leo assured him, misinterpreting Jacob’s frown. ‘She could hardly raise the hue and cry over a worthless stone, and it is worthless to them, but to us…’ He gestured towards the stone. ‘You think this should be allowed to stay in the hands of Christians? If one of their priests should chance to see and recognize the marks, they wouldn’t hesitate to defile it. They’d spit and piss on it before they smashed it to pieces. Look what they’ve done to our holy books. You think I should have left it there so that they could commit such a blasphemy?’
‘No… no,’ Jacob finally conceded. ‘You did right to rescue it. It is a sin to steal, but the rabbis tell us that the commandments may be broken to save a life, and I am certain that this stone will save not just one life but the lives of all our people. Such a kemea.. such a sacred sign has not been granted to our people since we were driven out of the land of Israel.’
For once Jacob hadn’t haggled over the price, and as soon as he felt the weight of the stone in his scrip pressing against his body a great peace seemed to wash over him. He left Exeter that same day, travelling as fast as he dared in order to reach Norwich before the feast of Shavuoth, the celebration of giving the tablets of stone to Moses on Mount Sinai.
He had arrived just in time, for the eve of Shavuoth was just two days off and what better day could there be to unveil this stone in the synagogue, a sign that the Eternal One would deliver them from the misery the Christians had imposed on them, just as He had delivered their forefathers from the Egyptians. Jacob’s gnarled old fingers reached up to cup the stone concealed beneath his cloak. If he could spend his last few months on earth meditating on those marks on that stone, his soul would truly find eternal bliss.
Smiling to himself, the old merchant dug his heels into his horse’s side, trying to urge it on apace, but the narrow alley was crammed with the stalls of bellowing bakers desperate to sell the last of their pies and bread to the housewives who elbowed each other aside to snatch a bargain. In all the commotion there was scarcely room for a beggar’s brat to squeeze between the stalls, never mind a horse. But he wasn’t far from his home now. Most of the Jews lived in Mancroft, around the synagogue and close to the castle, where they could flee if they were attacked. But Jacob’s father had been wealthy enough to build a stone house near the river in Conesford Street, where the air was fresher and goods could more easily be transported to and from the boats.
At the crossroads, Jacob glanced behind him as he had done many times over the past few days looking for the Black Friar. Satisfied that there was still no sign of him, the old man was turning his horse’s head in the direction of home when he felt the reins being torn from his fingers. Before he could even cry out, he was dragged from his horse and bundled into a courtyard. Moments later he found himself pinned against the wall with the point of a knife pricking the wrinkled skin of his throat. Three unkempt youths crowded around him.
The one holding the knife thrust his face close to Jacob. ‘Gold, Jew, that’s what we’re after. Give it to us and we might let you live.’ The lad was short and stocky, his legs so bowed he could have straddled three whores at the same time, but he could move as rapidly as a weasel.
Jacob swallowed hard, reciting a silent prayer. ‘I’ve… only a few coins — you can have them all — but… I’ve no gold.’
‘He’s lying, Gamel,’ one of the boys told Bow Legs.
‘I know that, you cod-wit!’ Gamel grabbed a handful of Jacob’s beard and wriggled the knife against his throat. ‘We know you’ve got gold. All you filthy Jews have got gold. We saw you leave days ago with a full pack, been waiting for you to return. You’ve no pack now, so what did you sell it for? How much?’
‘I didn’t sell it for money.’
‘What, then?’ Gamel demanded.
‘A… s… stone.’ Even as he stammered out the words, Jacob knew no one would believe that, but it was the truth. What else could he tell them?
The young men laughed mirthlessly. Gamel’s knife flashed upwards, its blade slicing across the old man’s mouth. Blood gushed from Jacob’s lips, staining his white beard crimson.
Gamel took a step back. ‘Search him,’ he ordered his companions. ‘He’ll have the gold ingots strapped to his chest.’
Jacob caught sight of faces peering down at them from the upper casement of a house overlooking the courtyard. He shrieked out to them that he was being robbed, but almost at once heard the sound of a door being bolted shut. It was plain the witnesses to his plight were going to stay safely locked inside and ignore the trouble until it was over.
Frustrated at finding neither discs of gold nor of silver strapped to the old merchant’s chest, Gamel punched Jacob viciously in the stomach. The old man doubled up and sank to the ground. Something muffled but heavy hit the cobbles of the courtyard. Gamel pounced and in a trice had cut the leather thongs of Jacob’s scrip. He held up the weighty leather bag in triumph.
‘Told you he had gold. Lying bastard.’ He kicked the old man in the ribs, and his two companions grinned as they heard the bones crack.
Jacob rocked on the ground in puddles of piss and muck, his arms hugging the agony of his chest, his mouth gaping like a fish as he struggled to breathe. The three youths all tried to make a grab for the scrip, fumbling with the fastenings. Finally, Gamel wriggled his hand inside and pulled out the heavy lump. For a moment the three youths gaped at the black stone in his hand.
Gamel’s two companions glanced at each other, fear gathering in their eyes. ‘If we go back with nothing,’ one muttered, ‘she’ll feed our balls to the hounds-’
‘-while we’re still wearing them,’ the other finished.
With a howl of fury Gamel hurled the stone at Jacob. It struck him on the shoulder, and though the old man cried out in pain he reached out and grasped the stone. With what little strength he had left, he lifted it to his bleeding mouth and kissed it. ‘ Shma… Yisrael,’ he breathed, but that was all he had time to whisper. For the three youths with a single shout of rage ran at Jacob, kicking and stomping on the old man as if he was an insect they wanted to obliterate.
It is hard to know exactly when the old merchant lost consciousness, but mercifully he was dead long before the youths had finished battering his head to a bloody pulp.
As the youths ran off, Gamel glanced up at the frightened faces peering down from the casement above. He paused to press his finger first to his lips and then slowly and pointedly drew it across his throat, before he followed his companions out of the yard.