Rivals for the Crown

PART I

The holly and the Ivy A
re plants that are well known of
all th
e trees that grow in the woods t
he holly bears the crown.

ANONYMOUS TRADITIONAL FOLK SONG ENGLAND

PROLOGUE

LONDON JULY 1290

Rachel! Rachel, wake up!"

At first Sarah's whispered words blended into her dream. Rachel turned her head away from the fear in her sister's voice. She'd been dreaming of winter, of snow falling softly from a bright sky. She and Sarah, little girls, had been dancing, laughing as they collected the flakes in their small hands. Then Sarah's mouth had opened in a wail and the sky had darkened and the snow had turned to rain. Rachel climbed her way back to the world, her mind resisting, for whatever had frightened Sarah would frighten her as well.

"Wake up!" Sarah shook Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel opened her eyes. It was still dark. And although it was summer, there was a chill in the air. Outside the rain drummed on the roof just above their heads and the shutters clattered as the wind shook them against the wooden frame. She heard it then too —a terrible pounding on the door, male voices raised in anger.

"They're here," Sarah whispered.

Rachel sat up, fully awake now. She knew who they were: the king's men, here to drive them from their home. Just as Mama had predicted. Just as Mama had prepared for. Papa, ever optimistic, had argued that his family would remain untouched, no matter what King Edward's proclamation had said.

She could hear her father's voice now from her parents' room below. The pounding on the door stopped. The rain was too loud for her to hear their words, but Papa talked for a moment before she heard hurried footsteps on the stairs. The door to their bedroom was flung open and Mama rushed in.

"Get dressed, girls," she said, still fastening her own clothes as she spoke in a near whisper. "Remember the bundles under your clothes. Say nothing. No matter what happens, do not argue with them. And if.. .if there is violence.. .run. Remember the plan."

Sarah nodded, already out of bed and pulling her skirts on over the chemise in which she'd slept.

"Mama," Rachel said, but her mother shook her head rapidly.

"Get dressed. Say nothing. Do it, Rachel! For once in your life do not argue. Just do what I say." And then she was gone.

It was a blur then, as Rachel and Sarah dressed and stuffed the bundles they'd prepared under their clothing, attaching smaller ones to each knee, where they would be hidden under their skirts. The satchels they carried held only clothes and a few keepsakes that would alarm no one: ribbons for their hair, a lucky stone, a lace collar, a cloak pin. Nothing to raise suspicion. They had been tutored well. But Rachel had never believed this would happen. Despite all their preparations, all Mama's instructions, Rachel had not believed they would have to leave.

King Edward had announced his edict on July 18, expelling the sixteen thousand Jews resident in England from his kingdom. Within days, the streets of London had been full of those who had already begun their exodus. Some had simply left everything they could not carry, and walked away from homes and shops and all they'd contained. Others had tried to sell their businesses and houses, and of those, some had been able to receive fair prices, but most had gotten only a pittance of the value. They'd scattered,
neighbourhoods
and families separated, perhaps forever.

Many of the Jews had said they would not leave, declaring that King Edward had been their protector in the past. Just a few years ago had he not brought them within the walls of the Tower of London and kept them safe? He would not abandon them now. The edict, they'd said, was to soothe the feelings of those who had raised their voices against them, a political move on Edward's part. Nothing more. But others remembered when Edward had imprisoned the moneylenders in the Tower. Hundreds had died.

At first there had been no mass routing of Jews, no massacre of those who had not left immediately. But for others, it had been different. Several families had already been roused in the middle of the night, and removed from their homes, escorted to the gate of London, and cast out to fend for themselves. There did not seem to be a pattern to it, but it had happened every day for almost a fortnight. And now, on the thirtieth of July, it was their turn. Her father had been so sure they would be spared.

This is not real. This is my dream and I will wake to find myself in a snowstorm with Sarah. This is not real.

"Hurry!" Sarah said. "Faster! I can hear them on the stairs."

They were barely dressed when the first soldier appeared outside their bedchamber. He was older, his
grey
, grizzled hair refusing to stay under the helmet of the king's guard that he wore. He touched the brim with a sharp gesture.

"Mistresses. You have been given until daybreak to pack your belongings." He glanced outside at the dark. "Not long now."

"And if we're not ready to leave by then?" Rachel asked.

"Rachel!" Sarah exclaimed.

"My orders are that you are to leave. If you want to live...." He shrugged, as though it were of no matter to him.

Rachel nodded tightly. There would be no mercy, no small kindnesses, from this man. He watched with a stony expression as they stripped the bed and tied the linens together. Sarah, her head bent over the bundle of linens, picked up her satchel. Keeping her eyes lowered, she squeezed past the man and made her way down the stairs.

Rachel took one last look at the room she'd slept in her whole life, at the empty bedframe, the mattress sagging against the ropes, the empty hooks on the wooden wall that had held their clothing. At the iron candlestick on the small table in the corner, which held the one precious candle they'd been allowed on winter nights. She reached for the candlestick and heard the guard clear his throat. She glanced over her shoulder. He met her gaze and shook his head, she pulled her hand away as though the candlestick would burn her, feeling her face flush. For one mad moment she wanted to shout at him that the candlestick was a paltry thing for him to take from her when he was already taking her home and her past, but instead she kept silent and followed her sister.

Downstairs her father was packing his books in an oiled cloth bag with his siddur, the prayerbook, and the Tanach, the Bible of the Old Testament, given to him by his grandfather. The menorah and the tallit, the prayer shawl he used on the Sabbath, lay in a small wooden chest at his feet. Outside she heard the rattle of the cart her mother had reserved, just in case. She could see the tears in her father's eyes as he worked, but he would not look at her. Neither would the two younger guards, both just a few years older than she and Sarah. One, without meeting her gaze, gestured for her to go into the back room. Rachel stood frozen, staring at him.

He wanted her to go into the empty dark room. With him. Alone. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to look into Mama's eyes, seeing banked anger there.

"The cart is here," Mama said softly, in a diffident tone that Rachel had never heard her use. "May we load it, please, sir?"

The guard must have nodded, for Mama picked up a box and carried it out the front door. Rachel did the same, glad to be out of doors, where the rain had abated to a drizzle. The carter stopped them with an upraised hand.

"Payment first," he growled.

"We will pay you when we're out of the city," Mama said. "That's what we agreed."

The carter laughed low in his throat. "Then carry your own goods, madam. You have until daybreak."

Mama stiffened, but relented with a nod and handed the man the coins from the pocket at her waist. He shook his head and named an exorbitant price.

"That's not what we agreed!" Mama said, an edge of fear in her voice now.

"Daybreak," the carter said. "Decide."