The Silver Falcon (29 page)

“Well, I certainly enjoy a good joke, but to give someone hope and then not fulfill it? That wouldn’t be amusing in the least, don’t you agree? Come to my house after mass this Sunday, so that my falconer can meet you. He’ll have the final word, since he’s the one that needs to be satisfied with your assistance.” The merchant introduced himself as FitzEldred and told William where he lived.

Uplifted by the unexpected prospect of getting his life back on the right track, William lifted the cart again and heartily pushed it toward the city gates. The work now seemed easier, and even the muggy, overcast day now seemed fragrant and agreeable.

The days dragged by until Sunday finally arrived. William fetched water from the spring and washed thoroughly, scrubbing his hands especially hard, for they were stained from the tanning mixture. He had washed his shirt the night before and hung it up to dry, so it was now more or less clean. Most important, it did not smell quite so nauseatingly of tanbark. He combed his now-long hair with Enid’s wooden comb and tied it into a ponytail with a slender leather band. On his way to the merchant’s, he picked a bit of lavender from the tiny churchyard of Saint Helen’s and rubbed it between his hands. Now they smelled wonderful.

William noticed that his tension had eased slightly. It really looked as if he was getting a second chance. Perhaps the last in his life. It didn’t matter what kind of man the merchant’s falconer was—he had to convince him. He would have to tread carefully. In particular, he mustn’t show off his knowledge, so that the falconer wouldn’t see him as someone who would be after his job. On the other hand, he had to demonstrate that he could relieve the man’s burden and work without supervision.

When William reached FitzEldred’s house, he knew he was in the right place because the merchant had given good directions and described the building accurately. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It was not long before a servant opened up. Even before William could explain who he was, the well-scrubbed servant let him in.

“My master is expecting you,” he said pompously, looking down his nose.

William wondered whether the merchant would be annoyed. FitzEldred had told him to come after mass, but William had chosen to wait a little, for most merchants, whether rich or poor, used their time after church to have a chat with their present or future
customers. It was a good opportunity to talk to possible clients or competitors of their own rank, to discuss prices, or resolve minor disputes. Now, though, he wondered whether the merchant would consider him lazy because he had arrived late.

He walked uncertainly behind the servant and tripped over the threshold. Lord, that’s a good start, he thought to himself, and felt like sinking into the earth. Out of habit he ducked his head as he went through the door, but it was not necessary here as it was at the tanner’s house.

The merchant welcomed William amiably and introduced him to his daughter, Robena, who was thirteen at most and greeted him with a coquettish smile. He led William to the stalls at the back of the courtyard, where his falcon was kept with the horses.

Garth, the falconer, was waiting for them. He showed a certain reserve, but William could understand that all too well. What had the merchant told him? That he had come across a tanner’s day man who claimed to know something about falconry? William’s heart sank. The saker at the fair had certainly made a good first impression, but how long it would really live was something they would probably never know.

After the first few words he exchanged with the falconer, however, the latter’s initial reservations were visibly dispelled. They discussed the details of training and manning, and soon agreed that they held the same opinions on many points. Garth fetched the merchant’s tiercel, gave William a glove, and let him take the bird. When he saw how William handled the bird, how well he held him, and how carefully he observed, he nodded to FitzEldred and laughed with pleasure.

William would have preferred never to leave, he felt so comfortable in FitzEldred’s house from the first. But decency required him to go to Tanner and ask to be released. If Tanner needed William for the remaining days of the fair, he would remain in his service,
provided the merchant agreed. FitzEldred seemed impressed by William’s honorable behavior and agreed without hesitation.

William promised to tell him as soon as possible when he could start work, and he took his leave. His heart rejoiced. At last he would be able to work with falcons again!

Tanner, who had found a reliable assistant in William, was reluctant to let him go so easily. He offered to increase his wages or take William on as an apprentice and train him. When William refused, he became angry. He berated him, and his wife joined in vociferously. So William packed up his meager belongings and set off back to FitzEldred’s the same day.

The merchant welcomed him happily and sent him straight to the falconer so that he could give him the good news himself: he would be able to take up his duties the next day.

William was given a place in the hayloft in the stables, where the house servant and the stable boy also slept. Garth had his own room, right next to the falcon’s enclosure. He was a conscientious falconer who was not exactly open to new ideas but had enough experience to recognize that there was more to William than met the eye. He was a tranquil man who spoke little, and never loudly; did not drink; never went out; and led an ascetic life. William did not find it particularly difficult to work with him or be subservient to him.

He carried out his duties conscientiously, did not complain, and kept his opinions to himself when he saw that they differed from Garth’s. In this way he avoided arguments, and everyone was content.

W
illiam hurried north through the streets of Cheapside. He was late, and FitzEldred was sure to be waiting for him. William clutched the little packet of leather strips. He was to make them into new jesses for the falcon.

The tang of burning wood entered his nostrils, reminding him of smoked food or a well-heated room in winter. Thoughts of comfortable warmth and simmering broth filled William’s mind. Soon, though, the clouds of smoke became denser. His eyes and chest burned. William ran as fast as he could. More and more men armed with torches, pitchforks, and cudgels were arriving from all sides, forming a clamorous mob.

“Kill the greedy Jews. The king orders it,” roared some of the men, beside themselves with rage. “Long live King Richard.” William heard someone else shout from far behind, “Milk Street is already on fire. Now burn the other Jews’ houses to ashes.”

Pure horror gripped him as he turned the corner. The Jews had barricaded their doors, hoping to evade the enraged citizens of London, but the latter were not to be diverted from their gruesome intention. They set light to the houses with their torches. The screams of women and children rang through the crackling of the first flames, and the air began to reek of burning flesh.

William looked around in shock. Day laborers, artisans, and traders—both men and women—were venting their fury on the Jews. While a few men with long locks of hair at their temples tried to save their families from the flames and the angry mob, the
madding crowd started looting homes and shops. The Jews had no choice but to leave their houses and belongings behind in order to save their skins, but only a few managed even that. The raging hordes struck down the defenseless, skewered them, and trampled them underfoot.

Distressed, William struggled through the tumultuous rabble. Suddenly, he recognized Moses ben Chaim, an elderly Jew he had met at FitzEldred’s home a few days before. The old man was bleeding from a gaping wound in his head. He was trying to shield a young woman and a small boy from the blows of a screaming matron in elegant clothes. William saw the wide, terror-stricken eyes of the young mother, who clutched her child, sobbing and half-dead with fear. The scene made him think of Enid. Suddenly, another thought raced across his mind: if he managed to save the two of them, perhaps God would forgive him for not being there when Enid needed him.

He rushed at their assailant, snatched away the plank of wood she was holding before she could use it to strike the old man again, and shoved her into the dirt. He grabbed Moses ben Chaim by the sleeve, took the woman protectively under his arm, and encouraged her to flee. They managed only a few steps before William felt a blow on his shoulder and heard a loud crack. He pushed the old man and the woman into the next alleyway.

“Run to FitzEldred,” he told them as he fell to the ground. Before the next blow landed, he rolled over. It was the woman he had just prevented from striking old Moses. She had brought the plank down on his back and split it, though without really hurting him.

“Look, Mother, see how much money, housewares, and jewelry the others have got,” cried a young girl with greedy eyes, grabbing the woman by the sleeve. “Come, I want something for my dowry, too.”

“You miserable traitor!” hissed the matron at William before allowing herself to be led away by her daughter.

William stood up hastily to avoid being trampled to death by the fleeing Jews or their pursuers. He glanced into the alleyway; Moses ben Chaim and the woman with the child had disappeared. Would they escape the mindlessly baying mob? William looked around to see if there was anyone else he could help, but there did not seem to be any Jews left on the street. The normally decent citizens of London were tearing the loot from each other’s hands like drunkards and had even begun to fight over it. And since the wealth of the Jews could not satisfy everyone in the crowd, some were now setting fire to the homes of wealthy Christians, too.

William struggled through the crowd, beseeching God that nothing had happened to FitzEldred. He was jostled so roughly that his shoulder ached. He was knocked over twice and came within a hair’s breadth of being crushed by a collapsing roof beam. Eventually, he found his way to a relatively quiet alleyway and ran away, as fast as he could, toward his master’s house.

“William, are you all right?” said FitzEldred worriedly as he rushed in through the door.

“They’re killing Jews and setting fire to the houses of rich Christians,” William reported breathlessly. “We must close all the shutters and hope the mob doesn’t force its way here. Did Moses ben Chaim get here? I couldn’t think of anything else to do but send him and the woman and child here.”

“Don’t worry, William. They’re back in the stables, hiding. You did right to send them here. His daughter is about to have her third child.”

“Her third child?”

FitzEldred nodded distractedly. “She has to be careful. The strain of the fire and the worry about her eldest son—she couldn’t find him when the attacks began—haven’t done her any good,” FitzEldred explained, shaking his head. “Get yourself something to eat from the kitchen. And then go and wash—you’re covered with soot and dirt.”

William nodded, but instead of the kitchen he went straight to the stables. While FitzEldred sat tensely in his countinghouse tidying up parchments, William and Garth stayed with the animals and tried to calm the three frightened human beings huddled together in the straw, white as chalk.

Garth sat the child in his lap. “Rickety, rockety horse,” he sang with the little boy, who went by his grandfather’s name, Moses.

William looked at the young woman out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be about his age, perhaps slightly older. Shyly he looked at her round belly. She did not have long to go before she gave birth, so he made sure she was comfortable. He stood up, fetched blankets for her to sleep in, and brought a hearty meal from the kitchen for the three of them, as well as a jug of refreshing black currant juice.

The roar of the mob was audible for a good while longer. At first it seemed to be coming closer, and once again William feared that FitzEldred’s house might be in danger, but then the tumult ebbed, and the city was finally peaceful again.

After there had been no noise for long enough, FitzEldred gave his servant the task of getting the three Jews discreetly out of the town, for they could not be sure they were not still in danger. A wagon was harnessed up and loaded with a few chests; a tarpaulin was stretched over them, and the Jews hid underneath.

William helped the woman get as comfortable as she could, then lifted the child into the wagon.

At first light, the king’s men started combing the streets of London in search of those responsible for the massacre. King Richard had forbidden Jews to attend his coronation at Westminster, it was true, but he had never called for them to be killed. So he had given Ranulf de Glanville the task of punishing the culprits. But when it emerged that too many prominent citizens had joined
the attacks, it was decided that it was not in the king’s interest to bring them all to justice. To keep up appearances, three less important participants were selected and sentenced to death by hanging.

All of London seemed to be up early to attend the execution.

Even FitzEldred, Robena, Garth, the servant who had taken Moses ben Chaim and his family out of the city, the cook, and, of course, William set out to join them. Failing to attend the execution would have seemed like an endorsement of the previous night’s atrocities. Thus, even those who had taken part in the uproar found themselves in attendance, too. Several still bore the unmistakable marks of their nocturnal tussles on their faces and on their blood-soaked, soot-blackened dresses. The well-to-do had changed their clothes, tended their wounds, and washed up, and now behaved as though everyone else had been responsible.