10

The banks of the Seine, Paris

March 13, 1355

The Tour de Nesle had a bad reputation. It was rumored that at the beginning of the century Queen Marguerite would have her lovers thrown into the Seine, which the tower overlooked, when she tired of them. The common people considered the area cursed, and the royal decision to build the pyre here fed speculation that anyone put to death in this place had committed a heinous crime possibly related to witchcraft.

The curious were gathering in clusters at the tip of the Île de la Cité. The guards, spears in hand, had barred access to the tower, causing a chorus of shouts. It began with teasing relayed by the women. The soldiers in chainmail remained impassive. After awhile, the more reckless paraded past the archers, shouting insults and making rude gestures.

Men in arms had lost their prestige over the last half century. Successive defeats against the English, combined with growing insecurity in Paris and peasant revolts in the countryside, had killed any respect for men bearing swords. The soldiers knew it and didn’t respond, for fear of causing a riot.

Nicolas Flamel had ended up following his neighbor. They stopped near a chapel for bargemen that was under construction. Master Maillard had friends in the boatmen’s guild.

“My dear neighbor, is this not a fine spot?”

Flamel didn’t answer. He had felt obliged to follow the furrier. Such spectacles revolted him, but in uncertain times it wasn’t good to stand out. If the people of Paris rejoiced in watching a Jew being burned at the stake, one had to share in the dreadful celebration or at least give the appearance of sharing. Priests even invited their flocks to participate. It was a way for the Church to show its power and the punishment reserved for those who dared to defy it.

“Master Maillard, didn’t you say the man was sentenced by the king? So this isn’t about heresy, which is exclusively a Church matter?”

The furrier leaned toward Flamel. “As I said, our good king brought this Jew from Spain into his court. It was an exceptional favor, and the man proved unworthy.

“But Jews have been banned from the kingdom for decades.”

“The king had his reasons.”

“He must have been a doctor. It’s said that in Avignon, where the pope resides, all the doctors are children of Abraham.”

Master Maillard lowered his voice. “The truth is, the kingdom’s finances aren’t in good shape.”

“So he’s a banker?”

“Even a banker would have a hard time fixing the king’s treasury. No, he’s a—”

The word was lost in the commotion of the guards building a pyre at the base of a cross.

The screaming grew louder when the executioner arrived, dressed in a black bodysuit, his face hidden under a blood-red mask. Flanked by his aides, he slowly made his way through the crowd.

“The wheel! The wheel.” The cries rose up from the crowd and reverberated off the stone façades.

The people were calling for the supreme punishment, reserved for the most horrible crimes. They wanted blood.