XLVII

 

 

Jewen Street

22 June, 1193

 

FOUR DAYS PASSED. On three of them, the streets erupted into violent confrontation. None really knew who they were fighting, nor why – but fear fuelled their anger, and opened the door to their prejudices. Two Jews were beaten and left for dead. A burning brand was hurled into an inn where two of the perpetrators were known to drink. It was swiftly extinguished – but still the city smouldered. A red hand print appeared on the stones of St Paul’s. It proved to be paint, not blood – but Gisburne did not doubt that blood would follow.

He and Galfrid, meanwhile, puzzled further over the document. Gisburne quizzed de Rosseley and Prince John about the names it contained – but the questions yielded nothing. And, at Gisburne’s insistence, Galfrid did not search for Ranulph.

“But you said we must find him,” Galfrid had said.

“It is in hand,” said Gisburne, but would say no more. Instead, he had instructed Galfrid to keep up casual contact with Isaac – both to keep him safe, and to make sure he kept him abreast of their investigations. That, Galfrid had done.

Gisburne, meanwhile, practised with the bow. They rode and sparred upon Hamstede Heath, and Gisburne had taken to wearing his mailcoat again – not just for this training, but all day. To get used to its weight again, he said – but these days it seemed wise to go protected. Galfrid had followed suit; they were now on a war footing.

On the evening of the twenty-second day of June, with Hood’s execution date two days away, Galfrid found himself in an inn just off Jewen Street, sat opposite his master.

“So, what are we doing here?” said Galfrid.

“The weapons,” said Gisburne, “did you pack them?”

“They’re with the horses. But why?”

“We’re going to an inn.”

“An inn.” Galfrid looked around him. “Am I missing something?”

“A different inn. One frequented by our friend Isaac.”

“But Isaac is at home this night. He has friends dining with him – to celebrate the last lick of paint going back on his walls.”

“Exactly!” said Gisburne, and his eyes gleamed.

Galfrid sighed. “Do you keep me in the dark on purpose,” he said, “or is it an illness?”

Gisburne leaned forward, and spoke so they might not be overheard. “These past few nights our friend Isaac has been visiting an inn near the wharves at Douegate. Not a very safe place for a London Jew to venture – and certainly not a place of which Elazar would approve. Why do you think he does that?”

“Perhaps he just likes that kind of inn,” said Galfrid.

“It’s not that kind of inn. And anyway, does he look like the sort?”

Galfrid shrugged as if to say: “You never can tell.”

“But there’s another thing...” said Gisburne. “Yesterday – quite independently, it would seem – that same place was visited by another friend of ours.”

Galfrid couldn’t think of any friends; and if Gisburne meant enemies, the list was too long to even contemplate.

“Bearded,” explained Gisburne. “Extremely tall. Likes to put on armour and bash people’s brains in...”

“He was there?”

“And gone again before we could make anything of it. But his being there at all tells us much.”

“You don’t suspect some connection between the Red Hand and Isaac?”

“But there already is a connection.”

“Ranulph?” said Galfrid.

“Ranulph,” said Gisburne. “Consider this: the Red Hand strikes at Isaac’s house. Ranulph runs. He hides out, but also gets word to Isaac to reassure him he is safe. Isaac, who is now regularly apprised of our efforts, arranges to meet him so he can pass on that information.”

“You think Ranulph is at that inn?”

“He has not been seen,” said Gisburne. “Not once. But I would stake my life on it. The place is a haunt of Hansa merchants. They are a closed community, untouchable by the authorities. I doubt there’s a better place to hide in all London.”

“I’ve heard tell that Baylesford had dealings with the Hansa. And his ship lies at dock a mere stone’s throw away. Perhaps Ranulph means to leave on it.”

“If he hasn’t already,” said Gisburne. “But we find out tonight, come hell or high water.” He sat back and drained his cup.

“So, to go back to my original question,” said Galfrid, “if our business is at an inn down near the wharves, why are we here?”

“We’re here to make sure that Isaac is not there.”

“Well, I saw him not half an hour ago,” said Galfrid, “welcoming his guests. Settling in for the evening.”

Gisburne smiled. “Then we are free to go.” A commotion near the door made both turn, and Galfrid glimpsed the flailing limbs of a familiar gangling figure fighting to get past the mistress of the establishment. “And, if I’m not mistaken, here comes our guide...”