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A LIGHT TAP of the close-ring brought Yacob ben Yosel to the door. The probing sparkle of his warm brown eyes lit up before the Jew gestured Drake inside. Furnished with a modest array of tables and chairs, the front chamber where the moneylender conducted his trade was as unpretentious as the man.
Drake said, “Do you remember me?”
“I do, I do,” the Hebrew said, stroking his chin.
“I have come to settle my debts. Can you tell me how much I owe?”
Instead of answering directly, the Hebrew closed the door and invited Drake to sit. He poured each a drink: an excellent vin pour la mer from Anjou. While they sat over tumblers, the Jew continued to study Drake while asking after his father’s health and then his brother’s but without naming names. The focus of his vision wandered repeatedly back to Drake’s battered face while the owner of the battered face pretended the black-and-blue mushroom with two bloodshot eyes, scarlet stitches, and an unbroken nose was inconspicuous.
At last Yacob returned to his question. “How much do you owe? Rien,” he said. “Since you never borrowed a single penny from me.”
“Et,” Drake asked casually, reverting to the language he was as fluent in as English, “mon frère?”
“Alors. Votre frère.” And after a pause, “Again I say nothing.”
“Then you did not send three goons to persuade me ... or my brother ... to settle our debts?”
Ben Yosel looked vexed. “Do I appear to be a man who employs goons? Particularly when your brother’s debt has already been settled?”
Stephen’s twin took a quick breath. “Does all of Winchester know I’m not Stephen?”
“Non, non, solely you and me, and whomever else you have been, shall we say, less than prudent. I beg of you, do not overly concern yourself. It is not the face that belies the fact. It is the question and the way you put it. Stephen would well know how many of the king’s short-crosses he owed without having to ask.”
“Oui, bien sur,” Drake said and settled back in the chair. “And Lord fitzAlan? How did he become aware of my brother’s debt? It was my father who settled the loan, was it not?”
The hint of a smile appeared on the Hebrew’s face. “You must dine with us,” he said, standing.
Drake begged off the kind offer, making his excuse the recent repast at the alehouse.
“It matters not. While it is the end of our Sabbath, it is the beginning of yours, and Rachel will want to meet you. You are the talk of the town. And she has been patient, keeping the meal warm on my behalf.”
Wife Rachel, four children, and Yacob’s dowager mother took an immediate fancy to the tall knight who stepped unexpectedly into the upper reaches of their modest household. Ranging in age from five to twelve, the two boys and two girls made Drake dizzy with nonstop jabbering and energetic play. Meanwhile, their mother brought out heaping bowls and platters, and filled cups with watered-down wine.
Yacob introduced Drake as “... the brother of the infamous Drake fitzAlan.” Having no yearning for the kind of notoriety attached to unspeakable crimes, the said Drake fitzAlan cleared his throat with embarrassment. His exploits, though, didn’t seem to worry the curious family, who welcomed him as a more than an interesting guest and urged him to take a seat nearest the hearth.
Wearing a couvre-chef, the grande-mère pinched his cheek and ran gnarled fingers through his hair, tut-tutting about “those culprits jealous of your beatific countenance.”
“May I take you home?” he asked her. “I have no grandsires to fuss over me.”
The same sparkle as Yacob’s lit her eyes. “You may when I grow tired of these erichons.” The urchins giggled and settled down on the benches, each eager to sit as close to Drake as possible.
Rachel ben Yosel set a bountiful table to satisfy ten hungry men. Drake was not one of them. He ate small portions to be polite while the young ones talked all at once. They wanted to know who gave him a beating and why. With an amused grin, he told them, “Goblins.”
“Gobelins!” they squealed, familiar with the ghost who haunted Évreux not many years ago.
Drake wove an elaborate tale about a moonless night and a dark forest. “My horse threw me and galloped off. Upon waking, I beheld a dozen or more of the grotesque creatures, each as small as the children of Yacob and Rachel ben Yosel.”
They howled with delight.
He went on, spinning the tail with hand gestures and dramatic delivery. “The goblins wanted to turn me into one of them and entreated me to join them in their secret caves, but I refused. They were insulted, and so they cast a spell and mottled my face like theirs as a lesson to other folk who traveled their way.”
“Then they did not hit you to make you look so?” said the smallest girl, whose curls bounced when she spoke.
“Non, ma petite. This face changes daily. One day, the green is over here. Next day, it is over there. And the purple appears wherever it pleases.”
The child began to cry.
Arms folded over his chest, Yacob ben Yosel was beside himself with mirth.
Drake raised a helpless brow, then knelt beside the girl and encircled his arms around her birdlike shoulders. “Do not cry, little one. I am happy with my fate. Besides, the coloring fades a little every day. Soon I will be my old ugly self.”
The little girl lifted a tentative finger and stroked his jaw. The tiniest smile came to her cherubic lips.
“Let that be a lesson to you all,” said their mother, “to accept who and what you are, no matter how others may jeer and taunt.”
“Amen,” intoned the father.
The meal ended. The old woman and the children took up other pastimes while Rachel cleared the table. Another tumbler of wine was put into Drake’s hand. He thanked the mistress kindly, and she went off to her kitchen.
“May I ask,” he said to his host when at last they were alone, “how a moneylender gets by?”
“Alors, perhaps you believe we Jews hoard rubies as others hoard bread.”
“I see no evidence of boundless riches.” While the ben Yosel abode was clearly crammed with sundry furniture, precious heirlooms, and numerous leather-bound books, it was also clear those treasured belongings had seen many years of use, traveled over countless miles, and been packed and unpacked countless times.
“It seems, mon ami, you are brighter than first impressions inform.”
“Others,” Drake said, thinking of a surly brunette, “think me duller.”
“Intelligence is relative according to the viewpoint, c’est vrai?” He took a sip of his wine. “It is true. Independently I do not have the means to conduct a trade such as mine without backing from several sources.”
“Others lend to you?”
“I would not use that term, as it is forbidden by your religion whereas it is not forbidden by mine. But your churchmen often come to us. And the richest of your merchants can sometimes circumvent the prohibition against lending at interest for important concerns and large transactions.” The mischievous twinkle of his eyes appeared once more.
“Let me put it another way. Others ... invest ... in your enterprise ... for a profit.”
“Shall I put it another way. Let us say I receive support from my fellows. Barter is a common enough method for sidestepping currency along with pawning personal property as security. And, when the need is great and immediate, a lender of local and substantial resources steps forward.”
Because Yacob let the last statement stand without elaboration, a tangible ghost stepped in like an unwelcome guest.
“Local and substantial?” Drake contained his surprise. “You’re trying to tell me something.”
The Jew did not respond.
“Surely ...” To go on was to tempt fate. “But surely ...?” Drake could think of only one lender of local and substantial resources.
“Some advice?” interrupted Drake’s host. “And I offer this as one persecuted soul to another, in all good charity. Otherwise, you understand, I would not have stirred the, shall we say, already muddied waters. You might be killed for such casual inquiry. I half suspect that is why you ... and your brother ... have been put upon of late.”
“For something we cannot begin to understand?”
“Yet managed to get caught up in, oui, along with your compatriots.” Yacob refilled his tumbler. “Let me shed a pale light on your dark quandaries. I make the assumption, forgive me, that your brother acquired two debts. One to me and the other to Mat.”
“The owner of Hogshead Tavern?”
“The same invisible character. Mat is not a moneylender per se. He lends neither silver nor gold. Instead he extends credit in exchange for a promised return, either in coin or property. He’s not particular. A slight twist of usury to get around your Church’s prohibition. Unlike my trade, Mat’s rate of return is exorbitantly high and the term of repayment short.”
“How high is high?”
He named a number. Drake whistled. Yacob said, “No one who goes into debt with Mat ever gets out, or if he does, is beggared.”
“Who backs him? That is, when the need is great and immediate? Surely he cannot get by on parchment and promises.”
The moneylender answered in a roundabout way. “Stephen accumulated excessive gambling debts. He did not know any better. Nor did his friends. In the blink of an eye, they found themselves with purses wanting for coin and no means of replenishment.”
Drake set down his empty tumbler and did not refill it. “Is that why they were attacked?”
“It would seem an incautious act, and rather severe given the circumstances, as well as counterproductive. All I know is that they came to me one by one, as did your brother, except for one of their number.”
Drake arrived at the logical conclusion. “Graham de Lacy.”
Yacob assented with a gesture.
“Could be they found another source of income.”
Curious, the Jew cocked his head.
“The tribute money they were collecting from the barons,” Drake explained.
“Ah, yes, the scutage,” he said, “to pay for the crusade against the infidel. To fight a war, King Richard needs knights like you and your brother, but he also needs money. And who better to go to with hand extended than the barony, where men like your father must sacrifice sons as well as fortunes.”
Drake took a steadying breath to quell the sickly feeling in his gut. Yacob ben Yosel was getting too close to home for comfort.
“I’ve heard the grumblings. The barons are none too happy. But I’ve also heard the coffers of Winchester are dry, and there is no other choice than to go to the well yet again and dip. Kings think only of war. The rest of us think only of food. And what better way for your friends to line their pockets doing the duty of their king.”
“And Mat? How does he fit in?”
“That I do not have direct knowledge of, but I suspect your friends approached me only when Mat’s generosity reached a proscribed limit. That is usually the way it goes.” The moneylender took a drink of his wine before speaking further. “Earlier I let you believe a falsehood regarding your father. He did not settle your brother’s debt. Someone else did.”
“Graham did,” Drake said, instinctively knowing. “Stephen is beholden to Graham.”
