Hawk Quest (17 page)

The sergeant stiffened to attention. ‘Sir.’

They could hear him muttering obscenities as they rode through the gate. ‘He won’t forget you in a hurry,’ Raul said.

‘I know. Let’s hope he doesn’t enquire about us at the castle.’

Raul stood on tiptoe. ‘There’s Wayland.’

The falconer turned his back on them and went up the thoroughfare, dodging through a crowd of vendors and shoppers. Vallon and Raul followed, pestered by a swarm of touts and beggars, the lame and the blind hopping and tapping in their wake. From every doorway children observed them with sharp urban eyes. Months had passed since Vallon had been in a city. He breathed in the pungent mixture of woodsmoke, sawn timber, meat, tallow, bread, livestock and shit. They turned a corner by a church with a round stone tower and left the stink and hubbub behind. Two turnings later they were in a narrow lane deserted except for a rooting hog. Wayland stopped at an iron-reinforced gate in a high wall and jangled a bell.

Richard opened the gate and led them into a courtyard paved with moss-grown cobbles. On three sides stood an ancient house with a timbered gallery, once level but now undulating and sprouting weeds. Doves cooed on the tiled roof. A well of silence filled the court.

‘You said you wanted somewhere quiet.’

‘It’s perfect.’

Richard beamed. ‘It belonged to an English merchant. I rented it from his widow, two months’ rent in advance. She thinks you’re a French wine importer. I took a room for Wayland and Raul at the White Hart, by the cornmarket.’

‘Did you find the moneylender?’

‘It wasn’t difficult. His house is right under the castle walls.’

‘Has he received the letters?’

‘Days ago. He’ll see us tomorrow, after sunset.’

‘Why so late?’

‘It’s the Sabbath.’

‘How did he react when you gave him our names? Did he seem nervous?’

‘I didn’t meet him. I wasn’t invited into the house. I spoke to someone through a grille.’

Bells were striking compline when Vallon and Richard set off for their appointment with Aaron. In the dusk-shrouded streets, shopkeepers were boarding up their premises and citizens hurried homewards. The castle keep loomed bone-white against the bruised sky.

‘I wish Hero was with us,’ said Richard. ‘He deserves to see our business brought to a successful conclusion.’

‘Success isn’t guaranteed. Drogo must have guessed our intention. There aren’t many moneylenders in England. He could have got to them first.’

‘He doesn’t have any power over the Jews. They’re not even Norman subjects. The King brought them from Rouen as his personal chattels.’

The street opened into a wide plaza surrounding the castle – a massive structure built on a huge artificial mound. In the middle of the open space stood a scaffold and several whipping posts. The heads of executed malefactors sprouted from poles planted above the castle gate. Aaron the Jew’s house lay within sight of the gateway, on the corner of a street leading down to the haymarket. It was a substantial two-storey stone hall, the ground floor blind, the windows on the first floor barred and shuttered. Steps led up to an arched door braced with iron straps. Vallon lifted the heavy knocker.

A grilled flap opened and a grave-looking eye regarded them through the lattice. Several bolts were struck before the door swung open. A young man with delicate features ushered them inside. Instead of the usual aisled hall, a corridor led down one side of the house past a series of rooms. Vallon had a sense of life lived behind closed doors. He thought he heard muted female voices. The last doorway stood open. The youth bade them enter. The room was neither large nor extravagantly furnished, yet the glint of silver, the thick Moorish
carpet and the scent of beeswax gave the chamber an air of restrained opulence. Aaron, dressed in a silk gown and turban, stood at a polished table that held a bowl containing a pot-pourri of rose petals. Behind him a fire burned in a wall-hearth. By the shuttered glass window a pair of goldfinches twittered in a cage.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Be seated.’

‘I believe you’ve received letters from my mother,’ Richard said.

Aaron smoothed a roll of parchment and let it flick back. ‘Lady Margaret wishes to pledge lands in Normandy as security for a loan.’

Richard reached under his cape. ‘Here are the deeds. I understand that the estate is valued at more than three hundred pounds.’

Aaron angled the documents to the candlelight. ‘On paper, yes, but I’ll have to ask my agent to make an independent valuation.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘Hard to say. Not more than six weeks.’

‘Six weeks!’

‘It depends on conditions at sea. The last time I crossed to Normandy, I had to wait eight days for a favourable wind.’

Richard shot Vallon an appalled glance. ‘The ransom deadline looms close. My brother’s life hangs in the balance.’

Aaron’s dark eyes remained calm. ‘The property may have deteriorated. I have to make sure that it isn’t entailed. There may be other legal encumbrances.’

Vallon touched Richard’s wrist. ‘I’m the man who carried the ransom terms to Lady Margaret,’ he said. ‘There are complications that Richard is embarrassed to speak about. Sir Walter has a stepbrother of the same age. There’s a long history of rivalry. Until I arrived, he had every reason to believe that his brother was dead, leaving him the undisputed heir.’

‘I see.’

‘He’s already put obstacles in our path. Given enough time, he could sabotage our venture entirely.’

Aaron composed his hands on the table. ‘This isn’t the first ransom I’ve dealt with. You aren’t the first to find yourselves embroiled in a family dispute. I’m sorry, but it makes no difference. If all goes well, we should be able to seal the contract in three weeks.’ He looked past his guests, brows arching. ‘Yes, Moise?’

His son murmured something in Ladino – the hybrid Spanish-Hebrew tongue used by the Sephardim of Iberia.

‘Excuse me,’ Aaron said, and crossed to the door.

‘We can’t wait three weeks,’ Richard whispered.

‘We might not be around that long,’ Vallon said, watching the pair at the door. The interruption was clearly unexpected. Aaron looked startled, concerned, then resigned, but when he returned, his expression had settled into courteous inscrutability.

‘A young man has called at the house – a Greek who speaks excellent Arabic. He claims to be your servant.’

Vallon had been so sure that the visitor was Drogo or one of his agents that it took a moment to sink in. ‘Hero’s no longer my servant. I dismissed him three days ago. No, “dismissed” is too harsh. I released him so that he could return to his studies.’

Aaron frowned politely. ‘What does he study?’

‘Medicine. But there’s no branch of philosophy that doesn’t excite his curiosity.’

‘Do you want me to send him away?’

‘By your leave, it would be better if he joined us.’

Aaron nodded at Moise. In a little while Hero tottered through the doorway. He looked wasted, his eyes as dark and vacant as a moth’s. Richard gasped with concern and ran to him. When Hero saw Vallon he began to blubber. Vallon only just managed to stop the Sicilian from falling at his feet and kissing his hands.

‘Sit down,’ Aaron said, guiding Hero to a stool. ‘You’re exhausted. You’re ill. Which is ironic. Your master says that you’re a student of medicine.’

Hero nodded and snuffled.

‘Which school do you attend?’

‘The university at Salerno.’

Aaron’s face lit up. ‘The finest in the Christian world. Have you ever met Constantine the African?’

‘He was one of my teachers. It’s because of Constantine that I’m here.’

Aaron’s brows rose halfway to his turban. He laid his arm around Hero’s shoulders. ‘You’d better explain. Moise, bring some soup for the boy. Wine and biscuits for our other guests.’

While Hero recounted how Constantine had recruited him, Vallon
and Richard sipped wine from rare beakers of Damascus glass. When Hero had finished, Aaron softly pounded the table. ‘Your master’s right: go back to school and complete your education. It’s a ludicrous undertaking. Four gyrfalcons to be carried from Norway to Anatolia by way of Rus, the expedition to be led by men who are neither traders nor navigators. I wouldn’t consider the proposition for a moment.’

‘We run the risk,’ Vallon pointed out. ‘Whatever happens to us, you won’t be out of pocket.’

Aaron ignored the Frank’s bad manners. He warmed his hands before the fire. ‘What’s the minimum amount you need?’

‘Not less than a hundred pounds.’

‘Including the cost of trade goods?’

‘I’m not a merchant. I hadn’t thought of it as a trading venture.’

‘Pardon me, but if I’m to advance the money, I want to know that it’s working. There’s no sense sailing all that way in an empty ship. I imagine Norway lacks many commodities.’

Hero nodded. ‘They have no wine and little corn.’

‘And presumably they have some resources that would find a market in the south.’

‘Woollens, salted and smoked fish, eider down.’

Aaron spread his hands. ‘You see. You must be businesslike. The falcons are perishable goods. At least protect yourselves against their possible loss.’

Vallon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying you’ll give us the money?’

Aaron permitted himself a smile. ‘I’ll advance you one hundred and twenty pounds. The term of the loan is for one calendar year. Interest will be charged at twopence in the pound, compounded weekly. That’s more than fifty per cent in the year. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Usurer. But the King takes more than half. Besides, I don’t expect you to redeem the pledge.’

Vallon couldn’t stop his eyes drifting towards the lower floor. Aaron interpreted the look.

‘I don’t keep money here. Come back the day after tomorrow, at noon.’

Vallon rose. ‘Can you help us charter a ship?’

‘I know several merchants who trade with Flanders and Normandy. I’ll make enquiries, but my guess is that none of them would make a crossing to Norway.’

Vallon wasn’t sure how to express his gratitude, or whether he should express it at all. Eventually he held out a hand.

Aaron held on to it. ‘Your face is familiar. Did you campaign in Castile?’

Vallon looked him in the eye. ‘Yes.’

Aaron released his hand. ‘Moise will show you out.’

As Vallon and Richard made for the door, father and son held a whispered conference.

‘One moment.’

Vallon turned.

‘My son reminds me that last summer a man called applying for a loan. What was his name? Never mind. He was a Norwegian, one of the few survivors of the invasion defeated by the English at Stamford Bridge. He escaped in a ship which was blown on to the shores of East Anglia. He wanted money to repair the ship. He offered to repay me in fish, and when I told him I wasn’t a fishmonger, he tried to sell me an orphan English girl. Even if he’d had collateral, I would have refused him. He was a repulsive wretch, careless with the truth and a little touched in the wits.’

‘I think we can do better than that.’

‘I only mention him for these reasons,’ Aaron said. He counted them off on his hand. ‘He has a ship; he needs money to repair it; he wishes to return to his homeland.’ Aaron held up another finger. ‘And, as I said, he’s crazy. I wish I could recall his name. It will come to me the moment you leave.’

‘Where will we find him?’

Aaron conferred with Moise. ‘A town called Lynn. It’s a day’s ride north, on the Wash.’

On the steps outside the entrance, Vallon watched soldiers moving in the glow of braziers by the castle gates.

‘Come here,’ Aaron said to Hero. ‘You know that Jews in England are forbidden to follow any trade other than moneylending.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m a wealthy man. I can travel anywhere in the kingdom without paying tolls. In a court of law my word is worth the testimony of twelve native-born Englishmen. I have many personal blessings – my family, my religion, my books, my garden. Yet the truth is, I’m confined to a cage.’

‘We ought to be going,’ Vallon said, eyeing the soldiers.

‘I didn’t choose to be a moneylender,’ Aaron continued. ‘My ambition was to follow the law, but … ’ With a little roll of the hand, he dismissed the tidal waves of history. ‘You must be a scholar of great promise to have been singled out by Constantine Africanus. Don’t waste your talents out of misguided devotion to a … ’ Aaron looked at Vallon. ‘
Condottiere
.’

‘There’ll be time for my studies when I return.’

‘Ha! The optimism of youth, the bliss of ignorance. There’s never enough time.’

Aaron closed the door. Bolts were shot, chains rattled. The key turned in the lock.

Hero eyed Vallon. ‘Don’t be angry, sir.’

‘Why did you come back?’

‘I couldn’t forget how Cosmas had said an unfinished journey was like a story without an ending. How could I leave without knowing how this one ends?’

Vallon shook his head. ‘Not all travellers reach their destination, not all journeys end happily.’

‘There’s another reason – something that’s been plaguing my conscience.’

Two of the soldiers had begun walking towards them across the plaza. ‘Tell me later.’

They were at the foot of the steps when the judas hole opened. ‘Snorri,’ Aaron called. ‘That’s the Norwegian’s name.’

‘Leave us,’ Vallon said. He waited until Richard had gone, then sat down on a stool by the open window. Hero remained standing in the middle of the room, clasping his medicine casket. A single candle burned on the table. The only other light came from the moon rising in the east.

‘Well?’

Hero spoke in a barely audible voice. ‘When you asked me why Cosmas had gone to such pains to rescue Walter, I told you that he’d acted out of pity and a desire to visit England. I wasn’t speaking the whole truth.’

Vallon remembered his doubts about the old man’s motives. He rested a foot on the window ledge. ‘I’ve had a trying day and I’m in no
mood to question or catechise. If you have a confession to make, get on with it.’

‘It’s true that Cosmas went to the Sultan’s camp after the disaster at Manzikert. It’s true that he helped negotiate ransom terms for some of the more noble prisoners, including the Emperor Romanus. While he was involved in these negotiations, he received a message from Sir Walter. It was a strange message and one that greatly excited his curiosity. Walter claimed to have in his possession documents sent by the ruler of a distant Christian realm. One of the documents was a letter addressed to the Byzantine Emperor, offering to forge an alliance against the Turks and Saracens.’