The Prince of Poison

by Pamela Kaufman

  “Will you help us or not, Cardinal Langton?”

  There wasn’t a sound in the room.

  “Help you what?”

  “Write a charter addressing those laws that apply across the land. We want to live in peace as our forefathers did, nothing more. But, with this king, we find ourselves in perpetual warfare, either against strangers or against the king.”

  Langton flushed. “I admit that I have my own problems with this king; I don’t want to comment today. Can you wait?”

  “No, now.”

  Sir Guy suddenly rose. “May I add, Your Grace, the requests of Lord Robert fitzWalter and Lord Eustace de Vesci?”

  Langton stared coldly at the knight. “They are in contact with the pope.”

  There was astonished muttering in the Hall. Enoch lifted his arms for silence.

  Enoch pushed closer. “We speak to you alone, Cardinal Langton, and not to Pope Innocent III. This is outside the Vatican’s concern.”

  “Canon law is universal. Unchanging, ever wise,” he muttered. He looked up through bloodshot eyes. “Very well, if you insist.”

  The barons and knights and priests didn’t breathe. Even Enoch seemed overwhelmed with his success. Fortunately, Edwina called the company to repast—it was Haute Tierce.

  Speaking in Vulgar Latin, Cardinal Langton blessed our meeting, which had been called to do God’s work after we’d rested, to keep the peace, for we were the children of the prince of peace. His thin, husky voice expressed his intense personal commitment. Like the Angevins, this man wears rich red robes; like them, he creates a music with his voice, I thought. And, like the Angevins, he seemed slightly false. False because he’d promised to help us with law and still spoke of canon law.

  Four more barons arrived.

  The cardinal suddenly asked, “Where is our host?”

  Enoch stepped forward.

  “Lord Enoch, I found this letter from Pope Innocent III in my sack during our repast, and I want especially for you to hear it. Where is the woman who translates?”

  I came forward.

  The cardinal turned to his audience. “This is a letter from the pope himself.”

  I read slowly: “If you pay to King John the loyalty that is due to him, you can be sure that this is pleasing, both to God and to us. But because you should order your loyalties to your earthly king so as to never offend the Heavenly King, you ought to be on guard to save the king by faithful advice . . .”

  Loud stamping and jeering stopped my reading.

  “He wants we shuld advise him?” Enoch shouted. “Aye, we will!”

  I pulled Enoch back before he could have a stroke!

  Langton sank in the front row with his hand to his eyes; the Jews moved forward.

  Bonel was speaking with an archbishop—a stranger—in a far corner. Then he took the podium. Langton raised his head. Bonel, speaking in French, first introduced the archbishop in the corner as Archbishop Geoffrey of Norwich, King John’s justiciar of Jews. The bishop drew hostile gazes because he came from the king. Was he a spy?

  “Thank you for permitting me to speak,” Bonel addressed us. “Though I quite honestly know little of your plaints, it seems we have common cause. We Jews, too, live under the laws of the land as applied by the king, whoever that may be; we are called the king’s men. And, like you, we experience differences in our treatment when the crown goes to a new king, though every king presumably follows the same law. Is that the canon law? I don’t know. We, too, follow a religious law, the Torah. Therefore, it seems to me that canon law couldn’t possibly apply to Hebrews. We are certainly not the pope’s men. Nevertheless, I see analogies in our situations; if you see them, too, perhaps you can profit.

  “You all know deadly attacks have been made against the Jews here in England in the king’s name and in your Savior’s name and sometimes the pope’s accusing us of trafficking with a devil whose existence we do not accept, poisoning wells because we place our own wells away from latrines and are spared bouts of fevers, drinking the blood of children who actually die of natural causes; perhaps you agree with these attacks or others and have even participated in them. I could answer such allegations in more detail, but this is not the place. What I share with you is my despair of your law, for the king is supposed to protect us under that same law. When Christians attacked Jews, King Richard at least pretended to be shocked; this king is the attacker.

  “Yet both kings share a single purpose: to steal our money. Did I understand correctly that the king is claiming your lands? Your castles? We have no land or castles, alas; we do have money. The Church itself makes Jews rich by permitting—nay, ordering—them to lend at interest—almost the only work we are permitted, but I won’t go into our history here—and the kings depend on our money to fight their wars.”

  He had everyone’s attention.

  “We were first brought to England from Normandy during the Conquest, specifically so we could supply the new king with money to fight; in return, he and his ancestors would protect us from the mobs. Yet, in fact, they treat us brutally—I’ll give you an example in Bristol in a moment—and now the king is treating you brutally as well. The thrust of this king’s reign is to regain Normandy, nothing more. To wage an attack across water is very expensive, as you know. We pay money; you pay with your lives.

  “Yet we pay with our lives as well. In Bristol today lie three Jewish corpses, men who bled to death when the king extracted silver from their teeth. Furthermore, their homes go to the king rather than their families; their widows and children are destitute. The assize law protects these families, but who enforces the law?

  “Cardinal Langton is right when he says that precedent should make you eager to fight for the king, not against him, but something has happened, and I don’t speak of any political wind or even our pitiful situation. King Richard stayed in Europe and you lived without a king; through years of royal neglect, you have become independent Englishmen.

  “In our case, we are homeless in England or anywhere else. If we refuse the king our money, he takes our lives, or permits you to do so. We are not a military group, nor do we have the pope to defend us.

  “Can we win justice? Can you? I don’t think so, not with this king. We Jews had a thousand years of relative peace. Now that peace is ended, and I speak of another wind blowing through Europe: anti-Semitism. Can we prevail against it? Can you win? Frankly, I think you have right on your side, but I fear the answer must be the same for you as for us: not with this king. I mean no disparagement when I say that we are all Jews together.”

  He sat to absolute silence. Then Enoch moved forward to speak to him in urgent whispers. At first Bonel rejected whatever Enoch was saying, then abruptly rose. Enoch took his arm. The two men left the Hall for Enoch’s closet.

  Bonel was not in the cheese room when I arrived that night. At first I thought nothing of it—it had begun to rain, so he couldn’t time himself by the rising moon. I pulled the barrels away from the smoke hole so they wouldn’t be wet, then wiped them with my hands, thus getting a splinter in my right thumb. Finally, I sat. Though it wasn’t cold, the constant patter of rainfall plus a whistling wind oppressed my spirits. Where was Bonel?

  I’d just opened the door to leave when he entered. He apologized profusely for his delay—he’d had business with Bishop Geoffrey—had I been waiting long? I assured him that I’d just arrived myself; I noted that he didn’t embrace me. After I’d helped him wring water from his tunic, we sat stiffly on our barrels in silence. By then, I knew something had happened.

  “What was your business with Bishop Geoffrey?” I asked courteously. “About your difficulties with King John in Bristol?”

  “I would call having teeth extracted to the point of death a difficulty, yes.”

  Yet he’d known this a long time. He was lying.

  He meandered on about the widows, the children, all the things he’d told us this afternoon. He said nothing about the Carpathian Mountains.

&
nbsp; “Do you think Stephen Langton will help the barons?”

  He spoke at length; I heard nothing.

  “Any more than Enoch has helped you,” he ended.

  “Yes,”I said brightly. “I suppose there’s an analogy. What was the status of the Jews in England?”

  “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?” he replied gruffly.

  “Of course I have.” I’d also heard what he hadn’t said.

  “Normandy is now part of France.”

  “I know.”

  “Odd, Normandy has historically been a Jewish haven, I don’t know why, probably something to do with some Roman emperor.”

  “Julius Caesar?” The only emperor I knew.

  “I’ve leased a large farmhouse in the Low Countries for my commune. We’re crowded, for more arrive each day, but so far we’re surviving.”

  Had he told them he was leaving for the Carpathian Mountains? Where were they exactly? I dare not ask. My vital spirits fell.

  He went on: The reason that King Philip had expelled the Jews was because he wanted the backing of Pope Innocent, for the king with the pope behind him was usually the winner. This pope hated Jews.

  “And he’s won,” he finished. “France over England.”

  “Do you think King John will turn to the pope?”

  “Without question.”

  I felt guilty, though not because of the pope. Perhaps Bonel didn’t want this mountain estate after all—and he didn’t actually own it, did he? Was I supposed to say something?

  “Bonel, you say you live on a farm in Flanders—why not here? Why not come to Wanthwaite? I’d love to give you sanctuary—repay you if I can for your generosity when . . . and all the trouble I caused.”

  “Thank you, dear Alix.” He squeezed my hand. “And no thank you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, my dear, are you truly so naive? You fear and hate King John with good reason. England may be beautiful—even Wanthwaite—but all dungeons look alike. Do you want me to become a prisoner?”

  “Of course not!” I sat for a few heartbeats, then jumped up. “What happened? Tell me, for God’s sake!” I burst into tears.

  Bonel instantly put his arms around me, but it wasn’t the same, wasn’t the same!

  I shook like a leaf. “Why don’t you like me anymore? What have I done?”

  “Oh, I do like you, more than like, I do, but Alix . . .”

  I drew away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to force you.”

  “You’re not.” He drew back as well. “I meant what I said last night, Alix, about Leith, about the Carpathian Mountains . . . then my speech today reminded me—I would prefer you not to suffer a Jewish fate.”

  What could be worse than the fate I was facing? “That’s not it,” I said dully. “Something happened.” We were silent a few heartbeats as my fantastick cell raced. “What did Enoch say to you?”

  “Enoch?” He sounded guilty.

  “Did he talk about our Crusade? About King Richard?”

  “Only in passing.” He hesitated. “He’s more interested in the law.”

  “Our annulment? Did he try to borrow money?”

  He shook me slightly. “Stop! Let me ask a question: Will you come with me now? First to Bristol, then back to Europe?”

  “I would, except that I gave my word: after the barons get satisfaction and I’m released from my vows . . .”

  “In a word, no.”

  “I didn’t say that! Bonel!”

  “It’s stopped raining—we should leave.”

  “But . . .”

  “Oh, Alix!” He groaned. Then he kissed me—passionately—again and again.

  Why did it feel like goodbye?

  And I knew the reason. “Did you like him?”

  “I did, in spite of . . . he reminded me of a Jew.”

  I was astounded. “How so?”

  “Cleanliness, for one thing. He’s the cleanest English Christian I’ve ever met.”

  “He’s not English!” And might not be Christian, but I had no proof.

  “No, he’s Scottish. He made that clear as well.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  The barons’ attempt to bring King John in line with the law, Stephan Langton, the influence of the Church.

  I tried to keep him talking. “Enoch’s no more the pope’s man than you are!”

  “No,” he agreed.

  Enoch worshipped nature. He read signs in everything.

  “At least he doesn’t impose it on anyone else.”

  “No,” I conceded. “Neither do you.”

  “No, Jews don’t proselytize. Maybe we should, for our own safety.”

  He then astonished me further by revealing that Enoch had invited him to Scotland, where Jews were welcome, especially in the Highlands. Enoch thought that Jews and Scots were similar: devotion to tribes and clans, intelligence in law and history and science, love of the land where they were born.

  “Do you agree?” I asked.

  “I’ve never been to Scotland. Have you?”

  “Aye, when Theo . . .” I forced myself to describe the country as it had seemed. “It’s wild, deeply shadowed, poor soil. Not a rich country, but it has a charm.”

  “Windswept beauty,” Bonel mused, “but poor land for growing. People who are born on a desert are forced to develop other skills.”

  He wasn’t even considering a move to Scotland. First, and most important, he didn’t agree with Enoch’s appraisal of the religious/political situation there.

  “He doesn’t want to admit that Scottish kings were seduced—or terrorized—by the Angevins. The Scottish king—Alexander?—is not to be trusted.”

  Thinking of Theo again, I agreed.

  The second reason was the remote situation of the country. Besides moneylending, the Jews depended on trade with the Middle East. Most of their jewels came from there, and all the spices they sold in Europe. Plus artifacts of silver and brass, cottons from Egypt, silks from the Far East, all kinds of luxuries. Like moneylending, this monopoly wouldn’t last forever, but at least, for now, it was all they had.

  All very informative, but off my subject.

  “Did Enoch talk about me?” I finally asked.

  “Yes.” He was silent so long that I thought that was all he was going to say. “Like King Richard, he thinks you are mentally brilliant, considering that you’re a woman and weren’t born in Scotland.”

  He laughed; I didn’t.

  “He echoed your statement that the two of you had agreed to postpone your personal arguments until you resolved the political situation.”

  “I wanted the time, Bonel. I’ve been to court! I’ll lose Wanthwaite, lose Leith.”

  I waited; he didn’t comment.

  “It’s starting to rain again—we should hurry.”

  “Alix . . .” He held my sleeve, then released me.

  I stepped into the rain first; I hardly noticed the drops in my despair. Oh, I could understand his preoccupation about his community, but that had been with him for months. No, something had happened since last night; it could only be Enoch.

  “I’ll write, send you money, send you a map,” he called softly. I waved my hand in the dark and kept walking.

  Our entire household gathered in the courtyard to say farewell to Cardinal Langton and our other guests. I stood in Enoch’s shadow, for the sun was warm after the rainfall. Cardinal Langton spoke to Bonel, then with Bishop Geoffrey, and finally he thanked Lord Enoch for his most gracious hospitality and hoped to see him in Canterbury one day.

  “I hope so,” Enoch replied in French. “Or mayhap we’ll see each other in another meeting about our charter.”

  Bonel then thanked Enoch as well. “And thank you, Lady Alix.” I nodded without speaking.

  “We’re old friends.” He stopped. “I hope this is farewell, not goodbye.”

  Again, I nodded.

  “I’ll write you, if I may.”

  “Please do, milord
,” I whispered.

  The men formed a line, horsetails flicked at flies, one stallion dropped fecal matter close to the hedge, and they were gone.

  Carrying Leith, I followed them briskly down to the new palisades, where I stopped as they disappeared down the lane.

  Bonel didn’t look back.

  The second day, I waited for a missive. I couldn’t believe that Bonel had changed so drastically, not after all this time. I told Dugan that a runner might come for me and, if so, he was to take the missive and deliver it to me privately. Of course, there was nothing.

  Enoch, however, received a missive from King John’s court demanding service or scutage or he would be disseised of his lands. Enoch tossed the notice into the Wanthwaite River, then turned to me.

  “Be ye expecting summit?”

  “No.”

  “Jist hopin’, eh?”

  “Won’t you be imprisoned for ignoring that summons?”

  He studied me speculatively. “Ich doona think sae. No baron in the north be acceptin’ the notice.” He grinned. “Rumor says that the king ha’e abandoned his invasions of Normandy fer noo.”

  We continued to stare at one another, and I had another suspicion: What had Bonel told Enoch? I ran up the hill.

  Time passed and nothing came for me.

  13

  Father William rode to Wanthwaite unannounced. When I welcomed him while he sat on his donkey, I gave thanks that Enoch was in the forest, for I suspected the priest’s mission. I was right. Though he began with the great Cardinal Langton’s visit and the important meeting we had convened, a real honor for Dunsmere, he quickly came to his point: Was Enoch going to seek the annulment that was his? A runner had come from the ecclesiastic court in Durham about the gold pieces I had given for the annulment; the bishop didn’t feel right, keeping them, if Enoch didn’t want to go forward.

  “Keep them,” I whispered, afraid that some other Scot would hear. “Only say nothing yet. Enoch wants his freedom from me, but I’m not quite ready to leave my home. Or Leith.”

  Father William looked confused. “Does that mean that your husband wants to keep his bastard?”

  I almost struck him! How was my daughter a bastard? Enoch hadn’t sought an annulment before she was conceived! I hated Father William!