Chapter TWELVE
The End of Fluria’s Story
FLURIA WAS IN TEARS AS SHE FINISHED. AGAIN I WANTED to put my arms around her but I knew this wasn’t proper, and wouldn’t be tolerated.
I told her once more in a low whisper that I couldn’t imagine her pain in losing Lea, and I could only do quiet homage to her heart.
“I don’t believe the Lord would take a child to punish anyone for anything,” I said. “But what do I know of the ways of the Lord? I think you did what you thought right when you let Rosa go to Paris. And Lea died in the course of things as a child might die.”
She softened a little when I said this. She was tired and perhaps her exhaustion calmed her as much as anything else.
She rose from the table and went to the narrow slit of a window and appeared to be looking out at the falling snow.
I stood behind her.
“We have many things to decide now, Fluria, but the chief thing is this. If I go to Paris and persuade Rosa to come here, to act the part of Lea …”
“Oh, do you think I haven’t thought of this?” she asked. She turned to me. “It’s much too dangerous,” she continued. “And Godwin would never allow such a deception. How could such a deception be right?”
“Wasn’t it Jacob who deceived Isaac?” I said. “And became Israel and the father of his tribe?”
“Yes, that’s so, and Rosa is the clever one, the one with the greatest gift for words. No, it’s too dangerous. What if Rosa cannot answer Lady Margaret’s questions, or recognize in Little Eleanor a close friend? No, it can’t be done.”
“Rosa can refuse to speak to those who’ve abused you,” I said. “Everyone would understand this. She need only appear.”
This hadn’t occurred to Fluria obviously.
She began to pace the floor and to wring her hands. All my life, I’d heard that expression: to wring one’s hands. But I’d never seen anyone do it until now.
It struck me that I knew this woman better now than I knew anyone in the world. It was an odd and chilling thought, not because I loved her any less, but because I couldn’t bear to think of my own life.
“But if it could be done, for Rosa to come here,” I asked, “how many in the Jewry know that you had twins? How many know your father, and knew you in Oxford?”
“Too many, but none will speak of it,” she insisted. “Remember, to my people, a child who converts is dead and gone, and no one even mentions her name. We never made mention of it when we came here. And no one spoke of Rosa to us. And I would say it is the best-kept secret in the Jewry right now.”
She went on speaking as if she needed to reason through it.
“Under the law, Rosa might have lost all her own property, inherited from her first stepfather, simply for converting. No, there are those who know here, but they know in silence and our physician and our elders can see that they remain quiet.”
“And what of your father? Have you written to tell him that Lea is dead?”
“No, and even if I did he would burn the letter unopened. He promised me that he would do this if ever I wrote to him.
“And as for Meir, in his sorrow and misery, he blames himself for Lea’s taking sick because he brought us here. He imagines that, snug and safe in Oxford, she might never have taken ill. He has not written to my father. But that does not mean that my father does not know. He has too many friends here for him not to know.”
She began to cry again.
“He will see it as God’s punishment,” she whispered through her tears, “of that I’m sure.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I wasn’t at all sure we would be in agreement, but she was obviously clever and reflective and the hour was late.
“Go to Godwin,” she said, and her face softened as she spoke his name. “Go to him and ask him to come here and calm the Dominican brethren. Have him insist upon our innocence. Godwin is greatly admired within the order. He studied with Thomas and Albert before they left to begin their preaching and teaching in Italy. Surely Godwin’s writings on Maimonides and Aristotle are known even here. Godwin will come on my account, I know that he will, and because … because Lea was his child.”
Again her tears flowed. She looked frail standing there in the candlelight with her back to the cold window, and I could hardly bear it.
For a moment I thought I heard voices in the distance and some other errant sound in the wind. But as she did not appear to hear it, I didn’t say anything about it. I wanted so to hold her as my sister, if only I could.
“Maybe Godwin can reveal the entire truth and be done with it,” she said, “and make the Black Friars understand that we did not kill our daughter. He is a witness to my character and my soul.”
This obviously gave her hope. It gave me hope too.
“Oh, would it be a great thing to be rid of this terrible lie,” she said. “And as we speak, you and I, Meir is writing for sums of money to be donated. Debts will be remitted. Why, I would face utter ruin, all my property gone, if only I could take Meir with me away from this terrible place. If only I knew I had brought no harm to the Jews of Norwich, who have in other times suffered so much.”
“That would be the best solution, no doubt of it,” I said, “because an imposture would carry dreadful risks. Even your Jewish friends might say or do something to undo it. But what if the town won’t accept the truth? Not even from Godwin? It will be too late to insist upon the old deception. The opportunity for an imposture would be lost.”
Again I heard those noises in the night. Soft shapeless sounds, and others more piercing. But the falling snow seemed to muffle all.
“Br. Toby,” she said, “go to Paris and put the entire case before Godwin. To him you may tell everything, and let Godwin decide.”
“Yes, I will do this, Fluria,” I said, but again I heard those noises and what sounded like the distant clanging of a bell.
I gestured for her to let me approach the window. She stepped aside.
“That’s the alarm,” she said in terror.
“Perhaps not,” I said. Suddenly another bell began to ring.
“Are they burning the Jewry?” she said, her voice dying in her throat.
Before I could answer her, the wooden door to the chamber opened and the Sherriff appeared, fully armed, his hair wet with snow. He stepped aside as two serving boys dragged several trunks into the room, and then in came Meir.
His eyes fixed on Fluria, and he threw back his snow-covered hood.
Fluria fell into his open arms.
The Sherriff was in dreadful humor, which was to be expected.
“Br. Toby,” he said, “your advice to the faithful to pray to Little St. William produced a stunning result. The crowd stormed the house of Meir and Fluria for relics of Lea and have made off with all her clothes. Fluria, my dearest, it might have been wise of you to pack up all those dresses and bring them up here when you came.” He sighed again and looked around as if he wanted something on which he might bang his fist. “Miracles are being claimed already in the name of your daughter. Lady Margaret’s guilt has driven her on a little crusade.”
“Why didn’t I foresee this!” I said miserably. “I only thought to direct them away.”
Meir wrapped his arms all the more tightly around Fluria as if he could shield her from all these words. The man’s face was a marvel of resignation.
The Sherriff waited until the serving boys were gone, and the door was closed, and then he addressed the couple directly.
“The Jewry is under heavy guard and the small fires started have been put out,” he said. “Thank Heaven for your stone houses. And thank Heaven that Meir’s letters requesting donations have already been sent. And thank Heaven that the elders have given large gifts of gold marks to the friars and to the priory.”
He stopped and sighed. He glanced at me helplessly for an instant, then returned his attention to them.
“But I will tell you right now,” he said, “that nothing is going to stave off a massacre here except that your daughter, herself, should return and put an end to this mad rush to make her a saint.”
“Well, that is what will be done,” I said before either of them could speak up. “I’m on my way to Paris now. I assume I will find Br. Godwin your advocate in the Dominican Chapter House near the University? I’ll begin my journey tonight.”
The Sherriff was unsure. He looked at Fluria.
“Your daughter can return here?”
“Yes,” I answered. “And surely Br. Godwin, a worthy advocate, will come with her. You have to hold on until then.”
Meir and Fluria were speechless. They looked at me as if they were entirely dependent upon me.
“And until then,” I said, “will you let the elders come here to the castle to consult with Meir and Fluria?”
“Isaac, son of Solomon, the physician, is already here for safekeeping,” said the Sherriff. “And more will be brought here if need be.” He ran a gloved hand back through his wet white hair. “Fluria and Meir, if your daughter cannot be brought back, I ask that you tell me now.”
“She’ll come,” I said. “You have my word on it. And both of you, pray for my safe journey. I’ll travel as fast as I’m able.”
I went to the couple and I placed my hands on their shoulders.
“Trust in Heaven, and trust in Godwin. I’ll be with him as soon as I can.”