Fluria took her seat at the table and gestured for me to take the opposite chair.
The place was warm, almost too warm, and I set my shoes to dry by the fire with the lady's permission. She offered me mulled wine as she'd offered it to the Sherriff before, but I honestly didn't know whether I could take wine if I wanted it, and in truth I didn't want it.
Fluria read the letter written by Meir in Hebrew, asking her to confide in me and trust me. She folded the stiff parchment quickly, and she set the letter beneath a leather book on the table, much smaller than the volumes left at the house.
She wore the same wimple as before, which perfectly covered her hair, but she had taken off the more elaborate veil, and the snug-fitting silk tunic, and wore a thick wool garment with the beautiful fur- lined cape over her shoulders, the hood thrown back. A simple white veil with a circlet of gold hung down around her shoulders and her back.
Again I sensed that she reminded me of someone I had known in my life, but again there was no time to pursue the thought.
She laid down the letter.
"What I say to you, is it in perfect confidence as my husband tells me here?"
"Yes, absolutely. I'm not a priest, only a brother. But I will keep your confidence, as would any priest keep the secrets told him in confession. Believe I've come here only to help you. Think of me as the answer to a prayer."
"So he describes you," she said thoughtfully. "And so I'm glad to receive you. But do you know what our people have suffered in England over the past many years?"
"I come from far away, but I know some of it," I said.
Obviously speech came much more easily to her than it had to Meir. She reflected, but went on. "When I was eight years old," she said, "all the Jews of London were put into the Tower for safekeeping, due to riots, on account of the King's marriage to Queen Eleanor of Provence. I was in Paris then but I knew of it, and we had troubles of our own.
"When I was ten years old, on a Saturday, when all the Jews of London were at prayer, our holy books, the Talmud, were seized by the hundreds and publicly burnt. Of course they did not take all our books. They took what they saw."
I shook my head.
"When I was fourteen, and we lived in Oxford, my father, Eli, and I, the students rioted and looted our houses on account of the debts they owed to us for their books. Had not someone ..." She paused, then went on. "Had not someone warned us, more would have lost their precious books, and yet the students of Oxford borrow from us even now and let rooms in houses that belong to us."
I made a gesture to indicate my commiseration. I allowed her to go on.
"When I was twenty-one," she said, "Jews in England were forbidden to eat meat during Lent, or whenever Christians could not eat it." She sighed. "The laws and persecutions are really too numerous for me to tell you all of it. And now in Lincoln only two years ago, the most dreadful occurrence of all."
"You're speaking of Little St. Hugh. I heard the people in the crowd talking of him. I know something of it."
"I hope you know that all we were accused of was a perfect lie. Imagine that we would take this little Christian child, crown him with thorns, pierce his hands and feet, and mock him as the Christ. Imagine. And that Jews would come from all over England to partake of such an evil ritual, and yet this is what we were told that we had done. Had not an unfortunate member of our race been tortured, and forced to name others, the madness might not have gone so far. The King came to Lincoln and condemned the poor unfortunate Copin who had confessed these unspeakable things and had him hanged, but not before being dragged through the town behind a horse."
I winced.
"Jews were taken to London and imprisoned. Jews were put on trial. Jews died. And all for this fanciful story of a child tormented, and the child himself is now buried in a shrine perhaps more glorious than that of Little St. William who had the honor of being the subject of just such a tale many many years before. Little Hugh has all of England roused against us. The common people have made his story into songs."
"Is there no place in this world safe for you?" I asked.
"I wonder the very same thing," she answered. "I was in Paris with my father when Meir proposed marriage. Norwich has always had a good community, and long survived the tale of Little St. William, and Meir had inherited a fortune from his uncle there."
"I understand."
"In Paris, our sacred books were also burnt. And what was not burnt was given over to the Franciscans and to the Dominicans ..."
She paused as she looked at my robes.
"Go on, please," I said. "Don't think I am in the least against you. I know that men in both orders studied the Talmud." I wished I could remember more of what I knew.
"Tell me, what else has happened?"
"You know the great ruler, His Majesty, King Louis, detests us and persecutes us, and confiscated our property to finance his Crusade."
"Yes, I know of these things," I said. "The Crusades have cost the Jews in town after town and land after land."
"But in Paris, our learned men, including my own kindred, fought for the Talmud when it was taken away from us. They appealed to the Pope himself and the Pope agreed that the Talmud might be placed on trial. Our story is not one of endless persecutions. We have our scholars. We have our moments. At least in Paris, our teachers spoke up eloquently for our sacred books, and for their general wholesomeness and that the Talmud was no threat to the Christians who might come in contact with us. Well, the trial was in vain. How can our learned men study when their books are taken from them? Yet in these times many at Oxford and at Paris want to learn Hebrew. Your brethren want to learn Hebrew. My father has always had Christian students around him--." She broke off. Something had deeply affected her. She put her hand to her brow, and so instantly began to cry that I wasn't prepared.
"Fluria," I said quickly, restraining myself from any intimate touch that might strike her as improper. "I do know of these trials and tribulations. I know that usury was forbidden in Paris by King Louis and he drove out those who wouldn't give in to the laws. I know why your people have turned to this practice and I know they're in England now simply because of it, because they are deemed useful in lending to the barons, and to the church. You needn't plead the case of your people before me. But tell me, what must we do to solve this tragedy we face now?"
She stopped crying. She reached into her robes and brought out a silk handkerchief and gently dabbed her eyes.