The Splendid Hour by Kathryn Le Veque

CHAPTER EIGHT

Click… click… click,click, click…

The tick of the abacus filled the air of the shop on the Street of the Jewelers. Haim ben Thad’s stall was like all the other stalls on the avenue, which was essentially a small fortress unto itself. As with all jewelers and bankers, they had a private security force that protected them from thieves and robbers. These men were usually Jewish and very well paid. Some of the shops were built from stone, making it more difficult for clever thieves to break through walls, and Haim’s shop was one such stall.

It was the strongest shop on the avenue.

Haim inherited the shop from his father, and his father before him. He received direct shipments of jewels and purchased his gold from the goldsmiths on down the avenue. Every shop seemed to specialize in something different on the Street of the Jewelers, although some of them overlapped. Most everything was custom made, though there were a few pieces made specifically for sale to rich lords who didn’t want to wait for something to be specially made.

Haim had it all.

He had two lesser partners who helped with the stall, salesmen, and four jewelers who did the most exquisite work. Haim himself also worked as a jeweler and he was one of the very best. He had more business than he could handle but, most importantly, he had the business of the king. In fact, he was making a massive golden belt for the king which, he’d only been told two days ago, the king wanted to turn into a necklace. There were twenty-seven gold links, each link set with a jewel, but the gold alone made it extremely heavy. Still, it was becoming increasingly fashionable for men to wear those heavy gold belts and once London saw the king wear such a belt around his neck and shoulders, it would become all the rage.

On this day, Liora was sitting on the second floor of the shop, at a table overlooking the street below. Her father was an excellent jeweler, but his business sense was often lacking, leaving it up to his wife and daughter to manage his books. Since Liora’s mother, Ruth, was busier with the household and raising a wild son, Liora had taken over handling her father’s financial affairs.

Today, she was determining the accounts for the month and how much her father was owed.

Click… click… click, click, clickwent the abacus.

Then she would write the figure down in the ledger.

Unfortunately, she’d made a few mistakes this morning because her mind wasn’t completely on the ledgers. Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Peter. She’d thought about him all night, making it difficult to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured Peter kissing her fingers at the livery and it was enough to cause her heart to leap. He’d been so sweet and gentle and romantic, something she’d never experienced in her entire life and something she was most definitely drawn to.

For better or for worse, she was drawn to him.

It seemed so surreal, however. She still couldn’t believe the events of the past couple of days, events she had never believed she would ever experience. Her entire world was her family, her religion, and her way of life. It just didn’t seem possible that something out of the ordinary should alter that.

But something was.

It was both terrifying and thrilling.

“Zeeskeit?”

It was her father, coming up the stairs to the second level. Zeeskeit was a term of endearment, like the Christians would use sweetling or dearest. Her father lavished all manner of attention on her, a kind and generous man who had been near his fifth decade when she was born. Haim ben Thad had married late in life to a woman half his age, and he adored his family. Liora turned to see him at the top of the stairs, an earthenware bowl with a lid on it in his hands.

“Your mother has brought you something for the nooning meal,” he said. “You did not go home to eat, so she has brought it here.”

Liora hadn’t even realized the time. There was an hourglass on the other table and she looked at it, seeing that it was empty. She hadn’t flipped it over as she usually did.

She set down her quill.

“I suppose I did not realize what time it was,” she said as her father pushed aside the ledger to put the bowl on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Papa. Will you not sit with me while I eat?”

Haim was a big, round man with a bushy beard and hair that was mostly white. In his younger years, it had been black, like his daughter’s hair color, and his eyes were the same color as hers. Father and daughter resembled each other quite a bit.

He sat down in the nearest chair.

“What is keeping you so busy today that you forget to eat?” he asked. “You have been very busy up here.”

Liora smiled weakly as she took the lid off the bowl to reveal chicken soup with dumplings. She picked up the wooden spoon her father had brought along. “Many people owe you money this month, Papa,” she said, spooning up one of the hot dumplings. “You sell a great deal, but you do not collect your money right away. That means we must send your guards out to collect.”

That was usually how Haim, and other jewelers and bankers, collected their money if the customer didn’t come to them. They would send out their paid guards, like henchmen, to collect. Sane men would not refuse to pay an armed guard. But Haim waved a hand at her.

“They will pay,” he said. “They always do. In fact, the belt for the king is finished and I will take it over to Westminster later today. He will pay me well.”

Westminster reminded Liora of Peter. Palaces like Westminster were full of English knights and lords, and according to Peter, his father was in the middle of England’s politics these days. She sipped her hot soup.

“May I come with you?” she asked, trying to sound casual about it. “To Westminster, I mean. It has been a long time since I have accompanied you on a delivery.”

Haim lifted his shoulders. “I do not know,” he said. “Let me think on it.”

“But why can’t I go?”

“Because that world is no place for you. Women with painted faces and men with big swords.”

He said it so dramatically that she grinned. “You’ve known knights and lords in your time, haven’t you?” she asked casually. “Men who serve the king, I mean. In fact, we seem to have a few who owe you money.”

Haim cocked his head to get a look at her ledger. “Who owes me?”

Liora pointed to a line on the page. “Matthew Fitzherbert is one.”

Haim nodded, remembering that particular debt. “He will pay,” he said. “He bought a necklace for his wife for her day of birth.”

“Last year, Papa.”

“He will bring me the money when he can.”

Liora looked at him. “With all of the turmoil with the king and the rebelling barons, do you really think he will remember?” she said. “There is much unrest, Papa. Remember all of the knights and lords that came through London two days ago?”

Haim nodded. “I saw them,” he said. “They will not bother us. They are only interested in bothering each other.”

“Do you know some of them?” she asked, spooning more soup in her mouth. “Some of the rebel warlords, I mean. You have lived through three kings, yet you never speak on some of the things that England has suffered through. Like the men who stand against the king these days.”

Haim yawned. It was growing close to the time when he would nap in the afternoon. “Because it does not matter to me,” he said. “In all of the wars the Christians have waged upon each other, it has never affected my business. They always seem to find money for their finery.”

“Do you know any of the great warlords?”

“Like who?”

She shrugged. “I have heard the name de Lohr,” she said. “He’s an earl.”

Haim held up a finger. “He didn’t use to be,” he said. “I know who he is. I met him once, a long time ago, when he was a knight for King Richard. He wasn’t an earl then.”

Liora ate her soup, listening to her father speak on a subject she was very interested in. “What do you know about him now?”

“I hear things,” he said, shrugging. “He’s a good man, a fair man, men say. But he does not buy jewelry from me, so what do I care?”

Liora grinned. “Papa, have you ever known any of those knights to take a Jewish bride?”

Haim scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Why? Do you want such a man?”

She snorted, caught off guard by the question. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I was just wondering. Do they all marry Christian women?”

“All of them,” he said. “They are not part of our world and we are not part of theirs, which is a good thing. It keeps us out of their wars. Although I do seem to remember Abel ben Alon, who was a friend of your grandfather, with a sister who married a knight for King Henry.”

“She did?” Liora tried not to sound too hopeful or too curious. “Did he become part of the faith?”

Haim shook his head. “I think she became a Christian,” he said. “It upset her mother so much that the woman died of a broken heart. I seem to remember hearing that they moved to Oxford where people did not know them so they would not know she was Jewish. One cannot run from one’s religion. It is who you are.”

“But it has happened.”

“It has,” he said. “It used to be forbidden, meaning they would put you to death for it, but they do not do that any longer, not since the time of Henry. But you may as well be dead if you deny who you are to marry a Christian.”

Liora didn’t ask any further questions because she didn’t want her father to become suspicious. But the fact that he knew of someone who had married a Christian was encouraging to her. Sort of. But the fact that they had to move away so no one would know that the bride used to be Jewish was concerning. She’d told Peter she would speak with a rabbi about a marriage to a Christian and she would. At least now she had an example to refer to when discussing the subject.

“Well,” she said after a moment. “I think it is silly that we cannot marry whom we want to marry, regardless of faith. God made all religions, did he not? They all worship the same god, so I do not understand why a Jew cannot marry a Christian freely.”

Haim yawned again. “Because dogs do not marry cats,” he said. “Fish do not marry birds. We are all different, that’s why. Now, finish your soup so you can go home and help your mother. I have invited Gideon to sup with us.”

Gideon was the man who wanted to marry her, the owner of the livery over by the Great Synagogue. Liora rolled her eyes.

“I will not sup with him,” she said. “Papa, you know how I feel about him. Why would you invite him to eat with us?”

Haim cast her a long look. “I think I should have him sup with us if you are asking about marriage,” he said. “That means you are interested in marriage, does it not? He is a good man, zeeskeit. He would make a good husband for you and provide well.”

Frustrated, she pushed aside her half-finished soup. “He is a good man, but I do not love him,” she said, returning to her ledger. “I do not want to marry him and I do not want to have children with him.”

“Who, then?”

She picked up her quill. “I do not know,” she said. “But not him. Please, Papa… do not make me eat with him.”

“I have already invited him.”

“Then I will be ill tonight when he comes.”

“I will let you go with me to Westminster if you sup with him.”

She looked at him, frowning, but he only grinned at her. He was a sly fox, that one. Seeing that she’d been backed into a corner, Liora nodded begrudgingly.

“Very well,” she said. “When are we going?”

“Soon,” Haim said, standing up. “Within the hour. Will you be ready?”

Liora nodded eagerly. “I will,” she said. “Let me go home and change my clothing and I will return shortly.”

“Everything covered, zeeskeit,” he said, motioning to her chest, shoulders, and head. “Make sure everything is covered.”

“I will.”

Haim headed back downstairs as Liora excitedly finished up her last three accounts. She carefully sanded the ledger to dry the ink, blowing it off and examining her figures. Satisfied, she closed the ledger and set the abacus aside. Standing up, she put everything on the table into neat piles by the window. As she leaned in to close the shutters, she noticed a bit of a commotion down below as two knights neared her father’s shop astride their enormous warhorses. She recognized one of the horses, having seen it hiding in her kitchen yard two nights before.

Liora’s heart leapt into her throat as she realized Peter had arrived.

*

It was anotherfine September morning in a week that had been full of them as Peter headed into London, his destination being the Great Synagogue.

But he wasn’t alone.

Alexander thought he was being clever by following him into London, but Peter knew he was behind him. Alexander was an excellent spy, an exceptional assassin, and was proficient at following someone without being seen, so Peter could only assume Alexander wanted Peter to know he was there.

Peter finally pulled his horse to a halt and waited for Alexander to catch up with him.

It was a chilly morning and Alexander was wrapped in a cloak as he came up behind Peter, looking at the man with a hint of a smile on his face.

“Well?” Alexander asked. “Where are we off to this morning?”

Peter rolled his eyes and spurred his horse forward. “Wherever it is, I do not need an escort.”

“I beg to differ,” Alexander said. “If you are heading into London, I suspect I know where you are going, so you may as well confess.”

“Where do you think I am going?”

“To see the jeweler’s daughter.”

Peter snorted. “That shows how much you know,” he said. “I was not going to see her.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nay.”

“Then where are you going?”

Peter sighed heavily. “Being married to my sister does not give you the right to interrogate me.”

“That is where you would be wrong,” Alexander said. “It gives me every right in the world. I know a thousand techniques to get information out of a man, so if you refuse to tell me, I may have to use one of those techniques on you.”

That was very true. In the spy business, Alexander had learned some harrowing techniques over the years. Even Peter knew that. But he started laughing.

“I’ll scream,” he said. “I’ll scream like a woman and then I’ll tell my mother. You may survive my wrath, but you will not survive hers.”

Alexander fought off a grin. “Just tell me where we are going,” he said. “I will not leave your side, so you may as well tell me. I will find out sooner or later.”

Peter looked over his shoulder at the man before finally shaking his head. “We are going to the Great Synagogue,” he said. “Are you satisfied now?”

Alexander’s brow furrowed. “Nay,” he said. “I am more confused than ever. Why are we going there?”

“Because I wish to speak with a rabbi.”

“What about?”

“About a Christian knight courting the jeweler’s daughter.”

Alexander lost some of his humor then. “I see,” he said. “And what if you discover it cannot be done?”

“I will not accept it.”

Alexander shook his head with regret. “And that is why you need an escort.”

Peter didn’t try and chase him away. In fact, he was rather comforted to have levelheaded Alexander with him. The truth was that he’d lain awake all night, tossing and turning, frustrated that he couldn’t court a woman he was so attracted to. There was so much about this situation that was disappointing.

So incredibly disappointing.

“It’s just not fair,” he muttered as the horses clip-clopped along the well-traveled road. “There are so many things in life that will keep a man and woman apart – social standing, wealth, family honor – but religion was something that never occurred to me.”

Alexander’s gaze was sweeping the road for any threats, a natural instinct for a knight. “I do not know anyone who has had an easy time of marrying his wife.”

“For example?”

He looked at Peter. “You know a few,” he said. “Maxton’s wife was a postulate for the church, which was not an easy road for Maxton. You remember that whole mess, Peter. Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere also had troubled paths – Kress married a woman he was escorting to wed another man and Achilles married a Blackchurch-trained knight. You know that his wife used to be an Executioner Knight.”

Peter knew all of that. Kress and Achilles were original Executioner Knights, men with great reputations but men who, at this point, were not in London but stationed at their own garrisons and away from the bedlam that was London these days. He looked at Alexander.

“And you?”

“And I married Christopher de Lohr’s eldest daughter in spite of the fact that I was twice her age.”

“And a killer.”

“And many things. Do you think your father made it easy for me?”

Peter cracked a smile. “I know for a fact that he did not.”

“Exactly,” Alexander said, returning his attention to the road. “Not that I expected him to welcome me with open arms. I’ve never been welcomed with open arms anywhere I’ve ever been, except among my own friends, of course. So, you having your eye on a Jewish bride is nothing unusual when it comes to the Executioner Knights but, in this case, you may run into more opposition than usual.”

Peter thought on that, realizing that almost every man he knew had a difficult time when it came to the courtship of the women they eventually married. In that realization, he didn’t feel so alone. But for him, it was more than not feeling alone in a sea of comrades who’d had to fight for the women they love.

For him, there was also the matter of bloodlines.

That alone, at times, had made him feel as if he did not belong.

“I know I am the eldest de Lohr son and that has been the great attraction for so many of these fathers wanting a husband for their daughters,” he said. “But when they find out I am my father’s bastard and will not inherit the title, most of them have ceased their pursuit. Without the title, I have little attraction.”

Alexander knew that. “Your father has never made you feel any differently than the rest of his children, though. I see every day how he treats you. He loves you very much.”

Peter agreed. “My father treats me as if I am his eldest,” he said. “I know he is proud of me. More importantly, so is the woman I call my mother. Dustin has always treated me as if I were her flesh and blood and I love her dearly for it.”

“Do you remember your birth mother?”

“I do,” Peter said. “I was nine when she was killed in an accident, so I remember her well. She was a gentle woman, pretty and kind.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “I wish she could have seen the man I grew into and what I have achieved. Do you want to know something? Even though I have never been treated any differently by my father and Dustin, I have nonetheless felt different. I know I am different. It is all of my own doing, but I cannot help the feeling. Does that sound foolish?”

Alexander shook his head. “It does not,” he said. “My own family ties are quite complex, so I understand that feeling very well. My father, Phillip, and I were not close. In hindsight, that was all my fault. Phillip and I never did see eye to eye, so I was raised by my grandfather, who also raised my cousin, Estienne, whom I considered my elder brother. For years, I called my grandfather my father, because he was. But my true father, Phillip, raised my two younger brothers. It was like having two fathers and two families – my grandfather and my own father. And I felt misplaced with both of them.”

Peter looked at him. “I’ve heard you mention Estienne before,” he said. “You did not get on with him.”

Alexander shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “He was older than me and he never let me forget it. Estienne was an imperious, arrogant arse who essentially stole my grandfather’s properties when he died. In fact, I no longer consider him my brother. I haven’t for years.”

“What did your father say about his actions? Was he not your grandfather’s heir?”

“He was, but he had his own lands that had belonged to my mother,” he said. “That is one of the things we did not see eye to eye on – I wanted him to fight for Broxburn Castle, which was his right. Upon his death, it would have belonged to me, but my father was a man of great peace. He didn’t believe in aggression. When I became a knight and was quite proficient in battle, that further drove a wedge between us. He did not understand me and I did not understand him.”

“What happened to Estienne?”

“He chose to remain in England when I went to The Levant with my younger brothers, who were killed almost immediately after arriving,” Alexander said. “I felt so guilty about that, as if it were my failure, that I did not see my father for many years. By the time I returned home, he had died. I’m sure Christin told you about that.”

Peter nodded. “She did,” he said. “She said he remarried and, thinking you had been killed in The Levant, named his son with his new wife after you.”

Alexander nodded. “He did,” he said. “So, as you believe your own past and parentage to be complex, it is nothing compared to mine. You are your father’s bastard, Peter – what does it matter? You are not the first bastard and you will not be the last. Chris has never treated you differently, you are deeply loved, and he has given you a title and now Ludlow Castle. You have more than a man could ever want, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. Be grateful.”

Peter realized he was right. Odd how it took a man he’d known for years, a seasoned knight with decades of death and destruction in his past, to remind him of just how rich he really was. Alexander really had experienced a time of it with his complicated family relations, which made Peter feel better about his own.

Perhaps he was glad Alexander had accompanied him this morning, after all.

“I am grateful,” he said. “I did not mean to make it sound as if I were not. But the fact that I am not my father’s heir is… disappointing. Do not get me wrong; I adore my brother, Curtis. He will make an excellent earl. But there are times when I wish it was me.”

Alexander looked at him, smiling. “If it was you, it would be much more difficult to pursue a marriage to a Jewess, so if I were you, I would be thankful for small mercies.”

Peter chuckled, nodding his head in agreement.

He had a point.

The day began to grow brighter as they came to the outskirts of London’s city, with Westminster Palace in the distance. They could see Westminster Cathedral, a massive stone icon of religion and civilization, and the River Thames as the sunlight reflected off the water. The heavy forested areas had cleared out and now they were in the farmlands that surrounded London. People were out in their fields, using oxen or simply manpower to harvest the last of the summer crops, which at this stage were mostly onions and turnips. The fields were full of onions that had been plowed up and were waiting to be put in baskets. In fact, the air itself smelled onion-y as Peter and Alexander headed through Ludgate.

Entering the city, Peter immediately felt a sense of anticipation. Last night as he’d lain awake, he’d planned what he would ask the rabbi. He decided to be succinct and to the point, and he thought he might even offer to pay the rabbi to broker a contract with Liora’s father. Surely the synagogue was looking for monetary donations just like the churches were. Perhaps he could even convince the rabbi that a marriage between a Christian knight and a Jewess was perfectly reasonable. But something told him that he couldn’t buy a rabbi, or convince the man that an interfaith marriage would be a good thing, but he chose to ignore that part of his common sense, at least for today.

Today, he would get the answers he sought or go down trying.

Once entering the city, they cut north to the main street that ran from one end of London to the other. It also intersected Milk Street and, a little further east, the street that contained the Great Synagogue. As they traveled, they happened to pass by a section of the city that was famed for taverns that catered to lower-quality clientele.

However, they could smell the bread and food from those taverns even at this early hour, causing their stomachs to rumble, and they ended up stopping at one called The Farmer’s Prick to get something to eat. They came away with hollowed-out trenchers full of fish, battered and fried in fat, in a sauce made of eggs, vinegar, and pickled onions. They quickly ate, plodding down the street on horseback, and devoured everything including the stale bread bowls.

Fortified with fish and pickled onions, they pushed on.

Unfortunately, they didn’t make it very far because they passed Milk Street and Peter stopped his horse, looking up the avenue and seeing a portion of Liora’s house midway up the street. He didn’t see her, nor did he really expect to, but he pointed it out to Alexander, who told him to keep moving. He was preparing to do just that when he felt it.

And he felt it again.

He was in full armor this day, complete with hauberk, padded tunics, the de Lohr blue tunic, arm braces, helm, and everything else he took into battle, so he felt something ping against his arm, twice, but just a touch and nothing more. Unfortunately, Alexander had his face plate up and he suddenly put a hand to his eye.

“Damnation,” he muttered, rubbing his eye. “Something just hit me.”

Peter knew what it was right away. He didn’t even have to see the culprit. The aim told him everything he needed to know, so he quickly looked around only to spy Asa and his gang of toughs hiding out behind several barrels that had just been delivered to a merchant along the street. As soon as Asa realized he’d been sighted, he ran, but not away from Peter.

He ran towards him.

“Brace yourself,” Peter told Alexander. “We are about to be set upon.”

Alexander was blinking his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his vision in his left eye, when several children rushed up to him and Peter. He counted seven, but there were more scattered around, as Peter braced an enormous hand on his thigh and peered down at a boy with a mop of curly, black hair.

“So,” Peter said. “You have decided to take on two armed knights with your pebbles? I must say you are braver than I gave you credit for.”

Asa shook his head. “I wanted you to see me,” he insisted. “I wanted your attention. I need your sword, Saint Peter!”

“I told you that it weighs more than you do,” Peter said. “What do you need it for, anyway?”

Asa pointed to a smaller street next to Milk Street. “Saul’s Army stole our eggs this morning and I want them back,” he said. “Lee-Lee tried to chase them, but they threw an egg at her.”

Peter frowned. “They did, did they?” he said, greatly displeased. “Where are these louts?”

“Saint Peter?” Alexander said, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. “Are you going to introduce me to your admirer?”

Peter grinned, pointing to the child. “Sherry, this is the leader of the Maccabees, Asa. Asa, this is Sir Alexander de Sherrington, one of the most elite knights in the entire world. He is not to be trifled with so the next time you shoot him in the eye, you had better be prepared to defend yourself.”

Asa turned his big eyes to Alexander, who cocked a disapproving eyebrow. “It was you, was it?” he said. “Excellent aim, young Asa. But do not do it again.”

Asa nodded, but he wasn’t particularly intimidated. He studied Alexander closely, noting the enormous broadsword sheathed on the man’s saddle. “You have a big sword, too.”

“I do.”

“Will you help us get the eggs back?”

Alexander looked at Peter for any indication of how they were going to handle the request, but Peter shrugged. “They have probably already eaten them,” he said to Asa. “You would get nothing back but shells.”

Asa scowled. “Then we will steal something of theirs!”

“That does not solve the problem.”

Asa was in a quandary. He turned to some of his gang behind him, bigger boys who were whispering furiously to him. It was clear that they were in a conference of some kind, but only for a few moments before Asa returned his attention to Peter.

“Will you go down their street with us?” he asked. “If Saul’s Army sees you with us, they will be afraid to steal anymore eggs.”

“Hold,” Alexander put a hand out, looking at Peter. “What is this all about? What are Maccabees and Saul’s Army?”

Peter chuckled. “They are two opposing armies,” he said as if Alexander was a dullard. “Do you not understand? These are two armies fighting for territory. Asa and his Maccabees are from Milk Street and Saul’s Army is from… Asa, what street does Saul’s Army live on?”

Asa, and several of the other boys, pointed to the smaller street. “King Street!” he said.

Peter returned his attention to Alexander. “Two gangs fighting one another and now we have egg stealers,” he said. “Surely we must help them.”

Alexander scowled. “Cease your foolery,” he said. “You have business in London to attend to, so let’s get on with it.”

Peter lifted an eyebrow. “I am attending it,” he said. “Asa is Liora’s brother.”

Alexander rolled his eyes when he realized why Peter was being so attentive to the young boy with the wild hair. “I see,” he said. “Then, by all means, let us support the Maccabees’ efforts so we can get out of here.”

Peter grinned. “Indeed,” he said, returning his focus to Asa. “We will go with you, but then I must depart. Where is your sister today, anyway?”

Asa pointed to another nearby street. “She is with Papa,” he said. “She helps him.”

Peter’s gaze moved to the street Asa was indicating. It was the Street of the Jewelers, very near to where Liora and her family lived. Up ahead, he could see the top of the Great Synagogue, a two-storied structure with big, stone columns in contrast with the surrounding architecture of London, usually of wattle and daub.

The building caught his attention.

“One more question and we will go with you,” he told the boy. “Who is your rabbi?”

Asa scratched his head. “Rabbi Judah,” he said. “Why?”

Peter shook his head. “I was simply curious,” he said. Then, he pointed to King Street. “Lead on. We shall follow.”

Excited, and full of revenge against the egg stealers, Asa and his friends began to run, followed by the knights on their warhorses. The boys were whooping and shouting, exciting the horses, who sensed a battle. They were running so fast that by the time the knights made their way down King Street, Asa and his gang were already beating up on some hapless child in the middle of the street.

Peter immediately dismounted and broke up the fight.

“Here, now,” he said, pulling Asa off the boy and then pulling the child on the ground to his feet. “What goes on?”

Asa was furious, his little fists balled. “He stole my eggs!” he shouted. “I am punishing him!”

Peter looked at the child, a little boy with dirty blond hair and a dirty face. He was also quite skinny as opposed to the well-fed Asa and his crew. Peter glanced at the street itself – it wasn’t nearly as well-appointed as Milk Street, just one block over. More of Saul’s Army began to come out of the shadows, bigger children than Asa and his friends, but skinny and not particularly well dressed. Sensing what was happening here, Peter looked between Asa and his victim.

“Stealing is never acceptable,” he said to the blond-haired child. “Would you like it if someone stole from you?”

He had to give the kid a little shake because he wouldn’t answer. The boy’s mouth was working. “Nay,” he said. “But… but we need the eggs.”

“They’re my eggs!” Asa shouted.

“Shut your lips,” Peter commanded quietly. As Asa frowned, he returned his attention to the other boy. “Why do you need the eggs?”

The boy began to turn red in the face. He refused to answer until Peter gave him another jolt. Then, he seemed nervous.

“Because we need to eat,” he said. He pointed to Asa. “They have lots to eat. We take a few eggs. What’s that to them? They have money and food. They can always get more eggs.”

Peter suspected from the beginning that this was beyond the usual stealing. The boys were hungry. Saul’s Army just had that look. He released both boys but when he spoke, it was to the blond.

“Listen to me and listen well,” he said. “I do not want to hear about you stealing any more eggs from Asa’s chickens. If I hear about that, I will come back to this street looking for you. Is that clear? And you will not like it when I find you. But if you are truly hungry, there is a tavern at the end of this road, by Ludgate. It is called The Farmer’s Prick. Do you know it?”

The little boy was looking at him in confusion, trying to follow along with what he was saying but also not willing to take his eyes off Asa in case Asa should charge him again, so he was off-balance. But he nodded after a moment.

“I… I think so,” he said. He pointed west. “That way?”

Peter nodded. “That way,” he said. “If you go there every morning around to the kitchens, I will make sure they feed you and your friends a meal. Once a day, in the morning. But in return, you must stop stealing eggs. Do you understand?”

The boy’s confusion cleared up and he looked surprised. “Go to the tavern?”

“Aye.”

“And we will eat?”

“As long as you stop stealing eggs.”

The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded quickly. “Aye, my lord.”

“Then the deal is struck. I will say no more.”

Peter lifted an eyebrow at him as if to emphasize what should happen should he go back on his word before turning away, motioning to Asa as he went. Asa trotted after him, followed by the rest of the Maccabees.

“If they continue to steal eggs, you will tell me,” he said. “But I have a feeling this will stop their thievery. And you stay away from them, too. Do not antagonize them.”

Asa cocked his head. “Ant… ant… what?”

“Do not vex them.”

Asa looked over his shoulder at the other gang begrudgingly. “As you say,” he said. But Peter swung himself back into the saddle and Asa ran after him. “Where are you going now?”

“I have a man to see,” Peter said, turning his horse after Alexander, who was already heading down the avenue. “Go home, Asa. Do not stay here where trouble can find you.”

Asa was about to shout something after him but thought better of it. He dashed off, running between the houses as his friends followed suit. When Alexander and Peter emerged onto the main road again, Alexander turned to him.

“A brilliant bit of negotiation,” he said. “Are you certain that you do not wish to handle the mediation between your father and the king?”

Peter snorted. “Not in the least,” he said. “But remind me to visit that tavern before we leave town so I can pay them for the meals they will be dispensing. Those children were hungry.”

Alexander nodded, his attention moving towards the Great Synagogue in the distance. “I know,” he said. “I could see that. Your actions were noble, Peter. Solomon could not have done better.”

Peter gave him a half-grin. “That is why they call me Saint Peter the Rock. I am a noble, immovable object.”

“Come along, Rock. Let’s get this over with.”

They resumed their trek down the road, heading for the Great Synagogue. London was growing busier as the morning deepened, with people going about their business. In the distance, Peter and Alexander could see an armed contingent entering town, bearing the banners of Huntingfield, who was the Sheriff of Suffolk. He was one of the rebel leaders, and had once been close to William Marshal, but he was more than likely coming into town by John’s summons. Another warlord to make an offer to because the man had troops inside of London.

Peter reined his steed to a halt.

“See the yellow banner in the distance?” he asked.

Alexander came to a stop beside him. “I do. Huntingfield.”

“Do you think The Marshal summoned him on behalf of John?”

“Probably.”

Peter sighed faintly. “This is such a strange time right now,” he muttered. “I do not think I will ever get over being on the opposite side of The Marshal or Achilles, or Cullen or Bric. It seems so odd to speak of a summons by The Marshal and know that I am no longer an ally in the technical sense of the word. My father feels the same way.”

Alexander watched Huntingfield draw closer. “Claiming sides is only for public perception,” he said. “Our loyalty to The Marshal goes beyond politics. It is the moral truth and center of our world, of what is right and what is wrong. Maxton, Kress, Achilles, Caius, Kevin, Bric, Dashiell… we will never be against one another. We will always fight together for what is right. Even Sean, though the man is still sick from the wounds he sustained when the White Tower fell to the rebels. He was always a part of us, even when he was against us.”

Peter glanced at him. “Have you seen him lately?”

Alexander shook his head. “Not lately,” he said. “Kevin was with him in the beginning, but Kevin has been moved up north by The Marshal. He’s keeping an eye on things up there and reporting on it.”

Peter thought of his close friend, Kevin de Lara, brother of Sean. Kevin was an excellent knight, a true devotee of William Marshal, and Peter thought of his friend as he scouted the north for signs of rebellion and mercenaries. It was dangerous work in a dangerous time.

“I miss him,” he said. “I miss Sean. I miss all of us together, as it should be.”

“The only way that is going to happen is if John is dead.”

Peter lifted an eyebrow. “And The Marshal still feels that the king needs to be protected? Why would he save the life of a man who has only thrown us deeper and deeper into chaos?”

Alexander had a complicated answer for him, but he didn’t speak of it. Peter was young. He was idealistic and he missed his friends. He missed the Executioner Knights as a complete unit. Sometimes men parted for a time only to come back together again, stronger than ever. Alexander was certain this would be one of those times.

Eventually.

“Come on,” he said, spurring his horse forward. “We’ll speak on all of that later. Right now, we have a rabbi to see.”

Peter followed him, but they didn’t get too far. He found himself looking down the Street of the Jewelers, knowing that Liora was there, and his entire focus shifted from his fractured friends to the beautiful woman he was increasingly smitten with. He peered down the street, which didn’t seem busy at all on this bustling morning, and he found himself pulled in that direction.

Increasingly pulled.

He could hear Alexander calling after him.

“Peter!” he shouted. “Where are you going?”

Peter hadn’t even realized that he’d turned his horse down the Street of the Jewelers. One moment, he was looking in that direction and in the next, he was entering that very street. It was narrow, and had the rare feature of cobblestones, so his horse was loud as he passed the various shops that were built like fortresses. The Street of the Jewelers also included gold and silver-smiths, and those were positioned on the edge of the avenue. He could smell the acids and tannins used to smelt the metals.

Alexander was tagging along behind him.

“One more detour?” he said, exasperated. “Peter, if you want to make it to the Great Synagogue before the sun sets, you should probably focus on your destination and stop following your whims.”

Peter was looking at the shops as they passed each one… Betzalel… Ehud… Malkiel… Gil… all of them with Jewish names, all of them with heavily armed soldiers who postured dangerously when they saw the equally heavily armed knights. A few even unsheathed their swords, but Peter held his hands up, away from the broadsword strapped to his saddle, to show them that he wasn’t armed, nor did he intend to draw a weapon.

Behind him, he could hear Alexander grunt unhappily.

“Christ,” he muttered. “You are going to get us killed, Peter. Why in the hell did you bring us down this street?”

Peter turned to reply but was cut short when he saw what he was looking for.

Thad.

It had to be Haim ben Thad’s shop.

With a smile, he reined his horse over to the shop. “Come with me,” he said to Alexander. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Alexander reined his horse alongside him, dismounting and eyeing the armed guards that were on the perimeter of the shop. There was even one on the roof with a crossbow. Alexander kept his hands far away from his weapons as Peter spoke to the man at the door.

“I would like to see Haim ben Thad,” he said. “He knows my father. My name is Peter de Lohr.”

The man at the door knocked on it and a small, slit window opened. He repeated Peter’s words to whoever had opened it and they waited until there was a response, which took a few minutes. Peter fully expected to see a man but was quite shocked – and pleased – when the bolts on the iron door were thrown and Liora appeared.

“Peter?” she said, almost incredulously. “What on earth are you doing here?”

For a moment, Peter couldn’t speak. All he could do was look at her, dressed in a shade of blue that matched her eyes. She wore a dark blue scarf over her head and shoulders, looking up at him most curiously.

She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Forgive me,” he finally said. “I did not expect you to answer the door. You took my breath away for just a moment.”

Liora’s cheeks flushed and she fought off a grin. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, lowering her voice. “My father is here, you know.”

Peter nodded. “I know,” he said. “I wanted to speak with him on business. Wait… that is not entirely true. Asa said you were here, so I came. But I do want to speak with your father on business while I am here.”

“What about?”

“A gift for my father.” Before she could reply, Peter indicated Alexander, standing a few feet away. “This is my sister’s husband, Sir Alexander de Sherrington. His friends call him Sherry, of which he has many. Sherry, this is Liora, daughter of Haim.”

Alexander dipped his head politely. “My lady.”

Liora smiled timidly at the very big man with the short, dark hair and a closely cropped black beard. Realizing she had two guests on her doorstep, she motioned them inside.

“Please,” she said. “Come in. Let me provide you with rest and drink.”

But Peter shook his head. “Nay, Demoiselle,” he said. “But I thank you just the same. If your father is busy, I can just as easily come back. I do not mean to interrupt him, as we have come unannounced.”

Liora indicated the open door. “It is no trouble,” she said. “If you truly have business with my father, do come in.”

A smile played on Peter’s lips and he took a step closer to her, though he should not have. He simply couldn’t help himself. “I really came to see you,” he whispered. “I will come back again, I assure you, but I simply had to see you today. I could not sleep last night for thoughts of you.”

They were far enough away from the armed men that their conversation wasn’t heard, but Liora’s cheeks flamed. She was both uncomfortable and titillated by his words.

“I asked you to let me think,” she muttered.

“Do you really want me to stay away?”

She opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. She shook her head reproachfully. “You are impossible,” she scolded softly. “Of course I do not want you to stay away. But you should. You must.”

“I cannot,” he said. “In fact, I am going to the Great Synagogue right now to speak with a rabbi. Asa told me that your rabbi’s name is Judah. I intend to seek him.”

Liora’s eyes widened. “What?” she hissed. “Peter, you mustn’t, not until I’ve had a chance to speak with him!”

“And when will that be?”

She was starting to grow nervous, twitchy. “I do not know,” she said. “I must finish helping my father today and then I must return home and help my mother. We have a guest for sup tonight and…”

She suddenly stopped, looking at him with big eyes as if she were afraid to say more. Peter’s brow furrowed.

“What about it?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked fearfully. “I am afraid to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because… well, you must not come around tonight. Please.”

“Why not?”

“Because my father invited the horse trader to sup.”

Peter knew exactly what she meant. “The one who wants to marry you?”

He raised his voice and she shushed him, taking him by the arm and pulling him away from the door, out into the street. They were behind the horses now as she faced him.

“Remember that I do not want to marry him,” she said quietly. “I have no interest in the man at all, but you are not to come around tonight. You are a very big man with a very big sword and if you cause trouble… it would be very bad, Peter. Do you understand me?”

He did, but he wasn’t happy. He sighed heavily. “Aye,” he said. “I understand. It does not make me happy, but I understand.”

“Good,” she said, daring to put a hand on his big arm. “As for the rabbi, please let me speak to him first.”

Peter lifted his shoulders. “I am only going to ask a few questions,” he said. “I will not even mention your name. I know nothing about your religion or culture, so I want to understand what it is that make Christian and Jew mix like oil and water. I want to understand what issues I face in my quest to court you. There is no harm in asking, is there?”

She eyed him, realizing she would not be able to discourage him. The man was determined and it was so very sweet. Reckless, but sweet. It made her heart leap in both fear and joy. She couldn’t decide which emotion was stronger. But she knew one thing.

She was glad to see him and, no… she did not want him to stay away.

“Very well,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “But do not mention my name.”

Peter smiled broadly, taking that finger and kissing it. “I swear I will not.”

She pulled her finger away, giving him a look that suggested he was quite a scamp for daring to give her a kiss. “Good.”

“I have missed you.”

Her cheeks started to flame again. “You only just saw me yesterday.”

“That was a whole day ago. Do you mean to say you have not missed me?”

She grinned, averting her gaze bashfully. “If I did, I would not tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you may act like a besotted fool, but I will not.”

His face fell. “You are not besotted with me?”

“Nay.”

“You do not even like me?”

“I have not yet decided.”

He sighed sharply. “You are a cruel woman to toy with me like this. I do believe I shall cry right here and make a fool out of myself. Then you’ll be sorry.”

She burst into soft laughter, her smile glorious and radiant. Before she could reply, however, Alexander came around the rear of the horse.

“Papa has made an appearance,” he muttered, pulling Peter back to his horse.

Liora bolted back towards the front door just as Haim stepped out, looking at the pair of knights curiously. Before he could speak, Liora put her hand on her father’s arm.

“This is Sir Peter de Lohr, Papa,” she said. “His father is Christopher de Lohr, the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. The knight with him is his sister’s husband, Sir Alexander de Sherrington.”

Haim blinked in the bright morning sunlight, peering at Peter as the man mounted his steed. “De Lohr?” he repeated. “Richard’s Lion Claw?”

That was a very old nickname Christopher had once had, as Richard’s champion. Richard was the Lionheart and Christopher was the Lion’s Claw. A lion was only as dangerous as his sharp claws, after all, and Christopher had earned that deadly moniker for his prowess with a sword.

“Aye, my lord,” Peter said. “That was his name, long ago. He remembers you as Richard’s jeweler.”

Haim held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, getting a better look at the young man who looked a good deal like Christopher had in his youth. “I was,” he said. “Did he send you to see me?”

Peter shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “I came myself. I should like to have something beautiful made for my father for Christmas, which is not so far away. You are the only jeweler I know of, and being the jeweler to the king, I thought you could make something fine for my father. I realize I have come unannounced, but your daughter was being most hospitable. Mayhap I can return at another time and we may discuss something for my father?”

Haim nodded. “I would be honored, young de Lohr,” he said. “Return to me tomorrow. We shall discuss it at that time.”

“I will, my lord. Thank you.”

With that, Peter directed his horse away from the shop, but he only had eyes for Liora, who smiled at him when she thought her father wasn’t looking. She watched as Peter and Alexander headed back up to the main avenue, but her father pulled her back inside the shop and her view was cut short.

But it had been enough of a view to feed that giddiness that Peter seemed to bring about.

His appearance may have been unexpected, but it certainly hadn’t been unwelcome. He’ll be back tomorrow, she thought. Somehow, she was going to find more work to do at her father’s shop that just might take all day tomorrow to complete. Or, at least until Peter showed up again. That pushy, glorious knight she’d tried so hard to discourage refused to let her sensibilities dampen his enthusiasm and as she thought on it, she realized she was glad.

Glad that the man refused to be dissuaded.

Perhaps there was a part of her that, all along, had wondered if this wasn’t some sort of whim for him. He’d met a pretty girl, someone new and different, and he’d become infatuated. Perhaps it would last an hour, a day, and just fade away. But when she’d looked from the window and saw him ride up, it began to occur to her that perhaps this wasn’t a whim. Perhaps he’d really meant what he’d said. When he’d mentioned speaking to the rabbi, that only solidified her opinion.

Perhaps all of this was real.

It was frightening and exciting. And so very, very wrong. She knew it was wrong. But there was something so very touching about a man who was willing to fight for her with the odds so stacked against them. Try as she might, she had tried to rid herself of him, but he kept coming back. He kept fighting.

Perhaps she needed to fight with him from now on… and mean it.

With a smile of anticipation, she bolted the door and headed back to her ledger.