LG
I grinned. Larry’s emails never fail to get right to the point, I thought. And then I opened up the email from Robert and hit the reply button.
“This,” Robert said quietly, “is amazing.”
I watched his face as he pored over the pages one by one. The three of us – Robert, Aviva, and I - stood at the counter in the conservation area, looking at the manuscript.
With Larry out of the office, Aviva and I had decided that we could afford to take the hour that we normally used to meet with him about rotations and schedules, and use it to look at our mystery artifact. And so, after the staff meeting, and after making sure that the other staff members were safely occupied with assignments elsewhere in the museum – mostly in the Core building, away from the offices. Robert came up to the conservation area, as I asked him in my email earlier that morning.
I carried the case over to the other side of the room while Aviva placed a sign on the door that said “In Conference – Do Not Disturb,” and forwarded our phones upstairs to Mira’s desk.
After a few moments of standing at the counter, I could see that Aviva was getting uncomfortable, so I dragged a chair over and motioned for her to sit. She did, lowering herself carefully into the seat. Neither of us wanted to disturb Robert, and we were intrigued by the rapt expression of concentration on his face.
When we reached the point where Michael and I had left off the night before, I touched his gloved hand with my own and said, “This page is as far as I’ve gotten.”
“I’m surprised,” Aviva said. “I figured you’d have finished reading it by now.”
“Lots going on at home,” I reminded her.
At lunch the day before, I had told her, briefly, about the conversation that had transpired during the visit to my grandmother.
“I understand,” she said quietly.
I saw Robert raise a quizzical eyebrow. “Is everything all right with you?” he asked her.
“Fine,” Aviva said curtly.
I looked at Robert, and imagined he had some suspicions about Aviva’s personal life, based on what he had asked me about the Talmud volumes he had left on her desk.
“So,” I asked, indicating the manuscript, partially because I wanted to know what he was thinking, and partially because I wanted to distract him, “What do you think?”
“I can see why Larry was being careful about whom he wanted you to tell about this,” he said. “I mean, the Archdiocese is one thing, but actually there are a number of Jewish institutions and archives who would love to get a look at a book like this. There’s so little Jewish scholarship in evidence – or evidence of Jewish scholars, for that matter - from England in the Tudor period.”
“I’m surprised there’s anything at all,” I said.
“There’s not much,” Robert said, “but some interesting information from this period does exist. Some of it may be apocryphal, some not. But Jews were definitely expelled from England during the reign of Edward I in 1290. Some, however, managed to remain. Either they converted, or pretended to convert, or they hid their religious identity and practiced their Jewish customs underground – in some cases, literally underground, in basements, or in secret back rooms. We know they existed, because after the expulsion from Spain and Portugal in 1492, some of the Jews who were living secretly in England provided safe passage and refuge for those who had to flee. And I know for a fact that late in the reign of Henry VIII, there was a revival of Hebraic studies in England. As a result, he endowed a professorship in Hebrew at Cambridge University, which is still in existence today.”
“I didn’t know that,” Aviva said, puzzled. “I thought that Henry was opposed to the Jews being part of English society because he was married to Katherine of Aragon, a strict Catholic in the mold of her parents, Ferdinand and Isabella – two of the greatest enemies the Jews have ever known.”
“Well, it’s true that Henry was Catholic in his early reign,” Robert nodded. “But in his later years, when England was firmly established as a Protestant country, he extended some tolerance – though not a lot – to other faiths. The revival in Hebraic studies, however, was rooted more in the conflict between the Catholic Church and the Church of England – not for the sake of Judaism itself, certainly.”
“A few years ago, I read an article in the Jewish Week about a collector who unearthed an edition of the Talmud that dated back to the Tudor court,” Aviva said. “It was supposed to have been used in evidence for the annulment of his marriage to Katherine.”
“Sure,” Robert said, “because all of the laws pertaining to marriage and divorce were based on the Talmudic commentaries on Leviticus.” I saw a look of recognition come into his eyes, and he looked at Aviva expectantly. “Wait, I think I get it now. Was this why you were looking for Tractate Gittin?”
I looked at her. She swallowed. I knew she didn’t want to tell a lie, but I also knew she wouldn’t tell him what was going on, and that she would be just fine letting him believe this version of events.
After a moment she answered, avoiding his eyes. “Sort of,” she said uncomfortably.
“The Talmudic angle would go along with the direction I was thinking about,” I said quickly, “which would make sense, given that this person Daniel is a bookseller. Even if he was a scholar in secret, he would still have access to the texts through his profession.”
“If it was a secret,” Robert said, “it might have been more of an open secret than you’d think. There’s actually documentation in the archives of several British museums pertaining to the trial of Katherine of Aragon which implies – though not overtly - that Henry VIII had Jewish scholars at court during the years leading up to the dissolution of his first marriage. Daniel could have been one of them.”
“I was wondering, because I couldn’t imagine that someone like Daniel could have lived openly,” I said. “I didn’t think that there were any Jews in England at that time.”
Aviva smiled. “I could see why you’d think that. But history gets written by the winners. We all know that. The fact is, even though they were unwelcome, and even when they had to live in secret, even when their lives were at risk, Jews lived among Christians all throughout the medieval period, and every period of history before and after. I mean, when you think about it, when the Renaissance finally happened, and the Enlightenment, all of the Jews who were suddenly ‘tolerated’ didn’t come from nowhere, right?”
“Unlike this manuscript,” Robert said, “which seems to have appeared out of thin air. You say you don’t know where it came from?”
“I’ve been getting letters,” I told him. “From a survivor. Little by little she’s been telling me her story. And it has something to do with this book. Yesterday’s letter said that she managed to hide her daughter, Minna,” Robert nodded, and I acknowledged the recognition in his eyes, “in a convent in Germany. So I was hoping we’d be able to trace the donor that way, which is why I asked you to run that search in the database.”
He shook his head. “No such luck. But I can still get in touch with the Hidden Child Foundation if you think it will help.”
Aviva looked from him to me. “Listen, if we had that information from the donor – that she had hidden her child – it would be in her record.”
“Unless,” I said glumly, “her child didn’t come back to her. She could have died, or she could have been adopted, or she could have refused to go back with her mother after the war. You know that was the reality for a lot of hidden children.”
They both nodded.
“Anyway, the letters, for some reason, seem to be coming thick and fast these days,” I told them. “It seems as if I get one every day, or every other day. Hopefully, I’ll have more information soon.” I pointed to the manuscript. “But she hasn’t talked about this in a while. It seems as if she’s intent on telling her story. That seems to be the priority.”
“Maybe she hasn’t been able to tell it to anyone,” Aviva suggested, “which could be why we
have never heard of Minna.”
“But why would she tell it to Jill?” Robert asked. “No disrespect intended, but it seems strange to me that she would direct her story to you.”
I smiled. “No offense taken.”
“Well, this person has met Jill,” Aviva said defensively. “She mentioned in the first letter that Jill told her that she was the granddaughter of survivors. Obviously this person feels a connection to her.”
I looked at Aviva, trying to conceal my delight at the sense that she was finally thinking about the manuscript, and its donor, in a legitimate way.
“I just wish I had a way to ask her about this book,” I said. “Not that her story isn’t important, and of course, it’s vital that she tells it, but I’d really like to know that what we’re dealing with is the real thing.”
Aviva looked at her watch. “The hour’s up,” she said. “I’ll get Mira to transfer the phones back down here.”
“Do we have to?” Robert asked. “I’d much rather stay here and keep reading.”
“You know better than anyone that we have to get back to work,” I told him cheerfully. “So help me get this packed up. And hopefully, we’ll get another letter today.”
18
“See what a good girlfriend I am?” I said, as I put the artifact case down in the hallway. “I brought it back, just like I said I would.”
“Thank God,” Michael quipped. “There’s nothing on TV tonight.”
“We could always watch Law and Order reruns on the DVR,” I reminded him. “Maybe we could get a few tips from Briscoe and Green on how to figure out where this manuscript came from.”
He grinned and shook his head. “You’ve already seen them all,” he said, as he pulled me roughly into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll be so glad when February is over and I can watch sports on a regular basis again.”
“That’s the problem with this month, sports nut. Football’s over, baseball hasn’t started yet, and March Madness is still a couple of weeks away.”
“There’s always SportsCenter,” he reminded me. “And ESPN Classic.”
I made a face. “Anything but ESPN Classic.”
He laughed as he took my coat from me and hung it on the rack. “Did you find out any more information about the manuscript today?” he asked.
I nodded. “Larry said it was okay for Robert to take a look at it, so I showed it to him and Aviva today. Of course, Robert knew all about Jewish history in Tudor England. I didn’t even know that there was any Jewish history in Tudor England.”
“Neither did I. So what did you find out?”
I grinned at him. “Dinner first,” I said. “Then we’ll read a little more. And then, I’ll fill you in on today’s installment.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, as he followed me into the kitchen. “That’s totally playing unfair.”
“You’re a lawyer,” I said playfully. “What do you know about fair?”
What is this force dividing dark from light
Infusing dawn with day and cloud with rain?
For surely this Divine pow’r doth explain
The ancient poet’s music of delight.
Alas! My vow hath kept thee from my sight.
My cagèd heart transcribes thy code of pain.
And yet, the verse of thy song’s sweet refrain
Hath caused a rose to blossom in the night.
Thy words hath bound my heart with clasp unseen
As tenderly as the encircling vine
Protects both branch and flow’r from savage sun.
How lovingly I prize these tendrils green!
As still I wait for that moment divine —
Thy love prevails; our words shall be as one.
It was nearly eighteen months of marriage before the Lord saw fit to bless me with my most darling child Thomas, named for my dear father. But within days of having borne him, my heart’s darling was taken from me, and sent to be with his nurse. We bided under the same roof, but my baby was kept from me, in a locked room to which only William and the nurse had the key. He was brought to me for only a few moments, once a week, at the whim of my husband. I held my baby tenderly for those few precious moments after Mass each Sunday, when my husband consented for me to see our child. It was because – as he said – I was in a state of holy grace following Communion, and thus it was the only time when my child could not be hurt by my presence.
It was said by my husband that any child would be infected by the learning which I had so long cherished, and that his son should have better than a half-mother, as he called me. He said that my father had nurtured only the quizzical, difficult aspects of my temper and had thus killed the mothering instinct within me. I would hold my child until William insisted he be taken away again, and I would descend into sadness so dark and endless that it was like death without death’s release.
It was then that my sad-sickness and decline began; bereft of my books and my child, I had nothing to live for. My father was busy with the duties of his public life; I was left in the company of my foul master, and it was not long before, having given birth and having returned to the Church after the forty days that followed, that I longed to see my friend Daniel again, and feared for his safety in the turning tide of the Monarch’s terrible sea.
After more than two years in the prison that masqueraded as my marriage, after giving birth to my son, after hours and days and months of cruelly enforced ignorance and drudgery, as commanded by my husband, the hour arrived when I was at last able to steal away, in those tense and terrible days while my father toiled in vain at court and William, ever-present by his side, nodded like a jester at his every plea to the King.
The good Catholic Queen Katherine, that most honorable woman, daughter of the esteemed Isabella of Spain, had been put aside in all but name; the Boleyn girl, Anne, had returned from France as adept at archery as she was at deceit; she had taken the arrows of youth and beauty from her quiver and loosed them towards the heart of the throne of England. Her aim was true; the King was by her side at all times, having forsaken his truewedded wife, and Anne Boleyn, it was plain for all to see, with her prettiness, power, and sly ambition had taken Henry from his God.
It was strange – I remembered how the young Henry, my father’s childhood friend, had played with me long ago, his countenance as bright as the sun, his manner full of delight and cheer, lifting me high in the air and swinging me in his arms when I was merely a child and he was merely the second son of a King.
He had been my father’s dearest friend. I remembered how his quiet and shy elder brother Arthur had been a doomed monarchto-be, newly-wed to Katherine, the flower of Spain, when he died in that sad and sodden wintertide, far away at Ludlow; and how young Henry suddenly took his brother’s place as the Prince of Wales, burdened with an ill-fitting crown that he was illprepared to wear.
And now that self-same Prince Henry was both our king and as a stranger to us; with the darkest of clouds forming in the sky above his glorious throne. Surely, his inability to produce an heir with his Queen was a sign of God’s displeasure with Holy England; and I feared that the king’s meddling with nature was sure to induce a storm against our country, and surely, my father would be lost in the tempest to come.
But one bright spring morning, I told the nurse and servants that I was going to town to market for herbs and medicinal plants, so that the physicians could make a posset of herbs for the nurse to give to my baby. I feared that he would have to endure one of the spring illnesses that were invading the wet countryside.
Silently, in the hope that no one would try to stop me, I ran, light-footed, to the town. The road beneath my feet felt deliciously familiar. Blossom perfumed the morning air, and the breeze blew lightly upon my face. I felt safe; that even if William were to find out that I had gone to town, surely even the servants could make him see that I did so only in service to him for the health of our child.
Upon reaching the city I rushed through the
streets like a girl; though the years had burdened my soul and I was certain that the unrelenting hours of sadness now showed in my face. My heart beat faster as I approached the familiar door; I prayed that he would still be there.
The bell sounded familiarly like the voice of an old friend. And, alerted by its sound, all at once he appeared from the rear of the shop as he had on the day we first met. Upon my first glance I was struck at the change in him. His appearance had been altered dramatically – the dark curls were tinged with dusty grey and the sweetness in his honeyed eyes had dimmed.
He looked warily upon my face as if I was a stranger, and then his smile emerged as the sunlight after a storm. He bowed before me, and called me by the name that I had not heard for more than a year.
-Mistress More, I had not thought to see you again.
How my heart ached at hearing my cherished name upon his lips. I bowed to him, a mirror of his own sweet gesture. – You are correct, friend, for it is not Mistress More you see before you.
-You are right to correct me, he said. For you are Mistress Roper. But I cannot help but think of you as your father’s daughter.
I nodded, still shocked at the way the months had touched his countenance; time had not been a friend to him. It showed in the stoop of his shoulders, in the wariness of his expression. But his smile was the same, and my heart raced at the familiar music in his voice.
- I am still his daughter though a wife, I replied dutifully.
- I hear also, he said with a warm smile, that you are a mother. And I, too, smiled at the thought of my baby. – Yes, I said, I have a little boy, named for his grandfather.
- His grandfather often speaks of him, Daniel said. He is very proud. And motherhood suits you as sunlight suits summer roses.
I blushed like the very rose of which he spoke. – I see you have learned the courtier’s ways, my friend.
He nodded. – When one is bid to dance, he said, one must know the steps.
I smiled at him most ruefully. – Indeed, these are not easy days at court.
He looked around him as if there was someone present to hear, and then he said, - It is better for us to say no more about it.
The Bookseller's Sonnets Page 20
