The Lode Stone

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  They had not followed him for many streets before the Jew stopped and stood looking at them as they caught up. He said nothing, waiting for them to speak first.

  “Sh’ma Yisra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad,” Isaac said in a low voice. Hear Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.

  The man hesitated, looking suspiciously at Isaac’s uncovered head.

  “Forgive me. Of necessity I have had to hide my faith,” Isaac said in Hebrew.

  “Barukh sheim k’vod malkhuto l’olam va’ed,” the man said in an undertone. Blessed be the Name of His glorious kingdom for ever and ever.

  “Can you take us to the synagogue? I would speak with your rabbi.” How natural it felt to speak in Hebrew again.

  “What do you want?”

  “I wish to return to our people something that has been taken from them. And to cover my head with my tallit and pray in a synagogue.” He hesitated and looked into the man’s eyes before he added, “and to hide from those who would take back what I bring you.”

  “You bring us danger and death.”

  “Danger, perhaps. I do not believe I bring death.”

  “Is what you have worth the danger?”

  “Your rabbi will judge. If he asks me to leave, I will do so.”

  “And him?”

  Tomas looked up, sensing perhaps that the discussion had turned on him.

  “Not Jewish,” Isaac admitted, “but a good man.”

  The Jew stood quietly thinking. With a decisive nod he removed his kaftan and draped it over Isaac’s shoulders, concealing his wooden leg. Isaac removed his sash and wound it around his head like a turban. It felt as wrong to wear no sash as it had felt at first to have no head covering, but the latter was a more visible lack. A man’s heart must be separated from his genitals. He thought of the string around his waist, holding his hose up. Not visible, but a separation, still.

  The Jew looked him over, nodded once, and beckoned for them to follow.

  ***

  As soon as they entered the synagogue Isaac returned the striped qumbaz. He untied the sash from his head and knotted it back around his waist. Removing his pack from the blanket he took out Reb David’s tallit and draped it over his head. Turning to face the East window, he began to pray, the blue tassels at the four corners of the tallit a constant reminder of his mentor. How long had it been since he had prayed in a synagogue? After a few moments he heard Tomas kneel beside him. Glancing sideways, he saw him bow his head. He closed his eyes and continued his prayer.

  When Isaac opened his eyes the rabbi was standing in front of them, waiting quietly for them to finish.

  “I am Rabbi Yusef. I have been told you need our help.”

  “Rabbi Yusef, forgive me for coming here. I have reason to believe there will be men searching for us this night.”

  “Have you done something wrong?”

  “No.” Isaac knelt down and unwrapped the blanket. He picked up the golden menorah and rose again, holding it out to the rabbi. “I took this from a thief who was not fit to touch it.”

  Rabbi Yusef did not take it. “You must return it to those it belongs to.”

  Isaac shook his head regretfully. “I know how he got it, but not where. He is a crusader returning from the Holy Land. The ship he is on sails at dawn. He has other stolen treasure and will not mention this one to anyone—they will be looking for us, not for it, if he sends people to find us. And when the ship sails, I believe the search for us will end, also. I hope so.”

  “You offer us this menorah in return for hiding you.”

  “I offer you the menorah. It belongs in a synagogue. I hope you will offer to shelter us this night, and perhaps help us to leave Genoa in secret, but I leave that choice to you.”

  Reb Yusef stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We have a menorah, larger and more costly than this one. But you are right, it belongs among Jews.” He looked up at Isaac. “Your mother was Jewish?”

  “I was very young, no more than a boy the last time I saw my parents. I have come from Acre, where I lived with Reb David ben Avraham as his disciple, until he was murdered by the crusaders.” He paused to steady his voice. “I am travelling to France. I met the crusader who stole this menorah on my journey.”

  Reb Yusef looked at him in silence. It was, at best, a very sketchy account of his past. Isaac met Reb Yusef’s eyes without flinching, and also without adding to his story. Something in his gaze must have convinced the rabbi, for he reached out his hand and accepted the menorah.

  “You cannot stay here; they will search all obvious places of sanctuary. Tonight you will sleep in my nephew’s home.” He raised his hand. The man who had brought them here walked over. Isaac noticed now how young he was, probably not yet twenty.

  “Solomon ben Isaac,” Reb Yusef introduced his nephew, “this is—?”

  “Isaac,” Isaac said, given no time to invent a name. “But for now I am using the Gallic name, Jean. And this is my...friend, Tomas.”

  Hearing his name, and understanding from the gestures that introductions were being given, even though he did not understand Hebrew, Tomas bowed his head to Reb Yusef and Solomon.

  “They will be your guests this night,” Reb Yusef finished. Before Solomon could object—and it looked like he was about to—Reb Yusef added: “Gedolah hachnosat orchim yoter mikabbolat pnei hashchina.” Hospitality accorded to guests is greater than receiving the Divine Presence.

  Solomon bowed his head, took a breath, and nodded. “Please come with me,” he said to Isaac and Tomas.

  ***

  “Wake up!”

  Isaac was jolted awake by someone standing beside his pallet.

  “Quickly, you must get up!” A female voice speaking Hebrew. It took Isaac a moment to place her—Solomon’s shy young wife, he could not remember a name. She had already turned and was trying to waken Tomas.

  Isaac sat up and pulled on the qamis she had tossed to him. “Tomas!” His voice was low but urgent. “Get up. Put on the qamis—the white robe she has given you. Hurry!” There could be only one reason to wake them in the dark of night. Now he was out of bed he heard it, a pounding at the door coming from downstairs in the common courtyard that half a dozen families shared.

  “Please hurry,” the woman repeated. Zipporah, that was her name, soft brown eyes and a quiet voice. She hastily rolled up the pallets they had slept on and stacked them against the wall, averting her face as they dressed. “Come with me.” She led them out of the room and along a narrow hallway that opened on one side to the lower floor. Isaac saw Solomon standing below, looking up to watch them pass, waiting till they were out of sight before he opened the door.

  They followed Solomon’s wife into a small dark room next to the one they had slept in. A bed and a square table with a single stool pushed beneath it filled the room completely. A rope dangled from the corner of the ceiling above the table. Zipporah motioned for Isaac to pull it as she watched from the door. Downstairs Solomon was talking to a man, arguing with him. Isaac heard enough to know he was protesting while the man insisted on searching their house. He climbed onto the table and yanked hard on the rope.

  A small trap door in the ceiling lowered, and another rope fell out. Tomas grabbed that one and pulled until a ladder descended to within two feet of the table top.

  “Hurry!” Zipporah whispered. “Pull both ropes up behind you!”

  Isaac saw that she had undressed and slipped into the bed. When he looked back, Tomas had scrambled up the ladder and was disappearing through the trap door. Isaac hauled himself up after him, already hearing footsteps ascending the stairs. He entered a dark, airless space with less than three feet between the rafters and the ceiling. Tomas had scuttled to the side to give him room, balancing on the wooden beams, for the ceiling did not look strong enough to bear their weight. Isaac pulled himself up into the space and yanked the short ladder up behind him. Reaching down he grabbed the hanging rope and pulled the trap-door closed with the rope inside. C
omplete darkness encased them.

  In the room below Solomon’s wife gave a little shriek, as though she had just awakened to find strangers in her bedchamber. Isaac imagined her pulling the sheet up around her neck as she sat up in the bed, the terror on her face only partially feigned, and felt a wave of guilt at putting her and Solomon through this.

  How many people had Philippe paid to search for them? Isaac had not imagined it would come to this. For the little they had taken? Either the seamen got greedy and took too much or Philippe wanted no witnesses left to his theft. But most of the crusaders had come home with stolen coins and jewels, perhaps not so much as Philippe, but plunder was expected in war—unless he had not plundered those they had conquered, but his fellow crusaders? In which case his obsessive secrecy was not just a matter of discouraging thieves, but of saving his own life.

  He must have seen the menorah missing and guessed they would try to sell it in the Jewish quarter. A few words at an inn about Jewish thieves and a couple of rounds of drinks would be enough to set half-drunken men to searching for them. An excuse to loot Jewish homes would be enticement enough, he need not betray his stolen wealth by offering a reward. And if they were not found here, would he continue his search in France?

  The voices below were so close there might not even have been a ceiling between them. Isaac dared not move so much as a muscle and found himself holding his breath. Were they armed? Would they murder him and Tomas? And Solomon if he tried to interfere? And what might they do to his pretty young wife then? Isaac gripped the rope to the trap door, determined to kick it open and drop through it on top of them if he heard any indication that the young couple below were in danger.

  But what if it was quick? A sword thrust through the heart before Isaac could stop them? As the voices below him quarreled Isaac strained to hear a rising note that meant it had gone too far. His heart pounded so loudly he thought they must all hear it. Sweat dripped from his face, stinging his eyes, his palms were slick, clinging to keep his perch on the wooden beams.

  Why were they staying so long? Had they traced his and Tomas’s path to the synagogue? Killed Rabbi Yusef and were now certain one of his congregation was sheltering the men they sought? What had he done, coming here? Not death, he had promised them.

  The argument continued. “And what if we ask your pretty wife, heh? I would not mind questioning her.” One of the men gave an ugly chuckle. Isaac tensed, ready to spring. The plank creaked beneath him. The room below went silent.

  The door on the main level slammed open. A rough voice shouted two names.

  “What?” one of the men in the room beneath Isaac called back.

  “Come on, be quick! We have them!”

  Isaac heard heavy-booted feet pounding down the stairs, the slam of the door below. It was all so sudden he could hardly believe it. He waited until Solomon returned, bare feet slapping quietly back up the stairs. Silence below him now but for the young wife weeping and Solomon consoling her. He did not want to descend and see that; bad enough to have to hear it.

  “Sh-sh-sh,” Solomon murmured. “It is over, we are safe. You were so brave, my darling. Shhh, now.”

  Behind him, Tomas shifted. The wooden beam creaked. Isaac became aware of his clenched muscles, the burn in his back from bending below the low rafters, a pounding headache from the close, still air and the heat and the tension. He cleared his throat.

  “Come down,” Solomon called.

  Isaac pushed the trap door down cautiously. The rope fell through and Solomon caught it, pulling it all the way open. “Toss down the rope for the ladder,” he said. “You are safe.”

  Isaac and Tomas descended warily. “I am sorry,” Isaac murmured. He could not look at Solomon’s wife, her brown eyes still moist with tears.

  Tomas stepped forward and held out two gold coins, half the pay he had taken for riding with Philippe. Zipporah looked from the coins to his face. Wiping her eyes quickly, she shook her head. “I have done nothing to earn such a gift.”

  Tomas dropped to one knee, still holding the coins out to her. She searched his face a moment before taking the coins from his hand. “You have a kind heart, sir,” she whispered. “I know several families who need the help this will provide.”

  Tomas pointed to her abdomen. She blushed. “Yes, and something for the child as well.”

  Isaac took Solomon aside. “What if they return?” he asked.

  “They will not. I watched until they joined up with two other men. One of the others said you had been seen buying horses at an inn across town.”

  “They will learn it is not true and be back.”

  Solomon smiled. “Two horses were bought. Two men your height rode south, out of Genoa, and one of them did all the talking.”

  Isaac stared at him, open-mouthed.

  “My uncle is a clever man. I regret the rumor did not reach these villains sooner, but we could not spread it. They had to learn of it from each other.”

  “And when the two men are found?”

  Solomon shrugged. “No one ever said it was you. And by then you will be long gone from here. Today at dawn two more men as tall as you will ride through the gate heading north together. And in the midst of many others who come and go from Genoa daily, two women will sit on a wagon while the man who is their husband and father drives it through the west gate, going to visit his eldest daughter who is about to have a child and needs her mother and sister.”

  Isaac and Tomas looked at each other.

  “I am afraid the gatekeeper is going to feel very sorry for that husband,” Isaac said, stroking his beard.

  He was rewarded with the sound of the young wife’s laughter.

  Chapter Twenty: Pierre d’Avignon

  Isaac glanced sideways as his horse cantered down the wide dirt road that led to Avignon. Tomas had donned his white crusader’s tunic once again, but the red cross no longer repelled Isaac. Something had eased inside him after he returned the menorah to a Jewish synagogue. And despite the crusader’s tunic Tomas wore, Isaac had had many occasions during their journey to witness Tomas’s quiet courage and courtesy to Jew and Gentile, peasant and noble alike. The cross, like any symbol of faith, waited for human actions to give it meaning.

  They had found the little hut in Saint-Gilles that Isaac remembered. A rough-looking man with long, dirty hair and holes in his hose greeted Isaac’s knock and told him the family who had lived there had moved to a larger house inside the city walls.

  This second door was opened by a tall, heavy-set man who listened to his question and called behind him, “Yselle!” without budging from the doorframe. A young woman Isaac did not recognize came to speak with him. Isaac repeated his question. A little boy, four or five years old, who looked much the way he remembered his brother looking at that age, clung to her skirt.

  “He has gone north,” she said. “He will not be back for many months.”

  She offered nothing more, and he did not tell her who he was. He remembered a boy and he had seen a boy; there might be nothing more to it than that. He would have to see the man to know, and even then he might not be sure. At any rate, it was time he left Saint-Gilles, and the less they knew the better. Philippe might recall he had been travelling to Saint-Gilles, and a man with a wooden leg and a scar across his face would be remembered.

  Tomas had told no one where he was heading, either by intent or by necessity. He gestured north when Isaac asked, but Isaac did not know whether he had always intended to go that way or he had overheard the woman. He was easy company and Isaac was glad to turn his horse in the same direction.

  Avignon, it turned out, was as far north as Tomas wanted to go. The closer they got to it, the more nervous Tomas appeared. He rode stiff and erect in his saddle looking straight ahead at the approaching town as if he would like to see through its walls. His face had drained of color and his breathing had quickened. When they got within a hundred yards of the gate he slowed his horse to a walk. At fifty yards he reigned it to
a stop.

  “Tomas,” Isaac said quietly, stopping beside him. “Either they are still here, waiting for you, or they are not. Either you will be happy or you will be grieved, but you will be no worse off than you are now.”

  Tomas shook his head without looking at him.

  “You think they will not want you as you are. Look at me, Tomas.”

  Tomas looked at him, his eyes full of misery. Isaac kicked his wooden leg, making the empty stirrup jangle. His horse startled but he held it still.

  “You are a strong and able man with all your limbs intact. A good and honorable man, I have observed that, and one, I would wager, who has not forgotten how to please a woman. And every woman loves a good listener, Tomas.”

  Tomas chuckled. He gestured at Isaac.

  “No,” Isaac said. “I am none of those things. I do not know who I am any more. But I do know who you are. Now let us go and convey the good news that you have come home to them.”

  He rode beside Tomas through the gates of the Independent Republic of Avignon and turned down a road leading away from the castle. They rode slowly for the streets were busy and narrow.

  “Pierre?” a man’s voice called from a doorway. “Pierre, fils de Guillaume?”

  Tomas stiffened but did not look toward the voice.

  “Pierre, c’est toi!” The man cried.

  Other heads were turning now as people stopped to look at them. Murmurs of “C’est Pierre, fils de Guillaume,” and “Pierre est revenu!” broke out around them.

  “Your name is Pierre?” Isaac demanded in an undertone.

  Tomas-Pierre nodded, looking abashed but pleased. His smiled widened as he glanced about at those who spoke to him or followed them. None tried to stop him but instead parted before him as though encouraging him forward.

  He reined in his horse before a neat little cottage. The door opened as he dismounted. Isaac saw a young woman in the doorway, her blond hair loosely caught in her hood as though she had tied it on quickly. She stood there a moment, her hand over her mouth, staring at Pierre. He tossed his horse’s reins to Isaac and turned, staring back at her. She gave a little cry low in her throat and ran to him. He stepped forward, catching her up in his arms. They clung to each other, silent, shaking, as though they were alone in the world, as though they never intended to let go again.