The Bigod Chronicles - Book One Ilger

The Bigod Chronicles

Book One

Ilger

A Medieval Novel by

Martin P Clarke

Copyright © 2017 by Martin P Clarke

No reproduction without permission

All rights reserved

The right of Martin P Clarke to be identified as the author of this   work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Lulu Publishing

ISBN 978-1-326-96685-0

Although every attempt has been made to place the

factual characters within recorded historical events,

these novels remains a work of fiction.

The Bigod Chronicles

Book One Ilger

Book Two The Order

Book Three William

Book Four Hugh

Acknowledgements

To my wife Helen.

For sharing the experience, as we walked in

the footsteps of these great medieval characters

across England, France, the Mediterranean

countries and the Holy Land.

Authors Note

The main characters portrayed in this novel are based on the lives of actual people and although their motives and sentiments are mainly speculative, most of the events described did actually happen. 

Despite the depth of historic accuracy, this book is not a documentary. Medieval history provides a record of people; who they were and when they lived, but the most intriguing stories remain untold and often require a degree of imagination. This book is an attempt to ‘flesh out’ the documented accounts and give the characters a chance to live again within the correct chronology.

In addition to the astonishing succession of true events and genuine individuals that paved the way across the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, these chronicles are also rich with stories based upon beliefs that are seen today as myth and legend. Throughout history, many religious cults practised horrific rituals for the appreciation of a particular deity. As a reward, the ‘priests’ would hope to gain favour with those Gods but more importantly they would look to cement blind loyalty from their followers.

Many difficulties arose with the characters actual names. For instance, the name ‘Bigod’ is of Norman origin and can be read as Bigòt, Bygod or Wigot, depending on the source material. The family was descended from Wigot de St Denis, one of the great noblemen of eleventh century Normandy. It is thought the word ‘bigot’ in common use today is derived from the abusive French name for the Normans, as well as taking the Lord’s name in vain, by God.

Throughout the medieval period it was quite common for sons to carry their father’s Christian names, hence the profusion of the names William, Robert, Baldwin, Hugh or Hugues. To avoid confusion, I have introduced legitimate variations; for example Hugo for Hugues and Baudwin for Baldwin, in order to differentiate between characters of the same name.

The Bigod Chronicles are told over four books and have a geographical span that stretches across two continents, often referred to simply as Outremer in the east and Christendom in the west.

Men, women and children travelled over these vast perilous distances, on horseback and on foot, sometimes more than once. How those of little means achieved this is hard to imagine.

The Chronicles commence in 1096 to coincide with Hugh Bigod’s assumed year of birth. Although the main characters are situated inside genuine recorded events and locations, some dramatic license has been necessary to maintain pace and content.

I have retained the names of some locations in their original spelling and I have omitted the word ‘crusade,’ as it was derived well after the twelfth century.

Main Characters

Count Hugues of Champagne       married to daughter of King of France

Catherine St Clair                          married to Hugo de Payen

Hugo de Payen                        knight fealty to Count Hugues

Duke Godfrey de Boullion                leader of the first army of God

Rabbi Shlomo Ben Itzchak                  ‘Rashi’ foremost Talmudist

Samuel Ben Meir                                 son-in-law to Rashi

Grosbert                                 seneschal to Count Hugues

Lugermann                          mercenary bodyguard (fictional)

Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy              papal legate of the Army of God

Ilger Bigod d’Ige                   uncle of Hugh and William Bigod

Count Stephen of Blois           married to Adela, daughter of William I

Duke Robert of Normandie                ‘Curthose’ son of William I

Pagan Peverel                      aide to Duke Robert of Normandie

Baldwin le Bourg                  cousin of Duke Godfrey of Boullion

Arnulf de Rohese               chaplain to Duke Robert of Normandie

Kemalah-adji bin Qurra            ‘Kemah’ aged scholar/sage (fictional)

Sybilla of Conversano             married to Duke Robert of Normandie

King Henry I                         son of William I ‘the Conqueror’

Roger Bigod              Sheriff of Norfolk, father to Hugh and William

Hugh Bigod                               second son of Roger Bigod

William Bigod                              eldest son of Roger Bigod

Lord William Albini(Pincerna)        royal butler, married to Maud Bigod

Wills Albini (boy)               eldest son of William Albini and Maud

Maria                         maid to Sybilla of Normandie (fictional)

Lady Agnes Gifford                 consort to Duke Robert (fictional)

Colette                         wet nurse to William Cliton (fictional)

William Cliton                       son of Duke Robert of Normandie

Adelice                                        wife of Roger Bigod

Efbran                                      steward to Roger Bigod

Bishop Herbert de Losinga                     first Bishop of Norwich

Abbot Bund                       Dean of St. Mary’s church, Thetford

Father Adam             priest of St Mary’s church, Thetford (fictional)

Bernard of Clairvaux                         cousin of Count Hugues

Baudwin of Boulogne              brother of Duke Godfrey de Boullion

Ashan                                  nephew of Kemah (fictional)

Prior Stephen                                       Thetford Priory

Ayman                                     son of Maria (fictional)

Timor                                 young son of Ashan (fictional)

Godefroi de St Omer             knight and companion of Hugo de Payen

Book One

Ilger

1096-1107

‘Indeed, if you had been there you would have seen our feet

coloured to our ankles with the blood of the slain...none of them

were left alive; neither women nor children were spared.’

Fulcher of Chartres 1099

Prologue

Speyer

Rhineland

1096

The angry mob surged from the side streets and the main street leading out of Speyer was filling up fast. The count pushed his warhorse forward, using the fearsome steed to keep the crowds back. He shouted to his sergeant-at-arms. ‘Where is the Rabbi now? Is he safe?’

‘He will be out of the town by now, my lord and under full escort,’ the sergeant replied. ‘And much safer than us I fear,’ he added nervously, trying to keep his mare calm. Now, when a firm hand was needed, the young count seemed indecisive.

Count Hugues glanced nervously left and right then gestured to his four horsemen to form up around him while he quickly appraised the scene. The wagon they were trying to escort out of Speyer was surrounded and in danger of being overturned at any moment.

He barked his orders, wondering why on earth he had not brought more men into this hell-hole. ‘Abandon the wagon and let us get out of here. Form a tight wedge. Ride them down if necessary!’

They advanced and the crowd begrudgingly parted. Men armed with swords and cleavers were inciting the throng with hatred, trying to inspire violence throughout the streets. Even though the mood of the mob became more aggressive, their intentions lacked a point of focus.

Suddenly the wagon caught fire. The unfortunate driver was    quickly engulfed in flames, his screams largely ignored and given a wide berth as he thrashed at his clothes in vain. Two horses broke free from the cart, only to stampede down the street, trampling the unwary and adding to the chaos.

Out of nowhere the count saw a crossbow bolt thud into the knight sat on his warhorse next to him. Sensing easy prey, the mob pulled the injured knight from his mount and beat him relentlessly to the ground with clubs and staves. Without a thought for his own safety, the sergeant pushed his horse forward and tried to extricate the knight from the mêlée, only to be overwhelmed and dragged from his steed. He lay helpless on his back, his arms flailing and his fate sealed as a spear was stabbed repeatedly into his face. Emboldened by the smell of blood the killers cheered and eyed up their next victim.

Count Hugues looked across at the two horsemen at his side. Even though they were two of his best combat knights, nothing could hide the alarm in their eyes. Realising that with the wagon gone there was little point in delaying any further. They only had moments to get out of the town alive. Cutting the air with their swords in the hope that the mob would scatter was proving pointless. Defying the risk of the sword blade, they pushed closer against the mighty stallions and the count had no choice but to give the order. ‘Charge…cut your way through!’ he cried.

His men fully understood the order and didn’t need telling twice.

Their swords sliced a deadly, indiscriminate path and the warhorses gathered speed, hardened by years of training to trample over the enemy. Hemmed in by buildings on all sides and unable to flee, the marauders howled as they were crushed under the slippery hooves. Men cried out as the three horsemen carved a relentless and bloody route.

Count Hugues briefly lost ground whilst pulling his sword from the neck of a lifeless body and for a fleeting moment, he sensed his own vulnerability. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an enormous black spiked mace descend at speed and he pulled hard on his reins in an attempt to avoid the blow. His left arm caught the full brunt of the strike and as he lurched over, he instinctively swept his sword in a wide arc, catching his assailant across the face.

Unable to manoeuvre properly, the count called on his knights to come to his aid and handle his reins. Slumped over in his saddle, they arrived at his flanks hacking viciously at anyone in their way.

Fortunately, the mob began to change direction into the street as they discovered the true target of their venom. Through the mists of pain, Count Hugues could hear them baying for blood.

‘Smoke them out! Slay the Jews!’

The crowds dispersed into the alleys on the left side of the street and as they scrambled into the main square, the count saw the way ahead open up. Seizing his chance, he shouted for his knights to pave a way on the right and they sped down the road, pushing aside a few stragglers but avoiding any further direct confrontation. Only when they reached the safety of the open ground outside the town walls, did they slow down. All three of them knew they had been lucky to escape.  No one spoke but the relief on their faces said everything.

The remainder of the counts cohort was waiting anxiously in a wood to the west of the town, keeping their whereabouts as covert as possible. As the count and his knights approached it became apparent that all was not well. In his haste and desire for the mission to succeed, the count had not thought it necessary to bring a physician.

His arm was badly broken, and his aides gasped at the fractured bone sticking through the skin. Some binding was quickly wrapped to make a sling until the bone could be reset later. A jug of wine would have to suffice for pain relief.

With three wagons to escort, it was going to be an arduous ride home and likely to take five days before they would be back in Troyes.

Throughout the journey, the count cursed the loss of one of his best knights and his sergeant, blaming himself and his own naivety. He had believed the alleged pilgrims to be peaceful and had drastically underestimated their taste for blood. Instead of heading east to the Holy Land, the horde now rampaged through the Rhineland with the sole intention of extorting and brutalising the entire Jewish population.

Then it dawned on him that his injury was not the only problem he faced. Unless his arm healed quickly his hope of leading his own army to the Holy Land was likewise shattered. He just hoped that the rescue of the Jewish Rabbi together with his extended family had been worth the trouble.

Chapter 1

Troyes

Champagne

Catherine wiped the drops of moisture from her nose and gazed upon the austere outer ramparts of the city that loomed out of the grey dank mist of dawn. Troyes was not a place she would like to live and she pitied those who eked out their meagre existence in their little grey houses, behind the towering grey walls. Heaven forbid, even the poor people looked grey.

They approached the drawbridge and outer gates and she flashed a forced smile at her husband, suppressing her disappointment at the first impressions of the city. Whenever she faced discontent, she always sought comfort by filling her thoughts with love for her husband and her as yet unborn child.

From the first moment she had fallen in love with Hugo de Payen, she hoped that they would live in a prominent country manor with gardens and stables and have servants and maids to wait on her. Her husband was a handsome knight in his mid-twenties with a title and the fief of Payen to his name, though his family had acquired a number of estates around Troyes. Naturally, she could choose any estate to make her home but her favourite place was actually the beautiful country manor at Montigny, given to them by Hugo’s father as a wedding present. There they would build the foundations of their life together. The estate was substantial enough to provide a useful income and the favour of the Count of Champagne would grant them the security their status required.

Of course, she realised that her husband owed fealty to the count and his life was a dangerous world of brave battles and acts of gallantry. But she knew him well enough that under the hard mailed surface, there was a man who loved her. His body was firm, still retaining much of his youthful muscle and she loved the way his rugged features and short beard enveloped his saintly smile. A man she could mould into the lifestyle that she had always wanted.

At Montigny, they would entertain the nobility of Burgundy and their guests would be envious of the perfect life they enjoyed.

Except today, everything was grey.

Catherine could no longer hold off thinking about the day that lay ahead. She had suppressed her anxiety ever since the realisation that her dreams were in jeopardy, because today the count may command Hugo to join his army, soon to depart for the Holy Land.

Although she was only sixteen, Catherine was from a noble family and she knew how these things worked. But she would not entice providence by revealing her fears to her husband. Mindful of what fate may hold in store for them, she began to despise the city.

The narrow streets led up an incline to the castle gate and as Hugo nudged next to Catherine’s white palfrey, he leaned over in his saddle and reminded her, not for the first time, of how the count was his liege lord and that his orders held sway over both their lives. Catherine smiled stiffly at Hugo, aware of how nervous he had become in the last hour of their journey. Although appearing indifferent to his anxiety, she had remembered everything Hugo had told her about the young Count of Champagne.

Showing off, she mimicked her husband by reciting his words back to him. ‘From an early age, the count had been destined for a life in a religious order, becoming a devout Christian. When his elder brother died, he was thrust into one of the most powerful titles outside the domain of the French King. He is in his mid-twenties and married to Princess Constance, the daughter of Philip, the King of France no less.’

Hugo smiled at Catherine’s gentle mocking. But on the inside, his stomach churned as he recalled the complex circumstances of their visit.

Four months had passed since they were in Scotland, from where he had dispatched a letter to the count informing him of his marriage to Catherine St Clair. Hugo explained in the letter that Catherine’s mother was ill and not expected to live out the month and her last wish had been to see her daughter married in a style befitting her status. Not daring to deny her mother her last request, they were married and after the wedding, and true to her prediction, the beloved matriarch of the St. Clair family died within the week.

There was another pressing reason for them to marry so swiftly. Hugo alluded to ‘his wife’s delicate condition’ but omitted in the letter that Catherine was pregnant before the wedding took place.

Her bump was now becoming noticeable, depending on the clothes she wore; though Hugo admired the way she still carried herself, with a deftness that belied her condition.

He hoped that the reason for the invitation to Troyes was simply one of good manners and courtesy. After all, the count held him in high regard and would want to offer his best wishes and give his blessing personally.

But in the back of his mind there was another possible reason for his invitation that was potentially so upsetting he dare not acknowledge it to Catherine. That is if the count requested, as his liege lord, he would have to take up the Cross and accompany him to the Holy Land.

The spring sunshine broke through and finally lifted the mist as they trotted over the drawbridge and into the inner ward. They looked a fine couple, with a servant and squire in attendance and Catherine sparkled in her green and white dress, drawing admiring stares from the curious townsfolk gathered in the bailey.

They pulled up at the stables and the squire helped Catherine dismount from Snowflake, her favourite mare. Hugo looked into the adjoining pen and couldn’t help but notice a fine looking stallion being brushed down whilst still hot from its exertions. It was adorned with the saddle of a nobleman and studded with expensive brass buttons. Hugo asked the groom whose horse it was, and he replied that the unexpected guest was a lord but he didn’t know whom. His answer unnerved Hugo for he suspected a visiting noble could only corroborate his worst fears: that of an army being formed.

Going to war was not the problem, for Hugo was no coward. Nevertheless, the Holy Land could mean years away from home and he feared for Catherine being left on her own, especially as she was soon to have a baby. The lack of understanding in a wife so young would inevitably be the cause of much anxiety.

In the warming sun, Catherine took off her cloak then despaired at the soiled state of her riding gown. She was comforted a little when Hugo assured her that arrangements would be made for her to change her dress before her introduction to the count. Catherine had not brought a maid on Hugo’s assurance that there would be a multitude of servants to take care of her every whim. Swatting at the irritating horse flies, she felt the inquisitive eyes of those watching their every move and the ‘bailey gossip’ was rife with speculation as to their identities and intentions.

She lifted her head and squinted at the keep opposite the stables, though on closer inspection it appeared more like a palace. The guard at the main gate acknowledged their approach and opened the small inner door a fraction, calling for a servant. The couple stepped through the vestibule into the dimly lit great hall where a flustered attendant emerged and beckoned them inside while taking their riding cloaks. At the far end of the hall was a large double staircase that hugged the wall to a landing that provided an entrance into an arched doorway.

At first sight, Catherine found it difficult to hide her disappointment at the bleak interior, comprised mainly of rusting shields, swords and battlefield souvenirs. All the furnishings had seen better days. An oak dining table, large enough to seat ten or twelve and a scattering of chairs and benches did nothing to fill the expanse.

The servant enquired as to Hugo’s correct title and asked the couple to take a seat before disappearing through a side door. He ascended the left side of a double staircase and vanished under the arch on the landing.

As soon as he had gone, Catherine confronted her husband. ‘Hugo, you promised me a change of dress…and I am in need of a garderobe. I suggest you find one before I embarrass us both,’ she whispered fretfully.

‘Don’t worry, I think I remember where one is.’ It had been more than a year since he had last visited the castle and taking his bearings from the centre of the hall, he now looked less than certain.

Suddenly, Count Hugues appeared on the landing and called down to Hugo. ‘My dear friend, you must come and join us in my apartment.’ Then he promptly turned around and went back from where he came.

Hugo looked back at Catherine whose eyes were wide open in disbelief. ‘Hugo…’ she uttered with a withering intensity that spoke a thousand words.

‘Don’t worry.’ He climbed the staircase two at a time. ‘I will get someone to attend to you.’ Blowing her a kiss, he disappeared through under the arch after the count.

She waited, unsure of how long she could hold her legs together. Looking around the hall there was another door and judging by the smell, it probably led to the kitchens. She reached out for the handle, when it suddenly swung open and a woman carrying a jug yelped in surprise, splashing wine down the front of Catherine’s gown. Cursing out loud, she had no time to complain and pleaded for directions to the garderobe.

‘Follow the corridor until you reach the end,’ the woman directed, ‘then come back and join me for a cup of wine.’

Catherine reached the garderobe, rolled up her gown, and crouched down. The relief had never felt so good. Still in a crouched position, her thoughts turned to retrieving her clothes chest and replacing her soiled dress before she met anyone of importance. But something else was preying on her mind. Why would a servant ask to join her for a drink in the great hall? And was she rather well dressed for a servant? Her hair was beautifully plaited, like her own, and the expensive scent she wore…Catherine closed her eyes. What had she done? She made a promise to herself. If she had just cursed the countess for being clumsy, then she would have to throw herself into the moat rather than face meeting her again.

Inside his private rooms, the count made the introductions between his two guests. ‘Godfrey, may I introduce Hugo de Payen, a brave knight and a loyal vassal. Hugo, this is Godfrey de Boullion, the Duke of Lower Lorraine.’

Hugo was stunned by the unexpected presence of such a dignitary. He gave a firm handshake and thought better of asking a dozen questions that sprang to mind. The large frame of the duke struck an imposing figure in such a small room. In his mid-thirties, he was tall and muscular with a full head of blond hair and a beard that reached his chest.

‘My lord duke.’ Hugo stumbled clumsily over his words.

‘Oh please, under these circumstances, you can call me Godfrey,’ the duke proffered in an attempt not to appear pompous. Smiling at the count, he returned to the window seat and bit into an apple. ‘I believe you have some news for your distinguished knight.’

The count gestured to Hugo to partake of the wine and malt bread that had been served on a small table. ‘You must be hungry,’ he said, clearing a space for him to sit down.

Hugo could not help but notice the grimace etched on the count’s face and the heavy strapping that supported his left arm across his chest.

Despite the pain, the count began his explanation. ‘As you can see I received a blow to my arm less than a week ago. It’s broken in two places and I am told it will take an age to heal.’ He smiled thinly and gulped heavily from a goblet of wine. ‘The one earthly benefit I receive for my generous endowment to the abbey is a first-class service from the infirmary. Anyway, the crux of the matter is that I will not be able to ride a horse for some time and my intention to take up the cross will have to be postponed.’

Hugo hoped the relief he felt did not appear too obvious. ‘That is a great disappointment my lord. But how did you receive such an injury?’

The count stood up to pour some more wine. ‘You must excuse me but a little libation eases the pain.’ He sat down again. ‘Have you heard of the speech by Pope Urban at Clermont?’

Hugo was aware of a widely reported address that the pope had given to a large crowd at Clermont, but to his shame he knew little of its content. He sipped from his wine goblet and shook his head. ‘I have only heard some excited priests extolling the speech though I doubt they truly know what was said.’ 

‘Well you must be the only person for a thousand miles who has not. Some six months ago, the Holy Father led a call to arms across all the provinces, to inspire noblemen to take a vow to rid the Holy City of the non-believers. Outside Clermont cathedral, knights and nobles spilled across the fields mixing with thousands of peasants to hear his words.’

‘I heard it said the Holy Father would absolve all sins for those who vowed to ‘take the cross.’’ Hugo offered. ‘Is it true?’

‘Yes, and some so-called Christians twisted the words as an excuse to attack the Rhineland Jews. They are much closer than the Levant and just as despised. The mob became an organised army and rampaged through the Jewish ghettos, murdering and pillaging as they went. The Jewish school of Talmudic scholars based in Speyer, sent me a letter. I must confess to being a patron and having a scholarly interest in the ‘yeshiva,’ run by the Rabbi Shlomo Ben Itzchak, known more simply as Rashi.’

The admission surprised Hugo. The school was well known throughout the provinces but he was unaware of the count’s tacit support. Jewish communities across the world followed Rashi’s teachings and commentaries on the Talmud and he was famed for translating and printing ancient Hebrew texts into French, enabling scholars to gain a fuller understanding of the ancient scriptures.

The count continued. ‘Rashi believed an attack on Speyer was imminent. The plea was not just for the sake of his family but also the enormous collection of unique manuscripts and books held in the library. But most astounding of all was the information that Rashi was prepared to offer in return for their safe passage. When I read the letter, I simply couldn’t refuse. Time was of the essence, so I quickly formed a small troop with a few wagons and departed with little thought for the consequences. As a matter of courtesy, I dispatched a messenger to Castle Bouillon to advise the duke of my actions. After all, my route did infringe on his southern borders.’

‘Infringe,’ the duke laughed. ‘I like that!’

Count Hugues gave a thin smile. ‘We arrived in Speyer to find the mob was already on the rampage. With just three knights, I was able to liberate the Rabbi and his fellow scholars. Unfortunately, I lost some good men, as well as one of his wagons; not that he has forgiven me for abandoning his precious books, even though it very nearly cost me my life.’

‘And your arm was broken how?’ Hugo asked, fascinated by the story.

‘Yes, don’t be modest Hugues,’ Godfrey urged. ‘Let us hear all the gory details of your famous charge out of Speyer. I hear you left more than a hundred dead,’ he guffawed loudly.

The count grinned. He was in no hurry to correct the exaggeration. Pouring another cup of wine, he stood poised to give his dramatic account of events.

Catherine sat in the great hall and wished her husband would finish his business with the count. She was in need of rescue from Countess Constance, who was proving to be too much of a handful. The worse for drink; she floundered unsteadily about the floor even though the bell for middle day had not yet rung. The only saving grace was that no one had yet witnessed her unseemly behaviour. But for Catherine, there was to be no respite as her diatribe continued unabated.

‘Of course it is demeaning for me to be called countess when I am the daughter of the King of France…a Princess no less, married to a count of a provincial backwater!’ She spat out the words like a venomous snake. She stepped behind Catherine and hissed in her left ear, her breath thick with the smell of wine. ‘Three years we have been married and no children. And why is that? I am seventeen with a ripe womb. What does that tell you?

Catherine opened her mouth but kept her eyes lowered, not daring to offer an opinion.

Unfortunately, her silence only encouraged further accusations. ‘He tells lies behind my back…says it is all my fault.’

‘Please my lady, is it wise to be so…so transparent with ones feelings about ones husband?’ Catherine reasoned, pleading that she would stop demeaning her husband so.

The countess paused and swayed a little, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Catherine. ‘Just look at you…so much younger and already with child. I want a baby too!’ Her chest started heaving and she sobbed loudly. ‘I want a baby too!’ She slumped next to Catherine, trying to wrap her arm around her shoulder. The cup of red wine in her other hand took on a life of its own, spilling back and forth over both their gowns. Paying little heed to her inglorious state, she buried her running nose into Catherine’s bosom and burst into tears. Comforting the countess as best she could, Catherine looked on helplessly as the red stain spread over both of them. She offered a silent prayer, begging the countess not to be sick. She glanced up at the grand double staircase begging God that Hugo should reappear. Heaven help her, if she did not throw him in the moat first, before jumping in herself.

Duke Godfrey stood up and paced across the room tugging at his long beard. ‘You say a spiked mace,’ he said rather anxiously. ‘But isn’t that unusual…for a rabble to have such an weapon.’

‘I agree. They carried pitchforks, staves and the odd spear. Nothing sophisticated...but there was no mistaking the chief agitator. He was highly skilled to have swung such a massive weapon in a tight crowd. He knew exactly what he was doing.’  Count Hugues swilled the wine around the bottom of his goblet.

‘You saw his face then?’ Duke Godfrey asked.

The count nodded. ‘More than that. Even with a broken arm, I was able to counter his blow. My sword opened his face like a ripe watermelon. If he is still alive, he will remember our encounter for as long as he lives.’

Hugo looked to the corridor. ‘So where is this Rabbi now. Somewhere in the castle?’

The count walked over to another door in the room. ‘You could say that. The old goat has taken over virtually the whole east wing. And listen to this. Rashi has three daughters and they all married scholars who are now his disciples within his own yeshiva. It’s like having a swarm of bees around a hive!’ he exclaimed. ‘Not only did I save his life but also that of all his queens and drones.’ He opened the door and signalled for them both to follow him. ‘Now gentlemen, ‘ he said, walking down the corridor, ‘Prepare to be shocked by what the Rabbi has to say for himself.’

They came out onto a wooden landing that overlooked the small library and through a door at the foot of the stairs; they could see the old Rabbi sat impassively behind his desk.

Watching the noblemen walk down the wooden staircase, Rashi was pleased to see Duke Godfrey with the count but was careful not to show any emotion. The third man he didn’t recognize.

The fifty-five year old Rabbi had no qualms about the upheaval his arrival had caused at the castle. All that mattered was the yeshiva. He knew his grandsons would one day become great Rabbi’s in their own right.

But some things were even more important than that of his family, for he believed the meeting with the noblemen could change the destiny of Judaism forever. And now the arrival of the eminent Duke of Lower Lorraine, widely known for his piety, virtually guaranteed it.

The count formally introduced Rashi to his guests and they all seated themselves around his small desk. Rashi spoke a few words to Samuel, his son-in-law, who patted a pile of documents he had placed in front of Rashi. Samuel acknowledged the nobles then left the room, closing the door behind him to ensure they were not disturbed.

Hugo thought Rashi looked oddly out of place with his peculiar cap and shabby coat compared with the finery of the two lords. His wispy hair and unkempt beard covered most of his face except for his baggy eyes, making his nose look even more conspicuous.

Awkwardness quelled any attempt at casual conversation. Rashi poured some wine as they shuffled self-consciously on the uncomfortable wooden seating.

To break the silence the count stated that the barbaric actions of the mob in Speyer were most reprehensible but felt the rabbi should carry some of the blame for the debacle. ‘Mores the pity you choose to move your yeshiva to Speyer rather than stay in Troyes in the first place.’

Rashi nodded imperceptibly then turned to face the duke. ‘And what do you think Duke Godfrey? Are these are the acts of barbarians or of extortionists?’

The duke found it difficult to keep calm. ‘If you refer to the payment given to me in good faith by the Jewish citizens of Mainz, then you presume too much old Rabbi. That was money offered to me to protect the Jewish community; which of course I did.’

‘Just another business transaction.’ Rashi nodded, pulling on his beard. ‘I understand you have had to sell all of your estates to ‘buy’ your Christian army, but again this to is just business.’

Before the duke could muster a reply, Rashi goaded him further. ‘So tell me…why do think your Christian pilgrims attack us? Is it because we Jews are such an easy target, or because your religion is better than ours? The words of your pope said nothing of murdering Jews and yet as I speak, more of your so-called pilgrims are surrounding the town of Worms with the intent of killing every Jew.’

Much of what the rabbi was saying was news to the count and he felt his face flush at the piercing criticism that threatened to terminate the meeting before it had started.

Despite the Jew being correct with his insinuations, Duke Godfrey refused to be put to shame in front of the count. Of course, he needed to raise more funds and the protection money offered by the merchants of Mainz was too tempting to decline. But he was a virtuous man and he had never had his honour questioned like this before. He stood up and thumped the table with the palm of his hand. ‘All I know is that with God’s will, I depart in a few weeks for the east, with the largest army assembled since the invasion of England. That army will be joining more armies of a similar size. We will rid the Holy Land of the Turk and the Muslim. And that is God’s will!’

Without flinching, the Rabbi persisted. ‘And what of the Jews of Jerusalem? Will they receive your protection?’

Duke Godfrey realised he was being tested and responded calmly. ‘The Jews will have their commune…their own quarter. They will have no quarrel with me.’

‘Then it shall be so, my lord.’ The rabbi relented and bowed his head respectfully to the duke. His point had been made and the concession he got from the duke regarding the Jews of Jerusalem was hard fought. The duke realised he had been compromised in front of witnesses but to everyone’s relief he took his seat again and the heated atmosphere dissolved.

Hugo was dumbstruck by the exchange. The old rabbi was either the bravest Jew he had known or the most foolish.

Count Hugues tried to tilt the conversation towards a more significant topic. ‘Rabbi, please tell us what Jerusalem is like?’

‘Ah, the city of peace,’ the rabbi reflected, gazing into his empty wine cup. ‘That is what it means in Hebrew, but Jerusalem is many things to many men. You know we read and share the same old scriptures as you.’ He held up his cup and the count poured a little wine. Rashi took a sip. ‘It is said that the very dust that created mankind came from the temple mount of Jerusalem. But for me it will always be is the ancient city of King David and Solomon and the site of the Temple.’ He looked into the duke’s eyes and lowered his voice. ‘It is also a place of many secrets.’

‘Please Rabbi, tell them what you told me last week,’ Count Hugues asked tersely. The throbbing pain in his arm was pushing his patience to the limit.

‘Very well, what I am about to tell you will require more than the killing of a few Turks and Muslims to satisfy your papal call to arms. It is the recovery of the world’s greatest religious relic. The Ark of the Covenant.’

Hugo’s eyes widened and Godfrey sat upright in his chair. The questions from the duke and the count came fast and furious.

‘You mean the Ark of Moses…and Aaron…and the ten commandments.’

‘What does it look like…?’

‘Where is it…is there gold inside?’

Rashi raised his hands, trying to restore some order. ‘Enough. Listen to me and I will tell you.’

Godfrey leaned forward, his anticipation self-evident.

Rashi poured three more cups of wine from the jug and proceeded with a history lesson on the Ark of the Covenant.

‘As you know, Moses was commanded to build the Ark of the Covenant. Its purpose was to provide a unique contact between the almighty and his chosen people. It would be His Holy instrument on earth but could only be accessed by the High Priest on one day of the year. That is the Day of Atonement, or as we say, Yom Kippur. The blood of a goat would be spilled precisely over the middle of the cover, known as the Mercy Seat.’

Rashi took a piece of fine charcoal and drew the Ark as he continued his description. ‘At either end of the mercy seat are two cherubim’s facing each other with their wings stretched open. In the space below where the wings of cherubim’s touch, dwells the earthly presence. In appearance, the Ark is a box shape small enough to fit on this table. Carrying poles are attached through the rings in the bottom of each corner. It is made of cedar wood from the forests of northern Syria, and is richly decorated in gold. No one knows how heavy it is.’ He turned the drawing round and they strained forward.

Duke Godfrey crossed himself before he spoke. ‘According to the scriptures, the Ark was kept in the Holy of Holies, in the heart of Solomon’s Temple. Surely it is gone long ago?’

Rashi cleared his throat and paused to have a sip of wine in front of his spellbound audience. ‘As the count knows I have spent my life studying the Talmud and all its meanings. I have to say that all is not as it seems.