Angel Time (The Songs of the Seraphim 1)

"Is there someone in Paris who can write a letter that will be believed here?" I asked.

He looked up as if from a dream and seemed to be marveling at my ability to cooperate in a deception.

"Surely there's a Jewish community there--."

"Oh, indeed," he said. "We've only just come from Paris, the three of us, because I inherited this house and the loans left to me by my uncle here. Yes, there is a community in Paris, and there is one Dominican there who might very well be of help to us, not because he would scruple to write a letter pretending the girl is alive. But because he is our friend, and would be our friend in this, and would believe us, and would plead for us."

"That might very well be all that's needed. This Dominican, he's a scholar?"

"Brilliant, studying under the greatest teachers there. A doctor of the law as well as a student of theology. And much grateful to us for a very unusual favor." He stopped.

"But what if I'm wrong. What if I am completely wrong and he turns against us? There is cause for that, too, Heaven knows."

"Can you explain this to me?"

"No, I can't do it." "How can you make up your mind whether he's to help you or turn on you?"

"Fluria would know. Fluria would know perfectly what to do, and it's only Fluria who can make this plain to you. If Fluria said that it was right for me to write to this man ..."

Again he paused. He had no confidence in any of his own decisions. One couldn't even call them decisions.

"But I can't write to him. I'm mad to think of it. What if he came here and pointed his finger at us?"

"What sort of man is this?" I demanded. "How is he connected to you and to Fluria?"

"Oh, you ask the very question," he said.

"What if I went to him, spoke with him, myself? How long does it take to reach Paris? Do you think you could remit enough debts, acquire enough gold, and all this with the promise of my returning with larger sums? Tell me about this man. Why did you think this man might help you?"

He bit his lip. I thought he'd draw blood. He sat back in the chair.

"But without Fluria," he murmured. "I don't have leave to do this, even though he might very well save all of us. If anyone could."

"Do you speak of the girl's paternal family?" I asked. "A grandfather? Is he your hope for the gold marks? I heard you take your vow as a stepfather."

He waved this away. "I have plenty of friends. The money is not the question. I can obtain the money. I can obtain it from London, for that matter. The mention of Paris was only to give us time, and because we claim that Lea has gone there, and that a letter from Paris would prove it. Lies. Lies!" He bowed his head. "But this man--." He stopped again.

"Meir, this doctor of the law may be the very thing. You must confide in me. If this powerful Dominican were to come, he could gain control of the small community here, and stop this mad drive for a new saint, because that is the goal that is feeding the fire, and surely a man of education and wits will understand this. Norwich is not Paris."

His face was unspeakably sad. He couldn't talk. Clearly he was torn.

"Oh, I have never been anything but a scholar," he said with a sigh. "I have no cleverness. I don't know what this man would do or not do. A thousand marks I can raise, but this man--. If only Fluria had not been taken away."

"Give me permission to talk to your wife, if that's what you want me to do," I said. "Write it out here, a note to the Sherriff permitting me to see your wife alone. They'll admit me to the castle. The man's already formed a favorable opinion of me." "Will you keep secret whatever she tells you, whatever she asks, whatever she reveals?"

"Yes, as if I were a priest, though I'm not. Meir, trust in me. I'm here for you and for Fluria and for no other reason."

He smiled in the saddest way. "I prayed for an angel of the Lord to come," he said. "I write my poems, I pray. I implore the Lord to defeat my enemies. What a dreamer and a poet I am."

"A poet," I said, musing, and smiling. He was as elegant as his wife as he sat back against the chair, slender, and otherworldly in a manner I found so moving. And now he had attached that beautiful word to himself, and he was ashamed of it.

And people outside were plotting his death. I was certain of that.

"You're a poet and a pious man," I said. "You prayed with faith, didn't you?"

He nodded. He looked at his books. "And I swore on my sacred book."

"And you told the truth," I said. But I could see that any further talk with him would lead nowhere.

"Yes, I did, and the Sherriff knows now." He was close to breaking under the strain.

"Meir, there is no time, really, for us to ponder these matters," I said. "Write the note now, Meir. I'm not a poet or a dreamer. But I can try to be an angel of the Lord. Now do it."

Chapter Eight - The Woes of a People

IKNEW ENOUGH ABOUT THIS PERIOD OF HISTORY TO realize that people did not generally go about in the dead of night, especially in a light snowstorm, but Meir had written out for me an eloquent and urgent letter, explaining to the Sherriff and the Captain of the Guard as well, whom Meir knew by name, that I must see Fluria without delay. He had also written a letter to Fluria, which I read, urging her to speak to me and trust me.

I found I had a steep climb uphill to reach the castle, but much to my disappointment, Malchiah would only tell me that I was fulfilling my mission beautifully. No more information or advice was forthcoming.

And when I was finally admitted to Fluria's chambers in the castle, I was frozen and wet and exhausted.

But the surroundings immediately restored me. First of all, the room itself, high in the strongest tower of the castle, was palatial, and though Fluria might not have cared much for figured tapestries, they were everywhere covering the stone walls, and beautifully woven tapestries covered the floors as well.

A great many candles were burning on tall iron candelabra, which held some five or six candles apiece, and the room was softly lighted by these as well as the roaring fire.

Only one formal chamber was allotted to Fluria, obviously, so we found ourselves in the shadow of her enormous and heavily draped bed.

The fireplace was opposite, with a round hearth of stone, and the smoke actually went up through a hole in the roof.

The bed was hung with scarlet trappings, and there were fine carved chairs for us to sit on, a luxury, surely, and a writing table that we could put between us for an intimate talk.