Paris: The Novel

had been in the rue des Rosiers. It was a pleasant street under the northeastern corner of the city wall. His business was prospering. He was about to get married. It had seemed that fate was smiling upon him.
    Strangely enough, the first sign of trouble had come from the king of England. For the mighty Plantagenets had not been driven from all of France. They still held the rich lands of Gascony, in old Aquitaine. And in 1287, the English king had decided to kick all the Jews out of Gascony. By any standards, this was a distressing event. But at the time it had happened, Jacob had been busy making the arrangements for his wedding day. And besides, he need not concern himself too much with the follies of France’s enemy, the Plantagenet king of England.
    The next year had been one of family loss. Sarah had given birth to a baby boy, but it was clear at once that the baby was sickly, and it was not a shock that it did not last a month. A few months after that, Jacob’s mother had died, very peacefully, and no one was surprised when his father, who was quite lost without her, had followed her before the year was out.
    As a result of these changes, Jacob had suddenly found himself both head of the family, and still childless. He’d felt strangely lonely.
    But then, a twelvemonth later, his little Naomi had been born. From the day of her birth, she’d been a strong baby. He’d been overjoyed. She’d continued to thrive. He was sorry that his parents had not been there to see it, but he faced the future with happiness, and hope.

    Once, just once during those years, there had been a brief reminder that in the medieval world, the dangers of hysteria were never absent.
    One Easter in Paris, a Jew he knew slightly, not an especially pleasant fellow, was suddenly arrested. The crime of which he was accused was serious, however, for he was accused of desecrating the Host.
    A poor woman from a nearby parish claimed that she had brought a wafer to him from her church and that he had attacked it with a knife. Was it the truth? Who knew? But within days the story had grown. The wafer had run with blood. The blood had filled a bath. Then the wafer had flown about the house. Then the Savior Himself had appeared to the Jew’s terrified family. People often had visions, and they were often believed. In this case, a court had found the fellow guilty and, this being a religious crime, he’d been executed.
    Jacob had shaken his head at the folly of it all, but he had not been astonished. One must be careful, very careful, that was all.

    More serious might have been another development from across the sea.
    It had been a July day. Jacob had been walking across to the Île de la Cité, and had caught sight of Henri Renard. He’d waved to him. And been surprised when Renard had hurried to his side and urgently seized his arm.
    “You haven’t heard?” Renard had demanded.
    “Heard what?”
    “Terrible news,” Renard continued. “The Jews of England are all expelled. They’re to leave at once.”
    Jacob had hastened home. By that evening he’d discussed it with the rabbi and a dozen friends.
    “The fact that the king of England strikes the Jews does not mean thatPhilip of France will want to copy him,” the rabbi pointed out. “We have to wait and see. Besides,” he had added, “what else can we do?”
    By the next day, most of the Paris community had come to the same conclusion.
    But it was then that Jacob’s friend Renard had stepped in. He’d waited only days before he did so. Seeing Jacob in the market of Les Halles, he’d taken him to one side.
    “We have known each other too long for you to take offense,” the merchant began quietly. “So forgive me if I ask you something, Jacob, that I’ve been thinking about ever since the expulsion from Gascony.” He’d paused, embarrassed. “Jacob, my friend, these are such dangerous times that I must ask you: Have you ever thought of converting?”
    “Converting?” Jacob had stared at him in astonishment. “You mean, to Christianity?”
    “It’s hardly unknown.”
    Conversions had certainly happened in Spain. In France they were rarer. A generation ago in Brittany, five hundred Jews had converted all together—though that had been under the threat of death if they didn’t.
    “It would bring you safety,” Renard pointed out quickly. “All the restrictions placed upon Jews would be raised. You could own land, and trade however you pleased. I’d gladly