Paris: The Novel (25 page)

Perhaps because it developed slowly, he never saw the crisis with his daughter coming.

He had taken the greatest care never to seem to neglect her for the baby. He continued to read and write with her and to teach her simple mathematics. He told her stories just as he had before. As little Jacob began to talk, he’d put the child on his knee and tell him a story, saying to Naomi, “Do you remember how I used to tell this story to you?” And sometimes he would get halfway through and say, “You finish it now, Naomi,” praising her when she did—so that soon she was proud of the fact that the little boy looked up to her as a second mother.

Naomi would help Sarah dress the child, and take him for walks.

“It’s good for her,” Jacob would say contentedly to his wife. “She’ll make an excellent mother one day.”

He was also pleased to observe that his daughter was going to be a beautiful young woman. As a little girl, the most noticeable thing about her had been her wide-spaced blue eyes, set in a round face surrounded by a mass of dark curls. But by the time she was eleven, her face was already
turning into a lovely oval. The curls were becoming rich tresses that fell thickly below her shoulders. Men were starting to turn to look at her in the street.

He had often wondered if she would make a good bride for Renard’s eldest son, who was five years older. He didn’t like to suggest it to his friend, who had already done so much for him. “If he doesn’t like the idea, I don’t want to embarrass him,” he explained to Sarah. And Renard, so far, had never broached the subject himself. Jacob was also constrained by the fact that on the one occasion he had gently asked Naomi what she’d say if the offer were ever made, she’d said simply: “I like him very well, Father. But I think of him as a friend, not a husband.”

“Friendship is the best basis for a marriage,” her father had responded. “Your feelings might change.”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

And though he naturally had the right to choose her husband, Jacob loved his daughter far too much to make her unhappy.

“I’ll never give you to any man against your will,” he’d promised.

There was no shortage of offers from other families. He’d received three inquiries from worthy merchants in the city. He’d put them off for the time being, but there seemed little doubt that Naomi would have the chance to marry well.

Meanwhile, she displayed a wonderful understanding that delighted him. For having treated her more like a son than a daughter when she was young, he had found he couldn’t suddenly change his intellectual relationship with her just because she had a brother. Often, therefore, he would discuss his business with her, or the events of the day. It was especially enjoyable for him because she not only grasped matters quickly, but her questions were probing. She asked not what had occurred, but why. He remembered one conversation in particular. It had been a little before her thirteenth birthday.

“Why is it,” she’d asked him, “when the land of France is so rich, that the king is always short of money?”

“For two reasons,” he told her. “First, because he likes to go to war. Second, because he likes to build. When he’s finished enlarging the royal palace on the Île de la Cité, it will be the envy of all Christendom. And nothing in the world costs more than war, and building.”

“But why does he do this? Is this for the good of his country?”

“Not at all.” Jacob had smiled. “You must understand, Naomi, that
when a simple man, a merchant let us say, inherits from his father, that inheritance is his personal property. He seeks to enlarge his fortune and to become more powerful. Often, he also wants to impress his neighbors.”

“This may be foolish.”

“Undoubtedly, but it is human nature. And kings are the same, but with this one difference. Their inheritance is an entire country. But they still view it as their property, to do with as they please. So, King Philip desires to enlarge his kingdom, especially at the expense of his family’s rivals, the Plantagenets of England. Down the generations, his family have pushed the Plantagenets out of Normandy, in the north, and both Anjou and Poitou, in the west. Now he hopes to press farther down the Atlantic coast of Aquitaine, and push them out of the great wine-growing lands around Bordeaux in Gascony. The king has also done very well in his marriage. His wife has brought him control of the rich plains of Champagne. This is a wonderful addition to his realm. But beyond Champagne he sees the lands of Flanders, with their rich towns, and he hopes to get some of Flanders as well.”

“This is all for his personal glory, then?”

“Certainly. He is just a man. In fact, rich kings often behave no better than spoiled children.”

“You think that wealth and power make men childish?”

Jacob laughed.

“I had never formulated the thought in quite that way, but you may be right.”

“So these things are not done for the good of his people?”

“Kings always say they are. But it’s not true. Or if it is, then it’s purely by chance.”

“But what of God?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t kings serve God? Aren’t they afraid for their immortal souls?”

“Intermittently.”

“I think that rulers should be good men.”

“And it does you credit,” her father replied. “But I will tell you something. A good man may not be a good king, Naomi. It all depends on the circumstances. There is something better than being good, in a ruler, and you will find it in the Bible.”

Naomi frowned, and thought for a moment.

“You mean King Solomon?”

“Exactly so. When Solomon became king, the Lord asked him what
gift he would like to have. And Solomon asked for wisdom. I am happy if a ruler is a good man, but I would rather he were wise.”

“You do not think many kings are wise?”

“Not that I have observed.”

Jacob could see that the conversation had saddened his daughter, and he was sorry for it. But he wasn’t going to lie to her.

Looking back, however, he sometimes wondered whether he’d been wrong to speak to her so frankly on that day. Had this been the start of that disillusion that was to lead to tragedy?

It might be so. But there had been no sign of it for more than a year after that.

During that time King Philip of France, as usual, had been trying to raise money. He’d tried all the usual expedients. He’d taxed the Jews. He’d even debased his own coinage. But nothing had been enough. So he’d tried another ruse, sudden and unexpected.

“We’ll tax the clergy,” he declared.

There had been an uproar. The bishops had protested. The pope himself had told King Philip to remove the tax at once.

“Why did he do it?” Naomi had asked.

“The simple answer is because the Church has so much money,” her father replied. “Perhaps a third of the entire wealth of France is owned by the Church.”

“But the Church doesn’t pay taxes?”

“The Church may make a voluntary contribution to the king. But it is exempt from the usual taxes.”

“Because the Church serves God.”

“This is the idea.” He paused. “But you must also understand that there is more at stake. It’s a question of power.”

“Please explain to me.”

“It’s been going on a long time. Essentially, because they say they represent the divine power, the Church claims that it is a heavenly kingdom, not subject to earthly kings. That’s why there are Church courts, which often let people in Holy Orders off with a light penance for crimes that might lead to execution if they were ordinary folk. We see this in Paris every day, and many people resent it.”

“The students at the university are protected in this way.”

“Exactly. And at the highest level, popes have sometimes claimed that monarchs should answer to them for their kingdoms. A pope might even try to depose a king. As you can imagine, this idea is not popular with kings, even the most pious ones.”

“I did not realize it went so far.”

“It depends on the pope. Some popes have more lust for power than others.”

“But are they not acting for God?”

“That’s the idea.” He considered. “The great cathedral of Notre Dame is a monument to God, is it not?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You know, there was a cathedral there before the present one. But the great Bishop Sully said that the old church was not big enough, and so he built it again, in the new style. It cost a fortune.”

“It is very fine.”

“Yes. But do you know that Bishop Sully also told a lie. The old church was almost the same size. But Sully wanted something more splendid, so that Paris would be proud, and men would say, ‘Look what the great Bishop Sully built.’ To the glory of God, of course.”

“And your point is?”

“Two things may be true at the same time. The Church is there to bring men to God. But bishops and popes are men, like kings. They experience the same passions. In the old days, the days of Saint Denis, for instance, when Christians were persecuted, as Jews are now, their faith was probably more pure. But now that the Church is rich and powerful, there will be some corruption. I think it’s inevitable.”

Naomi looked down thoughtfully for a few moments. Then she turned her blue eyes on him.

“If the Church is corrupt, Father, why did you leave your faith to join it?”

He stared at her, taken aback. She had never asked him this question before. Of course, when he had first converted, he had given the expected reasons—that Christ was indeed the Messiah that good Jews had been waiting for. And he had often pointed out to his children, at appropriate times during the year, how closely the Christian Church was following this or that aspect of the original Jewish faith. But beyond that, the subject was never discussed. He was sure that Sarah had seen to that.

So had Naomi been brooding about it all these years? It sounded as if
she had. And was this the moment of reckoning, when he should tell her the truth? “I converted to save your skin, and that of your brother, and your mother and, yes, my own as well.” Could he say that? He dare not. She was still a girl.

“Because I believe Jesus Christ was the Messiah,” he said. “You know this, Naomi.”

She continued to stare at him, but said nothing more, neither then nor for many months. Whatever her feelings, she kept them to herself. He hoped it was because she loved him.

And perhaps she might have kept silent forever—who could tell?—had it not been for an extraordinary event that took place in 1305, when Naomi was fifteen.

The dispute between King Philip and the pope remained at a furious stalemate until, quite suddenly, the pope had obligingly died. Within months his elderly successor had followed him to the grave—poisoned, probably. A new election was to take place in Rome, and Parisians waited to see whether the next pope would be any more friendly toward their master. The election was delayed. Word came that there was confusion in the Holy City.

It was mid-afternoon on a day in June when Renard arrived at Jacob’s house. The little family were all there.

“I believe I am first with the news,” he declared. And seeing this to be the case, he quickly continued. “We have a new pope. Can you guess who it is? The bishop of Bordeaux.”

“He’s not even a cardinal!” Jacob cried.

“No. But he’s French. He’s King Philip’s man. Our king must have been working behind the scenes.”

Kings often tried to influence papal elections, to get a pope who’d favor them, but this was an extreme case.

“He’s just a puppet,” said Jacob.

“Then listen to the most extraordinary news of all. The new pope is not going to live in Rome.”

“Not at the Vatican?”

“He won’t even be crowned in Rome. They’ll do it in Burgundy. After that he’s moving the papal court to Poitiers, right here in the domains of the King of France. There is talk of his moving down to Avignon in
a year or two, but not to Rome. As of today, King Philip of France owns the papacy.”

He left them soon afterward to spread the news. When he had gone, Jacob shook his head.

“In time of danger, popes have sometimes left Rome before,” he remarked, “but this … I don’t know what to say.”

Sarah’s face was a mask.