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“Slow up a bit, Nephew!”
    Solomon turned and saw that Hubert was indeed pale and breathless. Too late he remembered the fainting spell his uncle had suffered in Paris a few years before. He wasn’t used to thinking of Hubert as old; he wasn’t sixty yet. But now that he looked closer he realized that beneath the flowing beard Hubert’s skin was lined and that his clothes hung loosely.
    Solomon leaped back to give his uncle an arm for support.
    “You’ve been fasting, haven’t you?” he accused. “I’ve heard there were scholars practicing foolish asceticism, aping the Christian hermits. As if starving ever made a man holy.”
    “Just because the Christians do it, doesn’t mean there isn’t some virtue in it,” Hubert snapped. “Fasting cleanses the body and allows the spirit to break free. And a man who is looking inward for enlightenment often finds that earthly needs are meaningless.”
    “Clearly you haven’t reached that level, yet,” Solomon snapped back. “Or you wouldn’t be here now. Perhaps you should go back to your cell and leave me to deal with the world.”
    Hubert sagged and lowered himself to sit on a stone block.
    “I would like nothing better.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for my harsh tone. You haven’t been in Provence recently. There’s something in the air, I think. The usual rumblings against the Jews are only a background to some other change that’s coming. But we will be caught up in it and we must prepare.”
    Solomon put his hand on Hubert’s forehead.
    “I repeat,” he said, “you’re sickening for something. Have you been to a doctor? When were you last bled?”
    Hubert shook him off. “I tell you, the signs are there. Danger, upheaval, strange weather, a host of falling stars. It all portends a new order. At first I tried to ignore them but then the count left for the Holy Land and now the bishop has gone to the Pope’s council in Reims. We are left without our guardians. Something evil is coming. It may well devour Christian and Jew alike.”
    Solomon squatted to look his uncle in the eye. “Hubert, you’re giving me chills. What are you talking about? What signs? Are you involved in divination sorcery?”
    “Lower your voice!” Hubert leaned toward him. “Of course not. I only seek such knowledge as the Holy One deigns to reveal to the least of His servants.”
    “What does that mean?” Solomon asked wearily.
    Hubert leaned so close that his whiskers were brushing Solomon’s ear. “I believe I have been sent a revelation,” he whispered. “While meditating on the Holy Name.”
    Solomon rocked back on his heels. “God’s blood! I’m surrounded by saints and lunatics! Eat more than bread and bitter herbs. Have some good wine. Then, if you still have visions, I’ll pay attention.”
    His uncle looked up at him with such misery that Solomon forbore making any more comments. He helped Hubert up and led him to the synagogue, giving him over to the care of the other scholars.
    “Rest now,” he ordered. “Eat something. I’ll return this evening and we can talk then.”
    Hubert looked as if he would protest, but then nodded.
    “Just be careful,” he begged.
    “I promise.” Solomon laughed. “I’m only going to talk with Bonysach about the spices Edgar and I want. The worst danger I shall face is his lovesick daughter.”
     
     
    In the dortor of Saint Pierre des Cuisines, Brother James changed his travel stained robe for a fresh one. He had waited until his fellow monks of Moissac had left the room before removing his clothes. They all knew what he had been born but still he was ashamed to have them see the circumcision. He considered it the mark of a pact his father had made with Satan in his name, but without his permission. After thirty years, James had managed to destroy almost every part of the man who had been Jacob ben Solomon of Rouen. Only the scar of his mutilation remained to remind him every day. Once he had attempted to cut his