The Fate of the Arrow Read online

  © 2019 by Shel Pais. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Please contact publisher for permission to make copies of any part of this work.

  Windy City Publishers

  2118 Plum Grove Road, #349

  Rolling Meadows, IL 60008

  www.windycitypublishers.com

  Published in the United States of America

  eBook ISBN:

  978-1-941478-77-6

  Paperback ISBN:

  978-1-941478-70-7

  Library of Congress Control Number:

  2018951078

  Cover Design by Nicole Hutton of Cover Shot Creations

  WINDY CITY PUBLISHERS

  CHICAGO

  MY SINCERE THANKS TO MY wonderful family for their incredible love and support throughout this journey from inception to publication. In particular, special thanks to my son Matthew, a professional journalist, for his invaluable assistance. I also want to thank my many friends for their enthusiastic encouragement as well.

  A special thanks to Lise and Dawn of Windy City Publishers. Working with them has been a joy, and I am looking forward to a long and mutually successful relationship together.

  This book is dedicated to the memory of my beloved mother and father. My father was a Holocaust survivor, and my mother’s family fled Russia at the end of the nineteenth century due to persecution.

  I also dedicate this book to my late mother-in-law, a Holocaust survivor, who miraculously survived the horrors of Auschwitz, and my late father-in-law, a decorated U.S. medic in WWII.

  Finally, a very special dedication in memory of my best friend for almost fifty years, Les Pock, who never got to read the story he was so excited about.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments & Dedications

  Prologue Northampton, England — June 1264

  Chapter One Northampton — May 1266

  Chapter Two Northampton Castle — May 1266

  Chapter Three The Road to London — May 1266

  Chapter Four West End — June 1266

  Chapter Five West End — June 1266

  Chapter Six West End -June 1266

  Chapter Seven West End — July 1266

  Chapter Eight Salcey Forest — Northamptonshire — July 1266

  Chapter Nine Salcey Forest — Late August 1266

  Chapter Ten Salcey Forest — October 1266

  Chapter Eleven London — November 1266

  Chapter Twelve West End — May 1267

  Chapter Thirteen Hedgestone Priory — June 1267

  Chapter Fourteen Salcey Forest — October 1267

  Chapter Fifteen York — October 1267

  Chapter Sixteen York — December 1267

  Chapter Seventeen Hedgestone Priory - April 1268

  Chapter Eighteen West End — May 1268

  Chapter Nineteen Northampton — May 1268

  Chapter Twenty Northampton — June 1268

  Chapter Twenty-One Northampton — September 1268

  Chapter Twenty-Two York — December 1268

  Chapter Twenty-Three West End — January 1269

  Chapter Twenty-Four Hedgestone Priory - March 1269

  Chapter Twenty-Five The Road to Northampton — April 1269

  Chapter Twenty-Six London — May 1269

  Chapter Twenty-Seven London - June 1269

  Chapter Twenty-Eight Hedgestone Priory — July 1269

  Chapter Twenty-Nine Northampton — September 1269

  Chapter Thirty Northampton — October 1269

  Chapter Thirty-One The Road to York - November 1269

  Chapter Thirty-Two Hedgestone Priory — December 1269

  Chapter Thirty-Three Northampton — February 1270

  Chapter Thirty-Four Northampton — February 1270

  Epilogue York — March 1270

  Author’s Note

  Glossary

  About the Author

  IT ALWAYS STARTED WITH MEN yelling in the street. The crash of broken-down doors and smashed furniture. The screams of frightened women and children. The smell of smoke, and the all-too-familiar smell of death.

  Sarah quickly got out of bed and ran to her children in the next room. “Get up, get up. Everyone to Jerusalem!”

  David raised his head, understanding the urgency of his mother’s cries. He leapt out of bed and pulled back a corner of the curtain covering the second-story window of the bedroom he shared with his brother Benjamin to glimpse the commotion outside. His friend Samuel’s house was on fire, so close David could feel the heat. Groups of men moved wildly from house to house. Right now, the mob was three homes away.

  “Benjamin, get downstairs NOW!” he yelled. Benjamin obeyed, running past his brother to get to the first floor. David hurried to the next room where his sister Rachel slept. She was already awake, a frightened look on her face.

  “David, are they coming for us, too?”

  David picked her up and carried her down the stairs without saying a word. There was one possible place of safety. Mordecai, David’s father, had built a small shelter underneath the floor in the rear of their house. He secretly had dug it out himself, careful not to let anyone know what he was doing. He had discreetly dispersed the dirt and ensured the family understood the magnitude of this secret. He called the underground haven Jerusalem.

  The tumult outside was growing louder. There was no time to lose. David put Rachel down. “Help me, David,” his mother said. She was trying to keep calm for Benjamin and Rachel, but David knew inside she was panicking.

  The opening to Jerusalem was covered by a carpet underneath their dining table. The table was heavy, but David and Sarah somehow found the strength to pick it up and move it just enough to access the opening. David pulled back the carpet and found the indentation his father had cut to be able to lift it up. It sat on pegs that kept it level and secure.

  “Hurry,” his mother said. “Down the ladder.”

  The shelter was small, about six feet deep and eight feet across. It was only designed to hide Sarah and the children. Mordecai always figured he would be home if something happened, and he would get them to safety. This time, however, he had gone to London, believing the quiet in Northampton—it had been a year without incident since Jacob had been beaten and robbed—would continue.

  Suddenly, a bang on the door. “Sarah, it’s Meir. Let me in.”

  Meir was Mordecai’s best friend and the only one outside the family who knew about Jerusalem—the only one Mordecai trusted to know. Sarah could not put back the table by herself, so Meir had come to help her.

  Sarah removed the wooden bar from the door, let him in, and replaced the bar. Blood from Meir’s nose and cheek dripped onto the floor.

  “What happened to you?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m all right. Two of them jumped me, but I managed to get away when they left me and ran after a girl.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “Yes. It was Miriam, Joshua’s daughter. I couldn’t help her. Let’s get the children hidden.”

  Benjamin went down the narrow ladder first and waited as David lowered Rachel into his arms. Then David started down.

  “Mother, you can’t stay up there.”

  “I have to. They won’t hurt me. Now let me cover the shelter,
and Meir and I will put the table back. I can’t do it by myself.”

  “I love you, Mother. May God protect you.”

  “I love all of you. I will see you soon after everything calms down.”

  Sarah hoped her children could not hear the fear in her voice. To her it was deafening. The mob was enraged, and she expected the worst.

  Mordecai had a blacksmith make four hollow tubes that extended outside the rear of the house. One had to look very hard to find them. They not only brought fresh air into the shelter, but permitted a candle to remain lit. Otherwise, Jerusalem would be in total darkness.

  David lit the candle as Rachel hugged Benjamin. The eldest sibling heard the top of the shelter being replaced, and the table moved back into position.

  “David, I’m so scared. I want Mother,” Rachel sobbed.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be safe down here, and she will be fine. We must remain quiet.”

  The shouts of the mob were getting louder. It sounded like they were inside Asher’s house next door. His family had no shelter. David heard shrieking, and then suddenly it stopped. The mob had moved on. They were next.

  PEOPLE BEGAN TO STIR AS the town, its noises and smells, sprang to life. Fresh milk from the cowherd, fresh bread from the baker, and fresh eggs from the egg seller were all typical. A few women came out to make some purchases, but otherwise activity was limited. The sun beamed, and only a few clouds interrupted the sky’s endless deep blue. A light breeze rustled the leaves in an isolated tree. It was a Friday spring morning like any other.

  It was not much of a town. While there were several stone houses, most resembled huts, with thatched roofs and not much else. Some were inhabited by some of Baron Geoffrey’s servants, who paid only slightly less for their housing than they earned from him since he owned the town and, in many ways, the people who worked for him. At least their families never went hungry. The baron always ate quite well, insisting on freshly made dishes at every meal. More often than not, there were table scraps for the servants to bring home.

  West End was named for its location at the western side of Northampton, not far from the baron’s castle. The town was unique from many other towns in one way—it contained a Jewish population of thirty families, as well as a small synagogue. More than one hundred years before, a Jewish physician who happened to be passing through saved the life of the baron, who insisted the physician stay. He sent for his family, and gradually more families settled there as well, even when succeeding barons were not as friendly to the Jews.

  David did not want to get up. It was time to prepare for the morning prayer service, Shacharit, before cheder. Unlike most of the other boys in the Jewish community of West End, David hated going to services. He did not know why, but somehow none of the prayers or what the rabbis said they were supposed to mean made any sense to him. Why must the Christians, or at least most of them, hate us? If God is so kind and loving, why is there so much misery? He could not answer these questions and did not know anyone who could.

  Certainly, his father could not. David often would get into heated debates with him. Mordecai was like all the other men David knew. Devotion to God and daily prayers, morning, afternoon, and night, was his life, while loving his family and working very hard for very little money to keep them fed.

  David was much taller and stronger than the other boys. At fourteen, he already was five foot eight, and still growing. He could run faster and throw a stone much farther than even the eighteen-year-olds. He also looked a little different from the others in the area known by the Christians as Jewtown. His sister Rachel was three years younger, and they looked nothing alike. Rachel somewhat resembled their brother Benjamin, who was twelve. Why didn’t he? While that always puzzled him, he felt he was the best looking in the family, so he did not think too much about it.

  Unlike the other boys, David was not afraid to defend himself when provoked or when he saw one of his friends or neighbors made fun of or worse by the Christian boys. Even the Christian men learned David probably could beat them in a fight and so he was usually left alone.

  The baron had never come to West End, and David had never been inside the castle. His father had been there several times. As an apothecary, he helped ill or wounded men-at-arms and had cured the baron’s brother when no one else could. As a reward, the baron gave Mordecai a few gold pieces and a barrel of wine, which had made an impression on David. Perhaps the baron was not like most of those in authority.

  David did see the baron joust once, and he never forgot it. He was about ten at the time and had gone with his father to watch a tournament. He loved the pageantry, the colorful banners, the heraldry, the glamour of it all. He wanted to be part of it. But that was impossible. Jews could not own weapons or armor or become warriors. Jews were not allowed to fight. It was forbidden. That was something else David could not understand, and questions frequently ran through his head. What are the Christians afraid of? That we would revolt and take over? There are so few of us and we are scattered. Why can’t our people have the right to defend ourselves?

  Baron Geoffrey’s attitude was not the norm. Persecution of Jews in England was commonplace, but had been rare in West End because Baron Geoffrey had followed the king’s edict that all Jews belonged to the king, and therefore an attack on one of them was the same as attacking the king. That was another thing that David could not understand. How could he belong to the king? He was not a slave. He did not feel he belonged to anyone.

  “David,” his father said. “Time to get up. It’s almost time to go to Shul.”

  “Father, you know I don’t want to go.”

  “David, my son. Please do not argue. We must go. It is our duty. It is our life.”

  “Why, Father? What will happen if we do not? Will the earth tremble? Will the sea drown us? Will the soldiers come and kill us? It seems they’ll do that anyway. Since God does not listen, why should we continue to worship him?”

  “David, no one knows better than I the difficulty in continuing one’s faith after tragedy. I cannot explain or even truly understand why God would allow these things to happen. But our people have continued to pray and follow our customs for thousands of years under tremendous adversity. So many have tried to destroy us, but we are still here, and they are not. Does that not affect you at all? Can you not see that we must remain true to our faith or we are no better than those who want to destroy us, and ultimately that will help them win?”

  “I understand that, Father. I will go for you, but my heart is not in it. I will not disgrace you. I love and respect you too much. I also will go for mother, as I remember how important our Jewish life was to her. That’s something that makes my blood boil. I want to avenge her death, and I want those Christian maggots who killed her to know that a Jew is the one who is doing it. Someday I will find them.”

  “Stop!” Mordecai said. “No more talk of revenge or killing. It is not our way, and we have no means. God, in his time, will avenge your mother.”

  “You don’t really believe that, Father, do you? The baron and the sheriff did nothing. What will God do? Our prayers fall on deaf ears.”

  David could tell that his father was getting upset. He also thought his father was beginning to look older than his forty-year-old body, his hair and beard graying, and even his medium build appeared shorter.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I don’t want to upset you. I won’t speak of this again. Let’s go to Shul together.”

  “I understand your frustration. I really do. This is just how it is. We must live as best we can, keeping our traditions and faith as our forefathers did. We must not antagonize the Christians. Things have been relatively calm for the past two years. God willing, it will stay that way.”

  David just nodded his head. He knew he could not change his father’s mind. If only there was a way…

  The rest of Mordecai’s household stirred as he and David dressed and prepared to leave. Benjamin and Rachel awoke, dressed, and prepared a breakfast
of bread, cheese, and smoked fish for all of them.

  As they walked to Shul, neither David nor his father spoke. David was immersed in thought. One truth repeated in his head—this is not the kind of life I want.

  Baron Henry de Percy was quite ill. A burly man over six feet tall, approaching forty-two years old, with brown eyes, medium-length black hair, a short beard, a deep voice, and a temper to match, he had come down with a fever that would not break. The monk who had tried to bleed and cure him for almost a week with several foul-smelling and tasting medications, as he called them, was trembling.

  “You’re an incompetent fool!” the baron screamed at him, in as loud a voice as he could muster in his condition. “I should have you whipped. Get out of here!” The monk quickly bowed and left the baron’s chamber.

  “Bryce, come here, boy.”

  “I’m here, my lord,” replied the baron’s page.

  “Go fetch Lady Eleanor. I believe she’s in the kitchen.”

  “At once, my lord.” Bryce hurried out to find the baron’s wife. He ran down the stone stairs to the main castle floor, through the great hall and out towards the back to the castle’s kitchen. Lady Eleanor was there, instructing the cook.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing, unable to mask his shortness of breath, “my lord baron requests your presence immediately.”

  “Has there been any change in his condition?”

  “I don’t think so, my lady. He demanded the monk leave immediately and ordered me to get you right away.”

  “Very well. Lucinda, I will return shortly. You may begin the meal as instructed.” The cook bowed and returned to her work. Lady Eleanor and Bryce made their way through the castle to the baron’s and her chamber.

  “Honestly, Henry,” she said, “it smells vile in here. We must do something about it. You will never recover if we don’t. Bryce, get one of the servants to clean and freshen this room.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Eleanor, please come here.” She slowly walked up to her husband. His nightclothes were quite dirty, and he was still sweating.

  “Lucinda is making you a stronger broth. I hope that will help you feel better.”