Finally he came to the crossing where a wooden cross stood, so recent the wood still smelled of sap. He stopped but did not dismount; the king's party would be there soon enough. No bird sang in the branches, no rabbit darted suddenly in the undergrowth. The land was a cold one.
Herodote moved and tugged at his coat. With stiff fingers he reached inside his pocket and gave him a withered cherry, his erstwhile favorite food. But the monkey only nibbled at the fruit, then dropped it in the mud.
“Poor boy.”
The sound of distant hooves drew his attention. Wrapping Herodote again in his cloak, he brought his horse to a trot and rode to meet a dozen riders. At their head was Rolland. For the first time since he had become king Josce beheld his former pupil, now a man of twenty-two, who had lost some weight and grown a short, clean-cropped beard.
“Josce” he said
“Roll... Your grace.”
They rode side-by-side for an awkward moment.
“My brother told me you helped him well, but refused to enter his service.”
“My place is with you, your Grace.”
“That is my decision to make.”
Beyond the crossroad the trail became larger and more trodden; it led to a large and protected cove, two miles West of Viborg.
“I have been busy in England. Many people do not seem to understand that I am king now. Or if they do, they do not understand what being a king mean. Especially your brethrens.”
“Is that why you hanged master Isaac?”
“I had to make an example.” Rolland answered. “To show that I would not tolerate fraud and prevarication. Surely you will not claim he was innocent?”
“What of the other Jews?” Josce asked.
“What of them? I dismissed them from my council as is my kingly right. They left the court unharmed and unpunished. I will send for them should I need their advice. Let the scholars stay in their schools, the bankers in their banks and the rabbis in their temples.”
“And me in Finland.”
Rolland blushed and scowled.
“You would complicate things at court. If was thinking of securing you a chair at the Faculty of London. You could be the youngest magister of Europe.”
“I could advise you. You will need help.”
“Help from people I can trust. Where were you riding from and who did you meet there?”
Josce wavered.
“I would rather not tell.”
“A fine advisor you'd make, then.”
He pulled the reins and their horses stopped. They were arrived to the top of a low hill. Below them the Norman fleet was moored and sailors hoisted the first sails; the host had embarked the day before and, as soon as the king embarked, they would sail away. Josce observed Rolland more attently. Clearly that was the same boy who had left him six months before, clever but stubborn, in need of guidance but too proud to admit it.
“You will need me at your side. My brethrens are restless, that is true, but it is only because they are frightened. I will help you reach an agreement with them.”
“I don't...”
“You don't want an agreement, I know. But you need one if you don't want them to act against you.”
“You are threatening me.”
“I am warning you, Rolland. Warning you as a friend.”
“I would prefer you to obey me as a king.”
They exchanged a long, painful look.
“I won't.” Josce said. Rolland looked startled. It had not taken him long to take the habit of never being refused. “I will always think of you as a friend.”
With a sudden rage he wheeled his horse away.
“Isaac ben Baruch and rabbi Simon are plotting against you. The first blow will come from them. Farewell, my king.”
And he spurred his horse down the narrow path.