Jacob knew that most Parisians nowadays would agree. But behind this attack on the Templars, he realized, was a simpler and more brutal truth. By disbanding the order, the king had just canceled all his debts to them.

The heresy, the immorality and the arrests were all a screen. With the pope and the Inquisition in his pocket, King Philip the Fair was going to torture and burn God knows how many unfortunate men to get their bogus confessions. Every instrument of Holy Church was to be used. And all for what? To plunder the bullion of the Templars, and to renege upon his debts.

The expulsion of the Jews had been bad enough, but for the king to turn upon his own Christian soldiers, it seemed to Jacob, showed a cynicism that, in its way, filled him with an even deeper disgust.

There was no loyalty, no mercy, no interest in truth, nor thought of justice. There was no respect for God. There was nothing.

When he got home, Jacob told Sarah what he had seen. Then he went into his counting house and closed the door. He did not emerge all day.

In the evening his wife came in.

“Will you not eat something, Jacob?”

“I’m not hungry.” He stared at the table.

Sarah sat on the small wooden chair he used for visitors. She didn’t say anything, but she rested her hand on his. After a while, Jacob spoke again.

“Naomi said she didn’t want to live in a land with such a king. She blamed me for converting.”

“She is young.”

“She was right. I shouldn’t have converted.” He was still staring at the table.

“You did what you thought was for the best.”

“You know”—he looked up at her now—“I have no problem with the Christian doctrine of love. It is wonderful. I embrace it.” He shook his head. “The trouble with the Christians is that they say one thing, and do something completely different.”

“The king is corrupt. The Church is corrupt. We know this.”

“Yes, I know this.” He was silent for a long moment. “But if they are corrupt, then I am corrupt also.”

“What would you do? Stand before the king and curse him like one of the prophets of old?”

“Yes,” he cried, with sudden passion. “Yes, that is what I should do, just as the prophets of my forefathers did in ancient times.” He threw up his hands. “This, no doubt, is what I should do,” he added sadly.

“And what are you going to do?” Sarah gently asked her husband.

Jacob paused for a while.

“I have an idea,” he said at last.

Within a week all Paris knew. The lovely daughter of Jacob the merchant had run away with a poor miller’s son. It was a humiliation. His family was dishonored. But one had to respect his reaction.