The Sanctity of Hate by Priscilla Royal Read Free Book Online

the evil ones in Sodom and Gomorrah?” From the stall, Belia groaned.
    Jacob put the heel of his hands against his eyes, then threw his head back and shook his fist at the door leading to the inn yard. “I cannot allow that fool to destroy what little peace my wife has! She bears a child. If she must do so in a horse stall with neither a gentle midwife nor a decent bed in which to nurse the babe, surely she should be allowed to sleep without this bellowing.”
    Malka looked up at him, and her expression changed to weary resignation. “If you must go forth, do so with humility and a calm voice. Men who shout condemnation at us often hold swords and pitchforks with which to pierce our breasts, but a meek man has been known to soften even a lion’s heart. If you leave here with fist raised, you court death as surely as if you faced a wild beast. Shall your child never know his father?” “All I want is for him to cease his ranting. Belia must gather her strength.” Jacob groaned. “But you are right. Shall I promise to listen to his preaching after the child is born? In Cambridge,
    I was forced to do so once a week. Another few hours of that is worth an hour of quiet for my wife.”
    “And speak of charity, on your knees if you must, and say that you will ponder his words. Beg him for merciful compassion while you do.” Malka ran her hand along the seam of her robe as if considering the quality of the stitches. “Christians think
     
    they invented the virtue,” she said, glancing back at Jacob with a quick smile. “If it helps us all survive, let the man outside continue to believe it.”
    Jacob bent down to kiss the top of his mother-in-law’s head. “It shall be as you say. You are wiser than I shall ever be.” His voice was soft with love for this woman, one who had not only given birth to his adored wife but had also embraced him as a son after his own mother had died.
    Then he straightened, touched the yellow badge sewn on his robes by the order of King Edward, and walked out into the courtyard.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
    Ralf strode from the inn. The sun was bright in his eyes, but his mood darkened as he looked down the road at the crowds milling around the merchant stalls.
    It was marketing day, a time for families to visit with friends and see what wondrous things had come with Norwich mer- chants or even from Cambridge. Women argued with butchers, men debated the merits of one tradesman’s wares over another’s, and laughing children ran around the legs of all.
    A father holding his laughing son caught the crowner’s par- ticular attention. He rubbed a hand over his eyes.
    Signy was right. Although he loved his daughter to distrac- tion, he had yet to remarry and produce an heir as he had promised his eldest brother. Fulke’s wife had long been barren, yet the man refused to find cause to divorce her, a choice that had warmed Ralf’s heart for just an instant. And in that regret- table moment of weakness, he had given his word that he would produce the requisite, legitimate heir as long as his next wife was of his own choosing.
    Ever since, he had found innumerable reasons to avoid keep- ing that ill-advised oath. The problem was not in making his choice of wife. He knew the woman he would ask, but approach- ing his friend, Tostig, for permission to marry his sister made Ralf tremble like a virgin on the wedding night. He had grown to love Gytha; indeed he adored her too much.
     
    A cloud passed over the sun, and the daylight faded to match his grayer mood.
    He had already suffered rejection from the last woman he longed to marry for more years than he dared count. First, she had chosen another over him, then God. As for his late wife, she had been a good woman, but there had been no love between them. She had died birthing their daughter.
    He shook his head and concluded that it was not only prudent for him to reject ties with all women, they were wise to avoid him as