Free The Brotherhood of Book Hunters by Howard Curtis, Raphaël Jerusalmy Page B

subjects?
    François listened to the rabbi’s explanations with redoubled interest. He was starting to glimpse the true extent of this Gamliel’s activities, the influence he exerted from here, sitting at his desk, the significance of the texts he propagated. Was he the Medicis’ mysterious accomplice? Johann Fust’s patron? And the future accomplice of Louis XI?
    François nevertheless remained puzzled. He could not see a practicing Jew in a white skullcap and caftan concerning himself with the humanities, opening clandestine print shops, publishing previously unpublished works by Lucretius and Demosthenes, gathering together treatises on algebra or astronomy, some of which contradicted the teachings of his own religion. Nor could François see any reason why a sage from the Holy Land would want to work hand in hand with gentiles from Florence, let alone a man of the Church like Chartier. Unless he was pursuing an aim quite different than that of his eminent allies, and without their knowing it. Just like François, who did not believe that any of them were well intentioned and was waiting for the moment to carry off his own victory.
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    While his secretary prepared the orders, Rabbi Gamliel conversed calmly with Federico. The Italian spoke of the Earth, which was no longer at the center of the universe, and of Florence, which was now where everything important was happening. The rabbi listened to all this with a somewhat condescending politeness. Once the packages were ready, Gamliel asked the two Frenchmen to excuse him. He would only be a moment. He stood up and motioned to Federico to follow him into the adjoining room.
    Through the half-open door, François saw the rabbi hand a wide scroll to the merchant, who quickly looked through it. The edges were uneven and fraying everywhere into long yellow strands of a texture like straw or rushes. The body of the scroll was crisscrossed with stripes and plantlike veins. It was neither paper nor parchment. Sitting too far away to clearly make out every detail, François saw only a confused network of ocher patches on a blue background crossed with lines and arrows. The colors had so faded with time that he could barely make out the design, but the whole seemed to be like a sea chart. It could not however be a map of the world. There were far too many patches to be taken for islands or continents. Perhaps it was an ancient chart of a fabulous world.
    Noticing a sudden change in intonation in the voices of the two men, François pricked up his ears. Until now, the conversation between Gamliel and Federico had been held in Spanish, the only Latin language the rabbi knew. Although he couldn’t quite hear what was being said, François was certain that the dialogue was now continuing in a different language, a kind of guttural dialect that, in spite of its Semitic accents, sounded like neither Hebrew nor Arabic.
    Federico came out, holding the mysterious scroll under his arm, and immediately took his leave. He apologized politely, announcing that he had to set off again early in the morning for Nazareth where he hoped to acquire a rare Syriac manuscript. The brevity of this farewell took François by surprise. The Italian had not even inquired about the two pilgrims’ intentions.

12
    O nce Federico had left, the rabbi invited François and Colin to join him in his study. They sat for a while in awkward silence, while he stared insistently at the two men, as if trying to read a message in the lines of their faces. His knitted brows and fixed gaze seemed to be trying to penetrate their very souls, to probe the darkest recesses. He seemed unaware of the embarrassment caused by this prolonged examination. Even though the two strangers corresponded faithfully to the description that Fust had given of them in his letters, Gamliel was somewhat disconcerted by the wretched appearance of the King of France’s emissaries. That vagabond with