"What is happening?" Yughi asked as they sat at a table in Baruch's kitchen.

"Just hatred, brother, hatred and intolerance," Baruch said, then after a small pause. "You're not a Jew, are you?"

"I am not," Yughi said.

"You're not from England, either," Baruch said. Yughi was impressed. He had taken to dressing like an outlaw, no one in Nottingham, Derby or the surrounding towns had blinked twice at him in months. This man had keen powers of observation being so certain after only a couple of exchanges.

"Don't worry," said Baruch. "I'm not one to make my mind up about a man until I've had time to form an opinion of his character. Would you like a drink? I have brewed some tea."

"I would be grateful of some tea, thank you," Yughi said. "My name is Yughi, I have come from the Holy Land, sent by my Brotherhood to work in this land on behalf of my father."

It was the practice of the assassins to describe themselves to strangers in terms that applied equally well to monks as to assassins. Not lying made lies harder to detect.

"It's not my business," Baruch said, measuring out two cups of tea. "Your business, that is. I could see in your face that the guards' reaction had shocked you. Like I said, I've been there. That's why I do my own business at home now, like my cousin and my brother."

"Why?" Yughi said. "I mean, why is all this..." Yughi found that the words eluded him. "This is madness." He concluded quietly.

"I agree," Baruch said, sitting down at the table again and putting the tea down before him. "I have not seen such as this since I was born. My kin, though, they have seen it, that is why they came here in the first place. They hoped that this land would finally welcome us, allow us liberty from the fear and suspicion of others."

"I have heard of this," Yughi said. "But I have never seen... And I thought I had seen everything. The people in Damascus, Jerusalem, Acre, they all live like this, walking the streets in fear. That is not to do with their faith, it is the Crusaders, it is a war."

"There need be no war for people to take against Jews, friend," Baruch said. His words were grim but the little smile that danced around his mouth without ever quite landing never faded. "This is how we live, although I never really understood how bad it could get until now."

"Why now?" Yughi said although he believed that he might be better placed to answer that question.

"Why does anything happen the way it does?" Baruch shrugged. "Moshe, that's my brother, he's a Rabbi, anyway, Moshe says that when he used to talk with our father, the old Rabbi, he learned that the gentile's distaste for our people never really went anywhere, it just slept."

"How long has it been like this?" Yughi asked. "I mean, since you decided to lock yourself up in here, were afraid to go out on the streets?"

"Not so long, maybe five days," Baruch said. "There's always a hope that this is just a moment. Eventually, someone will have to go to the market, test the waters, and that will probably have to be me. I am a healer, I have helped the people of Lincoln as best I could. Neither Moshe nor Yakob, my cousin, can lay claim to such security. No one cares for the life of a Rabbi except another Jew. As for Yakob, well, he is Uncle Aaron's son. I don't believe he has left the house since his Bar Mitzvah."

"Why not?" Yughi asked.

"You have not heard of Aaron of Lincoln?" Baruch asked. "You cannot have been in the area long, although your accent tells another story. My uncle was, for a while, 'the Jew of Lincoln'. They say he had accumulated more money than the king himself."

"Oh," Yughi nodded. "Money."

"It's not, strictly speaking, his fault that he became so wealthy," said Baruch. "He wanted to be a baker, he would make bread rolls from time to time, whenever he was unhappy."

"So, why didn't he bake?" Yughi asked, fascinated.

"Against the law of England, brother," Baruch sighed. "As would have careers like fisherman, smith, lawyer, soldier... in fact just about anything you care to mention, except lending money, being a doctor, or ministering to our people. Myself, my brother and my cousin, we represent all the life paths available to a young Jew in England. Like my pappy always said, the hate is always there, just under the surface."

Since he had joined the brotherhood of Assassins Yughi had not found himself short of reasons to be angry. It was a fresh experience to discover a new one after many years believing his anger was all in place. He had to confess he had never really spent much time in the company of Jews until now.

Sitting in a warm, clean kitchen, sipping delicate tea from a generous cup with this quiet, warm man; realising that there were people on the streets who would slit both of their throats just because they could probably get away with it, Yughi felt the stirrings of fury in his heart.

Beyond the mere injustice of it was the knowledge that there was, in all probability, a simple reason for the sudden escalation of tensions in Lincoln. Wherever the Templars went they appreciated the liberty to work in secret. Where their plans were most likely to draw attention they liked to use distraction techniques to draw attention away from them.

The idea of stirring up some ridiculous prejudice in a population in order to divert the eyes of the people was nowhere near beyond them. Baruch had, without his knowledge told Yughi who was responsible for the fear on the streets of Lincoln and, in addition, told the assassin that whatever was happening had to be stopped at all costs.