PEOPLE BEGAN TO STIR AS the town, its noises and smells, sprang to life. Fresh milk from the cowherd, fresh bread from the baker, and fresh eggs from the egg seller were all typical. A few women came out to make some purchases, but otherwise activity was limited. The sun beamed, and only a few clouds interrupted the sky’s endless deep blue. A light breeze rustled the leaves in an isolated tree. It was a Friday spring morning like any other.

It was not much of a town. While there were several stone houses, most resembled huts, with thatched roofs and not much else. Some were inhabited by some of Baron Geoffrey’s servants, who paid only slightly less for their housing than they earned from him since he owned the town and, in many ways, the people who worked for him. At least their families never went hungry. The baron always ate quite well, insisting on freshly made dishes at every meal. More often than not, there were table scraps for the servants to bring home.

West End was named for its location at the western side of Northampton, not far from the baron’s castle. The town was unique from many other towns in one way—it contained a Jewish population of thirty families, as well as a small synagogue. More than one hundred years before, a Jewish physician who happened to be passing through saved the life of the baron, who insisted the physician stay. He sent for his family, and gradually more families settled there as well, even when succeeding barons were not as friendly to the Jews.

David did not want to get up. It was time to prepare for the morning prayer service, Shacharit, before chede