The old man had well spoken, for his words, Jew as he was—a creature, according to the views of that day, born to be despised and ill-treated—went straight to the tender heart of the Princess Margaret.
“’Tis but nature,” she said softly. “Have no fear, old man: I will take care of thy treasure. What is her name?”
“Will my Lady suffer her grateful servant to kiss her robe? I am Abraham of Norwich, and my daughter’s name is Belasez.”
Singular indeed were the Jewish names common at this time, beyond a very few Biblical ones, of which the chief were Abraham, Aaron, and Moses—the last usually corrupted to Moss or Mossy. They were, for men,—Delecresse (“Dieu le croisse”), Ursel, Leo, Hamon, Kokorell, Emendant, and Bonamy:—for women,—Belasez (“Belle assez”), Floria, Licorice (these three were the most frequent), Esterote, Cuntessa, Belia, Anegay, Rosia, Genta, and Pucella. They used no surnames beyond the name of the town in which they lived.
“And what years has she?” asked the Countess.
“Seventeen, if it please my Lady.”
“Good. I hope she will be clever and tractable.—Now, Madge, what do you want?”
The Princess Marjory wanted a silver necklace, a piece of green silk for a state robe, and some unshorn wool for an every-day dress, beside lamb’s fur and buttons for trimming. Buttons were fashionable ornaments in those days, and it was not unusual to spend six or eight dozen upon one dress.
“Now, Magot, let me see for thee,” said her mother. “Thy two woollen gowns must be shorn for winter, and thou wilt want a velvet one for gala days: but there is time for that by and bye. What thou needest now is a blue Cyprus (crape) robe for thy best summer one, two garments of coloured thread for common, a silk hood, one or two lawn wimples (Note 5), and a pair of corsets. (Note 6.) Thou mayest have a new armilaus (Note 7) if thou wilt.”
“And may I not have a new mantle?” was Margaret’s answer, in a coaxing tone.