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I t was a rare Saturday night when Ezra had fought early on the ticket, and Silas waited for him in the alley outside the boxing ring in New Cross. He wasn’t surprised when the man who exited the building looked nothing like the Hammering Hebrew—because he’d been with Ezra enough to know that he could change his attire and appearance when he didn’t want to be recognized on the street.

Ezra had begun going bald when he was in his late twenties, and instead of fighting it with creams and nostrums he had embraced it, shaving his head and oiling it before entering the ring. When he was out with Silas, he wore a gray tweed newsboy cap that fit snugly over his head and a long-sleeved jacket that covered his muscular arms.

He also changed the way he walked when he did not want to be on public display. When he was out and about as Ezra Curiel, he strode forward as cocksure as a rooster, his shoulders up and his body forward. But when they were together, Ezra was much more relaxed, letting his shoulders rest, slowing his gait.

“I am glad you are here,” Ezra said to him, when the crowd had left and it was only the two of them. “I have watched Rebecca carefully, and it seems that Israel Kupersmit either did not recognize me, or has not spoken of seeing me near the brothel.”

“I am not surprised,” Silas said. “To have done so would have implicated him even more than you.” He hesitated. “So will you dine with me this evening?”

Ezra smiled. “Dine, and more. But we must still be careful how we appear on the street.”

They walked to the Tabard Inn, a dark pub that Silas had frequented with Raoul when both were single. The proprietors were a male couple, though the barman dressed as a woman, and it attracted a very louche clientele, many of whom had very different public lives. Silas hoped that no one at the Tabard Inn would recognize Ezra as the Hammering Hebrew, or that at least they had their own secrets to safeguard.

They ordered ale and meat pies. “You must understand some things, if we are to continue to spend time together,” Ezra said. “First of all, my position is a very unstable one. One bad injury, and my career would be over. Rebecca has already begun questioning what I will do when I can no longer box.”

“What will you do?”

“I have no idea. I have no head for scriptures, so I cannot return to study. Many men who can no longer box turn to physical work, which strains even further and pays little. I have been putting aside some money each month to invest in funds, with the help of a Jew I know who is good with such things. My hope is that my career lasts long enough, and I put aside enough money, that I can live off those investments.”

“I know men who live that way,” Silas said. “My friend Lord Magnus Dawson for one. He parlayed his savings from a career in the Navy into railway shares, and they support him and his lover.”

“You are friendly with a peer of the realm?” Ezra said. “He is one of us?”

“He is. You could even meet him this evening, if you wish. He and his lover are hosting a soirée this evening at their home. You might be able to get some investment advice, or be able to partake of his railway investment.”

“I don’t know,” Ezra said. “I am not the kind of man who attends soirées with the gentry.”

“There will be all kinds of people there,” Silas protested. “Mostly men of our ilk, but also artists and musicians and a few of the idle rich.”

“And all gentile, I am sure,” Ezra said. “You make little note of my religion, but I wear it in my face and in my name. And the gentile world wants little to do with the Jews, unless they can profit from us. They believe us secretly disloyal to the Queen and Crown, and they block us from ownership of land and entry into their universities. We are called dirty, cunning-looking, hook-nosed and unsavory. Our hands are criticized for our thick gold rings on our stubby fingers, and the crisp black hair curling down our backs.”

Silas sat back, but Ezra continued. “There are constantly questions about our fitness to serve in Parliament. Look at Mr. Disraeli, born a Jew but converted to Anglicanism, most likely to serve his political ambitions. And yet there are many who refuse to ignore the religion of his birth.”

Silas was saved from having to respond because of a sudden explosion of smoke from the kitchen.

The proprietor, a fat man named Oliver Hendricks, was known as Jolly Olly. He was less than jolly that evening as he hurried through the room and pushed open the front door, doing his best to wave the smoke outside. It took a few minutes, and when he finished he faced the room and announced, “Sorry, there’s been a problem in the kitchen. No pies for the rest of the night. But we have plenty of fish and chips!”

They accepted the change in their order, and a complimentary second glass of ale. Silas recalled what Magnus had said at the birthday dinner, that he could not imagine hosting a Jew at his home. However the conversation with his friends seemed to have changed his opinion, or at least opened him to the possibility. Silas was confident that his good nature would overcome any prejudice.

“I can only tell you that I believe my friends will accept you for who you are,” Silas said. “Here am I, a poor ostler’s son from Sheffield, an ink-stained wretch toiling at a barrister’s office, and they welcome me with open arms.”

“Will there be anyone there likely to recognize me?” Ezra asked. As usual, Silas swooned at his lover’s accent, which changed his “th” to zed.

“If there is, they will not want to reveal your secret, as they have secrets of their own,” Silas said. “And they are not likely to be a crowd that follows the fights. Much more artistic.” He tossed his head. “ Comme moi .”

Ezra laughed. “There is little I can refuse you, mon cher ,” he said. “As long as you do not refuse me later.”

“I never would,” Silas said.

The male barmaid brought their food, casting a lascivious glance at Ezra. Even in disguise, Ezra was quite the figure of a man. Broad shoulders, a square chin, a narrow waist and thighs like tree trunks.

His physique was intended to frighten his opponents, and in addition to many surprise punches and feints, he had other tricks. He packed the pouch of his shorts with cloth, both to deflect any direct hits there and cower his opponent into believing he was hugely endowed. He was firmly of the belief that the man with the biggest cock always won, even if those cocks stayed securely in their trunks.

They ate, talking of Ezra’s training that day and the calendar of matches he had ahead of him. “I will go back to Paris next month,” Ezra said. “My renown here in England has led to offers for bigger bouts and higher purses than I was able to gain before I left.”

Silas pouted. “How long will you be away?”

“A month,” he said. “I wish I could ask you to join me, but my wife will accompany me, and much of my free time will be spent with my family and hers.”

“She is a comforting facade for you, is she not?” Silas asked. “Or do you love her?” He leaned forward. “Do you make love to her?”

“Do you see any squalling brats around me?” Ezra asked. “Or do you think that perhaps I try to make them with her and cannot?”

“There are ways to make love to a woman without risking pregnancy,” Silas said.

Ezra laughed. “And you know these ways? Not from experience, I am sure.”

Silas sat up straighter in his chair. “I could have been with women, had I wanted,” he said.

There was a twinkle in Ezra’s eye. “Really?”

“When I first came to London from Manchester, I clerked for a barrister in Spitalfields, and rented a room from the barrister’s aunt in Whitechapel.”

“A very unsavory neighborhood, to be sure,” Ezra said. “Even I would be wary of walking there after dark.”

“I did not stay there long. The accommodations were quite unclean, and the landlady’s daughter thought she would set her cap for me.”

“Well, you are a fine-looking man,” Ezra said. “And a barrister’s clerk would be a step up for a landlady’s daughter living in squalor.”

“So she believed. She entreated me several times, lowering her blouse to show me her bubbies, which were quite large.” He shuddered at the memory. “She had a red pimple on the right one and all I wanted to do was squeeze it but I was afraid she would take the gesture awry.”

Ezra was laughing heartily by then.

“She assured me that she knew ten ways to keep from getting with child and described them to me in great detail. As soon as I had my first pay in hand I found myself a better place.”

“And that was the last you saw of her,” Ezra said.

“Well, not exactly. She was still the niece of my employer, and she came around the office now and then with baked goods for her uncle. She married a bobby last year, though, so after that she only liked me for my wit.”

“As I do. Though I will admit I like you for more than just that.”

They laughed and talked throughout the meal. As they walked out, Ezra pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Do you smoke?” he asked Silas.

“No, but I like smell of a good cigar, especially one like yours which carries the scent of cedar wood. My first lover used to smoke one of a similar fragrance.”

“This is the man your father surprised you with?”

Silas nodded.

“And it does not bring up unpleasant memories?”

“No. What I recall is his kindness toward me.”

They were quiet for a block or two, and then turned onto Ormond Yard. “You don’t think your friends will be too fine for the likes of me, do you?” Ezra asked anxiously as they turned into the cobbled street. “I do not usually associate with gentry.”

“Both John and Magnus have titles,” Silas said. “But they are genuine men, the kind you can rely on to get you out of a scrape or two. Magnus was quite helpful to both John and Raoul. And besides, Raoul is your countryman. You can babble away in French to him if you like.”

“Usually the gentry try to stay clear from a man like me, who uses his hands,” Ezra said. “Oh, it’s fine for you, working in an office. The worst that will happen to you is an ink-stained fingertip. But sometimes no matter how I scrub I cannot get another man’s blood from beneath my nails.”

“You have only to remove your jacket and you will have every eye upon you, and be bathed in flattery.” He put his hand in Ezra’s meatier one and squeezed as much as he could. “And I will be beside you.”

But Ezra would not be assured. “There is also the matter of my religion,” he said. “Though I am not as frequent a visitor at the shul as I should be, I wear my faith plainly on my face.”

“And in the absence of your foreskin,” Silas said. “Come now. It is not like you to be so uncertain of yourself. You are Ezra Curiel, the Hammering Hebrew. The terror of the third ring.”

“I am that,” Ezra said. “Well, let us go in, then.” He extinguished his cigar on the pavement and squared his shoulders.

The houseboy answered Silas’s knock. “Good evening, Mr. Warner,” Will said.

“Hello, Will,” Silas said, as he took off his coat. “And this is my friend, Mr. Curiel.”

Will’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “My fella and I saw you fight last year,” he said. “You were amazing!”

“Thank you kindly,” Ezra said, as he handed the boy his coat.

“Everyone is in the front room,” Will said. “Lord Dawson is mixing the drinks, but if you want something he does not have to hand, you may easily call on me or Carlo.”

“Carlo?” Ezra whispered as Will walked away.

“His fella,” Silas said. “He cooks while Will runs the house.”

“Quite convenient,” Ezra said.

They walked into the front room, and Toby immediately came over to greet them. He enveloped Silas in a hug and then turned to Ezra. “You must be Mr. Curiel,” he said, holding out his hand. “Silas has spoken much of you.”

Ezra shook it. “Knowing the way Silas speaks, you have heard of my body and probably little else.”

Toby was a man of middling height, with sandy blond hair and a dimpled chin. “Well, we were all curious about your...” he waved his hand toward Ezra’s crotch. “Religious affiliation.”

Ezra turned to Silas in mock anger. “Is there to be nothing sacred between us?” he asked. “Will every man here know I am missing my foreskin?”

It was only then that both Silas and Ezra realized that the room had quieted and that all the men present had heard what he had said. Ezra’s face reddened and he was ready to bolt when another man piped up, “Cheerio, old chap. You’re not the only one here missing a flap of skin.”

Silas recognized him as Gerard Houghton, who ran a men’s clothing store on Oxford Street. He was a hefty fellow, with the shadow of a dark beard and hair of a similar color on his knuckles. “Not a member of your illustrious religion, however,” Houghton said. “My father was a doctor and he was convinced it was more sanitary to relieve me of it at birth. I have spent a lifetime examining cocks to see what I am missing.”

The room laughed, and conversation began again. Magnus Dawson, a tall, handsome, dark-haired man, approached with two glasses of gin. “For you, Silas,” he said, handing one glass to him.

“I have another here, if you would like it,” Magnus said to Ezra. “Or we have wine and whisky.”

“Gin is fine, your lordship,” Ezra said. He was sure from the man’s bearing that he was the titled one, despite the fact that he appeared to be serving as bartender.

“Please, call me Magnus,” he said as he handed the glass over. “Welcome to our home. I must admit to being an admirer of yours, if I may say, without appearing to fawn. Toby is not a fan of the manly arts, but I have accompanied Will and Carlo on occasion to the fights. You have a marvelous right hook.”

Silas could tell from Ezra’s body language that his lover was relaxing. They spoke to Magnus and Toby for a few minutes, and then moved around the room. When they reached Houghton, the doctor’s son said, “Do you find that men will want to suck you as a curiosity? To see what a man tastes like without a foreskin?”

“I have found that,” Ezra said. “Though more back in France than here in London. I grew up in Tours, to the south of Paris, where there was a cluster of my countrymen. I went to a Judaic school there until my father moved us to Paris, and so most of my encounters were with boys in a similar state to myself.”

Silas had heard little of Ezra’s boyhood. “Did you compare cocks with many other boys when you were young?”

Ezra shrugged. “We swam in the backwaters of the Loire when we were boys,” he said. “And sometimes the gentile boys would chase us and pull down our pants to laugh at us.”

He smiled. “Those boys made me the man I am today.”

“How so?” Silas asked.

“I wanted to grow strong enough to defend myself. So I found an old Greek man who had what he called a gymnasium, a place for young men to exercise and grow stronger. Every day after school I would go to him, and he gave me weights to lift, and showed me the rudiments of boxing and self-defense.”

He smiled, and Silas could tell he was remembering those days. “It was intoxicating to me that I could train my body in the same way that my schoolteachers were attempting to train my brain. Only the body work came more easily to me. By the time we moved to Paris I was already boxing as an amateur, and in Paris I found it easier to train and improve, and quickly I became a professional.”

He drained his glass of gin. “Without those boys and their curiosity, I might never have found my métier.”

Silas and Ezra were drawn into a conversation later as John spoke about his newest broadside. “The Artisans' and Laborer’s Dwelling Act, passed last year, had a great purpose, but of course there is always opposition to progress, and to anything that benefits the lower classes at the expense of the wealthy,” he said.

He turned to Magnus. “Does your brother own any property that might fall under this act? I am assembling a list of the nobility who could be persuaded.”

“I am not familiar with what Ledbury does with his capital these days, but I can tell you that our father did not concern himself with city property. The bulk of his wealth came from the countryside, as well as investments abroad.”

“That’s too bad,” John said. “I am endeavoring to convince my father to be among the first to participate in redevelopment efforts. He owns a block of deplorable properties along Cable Street in Aldgate under copyhold, which gives the tenants little incentive to improve the properties themselves.”

“I am not familiar with that term,” Raoul said. “What does it mean?”

“In short, that the tenants have only a copy of the deed, not the deed itself,” John said. “It is an outmoded method of land transfer which derives from thefeudal systemofvilleinagewhich involved giving service and produce to the local lord in return for land.They are going out of fashion, due to the various Copyhold Acts of Parliament.”

“The House of Lords will argue that such acts cut at the very heart of the British way of life,” Magnus said. “My late father was quite opposed to them. When you take away villeinage, you take away loyalty to the gentry, with the effect that you pull everyone down to the same level.”

“And what is wrong with that?” John demanded.

“I am merely stating my father’s views,” Magnus said. “I myself am of a much more progressive viewpoint.”

Silas and Ezra stayed at the soirée long after Silas thought they would leave, because Ezra was such a celebrity to the men assembled there. It was nearly two in the morning by the time they stumbled out of the townhouse and into the cobbled street.

“You appeared to fit in comfortably with the other guests,” Silas said. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did. It was nice to be accepted fully for who I am, which is something I have not experienced in the past. My religion was a mere curiosity, not an impediment, as was my occupation.”

The air was heavy and damp, and they hurried back to Silas’s rooms in Bryanston Mews West. They were both tired and more than a little drunk, so the most they managed was some long, tongue-enhanced kisses before falling asleep.

Silas was later to recall a feeling that all was right with the world that night.