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“A re you a lover of the fights?” Ezra asked the man before him, who held a crumpled program in his hand.

“I was not until this evening, and I saw you box,” the man said.

Ah, so there had been something in his eye, indeed. Ezra had been careful to keep his two lives separate since his arrival from France. He thought of them as two confining crates, each one he had to fight to escape. He had never responded to another man’s overture in either sphere—until now.

“What is your name?” he asked. “And do you have a pen?”

The man stared at him. “Silas,” he said. “Silas Warner.”

Ezra smiled. The man was truly adorable, with a well-formed body, a shy smile, and floppy blond hair.

“Would you like me to sign your program, Silas Warner?” Ezra asked. “Usually those who want an autograph come with a pen.”

“I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered, “I didn’t think.”

“It is all right,” Ezra said. “Perhaps you will accompany me for a glass of wine? We could see if we find a pen at the bar.”

It was very charming the way Silas’s whole face lit up at the invitation. “I would, I would love to,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually so awkward. I am the junior clerk to a barrister at the Inns of Court, and I must speak a great deal. But you—you tie my tongue in knots.”

“Perhaps a glass of wine will untangle it,” Ezra said. “There is a good wine bar not too far from here in the shadow of the Tower Bridge.”

“That’s fine. I live in that direction.”

“You do? Well, we shall see about that later.” He looked around. No one appeared to be paying attention to them, so it was safe to walk off with Silas—as if he was any other fan.

He took Silas’s arm by the elbow and steered him out to the street. A breeze swept through, moving some of the fetid air away, and Ezra felt as if he could breathe again, after a long time.

“What is it that you do, as a clerk?” he asked. “I have never had occasion to employ a barrister.”

“While Mr. Pemberton argues cases in the court, his clerks are responsible for running his office,” Silas said. “I began there two years ago, when the chief clerk left his employ to work in Parliament. Pemberton had at that time a junior clerk, Cyril Alderton, and a boy called Robb who ran errands. Cyril was promoted to senior clerk, and I was able to use my experience and my personal charm to replace Cyril.”

He seemed to relax as they walked through Rotherhithe toward the Thames. It was a grim neighborhood of warehouses that supported the port, and at that hour the streets were largely deserted. But Ezra’s only fear was that someone might see him with this fey man and understand what they were doing together. That could be more fatal than any blow.

“I am responsible for arranging Mr. Pemberton’s diary and general work program,” Silas continued. “A good part of my time is spent urging him to get to court, or retrieving him from court to meet with clients. I also copy out documents—I have a beautiful hand, you know.”

Ezra smiled. “Yes, your hands are quite beautiful. Unlike mine, which are battered and scarred.”

“Not my hand itself,” Silas said. “My handwriting.”

“Forgive me. I am but an ignorant Frenchman who is still learning your complicated language.”

“You speak quite well, for a man who uses his fists rather than his speech. Where did you learn your English? Here in London?”

Ezra shook his head. “The head of my school in Tours had the idea that it was easiest to learn a foreign language as a child. So we had hours of English each week, along with our study of Hebrew.”

“Really? You can speak that ancient language?”

“I cannot speak it, only parrot the sounds and read the characters,” Ezra said. “That language study was solely in preparation for our ritual called the bar mitzvah, when we are called to read from our scriptures, the Torah, in front of the congregation. When that demonstration is complete, we are said to have reached manhood, and to assume all the responsibilities of the adult male.”

They turned onto Tooley Street, heading toward the Tower Bridge. Ezra was confident that with his cap on and his shoulders lowered, no one would recognize him as the Hammering Hebrew, and he could be more himself.

“How fascinating,” Silas said. “And do you continue to read that language now?”

Ezra shrugged. “My father relocated us to Paris soon after my bar mitzvah, and we attended services only infrequently. Here in London I attend the Bevis Marks synagogue in Aldgate only for our most important holidays.” He smiled. “And because my father threatens me with discipline if I do not.”

Silas laughed. “Is your father a boxer, too? That he can discipline a man as strong as you?”

“Parents of Jewish children have a much stronger method than physical power,” he said with a smile. “It is called guilt. My father will say things like ‘I did not struggle to raise you in our religion only to have you abandon it as an adult.’”

He used a much deeper French accent for his father’s words, which Silas found charming.

“’Think of the sacrifices our people have made to bring you to this point,’” Ezra continued. “’We were slaves in Egypt. We were banished from Spain. And for what? So you can play instead of pray on a holiday?’”

They arrived at the wine bar, decked with the French tricolor outside. He’d been there before, accepted as an ordinary Frenchman, and none of the other customers either followed the fights or attended his synagogue, so he could be as anonymous as he wished.

He paused before opening the door and removed his wedding ring from his pocket. He tried to slip it on his finger without Silas noticing, but to no avail.

“You are married,” Silas said.

“I would call it a union of mutual benefit rather than a marriage,” Ezra said. “But oh, your English language does not have the subtlety of French.”

He opened the door. “Now for that wine?”

He was pleased to see that Silas accepted his explanation. They settled at a table in the corner and he ordered a bottle of wine for them to share. “Tell me more about the work of a barrister,” he said. “I believe the role is different from that of a solicitor?”

“A solicitor meets with clients, provides them with legal advice, drafts documents, and handles settlements. A barrister is engaged if a client’s case requires a court appearance.”

Silas then flipped the conversation back to Ezra. “What is the life of a boxer like? Is that all you do? Or do you have another job the rest of the week?”

“I am fortunate that I do not have to maintain other employment,” Ezra said. “It took me a while to master my skills and earn a living with my fists, but I manage. It is an itinerant lifestyle to some degree. I am often called on to appear on cards in other cities. I do not ask for, or receive, top billing. But as you will have heard, I have a distinction among boxers.”

“The Hammering Hebrew,” Silas said.

“Indeed. I was christened thus early in my career. People have an opinion of men of my race as quiet and bookish, and to see a man of my physique and strength is a surprise to them. That distinction has allowed me to travel the length and breadth of the British Isles. Last week, I was in Wales; soon I will box in Newcastle.”

They continued to talk, over glasses of the red wine Ezra had ordered them. As a Frenchman, Ezra had a great tolerance for wine. It had been mixed with his water as a child. But sometimes he forgot that Englishmen did not have the same ability. He noticed that Silas was having trouble remaining upright.

He had been a fool, in many ways. Grabbing a man up at the boxing arena with the intent to take him to bed was dangerous. And then he’d allowed the two of them to drink too much wine. “Come along, I shall see you home,” Ezra said. He stood and lifted Silas by one arm.

“My home,” Silas said, with a goofy grin on his face. “My bed.”

“Just home,” Ezra said. “I will be lucky if you stay awake long enough to get you there.”

He managed to get Silas’s address out of him, and then leverage him out of the bar and into the street, where he hailed a carriage. There was no question that he could accompany Silas—who knew who might be watching when they arrived? He gave the driver Silas’s address then handed him an extra shilling. “This is for you to get him inside.”

“Yes, guv’nor,” the driver said.

“Take care of yourself, Silas Warner,” Ezra said. “And if the Lord wishes it, we will meet again.”