Babylonne, while I tell you a bedtime story.’
‘A bedtime story?’
‘Why not? Have you anything else to do?’
No. Not at present. Even so . . . ‘If it’s a story about some Roman saint, I don’t want to hear it.’
‘It’s not about a saint. It’s about a knight. A golden-haired knight who went to Jerusalem, to fight the Infidels.’ He settles more comfortably against the door, propping it shut with his shoulders. ‘Go on. Sit down, eat up and I’ll tell you.’
Very well, then. It can’t do me any harm. And I’m so hungry . That scrap of bread at midday—that wasn’t enough.
Oh! How good this cheese smells!
‘The golden-haired knight was a noble soul,’ says Isidore. ‘When he was only a few years older than you, Babylonne, he decided that he didn’t want to kill people any more. He didn’t think it was a good thing, killing people. He didn’t think it would bring him closer to God.’
Mmmm! The cheese!
‘So he went to an Abbot, and the Abbot sent him to fight for Jerusalem,’ Isidore relates. ‘But when he reached Jerusalem, he found that it was full of thieves and whores and lepers. He didn’t understand why he should be fighting for them. That’s why he joined the Order of the Temple. He became a Knight Templar, because he thought that it would bring him closer to God—Babylonne, slow down! You’ll choke!’
‘It’s good . . .’ (Gulp.) ‘Good cheese . . .’
‘It won’t be if you choke on it. Always remember to chew before you swallow.’ He tries to recover his place. ‘Now. Where was I?’
‘The Order of the Temple.’
‘Yes. The Order of the Temple. The knight became a Templar, and soon afterwards, Saladin attacked Jerusalem. He besieged Jerusalem. And after a lot of hard fighting, Jerusalem finally fell.’ The priest’s gaze is blank as he watches me lick my fingers. (No point wasting a crumb of this cheese!) ‘The defenders were afraid that Saladin would slaughter them all,’ he adds. ‘But that didn’t happen. Instead an agreement was reached about ransoms. As long as they could be ransomed, the Christians were free to leave.’
‘What about the poor people?’ Poor people like me, for instance. ‘What happened to them?’
‘They were ransomed too. The noble knight emptied the Templar coffers, to pay money for the poor. And he decided that he wouldn’t ransom himself, because his ransom would save the lives of ten women. Or fifty children. He decided to sacrifice his one life to save fifty others.’
Really? Is that true? ‘So—so Saladin killed him?’
‘No.’ Isidore shakes his head. ‘Your father pleaded for the knight’s life. He threw himself on his knees before Saladin, and used that nimble tongue of his to free Lord Roland.’
Ah. It was Roland, then. Lord Roland Roucy de Bram was the golden-haired knight.
‘Your father told me that story a long time ago,’ Isidore murmurs. ‘It happened when he was a squire, before Lord Roland threw his sword away and became a monk. Lord Roland had learned, you see, that there can be no salvation through the shedding of blood. That there can be no peace from war.’ All at once, Isidore unfolds his arms. He shifts his weight and pulls the door open. (Don’t tell me he’s leaving?) ‘Please try to remember that, Babylonne. It’s very important.’
And he’s gone. Like a puff of smoke. Before telling me the rest! I want to know—did my father kill anyone? Did he become a monk as well? And if so, how did he end up as Archdeacon of Carcassonne?
Oh well, I don’t care. Why should I care about my father? He didn’t care about me.
Of course, he didn’t actually know about me but . . . anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ve finished my meal now. I think I’ll go to bed.
Off with the boots first. Where shall I put them? Inside the chest? Under the blankets, perhaps. At the bottom of the bed. That way, I’ll be keeping them within reach.
Off with the hose, next. And my girdle. I should
‘A bedtime story?’
‘Why not? Have you anything else to do?’
No. Not at present. Even so . . . ‘If it’s a story about some Roman saint, I don’t want to hear it.’
‘It’s not about a saint. It’s about a knight. A golden-haired knight who went to Jerusalem, to fight the Infidels.’ He settles more comfortably against the door, propping it shut with his shoulders. ‘Go on. Sit down, eat up and I’ll tell you.’
Very well, then. It can’t do me any harm. And I’m so hungry . That scrap of bread at midday—that wasn’t enough.
Oh! How good this cheese smells!
‘The golden-haired knight was a noble soul,’ says Isidore. ‘When he was only a few years older than you, Babylonne, he decided that he didn’t want to kill people any more. He didn’t think it was a good thing, killing people. He didn’t think it would bring him closer to God.’
Mmmm! The cheese!
‘So he went to an Abbot, and the Abbot sent him to fight for Jerusalem,’ Isidore relates. ‘But when he reached Jerusalem, he found that it was full of thieves and whores and lepers. He didn’t understand why he should be fighting for them. That’s why he joined the Order of the Temple. He became a Knight Templar, because he thought that it would bring him closer to God—Babylonne, slow down! You’ll choke!’
‘It’s good . . .’ (Gulp.) ‘Good cheese . . .’
‘It won’t be if you choke on it. Always remember to chew before you swallow.’ He tries to recover his place. ‘Now. Where was I?’
‘The Order of the Temple.’
‘Yes. The Order of the Temple. The knight became a Templar, and soon afterwards, Saladin attacked Jerusalem. He besieged Jerusalem. And after a lot of hard fighting, Jerusalem finally fell.’ The priest’s gaze is blank as he watches me lick my fingers. (No point wasting a crumb of this cheese!) ‘The defenders were afraid that Saladin would slaughter them all,’ he adds. ‘But that didn’t happen. Instead an agreement was reached about ransoms. As long as they could be ransomed, the Christians were free to leave.’
‘What about the poor people?’ Poor people like me, for instance. ‘What happened to them?’
‘They were ransomed too. The noble knight emptied the Templar coffers, to pay money for the poor. And he decided that he wouldn’t ransom himself, because his ransom would save the lives of ten women. Or fifty children. He decided to sacrifice his one life to save fifty others.’
Really? Is that true? ‘So—so Saladin killed him?’
‘No.’ Isidore shakes his head. ‘Your father pleaded for the knight’s life. He threw himself on his knees before Saladin, and used that nimble tongue of his to free Lord Roland.’
Ah. It was Roland, then. Lord Roland Roucy de Bram was the golden-haired knight.
‘Your father told me that story a long time ago,’ Isidore murmurs. ‘It happened when he was a squire, before Lord Roland threw his sword away and became a monk. Lord Roland had learned, you see, that there can be no salvation through the shedding of blood. That there can be no peace from war.’ All at once, Isidore unfolds his arms. He shifts his weight and pulls the door open. (Don’t tell me he’s leaving?) ‘Please try to remember that, Babylonne. It’s very important.’
And he’s gone. Like a puff of smoke. Before telling me the rest! I want to know—did my father kill anyone? Did he become a monk as well? And if so, how did he end up as Archdeacon of Carcassonne?
Oh well, I don’t care. Why should I care about my father? He didn’t care about me.
Of course, he didn’t actually know about me but . . . anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ve finished my meal now. I think I’ll go to bed.
Off with the boots first. Where shall I put them? Inside the chest? Under the blankets, perhaps. At the bottom of the bed. That way, I’ll be keeping them within reach.
Off with the hose, next. And my girdle. I should
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