The Crimson Chalice by Victor Canning

preferring to sit in the clearing by the fire, letting the air and the sun work on them. If Tia had not fought him over it he would have insisted on helping with the preparation of food and cooking. But she stoutly scolded him away from the fire and such tasks and he would retreat, chuckling gently to himself. At night, depending on the weather, they would sit outside the hut or just within the door to catch the last of the light, and talk.
    Asimus was never without questions to Baradoc about his old master and the things he had taught him. His face would be masked with a grave, yet almost amused cast when Baradoc (who never lacked words or wild flights of fancy) turned sometimes toward the east in his excitement, shaking his clenched fist as though he held a sword in it and with one swing could annihilate the threat from the Saxons, who sought to swallow up the whole land, and, bursting with emotion, cried “Aie! their time will come!” And Tia noticed that he showed no shadow of his own thought, no sign of whether he agreed or disagreed with Baradoc.
    It was this that one evening made her say quietly in a pause, as Baradoc stopped talking, “Master Asimus, these last nights you have turned us both inside out as though we were chests stuffed with trifles and odds and ends of our lives and opinions that serve only to brighten your eye like a magpie’s or to raise a smile under your whiskers as though you were a cat who had been at the cream. Is your own chest empty?”
    Baradoc said sharply, “Tia. That is no way to speak to a holy man.”
    â€œNo, no,” said Asimus, “she is not to be scolded. First, because I am not a holy man. Only an indifferent servant of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Also, too, it is true that I am like a magpie or a well-fed cat for the brightness and richness of your minds give me joy … aye, and hope. Though none of these can escape the shadow this world casts on them from time to time. So”—he smiled at Tia—“you would know what I have to show? And so you shall and so you should. I was born in Antioch. My father was a steward in the household of a general officer in the Imperial Army. Later, I worked in the household, too, and became the personal servant of a young son of the house. He was called John and was ten years younger than myself. He wanted none of the Army and studied law and I went with him when he left his father’s house. But when he was little over thirty he turned from the law, became a Christian and joined the clergy in Antioch. I became a Christian, too. We had bad times and good times, and with the passing of the years my master became archbishop of Constantinople and people named him John Chrysostom, John of the Golden Mouth. And his mouth was golden always with words in defense of the needy and in condemnation of the intrigues in his own church. Aye … he had a mouth with a tongue of gold when he praised and preached the teachings of our Lord, and a tongue like the whip of a fiery lash when he faced wickedness.… I will not empty the whole of my chest for it would take too long. My master, the good John, died well over twenty years ago at a place you will never have heard of, near the River Irmak in Asia Minor, and I was with him at his death, which was a lonely one.”
    â€œThen how did you come to this country?” asked Tia.
    â€œBecause of a gift he gave me the day before he died, and because of a dream he sent me after his death.”
    â€œIf all this happened over twenty years ago you must be very—” Tia broke off, suddenly embarrassed at her own impetuousness.
    Asimus smiled. “There is no shame in age. I have seen far more than eighty summers. My only sadness is that I did not come earlier to the service of the Lord.”
    Baradoc said, “I believe in dreams. But the understanding of them is often difficult.”
    Tia said, “Bother the dream. Tell us about the gift