THEY’RE KILLERS, MILON’S MEN! WIDO AND GODARD and Giff.”
“Killers of evil,” said Lord Stephen. “That’s what Saint Bernard said.”
“No, sir, you don’t understand. They murdered one of their own men because he was a coward and let them down.”
Lord Stephen blinked several times. “Or because his fear made them afraid,” he said.
“I wish I hadn’t talked to them.”
“Sit down!” Lord Stephen said. “Standing there like that, first on one leg, then on the other.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“This sun’s bad enough without my having to stare right into it. Now then, Arthur! What is our crusade?”
“An act of devotion,” I replied. “A quest that requires fighting skills and can win us great honor. Awar against the enemies of God.”
“Yes, all those things,” said Lord Stephen. “We’re only fighting because keeping the peace would be wrong—we’re not killing for the sake of it.”
“Milon’s men are,” I said.
“Look at it from their point of view,” said Lord Stephen. “They didn’t choose to come. And what’s in it for them? Company. Adventure. A woman or two. That’s all.”
“As I told you at Soissons,” Lord Stephen said, “there are many reasons why men take the Cross, some noble, some not, and leaders have to make do with all sorts and conditions of men. But when we stand before God, each of us must answer for himself.”
Lord Stephen swatted away a noisy fly.
“Do you remember Salman?” I asked him.
“Of course,” said Lord Stephen. “The dying Saracen trader.”
“The way he smiled at me, and then thanked us and blessed us. I think he was ready to stand before God.”
“Not God,” Lord Stephen corrected me. “A false prophet.”
“What I can’t understand is why the Saracens are such enemies of God. Oliver says they are. Count Thibaud said they are.”
“I say they are,” said Lord Stephen in a quiet, firm voice. “If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be sitting here. However, that doesn’t mean we have to howl and rant and rail against them.”
“The Saracens write books about astronomy and algebra and singing,” I said. “Fustian cloth was first made in Egypt. The Venetians trade with the Saracens! And the one I met was a sweettempered man. So why are the Saracens enemies of God?”
“Because they deny Christ,” said Lord Stephen. “Because they worship Allah instead of the true God. Because they bow down to a false prophet. Because they sully the holy places in Bethlehem and Jerusalem. Is that enough?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course, there are some good Saracens, just as there are some bad Christians.”
“My father told me about Saladin.”
“There you are. A great leader and a fine man. Now if he were here, your father would say—”
“I’m glad he’s not!” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Lord Stephen, and he smiled gently. “Well! So am I!”
“Is it true that Saladin was a better man than King John?” I asked.
Lord Stephen closed his eyes. “Very probably,” he replied.
“The king tried to unthrone his own brother!”
Lord Stephen sighed. “Leaders often have to look in two directions at the same time,” he said.
“What do the Saracens say about us?” I asked. “Sir John told me they believe they’re fighting a holy war too. A jihad! ”
“We have much in common,” Lord Stephen said, “but far more that separates us. They believe Jesus will come down from heaven and call on the quick and the dead to follow their religion. Islam.”
“When?”
“They believe the sun will set in the east during the Last Days. I don’t know exactly what they say about us. But all your questions…I’ve got some good news for you.”
Then Lord Stephen told me Milon rode in while I was collecting our consignment of cheese and bread and fruit from the morning barge, and announced that if I’m ready, he will make me a knight three weeks from today. The twenty-seventh day of July.
I wish I were being knighted on the ninth day, because nine is my number. But at least twenty-seven is three times nine, and Oliver would say that’s even better. I can hear his voice now. “My dear boy! It’s obvious. Three times nine! One nine for the Father, one for the Son, and one for the Holy Ghost.”
If only I could spirit Tom here and we could be knighted together. My half-brother; my best friend. If I were in battle, I’d rather have Tom alongside me than anyone else. He could beat Serle at swordplay when he was only fourteen.
But I wish he hadn’t said what he did on the day Winnie and I were betrothed. About how he’ll gladly marry Winnie if I don’t come back from the crusade.