Robbie smiled. You need mending?'
We all do. When we are young it is the spirit that breaks, and when we are old it is the body.“ Abbot Planchard touched Robbie's elbow to guide him towards a cloister where he picked a spot in the sun and invited his visitor to sit on the low wall between two pillars. Tell me,” he asked, settling on the wall beside Robbie, are you Thomas? Isn't that the name of the man who leads the English?'
I'm not Thomas,“ Robbie said, but you've heard of us?” Oh indeed. Nothing so exciting has happened in these parts since the angel fell,“ the abbot said with a smile, then turned and asked a monk to bring wine, bread and cheese. And perhaps some honey! We make very good honey,” he added to Robbie. The lepers tend the hives.'
Lepers!'
They live behind our house,“ the abbot said calmly, a house which you, young man, wanted to plunder. Am I right?” Yes,' Robbie admitted.
Instead you are here to break bread with me.“ Planchard paused, his shrewd eyes searching Robbie's face. Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
Robbie frowned at that, then looked puzzled. How did you know?'
Planchard laughed. When a soldier comes to me, armed and armoured, but with a crucifix hanging over his mail, then I know he is a man who is not unmindful of his God. You wear a sign, my son,“ he pointed at the crucifix, and even after eighty-five years I can read a sign.”
Eighty-five!“ Robbie said in wonderment, but the abbot said nothing. He just waited and Robbie fidgeted for a while and then he blurted out what was on his mind. He described how they had gone to Castillon d'Arbizon, and how they had found the beghard in the dungeons and how Thomas had saved her life. It's been worrying me,” Robbie said, staring at the grass, and I'm thinking that no good will come to us so long as she lives. The Church condemned her!'
So it did/ Planchard said, then fell silent.
She's a heretic! A witch!'
I know of her,“ Planchard said mildly, and I heard that she lives.”
She's here!“ Robbie protested, pointing south towards the village. Here in your valley!”
Planchard looked at Robbie, seeing an honest, blunt soul, but one in turmoil, and he sighed to himself, then poured some wine and pushed the board of bread, cheese and honey towards the young man. Eat/ he said gently.
It isn't right!' Robbie said vehemently.
The abbot did not touch the food. He did sip the wine, then he spoke softly as he stared at the plume of smoke that drifted from the village's warning pyre. The beghard's sin is not yours, my son/ he said, and when Thomas released her it was not your doing. You worry about other people's sins?'
I should kill her!' Robbie said.
No, you should not/ the abbot said firmly.
No?' Robbie sounded surprised.
If God had wanted that, the abbot said, then he would not have sent you here to talk to me. God's purposes are not always
easy to understand, but I have found that his methods are not as indirect as ours. We complicate God because we do not see that goodness is so very simple.“ He paused. You told me that no good could come to you while she lives, but why would God want good to come to you? This region has been at peace, except for bandits, and you disturb it. Would God make you more vicious if the beghard died?”
Robbie said nothing.
You speak to me,“ Planchard said more firmly, of other people's sin, but you do not talk of your own. Do you wear the crucifix for others? Or for yourself?”
For myself,' Robbie said quietly.
Then tell me of yourself,' the abbot said.
So Robbie did.
Joscelyn, Lord of Beziers and heir to the great county of Berat, slammed the breastplate onto the table so hard that it started dust from the cracks in the timber.
His uncle, the Count, frowned. There is no need to beat the wood, Joscelyn,“ he said placidly. There is no woodworm in the table. At least I hope not. They treat it with turpentine as a preventative.” My father swore by a mix of lye and urine,“ Father Roubert said, and an occasional scorching.” He was sitting opposite the Count, sifting through the mouldering old parchments that had lain undisturbed since they had been removed from Astarac a century before. Some were charred at the edges, evidence of the fire that had been set in the fallen castle.
Lye and urine? I should try that.“ The Count scratched beneath his woollen hat, then peered up at his angry nephew. You do know Father Roubert, Joscelyn? Of course you do.” He peered at another document, saw it was a request that two more watchmen be appointed to the Astarac town guard, and sighed. If you could read, Joscelyn, you could help us.'
I'll help you, uncle,“ Joscelyn said savagely. Just let me off the leash!”
That can go to Brother Jerome.' The Count put the request for extra watchmen in the big basket which would be carried down to the room where the young monk from Paris read the parchments. And mix in some other documents/ he told Father Roubert,
just to confuse him. Those old tax rolls from Lemierre should keep him busy for a month!'
Thirty men, uncle/ Joscelyn insisted, that's all I ask! You have eighty-seven men-at-arms! Just give me thirty!' Joscelyn, Lord of Beziers, was an impressive figure. He was hugely tall, broad in the chest and long-limbed, but his appearance was spoiled by a round face of such vacancy that his uncle sometimes wondered whether there was any brain at all behind his nephew's protuberant eyes. He had straw-coloured hair that was almost always marked by the pressure caused by a helmet's leather liner and he had been blessed with strong arms and sturdy legs, and yet, though Joscelyn was all bone and muscle, and possessed scarcely a single idea to disturb either, he was not without his virtues. He was diligent, even if his diligence was directed solely towards the tournament yard where he was one of the most celebrated fighters in Europe. He had won the Paris tourney twice,
humiliated the best English knights at the big Tewkesbury gathering, and even in the German states, where men believed no one
was better than they, Joscelyn had brought off a dozen top prizes. He had famously put Walther of Siegenthaler on his broad rump twice in one bout, and the only knight who had consistently defeated Joscelyn was the black-armoured man called the Harlequin who had ridden grim and relentlessly about the tournament circuit to raise money. But the Harlequin had not been
seen for three or four years now and Joscelyn suspected that his absence meant Joscelyn could make himself the champion of Europe.
He had been raised near Paris by the Count's younger brother who had died of the flux seventeen years before. There had been little money in Joscelyn's house and the Count, notoriously mean, had sent the widow hardly an ecu to save her distress, yet Joscelyn had made money with his lance and sword, and that, the Count reckoned, was to his credit. And he had brought two men-at-arms with him, both of them hardened warriors, whom Joscelyn paid from his own money and that, the Count thought, showed that he was able to lead men. But you really should learn to read/ he finished his thought aloud. The mastery of letters civilizes a man, Joscelyn.'
Shit on civilization/ Joscelyn said, there are English bandits in Castillon d'Arbizon and we're doing nothing! Nothing!“ We're hardly doing nothing/ the Count demurred, scratching again under his woollen cap. He had an itch there, and he wondered if it presaged some worse ailment. He made a mental note to consult his copies of Galen, Pliny and Hippocrates. We've sent word to Youlouse and to Paris/ he explained to Joscelyn, and I shall protest to the seneschal in Bordeaux. I shall protest very firmly!” The seneschal was the English King's regent in Gascony and the Count was not sure he would send the man a message, for such a protest might well provoke more English adventurers to seek land in Berat.
Damn protests/ Joscelyn said, just kill the bastards. They're breaking the truce!'
They're English/ the Count said, they always break truces. Trust the devil before an Englishman.'
So kill them/ Joscelyn persisted.
I've no doubt we shall/ the Count replied. He was deciphering the terrible handwriting of a long-dead clerk who had written a contract with a man called Sestier to line Astarac's castle's drains with elmwood. In time/ he
