Iacobus by Matilde Asensi Read Free Book Online Page A

at work and, for my own good, I do not wish to disturb you.”
    “Well you did!” he said crossly. “Now you’re going to have to wait longer until the food is ready. Plus I’m on my own today. My wife and children have gone to visit relatives, so contain your stomachs with that bread.”
    “Are you the famous François?” I asked, feigning admiration and watching him carefully. He turned to face me with a new expression on his face. So, you are vulnerable to vanity. Good, very good …! I said to myself, satisfied. Whenever I was working on a mission entrusted to me by my Order, I was accustomed to forgetting about the sword, the dagger and the spear, because on numerous occasions I had found them to be of no use when trying to get information from people. As such, I had the art of flattery, friendly persuasion, verbal tricks and manipulating the nature and temperament of others down to near perfection.
    “How do you know who I am? I don’t recall seeing you here before.”
    “And I have never been here but your food is famous throughout Languedoc.”
    “Really?” he asked, surprised. “And who told you about me?”
    “Oh, well, lots of people!” I lied. I was getting myself into a rut.
    “Name one!”
    “Well, let me think … Ah, yes! The first was my friend Langlois, who passed through here one day on his way to Nevers, and he told me: ‘If you ever go to Avignon, make sure that you eat at François’ inn, in Roquemaure.’ Another one who springs to mind is Count Fulgence Delisle, who I’m sure you remember, who had the good taste to try your food a while ago when he stayed here on his way to a party in Toulouse. And lastly, my second cousin, Cardinal Henry of Saint-Valery, who specially recommended you.”
    “Cardinal Saint-Valery?” he asked, looking at me suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. Here, I told myself, is a man with a secret. The pieces started to fall together just as I had suspected. “He’s your cousin?”
    “Oh, maybe I exaggerated slightly!” I rectified with a laugh. “Our respective mothers were second cousins. As you will have noted by my accent, I’m not from around here. I’m from Valencia, on the other side of the Pyrenees. But my mother was from Marseilles, in the Provence.” I gave Jonas a slight kick under the table for him to shut his saucer-like eyes. “I know that my cousin visited you frequently when he was serving Pope Clement. He himself told me that on more than one occasion before he died.”
    I was playing all in but it was an interesting round.
    “So he’s dead?”
    “Oh, yes! He died two months ago, in Rome.”
    “Oh, hell!” he let slip in surprise, and then, realizing what he had said, changed direction: “Heavens, I’m sorry, sire!”
    “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
    “I’ll bring you your food straight away,” he said, quickly disappearing into the kitchen.
    Jonas looked at me terrified.
    “Frere Galceran, you just told a pack of lies!” he stammered.
    “My dear Jonas, I have already told you not to call me frere. You must learn to call me sire, micer, sir, Knight Galceran, or whatever comes to mind but not frere.”
    “You lied!” he repeated, insistently.
    “Yes, so what? I will burn in hell, if that makes you feel better.”
    “I think I’ll be returning to my monastery very soon.” For a moment I was paralyzed. Due to a mistaken feeling of secret possession for the boy, I had not anticipated that he could appeal to his freedom and return to Ponç de Riba; but rather I had assumed that by my side, he would feel free for the first time in his life, far from the monks and traveling the world. But naturally, he didn’t know my plans for his future and was unaware that his real training was just about to begin. Nevertheless, it seemed that my method was completely wrong. I had to ask myself what I would have liked and how I would have acted if I was Jonas’ age again.
    “O.K., boy,” I said, after a few moments of