Pagan's Crusade by Catherine Jinks Read Free Book Online Page B

corner. The road widens. Ahead – the gateway. Dramatic pillars of rock, crowned with sunlight. Beyond them, an easy, gradual, spreading, rolling fall to level ground.
    Somebody wants to empty his bladder. Permission withheld. No stopping until we’ve cleared the Valley. Not long now, though. Nearly there. The pace quickens . . .
    O Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight; my goodness and my fortress, my high tower and my deliverer, my shield and he in whom I trust.
    It looks like we’ve made it.
    ‘So what do you have left? Or are you finished?’
    ‘No, we’re not finished. We’ve still got Mount Sion, and Our Lady of Josophat, and the Pool of Bethesda. And the shrine of the Ascension.’
    ‘Oh, haven’t you seen the shrine yet? Oh, you must. They’ve got the autograph text of the Lord’s prayer.’
    ‘And what about the Abbey of Latina? Are you seeing that too?’
    ‘Well . . . we don’t really know if we’re going to have the time . . .’
    ‘Anyway, there’s not much to see inside, is there?’
    ‘There certainly is! When the Blessed Virgin fainted at the crucifixion she was carried to a cave under the abbey, and when she woke up she tore out a handful of hair, and they’ve got it there in a golden casket.’
    ‘Really? You think it’s worth seeing?’
    ‘Oh, absolutely.’
    ‘Well maybe we’ll skip the Church of Saint Peter’s Chains, and do the Abbey of Latina instead.’
    ‘Saint Peter’s Chains! Don’t bother with Saint Peter’s Chains, it’s in a shocking condition. A real dump. You can’t even see the relics, it’s so dark.’
    Et cetera, et cetera. Pilgrim talk. Most of them are on a pretty tight schedule, with lots to do in just a couple of days. The Jordan trip has left them with very little time to kiss the Holy Sepulchre, or cast their wooden crosses onto Calvary, or pile up rocks in the Valley of Hinnom (where they hope to sit enthroned on the Day of Judgement). Some have overspent on relics and souvenirs, and are down to their last dinars. For them, Gaspard has a list of certified charities like Saint John’s Hospital, or the Hospice of the Agony in the Garden.
    Only for genuine cases, though. Woe betide anyone who’s hiding money in their shoes or hats or underwear.
    ‘Thank you, Brother. Thank you kindly.’
    ‘And the Hospital’s just down there, you say?’
    ‘Down there, first left, second right, then take the first stairs.’
    ‘Thank you, Brother.’
    ‘Thank you, Brother.’
    Back inside the walls again. Back to the Cattle Market, knee-deep in dung. Most of the pens are empty once more, but the sheep have left some strong-smelling traces behind them. It’s been a busy day at the sale yards. You can tell by the piles of gnawed fruit stones and sugar cane; the choppy mess of footprints in the mud around the water troughs; the cluster of shepherds drinking away their profits under an awning. There’s an argument going on between the Collector of Tolls and someone who doesn’t want to pay his trading taxes. Someone in a silk burnous. Sackcloth is better if you want to win an argument like that , my friend. Sackcloth, sores and tearstains.
    ‘Goodbye, Master Templar.’
    Trapped! A round red face, a man-eating smile, a slobbering infant. Agnes the Dreaded. Bearing Gerald the Unclean like some kind of gift in her arms.
    No, dear, I’m not kissing anything covered with strands of goo. I joined the Templars to fight Infidels, not to face the ultimate horror.
    ‘Goodbye, Mistress Agnes.’ (Shouldn’t have dismounted. Should have stayed on my horse, beyond the reach of sticky children.) ‘I hope your trip was beneficial.’
    ‘Oh yes, I think so. I think it was.’ She doesn’t sound too sure. ‘Of course Radulf’s backache hasn’t cleared up yet, but we didn’t really pray for that. Perhaps we should have. But we haven’t seen all the sacred sites, so there’s still time, I suppose. Before we leave . .