The Nonexistent Knight by Italo Calvino Read Free Book Online Page A

holy faith ... to save women and sick and weak and old ... you can tell me...”
    Agilulf, before turning round, stood there for a moment with his back to him, in sign of annoyance at being interrupted in the course of duty. Then, when he did turn, he began to talk in rapid polished phrases which betrayed enjoyment at his masterly grasp of a subject put to him at a moment’s notice, and of the competence of his exposé.
    “From what you say, apprentice, you appear to believe that our rank as paladins consists exclusively of covering ourselves with glory, whether in battle at the head of troops, or in bold individual tasks, the latter either in defense of our holy faith or in assistance of women, aged and sick. Have I taken your meaning well?"
    “Yes.”
    “Well, then, what you have suggested are in fact activities particularly recommended to our corps of chosen officers, but...” and here Agilulf gave a little laugh, the first Raimbaut had heard from the white helmet, a laugh courteous and ironic at the same time “... but those are not the sole ones. If you so desire, it would be easy for me to list one by one duties allotted to Simple Paladins, Paladins First Class, Paladins of the General Staff...”
    Raimbaut interrupted him. “All I need is to follow you and take you as an example, knight”
    “You prefer to set experience before doctrines then; that’s admissible. Yet today you see me doing my turn of inspection as I do every Wednesday, on behalf of the Quartermaster’s Department. As such I am about to inspect the kitchens of the regiments of Auvergne and Poitiers. If you follow me, you can gain some experience in this difficult branch of service.”
    This was not what Raimbaut had expected, and he felt rather put out. But not wanting to contradict himself he pretended to pay attention to what Agilulf did and said with cooks, vintners and scullions, still hoping that this was but a preparatory ritual before tushing into some dashing feat of arms.
    Agilulf counted and recounted allocations of food, rations of soup, numbers of mess tins to be filled and contents of vats. “Even more difficult than commanding an army, you know,” he explained to Raimbaut, “is calculating how many tins of soup one of these vats contains. It never works out in any regiment. Either there are rations which can’t be traced or put on returns or—if allocations are reduced—there are not enough to go round and discontent flares up among the troops. Of course every military kitchen has hangers-on of different kinds, old women, cripples and so on, who come for what’s left over. But that’s all very irregular, of course. To clear things up, I have arranged for every regiment to make a return of its strength including even the names of such poor as usually line up for rations. We can then know exactly where every mess tin of soup goes. Now to get practice in your paladin’s duties, you can go and make a tour of regimental kitchens, with the lists, and check that all is in order. Then you will report back to me.”
    What was Raimbaut to do? To refuse, demand glory or nothing? If he did he risked ruining his career over nonsense. He went.
    He returned bored, no clearer than before. “Oh, yes, it seems to be all right,” he said to Agilulf, “though it’s certainly all very confused And those poor folk who come for soup, are they all brothers by any chance?”
    “Why brothers?”
    “Oh, they’re so alike ... In fact they might be mistaken for each other. Every regiment has its own, just like those of the others. At first I thought it was the same man moving from kitchen to kitchen. But on the list there were different names: Boamoluz, Carotun, Balingaccio, Bertel. Then I asked the sergeants, and checked; yes, he always corresponded. Though surely that similarity...”
    “I’ll go and see for myself.”
    They moved towards the lines of Lorraine. “There, that man over there,” and Raimbaut pointed as if someone was there.