Free Pagan's Crusade by Catherine Jinks Page B

despite our trials, we must not lose hope. Because our Lord God has not forsaken us.
    ‘You may say that such a terrible defeat is proof that we have been forsaken. Well I say that God has sent this defeat to test us in our faith, just as Job was tested. Because faith in God is trust in God. Many times, I have been told to consider the words of Macabees: “Victory in war is not dependent on a big army, and bravery is the gift of heaven”. I now ask you to consider these words.
    ‘So far as we know, Saladin has taken only one city in this kingdom. How many cities does that yet leave us? Cities full of men and women willing to defend Jerusalem with their lives, if necessary? I say to you that we may have lost the battle, but we have not yet lost the kingdom.
    ‘Brothers in Christ, remember who you are. Remember the words of the blessed Bernard. You are the chosen troops of God. You are the valiant men of Israel. Your souls are protected by the armour of faith just as your bodies are protected by the armour of steel. How can you lose courage, knowing that you are armed with the sacred Rule of the Temple? As long as you follow the Rule, as long as you bow to its perfect discipline, rest assured that you walk in the way of salvation.’
    Well I hope you’re right, my lord. I certainly hope you’re right. Because if you’re not, we’re finished.
    ‘Praise be to God.’ A voice in the crowd. ‘Praise be to God for all his mercies.’
    ‘Amen.’
    ‘Amen.’
    A chorus of pious types. All what mercies? Have I missed something, here? I thought we were talking about a disaster.
    Lord Roland bows his head, briefly.
    ‘Before we begin our prayer,’ he concludes, ‘I want to inform you that I shall be discussing this city’s defence with the Patriarch, who of course holds authority here now in the absence of any liege lords. And I am calling a day of prayer and fasting tomorrow in honour of our fallen brethren, may their souls rest in peace, as well as a vigil tonight in the Chapel of the Cross for any of you who wish to attend.
    ‘I now call on Father Amiel to lead us in our devotions.’
    It’s a peculiar feeling – like a cold wind on your heart. The fact that it’s actually happened. It’s actually happened. You live with it all your life, like a cloud on the horizon, and suddenly the storm is overhead. They’ve come at last, after all this time. The Infidels. Practically on the doorstep. And it’s not a surprise. That’s what’s so awful. Everyone born here – we all knew they would come. Everyone born here is born waiting.
    I don’t know. It’s bad enough not having a father and mother. Now I don’t even have a country any more.
    Lentils again. Terrific.
    Nothing like lentils to get the old blood flowing. Boiled lentils – they really put the spark back into your spirits. The lift back into your life. Bounce back with boiled lentils! It must be the eighth time this week, surely.
    There’s something about the way that Fulk swings each soggy spoonful into our bowls. Splat! Like a horse depositing a load of dung. You can tell he doesn’t respect the food. Not that there’s much to admire in your average lentil. But a cook who doesn’t respect his food – it makes you wonder what he’s done to the stuff. (Or where it’s come from, for that matter.)
    Splat! Right under my nose. The scrapings of the pot, by the look of it. We always get scrapings down this end of the room. Knights’ table first; then sergeants; then Turcopoles; and then, at long last, the mercenary scum. So what if the supply runs out before it reaches our bowls? We don’t deserve any better.
    Fulk stomps back to the kitchen to fetch the next course. Cheese, I suspect. Or crushed nuts and succory in fried cabbage rolls. Not mutton, anyway – not with everyone on rations. They promised meat or fish three times a week, and what do I get? Mutton stew on Sunday. Once upon a time they served up salt pork around here: salt pork, spiced