Pagan in Exile Read Online Free PDF Page B

did you run away?’
    ‘When I was ten years old, my lord.’
    ‘I see. And where did you go then?’
    ‘To Jerusalem.’
    ‘To your family?’
    ‘No, my lord, I don’t have any family. I never knew my father, and my mother didn’t want me.’
    What’s all this about? Is it some kind of trick? He sits there, stroking his falcon with one long finger.
    ‘You can’t have joined the Templars when you were ten years old,’ he murmurs.
    ‘No, my lord, I did that when I was sixteen.’
    ‘And before then? What did you do before then?’
    ‘Nothing, my lord. At least nothing to be proud of. Just garrison work.’ And that’s all I’m going to say, Lord Jordan. Because I don’t trust you. You’re a cut above the other two, and you certainly saved my skin, but you’re dangerous. I can smell it. There’s something hidden underneath.
    ‘Well, I’m sure that whatever you did, it was interesting.’ A smile creeps across his face. ‘No one else in Bram can read or write, you know Not even the priest. And none of my family ever had an education; we’re all just as illiterate as Roland is. Of course, we used to have a chaplain who could read – he lived here in the castle – but he’s dead now.’
    I’m not surprised.
    ‘He was my mother’s chaplain.’ Turning to look at Segura, who’s sidled up with a long, ragged piece of bluish flesh. ‘What’s that supposed to be?’
    ‘It – it –’
    ‘What do you think I’ve got here? A lymer hound? Cut it up, quickly.’
    ‘Y-yes, my lord.’
    ‘And I want small pieces. Small. Understand?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Stupid woman.’ He shifts his gaze back to me. ‘My mother had three books, which were part of her dowry. The chaplain used to read them to her. He had to translate them, of course, because they were all written in Latin. Two of them were gospels, but the other was an historical book. William of Malmesbury’s Chronicles of the Kings of England. My father burnt the gospels, but I kept the history. I was never very interested in it when I was young, although I do recall one extract about a witch who was carried off by the Devil when she died. I was read that particular story in the hope that it would encourage me to mend my wicked ways.’ He smiles a little. (Now I know why his stare is so compelling. He hardly ever blinks.) ‘But lately,’ he adds, ‘I’ve been looking at the pictures, and they make me wonder what the words mean. Do you read Latin, by any chance?’
    ‘Yes, my lord. Latin is what I read best.’
    ‘Then perhaps you could read me this book, some time?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    ‘It would give me something new to think about.’
    Segura is still frantically sawing away at the sinewy meat, with a knife as big as a battleaxe. Jordan rises, and the falcon on his wrist flaps her wings a few times before settling. The bells on her legs tinkle as she moves.
    ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A real diamond.’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Exotic, too. She’s not a local.’ He fixes me with that blank, blue look again. ‘A bit like you, in fact. Have those witless animals bothered you before?’
    ‘No, my lord. This is the first time.’
    ‘Well if they do it again, don’t hesitate to call me.’
    ‘Thank you, my lord.’ (Are you serious?) ‘But I don’t think they’ll be that stupid.’
    ‘My dear Pagan, you must never underestimate the stupidity of the people around here. I assure you, it never ceases to surprise. Ah, at last.’ Once more Segura has approached him, this time with the meat neatly sliced, and carefully arranged in an earthenware bowl. He takes it without a word of thanks.
    ‘I daresay you must feel like a walking spectacle, at the moment, but it won’t last,’ he continues. ‘And even while it does, you mustn’t let such ignorance affect your peace of mind. Remember that no one here has much to do, so they’ll stare at anything out of the ordinary.’ He moves to the door, treading carefully on