Tristan, rebel at heart, questioned the justice of such a crusade.
“By God’s light,” he said, “these priests are over meddlesome with the souls of others. Tell it not in Gath, my friend, but I have no great love for men in petticoats.”
The leper grimaced at him with his misshapen mouth.
“Heresy or no heresy, messire,” he said, “they have spilt holy blood here. I had the news on this road this morning. The deed was done but yesterday.”
“Ha!” quoth Tristan, staring in the man’s face.
“They have slain the Pope’s legate. God have mercy on them, for the Church knows little of that virtue.”
Tristan remembered the wild cry in the woods, the fight by the bridge, the slain man whose horse he had taken. There was new significance in the scene to him. He questioned the leper as to the churchman’s end.
“The old tale,” he said. “The priest trifled with a certain knight’s daughter, whose tower stands westwards towards the sea. There was quick vengeance afoot. The knight and his men followed fast after the legate’s company, ambuscaded them, and put the whole rout to the sword.”
“By God,” said Tristan, smiling in his eyes, “they were well served for the deed. I would have slain the Pope for a less dishonour.”
They had passed a league or more in company, and were crossing a heath open and bleak to wind and sky. The leper reined in the horse on a sudden, climbed from the saddle, gave the bridle into Tristan’s hand. He drew his cowl down over his distorted face, and trudged on wearily, like one whose feet were weighted with despair.
“Therefore, messire,” he said, “you may gather that there is like to be fire and sword in La Vallée Joyeuse. As for me, my lamp burns dim; I must cherish it that the good God may trim the flame at St. Ursuline’s Well. Pray for one, messire, who is often sad and heavy of heart.”
“Friend,” said Tristan, “my prayers are yours for what they are worth. Doubt not that if strength could cleanse you, you should be fresh and clean as a new-budded rose.”
They had come to the rim of the sandy heath, where the ground broke abruptly into rocky slopes, plunging downwards under thickets of arbutus and of pine. Four roads crossed at a spot where a great wooden crucifix stretched out its painted arms athwart the sky. The leper climbed a little knoll rising from a pool of golden broom, and pointed Tristan southwards over the scene.