Memoirs of an Old Knight of Acre. Chapter IV. A Sword Should Not Be Left to Rust
“Sometimes God reveals a new road to a man in the most ordinary of ways. In my case, it happened because of an empty cup of wine.”
From the writings of Ansel de Nantes.
When the prince’s cup was empty, the abbot turned his head almost imperceptibly in my direction.
“Ansel, bring His Lordship more wine.”
I was on my feet almost at once. In the kitchen, the cellarer had already prepared a large earthenware jug, as though he had known beforehand that the conversation at the high table would be a long one. Taking it in both hands, I carefully made my way back toward the refectory. The jug was heavy, and my greatest fear was that I might spill the precious wine upon the stone floor—or, worse still, over the cloak of William the Conqueror’s son.
The conversation was still going when I reached the table. Robert sat half-turned toward the abbot, slowly breaking apart a piece of bread still warm from the oven. He listened attentively without interrupting while the abbot related the latest news from England, brought by merchants and pilgrims.
“They say King William is raising another extraordinary tax,” the abbot said. “Some of the bishops no longer conceal their displeasure, and the merchants have begun to complain as well. Trade is worse than it was, and people fear there will be further levies.”
Robert considered this for a moment, took a small sip of wine, and gave a quiet chuckle.
“My brother has always found it easier to count silver than to reckon with men’s hearts.”
The abbot did not answer. Such conversations demanded caution.
“Our father,” Robert continued, more seriously now, “was born for war. He saw the world as a field to be conquered. But holding land is far harder than winning it. A lord must think of more than fortresses and swords. If a peasant fears his lord more than he fears the brigand in the forest, then authority has already begun to rot from within.”
He spoke calmly, without anger or bitterness. These were not the words of a man condemning his brother. They sounded more like those of a man saddened by the road his brother had chosen.
The conversation gradually turned to the affairs of the duchy itself. Robert asked in detail about the roads, the condition of the bridges, whether pilgrims could travel in greater safety than before, how the harvest had fared, whether the surrounding villages were paying their tithes properly, and whether the number of brigands in the nearby forests had increased. Sitting at the far end of the refectory, I understood for the first time that a true ruler spends most of his time thinking of things that have little to do with war. His concerns are bridges, mills, bread, trade roads, and the safety of people he may never see. Only many years later did I realize how important that conversation would prove to me.
I carefully tilted the jug, trying to fill Robert’s cup without spilling a single drop. At that moment he suddenly looked up at me.
“What is your name, boy?”
“Ansel, my lord.”
“Ansel…” he repeated, as though testing the sound of the name. “Whose son are you?”
“Hugues de Nantes, my lord.”
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Robert slowly raised his head and looked at me intently. Something changed in his expression. The faint smile with which he had been speaking only a moment before disappeared. It was as though he no longer saw a thirteen-year-old novice standing before him, but someone else—someone who had vanished into the past long ago.
“Hugues de Nantes…” he said quietly.
The abbot understood at once.
“Yes, my lord. This is his son.”
For several seconds the prince said nothing. Then he leaned back on the bench and smiled faintly.
“God above… I had quite forgotten he left a boy behind.”
He studied me closely, as though searching my face for familiar features.
“Come closer.”
I took several steps forward.
“You have his height. The same long limbs. But not his eyes. Hugues looked at the world as though he were forever about to start a fight. You watch first.”
I was surprised.
At the time, I had never noticed that habit in myself.
Robert continued to study me.
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“Can you read?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Latin?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Brother Matthew says better than many grown men.”
“And can you write?”
I could not help smiling.
“Much worse.”
This time Robert smiled as well.
“So God did not give you everything at once.”
There was quiet laughter around the table.
Even the abbot allowed himself a slight smile.
“His handwriting truly is dreadful,” he confirmed. “But his memory is remarkable.”
Robert nodded, as though making a note of the fact.
“Can you ride?”
“A little.”
“Use a weapon?”
“Only a wooden sword.”
“And do you like life in the monastery?”
The question caught me by surprise.
I thought about it. The abbot had never before asked me whether I liked anything. Here, everyone simply did what was required of him.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why?”
“It is peaceful here.”
Robert looked directly into my eyes.
“And do you love peace?”
This time I was silent for a long while.
At last, I answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Because… I have never known any other world.”
The smile returned to the prince’s face. But there was no mockery in it now.
He looked toward the abbot.
“Father, may I ask your pupil one more question?”
The abbot nodded.
Robert turned back to me.
“If God allowed you to choose your own road… what kind of life would you choose?”
I felt my heart begin to beat faster.
It was the hardest question he had asked me.
I had never thought about it.
Children like me were rarely asked what they wanted.
I slowly let out my breath.
“I don’t know, my lord.”
“But surely you dream of something?”
Almost without meaning to, I looked toward the windows. Beyond them, in the evening light, I could see the horses of his conroi.
Very quietly, I said:
“Sometimes… when I see knights… I wonder what it would be like to see the world.”
Robert followed my gaze.
Then, very calmly, he asked:
“Would you trade your habit for a sword?”
The abbot nearly choked on his wine.
“My lord!”
For the first time that evening, there was genuine indignation in his voice.
“Forgive me, but you are placing the boy in an exceedingly difficult position. He has been raised here since infancy, he is being prepared to take his vows, and he is one of our finest pupils. Besides, this monastery is not so rich in learned men that we can casually surrender every literate novice who comes along.”
Robert did not argue.
He merely rose from the table.
“Then do me the honor, Father. Let us speak in private.”
They left the refectory, leaving me alone among dozens of people. Never before had waiting seemed so long. I tried to imagine what they were saying behind the closed door, but every path my thoughts took ended in a dead end.
When the door finally opened, both men appeared perfectly calm.
The abbot came to me first.
Robert stopped beside him and laid a heavy hand upon my shoulder.
“Father has convinced me of one thing.”
I looked up at him questioningly.
“You truly might make a good monk.”
He paused.
“But I think God gave you shoulders too strong to spend your whole life carrying books.”
The same quiet smile appeared on his face—the one I would remember for the rest of my life.
“A good sword should not be left to rust in a monastery.”
He was silent for only a moment.
“Will you enter my service?”
At that moment, it did not even occur to me to look toward the abbot.
I did not ask for time.
I did not ask to pray upon it.
It seemed to me that I had known the answer all my life and had simply never spoken it aloud.
“Yes, my lord.”
Robert gave a brief nod.
“Then at dawn, you will leave the abbey.”
Only later, lying awake upon my straw mattress, did I suddenly realize that for the first time in thirteen years I was not waiting for the morning bell.
An entirely different life lay ahead of me.
And, as it turned out, God had prepared it for me long before.
