Death and the Devil

The servant roared with laughter until he was left gasping for breath. Then he stood there, apparently unsure what to do next. He decided to try yawning. It worked. “Late,” he observed.

“Oh, excellent,” Jaspar mocked. “We’ve learned to distinguish between morning and evening! What an intellectual achievement. The world will tremble at the power of your mind.”

“Yes.” Rolof nodded, completely unabashed. “Going to bed.”

He yawned again, then climbed the stairs. They heard him singing, some unmelodious plaint that suddenly broke off, to be followed by the familiar snore, proving that for every unpleasant noise there is an even more unpleasant one.

Jaspar placed two mugs on the table, filled them, and invited Jacob to drink. They emptied them in one draught, Jacob greedily, Jaspar with the unhurried calm of the experienced drinker.

“So,” he said, and put his mug on the table, refilled it, drank, put it down again, refilled it, emptied it, put it down again, and looked at Jacob as if he saw things rather more clearly than a few minutes ago. “How did you sleep, my little fox-cub?”

Jacob felt odd. The stuff was going to his head. “Like a fox-cub,” he said.

“Marvelous. My house a fox’s earth. How’s the arm?”

“Better.”

“Better? That’s good.”

They were silent for a while. Jacob wondered whether he ought to bring up his problem, although he would have preferred to be able to forget everything.

The silence began to weigh on him. “You gave a sermon on the Hebrews?” he asked, more out of politeness than anything.

Jaspar gave him a surprised look. “How on earth—oh, of course, Rolof. Yes, I told him what I was going to preach on. Sometimes I really don’t know whether he has the brain of a piglet or the sly duplicity of my cat. But he’s a good servant—when he’s not sleeping or eating. Yes, I preached on Hebrews and some of my fine parishioners did not like it.”

He snapped his jaws shut. His fury was almost tangible. Jacob stared at his mug. They could go on like this, drinking and saying nothing, but the idea didn’t appeal to him much. He suddenly felt the need to know more about Jaspar.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Why not?” Jaspar grunted, pouring himself some more wine. “Because they’re unrepentant hypocrites through and through, our good Christian ladies and gentlemen, and because that unspeakable whoreson Alexander is preaching a crusade and they’re delighted, instead of being outraged. As if the so-called holy city of Cologne didn’t have good reason to mistrust the promptings of the Roman snake that calls himself pope. The people of Cologne of all places.”

“Why Cologne of all places?”

Jaspar rolled his eyes. “O Lord! See Thy son Jacob, he lives within the walls of Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium, but what does he know of it? Nothing. Or have you heard of the lost children? Anno Domini 1212?”

Jacob shook his head.

“Just as I thought. But you do know what a crusade is?”

“Yes. A just war to win back the Holy Land from the heathen.”

“Amazing! The words just roll off his tongue! Learned off by heart so he doesn’t need to think about it. Sancta simplicitas! Now, if you were to ask me, I would say a crusade is a mockery of the teaching of Augustine, put about by another blockhead known as Urban II. God, what am I doing talking to you about crusades and Augustine? I must be out of my mind.”

“Perhaps.” Jacob was starting to get angry. “No, definitely. You’re out of your mind and I’m an imbecile. How is it possible I’m talking to the venerable Jaspar Rodenkirchen, dean, physician, and goodness knows what else? To know nothing is unforgivable, of course.”

“What’s unforgivable is to have an empty head.”

“Oh, right. It’s all my fault. I’ve been surrounded by sages all my life. I only had to ask. Everyone was just waiting for the opportunity to fill my head with knowledge. Wasn’t I stupid? Unforgivable, as you say.”

Angrily he grabbed the jug, poured himself some wine, and gulped it down. Jaspar watched him in amazement.

“What’s all this? The poor don’t need to be ashamed of their ignorance, I know that. No one expects a philosophical treatise from you. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they—”

“I am not poor in spirit! And when I don’t know something, it doesn’t bother me until someone insists on rubbing my nose in it, at the same time spouting platitudes such as ‘use your head.’ How can I, reverend sir, when there’s obviously nothing in it? At the moment I don’t even know what to do to survive the next few days. I’m an ignorant fox, yes, or more likely a wretched little squirrel, but I will not accept insults. Not even from you, however many times you boast about wanting to help me.”

His mouthful of wine went down the wrong way; he coughed and gasped for breath. Jaspar looked on, then stretched over and gave him a thump on the back.

“So you really want to know about the Crusades?”

“Yes,” Jacob panted, “why not?”

“A history lesson. Might be a little dry.”

“Doesn’t matter.”