Death and the Devil

In unison, the bells of St. George’s, St Jacob’s, and the church of the Carmelites struck the first hour of the afternoon. Jaspar quickened his step. “Come on, we’d better hurry up before those scoundrels change their minds. Now: weapons. The crusaders discovered that the infidels were decidedly inventive in that respect. Rolling siege towers, castles bristling with lances on the backs of elephants, and catapults that not only send their projectiles into the enemy camp, but actually hit what they’re meant to hit. And among all these reports there was one I heard years ago about single-handed crossbows. Very light, a work of art almost, and extremely elastic. With small bolts. You can’t shoot as far with them as with the big ones, but you’re quicker on the draw and can keep the other hand free for your sword. The Saracens’ sharpshooters, the man told me, are incredibly accurate with them, even when they’re charging the enemy on horseback or on foot. Before you know it, you have one of those little bolts sticking out of your chest. Not a pleasant experience.”

It certainly made Jacob think as he trotted along beside Jaspar. “So the murderer’s a crusader,” he said. “How does that help us?”

“Was.” Jaspar corrected him. “Was a crusader. If he was, then he’ll have brought it back with him. A fairly recent invention, by all accounts. As far as I know, the first examples appeared during the last Crusade under Louis IX. He started out from France in 1248 and went via Cyprus to Egypt, where he took Damietta at the mouth of the Nile. I’ll spare you the horrors of the campaign. Suffice it to say that Louis was captured, but, incredibly, released for a large ransom. The Crusade ended in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but not the city, and the army was wiped out at Acre on the coast. A total disaster. Most of those who did make it home never got over the experience. They felt they had failed, felt guilty for not having managed to carry out God’s will, whatever they thought that was, not to mention the constant massacres, less an expression of Christian liberation than a perversion of human nature.”

He paused for breath. “I have to say that some of the crusaders, however much I condemn their deeds, were motivated by a vision. But most of them were unscrupulous adventurers and they had no idea of what actually awaited them. They wallowed in dreams of immeasurable riches and generous remission of sins. Others, brave knights, experienced in warfare but blinded by the legends of the Holy Grail, probably imagined it would be like a grand tournament.”

Jaspar shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m going on like this, we haven’t the time. The point is, it was in connection with that Crusade that I heard about the tiny crossbow. Some poor devil who had lost his legs at the siege of Acre rambled on about it during confession. And I didn’t know whether to believe him. He was already a bit—” Jaspar tapped his forehead.

“When did this Crusade end?” Jacob asked.

“Six years ago. So it would fit in with this monster going about his business in Cologne. We know a little more about him.”

“So? What help is it to know him?”

“Knowledge always helps. Can’t you get that into that empty water-tub you have for a brain?” said Jaspar as they walked along by the Brook. “He is a former crusader who has committed murders. And will commit a further murder, if we assume that the main action is still to come. The basic question, it seems to me, is: is he acting on his own initiative or on someone else’s behalf? Gerhard’s death shocked Cologne. If that’s only the prelude, then it’s more than just an old crusader running amok, especially considering how well planned the whole thing was. So we assume the man’s being paid. Well paid, probably. They’ll have chosen him carefully.”

“Who’re they?”

“How should I know? Someone with money and influence, I suspect. Someone willing to pay for a silent, invisible executioner, who probably still has an exceptionally difficult task to perform. He buys himself witnesses and on the same evening as the murder manages to get rid of the only two people you told about it. So we have a mind capable of logical planning, rare enough nowadays with the followers of Saint Bernard railing against reason and trying to stop the wheel of time. He’s intelligent, quick, and skillful, probably very strong physically, and an expert shot into the bargain. Now most crusaders were complete blockheads, ergo our murderer must have belonged to the elite.”

“So why does he go around murdering? The Crusade is over. If he’s so clever, why doesn’t he just go home?”

“That,” said Jaspar, “is a good question.”