Chapter 17 #4
“I brought you something,” I remembered happily and started rummaging in my bag for the Renault car plans I had printed. So as not to wrinkle them, I had put the pages into plastic page protectors. Jean’s eyes opened wide when I pulled them out, and he nearly grabbed the plastic from me.
“What is this wondrous thing?” he asked in amazement as he examined the page protector from every angle.
“It’s plastic, a kind of material that will only be invented in a few hundred years,” I said, amused by the way he put his whole hand into the page protector, pulled it out, and looked with interest at how the thin plastic stuck back to itself.
“It is indeed very strong and durable, but it is also the scourge of our time. It does not break down, and it’s polluting the whole world. ”
He was entirely captivated as I showed him how the plastic was also impenetrable to water, dirt, and practically everything else.
He asked if he could keep this “amazing material” and wanted to know all about it.
“I can begin to explain, but that is not what I wanted to show you, and I should really get home soon,” I said.
Reluctantly, he drew his gaze from the page protector and returned it to me.
“Do you remember how I told you about our beastless chariots? I brought you sketches of such a chariot,” I explained, holding the pages out to him.
Jean took them with what looked to me like holy reverence. “Such fine paper …” he muttered and began to flip through the diagrams. I had no idea if he managed to understand anything.
“Did you sketch all this?” Jean whispered and swallowed.
“You think?” I laughed. “I found them in a book and used a copy machine,” I simplified things for him.
“Holy Father who art in heaven, have mercy on us,” Jean muttered.
“I cannot look at this just now.” He groaned, tucked the pages into the page protector with determination, folded everything carefully, and placed it in his side bag.
Then, he stared for a few seconds into the air with a focused expression.
“Hugh,” he said with just the slightest raising of his voice. The squire turned around at once. “Come and pray with us.”
This surprised me. Evidently, it surprised Hugh too. He joined us in respectful silence.
“Did you know, Cousin, that the remains of the holy Euphemia were discovered in this very spring by the Bishop of Acre about twenty years ago?” Jean said in a tour guide’s voice.
I did not know who the holy Euphemia was, though Jean’s oily rival had mentioned her in the fortress courtyard. But I had heard of the Acre bishop, or at least one of them, thanks to Simone Halimi.
“Bishop de Vitry?” I asked in the faint hope of demonstrating some sense of time and space.
Hugh gaped at me, and Jean flared his nostrils, overcome by a smile.
“His Holiness, the Bishop de Vitry, yes,” he said patiently. “Please, do not disrespect our saints just because of the negligible differences between the Armenian and Roman churches. We are all God-fearing Christians.”
“I apologize,” I muttered, downcast. “I did not mean any lack of respect.” I was a little annoyed with Jean for complicating things for me theologically.
“Not to worry,” Jean said good-spiritedly. “Let us kneel.”
The three of us got down on our knees, faces turned to the fortress. Hugh, then Jean, with me beside him. I pursed my lips in an attempt to remain serious.
Jean began to recite some prayer in Latin, and I tried to blend in with a murmur steeped in religious devotion.
The two of them closed their eyes, so I did as they did.
For a moment, I felt Jean’s shoulder press against mine, but when I opened my eyes, he was not close to me—the whole thing unnerved me a bit.
“And now, Cousin,” said Jean after the three of us muttered, “Amen,” “we shall leave you alone with your reflections in this holy place. Are your companions to come and fetch you?”
I nodded carefully. Jean had high expectations regarding my speed of perception.
“Hugh,” Jean turned to the young squire.
“Please ride to the guards and ask them, in my name, if there have been any unusual happenings in the area in the last few days. I will join you presently.” Hugh nodded, good-naturedly muttered, “Yes, sir,” and went at once to untie his horse.
It appeared that the prayer had calmed and appeased him.
“He is a very pious young man,” Jean said, as if reading my thoughts.
I did not know how to respond. Suddenly, I felt very embarrassed.
“So … will we meet next week? Same time and place?” I asked with all the matter-of-factness I could muster.
Jean smiled and pulled me to him.
“The fairy édith from the Holy Spring,” he said into my hair and inhaled me deeply. “Fragrant as springtime, quick of tongue, full of riddles and wondrous objects, the lady of the magical passage.”
I practically fainted with longing. I would have given him everything in that moment.
But Jean d’Ibelin, Count of Arsur, was calculated as usual.
He held my hand and kissed it, looking up at me apologetically.
“We will meet again, O gracious lady,” he said.
“Without prying eyes and gossiping tongues.” We parted, and I made for home.