XI. The Old Crusader...

When Hugh re-entered the refectory he found Richard ensconced by the fire with Thomas and another man. Richard was leaning forward towards the man; his eyes alight with interest and a broad smile on his face. Thomas also looked amused by the tale the stranger was telling, his earlier disgruntled mood forgotten.
     The stranger had to be at least sixty years old. His hair was completely white but there was still plenty left on his head. He was a large man, or he had been once, but time had weakened him, his muscles and stature shrunken with age. He wore a grey tunic, the embroidery around the collar stained with obvious age and wear. His boots though were well cared for, so he had obviously spent some time travelling and understood the practicalities. As Hugh drew nearer he overheard part of their conversation,
     “Oh yes he fought with a lion’s heart and courage. He killed more Muslims that day than any other man. With one great swing of his sword he could slice through a man’s head right down to his teeth.” No wonder that Richard looked so interested, Hugh thought. His friend liked nothing better than a blood-thirsty tale about old battles. Perhaps if he had been in one, he would not find them such appealing conversation. Richard became aware of Hugh’s presence and gestured towards him, his voice loud and cheerful,
     “Come over here Hugh. There’s someone you should meet.” Richard stood up, making room on the wooden bench for his companion. “Hugh Mansel, this is Stephen Causton.” Hugh nodded at the older man. “He fought with King Richard on crusade.” Richard’s tone conveyed his awe for the man sitting before him. As Hugh sat he noted the sharp and flinty nature of the old man’s blue eyes. There was something unnerving about his piercing gaze. Hugh could not shake the feeling that they saw everything.
     “Now Richard, he was certainly a fine king. Not at all like his conniving brother John.” Hugh fidgeted uneasily at Stephen’s comment. It had not been many years past since the country had been engulfed in civil war, and he certainly had no wish to see the situation once again ignited. There was the chance of stability now under the new king, though Henry was but a child still. Richard however was unfazed, having little interest in politics. He continued to question Stephen eagerly,
     “Acre… now that must have been a great battle.”
     “Aye. God was certainly on our side that day, shining approval down on the righteous.” Hugh was unable to stop himself from interrupting,
     “But I heard the king ordered the slaughter of over two thousands Muslim prisoners that day. Would God approve of those actions I wonder?”
     “The Muslims are ungodly. They get what they deserve.” Even Richard blinked at the hissing fanaticism colouring Stephen’s words. There was a lull in the conversation before Stephen continued in a more moderate tone. “I’ve seen the delights of the Holy Land and Santiago de Compostela. Canterbury will be my last pilgrimage.”
     At least he would not find any Muslims in Canterbury, Hugh thought gratefully, wondering to himself if all Stephen’s pilgrimages had been motivated purely by religious hatred. Hugh sensed that the old crusader was still a dangerous enemy to have, and that he would have to keep his easily impressed friend away from the man’s malicious opinions.