Vol. 168: The Devil’s bargain
…and a Crusader’s choice
(Second of two parts.)
The story so far: Recoiling from the butchery at the siege of Jerusalem in June 1099, the Crusader Robert of Savoie throws down his sword and promises God to return to his wife at Angon, on Lake Annecy in the French Alps, before the end of the year. But on the last night of 1099, in the darkness, he accidentally gallops up the wrong side of the lake. In despair, he assumes he will never see his wife again. But then, in the pitch darkness, he hears a strange, disembodied voice: “My friend, perhaps I can offer some assistance.”
To read the full text of Part I, click here.
Above: The southern end of Lake Annecy in the French Alps. In the background on the left, jutting into the lake, is the village of Angon, once home to Robert of Savoie and his wife Bernoline, Lady of Angon (and also, centuries later, of Camp MacJannet, which I attended). On the far side, also jutting into the water, is the Chateau of Duingt, where Robert found himself stranded on the night of December 31, 1099.
AN APPPOINTMENT AT ANGON: Part II
“Who is it?” asked Robert— an instinctive question, for he knew very well the identity of the presence before him.
“I am a poor boatman,” said the voice, “who scrapes out his humble existence by delivering passengers across the lake between Angon and Duingt. It is a meager living, but an honest one.”
“Indeed, you must be poor,” Robert said, “for how many passengers will you find on a night such as this?”
“Even one passenger is sufficient for my needs,” replied the boatman, “if he is the right passenger. Come aboard, my friend. I can deliver you safely to Angon within minutes.”
“And the price?” Robert asked.
“The price is reasonable, and commensurate with the service performed. Were it otherwise, I could not have remained in business all these years.”
Robert hesitated, wondering if perhaps he had been mistaken about the stranger before him. All the evidence available to Robert’s intellect— the lateness of the hour, the desolation of this spot, the desperation of Robert’s own circumstances— told him that this was no ordinary boatman.
On the other hand, within Robert there now stirred the wild hope that perhaps the boatman could be taken at his word, in which case Robert could still reach Angon before midnight, as the Lord had commanded him at the siege of Jerusalem six months earlier.
“I have lived at Angon for many years,” Robert said. “I do not recall having seen you before.”
“Perhaps you had no need of my services until now.”
“Very well,” Robert said. “I will trust your honor that you are what you say you are— nothing more.” He reached inside his garment and withdrew several of the gold coins which had been sewn inside. “Here,” he said. “This should be ample compensation for your trouble. Take me to Angon without delay.”
The boatman sighed. “My friend, must we persist in this charade? Surely you and I know each other.”
Robert felt his heart begin to pound. “You are deluded,” Robert said. “You have confused me with someone else.”
“Indeed not. You have done my work for the past four years. I seek only to offer you a service in return, to the extent that my limited talents permit.”
Now the time for self-delusion had passed. The gold coins slipped from Robert’s fingers as, instinctively, he ripped at the button on his garment and reached inside for the silver crucifix which hung around his neck— a gift from his beloved Bernoline when he had left for the Crusade nearly four years earlier. Its touch restored his confidence. “I have no need of your services,” Robert said, pleased by the evenness of his own voice.
“I must have been misinformed,” the boatman said. “I had understood that you had a pressing appointment at Angon.”
Robert felt the concentric circles of sweat expanding beneath his armpits. Now he pulled the crucifix from his neck and held it before him. “I have no need of your services!” he heard himself cry, louder than he had intended. “I am a servant of the Lord! The Lord will provide for me! It is His work that I have done, not yours.”
“Oh?” Robert heard the rustling of parchment: The boatman was apparently reading from a paper, although there was no light with which to see. “On the 3rd of May, 1096, at Speyer, you ran your sword through an old Jew who had committed no crime and posed no threat to you. On the 17th of May, at Worms, you broke into the home of an innocent Jewish family and hacked off the heads of all six inhabitants, notwithstanding their cries for mercy; one of your victims was a child not yet two years old. On the 18th of May, at Mainz, you and your colleagues attacked the Bishop’s castle and slaughtered a thousand Jews who had sought refuge there, six of whom you personally threw, alive and screaming, into the surrounding moat, even though, again, your victims had never harmed another living soul. On the 30th of May, at Cologne, you—”
“But I sought only to serve the Lord!” Robert exclaimed.
“And you failed. My friend— and I mean that sincerely, for I am your friend, much more so than Peter the Hermit and Godfrey of Bouillon and Count Emicho and the rest of the strutting fools you have chosen to follow— my friend, you have already forfeited your immortal soul. For your sins, you face an eternity of hellfire and damnation. There is nothing left for you except to return to your beloved Lady and serve her for whatever time remains to you. And that is what you will do, unless you abuse this opportunity as you have abused so many others.”
“But I can repent!” Robert cried. “Even the lowliest sinner can achieve salvation through repentance and good works.”
The boatman seemed to stroke his chin thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “yes— I suppose that’s true. You can reject me, repent of your sins, and earn remission through good deeds. And when you die, you will dwell in the House of the Lord forever. But without my boat to carry you across the lake, you will never see your beloved Lady again. And what good is an eternity in Heaven without the one you love?”
Robert clutched the crucifix so tightly that he felt it cutting into his palm. “I do not need your help to find my Lady,” he said. “She is waiting for me at Angon. I can spend the night here in Duingt and ride by horse to Angon in the morning.”
Now Robert could see the boatman’s teeth, glowing mirthfully in the darkness. “Yes, of course. There is no particular reason why you must reach Angon by midnight tonight, is there? There is no logical reason why your Lady should not be there tomorrow if you fail to arrive there tonight. By all means, stay the night here; you must be exhausted, and a full night’s sleep will do you good. If you do, I will respect that decision and trouble you no more. But tell me: If you stay here tonight, can you be certain that you will indeed find your Lady in the morning? That is what I offer you— the certainty that, within minutes, you will be in the arms of your beloved. And I will offer you something more, my friend.”
“Why these offers? Why this generosity?” Robert asked, unable to restrain a note of sarcasm.
“Because, my friend, I recognize that your sins have sprung from the best of intentions. In recognition of your noble motives— and notwithstanding the perverse manner in which you have manifested them— I will do more than transport you across the lake. I will also guarantee you ten years of uninterrupted happiness with your Lady— happiness of the sort that no mortal deserves, least of all a miserable sinner like yourself.”
“And at the end of ten years?’
“I will come for you.”
“And I will burn in hellfire forever.”
“I repeat: You and your Lady will have ten years of unparalleled bliss together. Even assuming you had taken the correct road tonight and reached Angon on your own power, how many years do you suppose you and your Lady might have had together? How soon would disease have snatched her away? How long before another temptation snatched you away? How long before the two of you, growing old at close quarters, came to despise each other? I offer you ten years of serenity and love, the likes of which even the virtuous rarely enjoy.”
Robert mulled the awful choice before him. He could have his Lady, or he could have salvation, but he could not have both. How had he reached such a hopeless pass?
“You do not deal fairly with me,” Robert said finally. “You put me at a disadvantage.”
“I disagree,” said the boatman. “You put yourself there. My friend, I do not mean to rush you, but the hour draws late. If I cannot deliver you to Angon by midnight, my offer is pointless.”
Robert felt terrified to commit himself. Surely, he told himself, the Lord is testing me. Surely, if I resist this offer, the Lord will save me from this predicament as a reward for my virtue.
But the boatman seemed to have read Robert’s mind. “There are no miracles in this world, my friend,” the boatman said. “Only the logical consequences of our actions. Your previous acts have placed you in your current predicament. Now you must make what I recognize is a difficult decision, but ultimately life is merely the cumulative sum of difficult decisions.” He paused. “There can be no pleasure without pain, no joy without sorrow, no salvation without sacrifice.”
“Who is the authority for this supposed wisdom, boatman?” Robert asked scornfully.
“You are. Those are the very words you spoke to your beloved Lady when you left her nearly four years ago. I offer you the chance to make the best of a situation which, I grant you, is less than ideal. But I am afraid, my friend, that I cannot remain here one minute more. With or without you, I must return to Angon. I may have a passenger waiting on the other side.”
“All right,” Robert said, barely audibly.
“All right what?” said the boatman. “Do you accept?”
“Yes,” Robert nodded, scarcely believing the difficulty with which his lips formed the word.
“Very well,” said the boatman. “Climb aboard, for there is not a minute to lose. At last, you have made a decision you will not regret. All your guilt for your past sins will vanish for the next ten years. Within the hour— even less, perhaps—”
“Speak no more!” Robert cried bitterly. “If you must take my soul, do so, but do not insult my mind. For I know very well that I shall regret this decision for centuries to come. I accept your offer only because you leave me no choice.”
“You delude yourself even now,” said the boatman, “and you insult me in the bargain. I did not abandon your wife. I did not slaughter thousands of innocents from one continent to the next. I did not take the wrong road at the foot of Lake Annecy. Nor did I damn your immortal soul. You made these decisions of your own free will, just as you make this choice now.”
“All right,” said Robert, attempting to climb into the boat. “All right.”
“Just one moment,” said the boatman, his voice turning sharp for the first time. “Have I deceived you tonight in any way?”
“No,” Robert mumbled.
“Have I behaved anything less than straightforwardly in our negotiations?”
“No.”
“Can you claim that I have failed to spell out precisely the price you will pay in exchange for your acceptance of my offer?”
“No.”
“Would you disagree were I to suggest that the terms I have granted you are in fact far more generous than you deserve?”
“No.”
“Would you dispute the proposition that no man on Earth has behaved as honorably toward you as I have?”
“No.”
“Very well. Remember this conversation during the next ten years, and when you hear my name spoken in vain— as inevitably you will— resist the temptation to denounce me.” Now the boatman’s tone softened and he extended his hand, lifting Robert into the boat with a gentle, almost fatherly embrace.
“For you see,” the boatman continued, “I too serve the Lord. As do we all.”
END
Enjoy Dan Rottenberg’s newest book, The Price We Paid: An Oral History of Penn’s Struggle to Join the Ivy League, 1950-55. You can also visit his website at www.danrottenberg.com
Brilliant!