“Often, oh how often. In that way I would fain serve God.”
The monk soldier smiled.
“And how wouldst thou attempt to convert the infidel?”
“At the first blasphemy he uttered I would cut him down, cleave him to the chine.”
“Such our knights generally hold to be the better way, for their arms were readier than their tongues, but I never heard that they saved the souls of the heathen thereby.”
“No one wants to see them in heaven, I should think. Let them go to their own place.”
“It is wrong, I know it is. It must be. There is a better way—come with me, boy, I would fain show thee something.”
He led the wondering boy into the garden of the monastery. There in the centre arose an artificial mount, and upon it stood a cross—the figure of the Redeemer, bending, as in death, from the rood. It was called “The Calvary,” and men came there to pray.
The father bent his knee—the son did the same.
“Now, my boy, whom did He die for but His enemies? Even for His murderers He cried, ‘Father, forgive them!’ And you would fain slay them.”