"Oh! worshipped it, of course," said he.
"But how if it were not the true cross?" I asked.
"My sister, wouldst thou have a knight thus discourteous? The monks believe it true. It would have hurt their feelings to show any doubt."
"But, Amaury, it would be idolatry!"
"Ha, bah!" he answered. "The angels will see it put to the right account—no doubt of that. Dear me!—if one is to be for ever considering little scruples like that, why, there would be no end to them—one would never do any thing."
Then I asked Marguerite if she went up to worship the holy cross.
"No, Damoiselle," said she. "The Grey Friar said we worship not the cross, but the good God that died thereon. And I suppose He is as near to us at the bottom of the hill as at the top."
Well, it does look reasonable, I must say. But it must be one of Marguerite's queer notions. There would be no good in relics and holy places if that were always true.
This island of Cyprus is large and fair. It was of old time dedicated by the Paynims to Venus, their goddess of beauty: but when it fell into Christian hands, it was consecrated anew to Mary the holy Mother.
From Cyprus we sailed again, a day and a half, to Tyre; but we did not land there, but coasted southwards to the great city of Acre, and there at last we took land in Palestine.