“That’lI not be easy, sire.”
“Why not? I told you the plunder would be good.”
“Well, my lord, if you want the honest truth, ‘tis in this wise. You see, though we’ve most of the Anshy women along, and many of ‘em are unwed and, urn, friendly disposed … even so, my lord, the fact remains, d’ you see, we’ve twice as many men as women. Now the French girls are fair, and belike the Saracen wenches would do in a pinch-indeed, they’re said to be very pinchable-but, judging from those blueskins we overmastered, well, their females aren’t so handsome.”
“How do you know they don’t hold beautiful princesses in captivity that yearn for an honest English face?”
“That’s so, my lord. It could well be.”
“Then see you have the bowmen ready to fight when we arrive.” Sir Roger clapped the giant on the shoulder and went out to speak similarly with his other captains.
He mentioned this question of women to me somewhat later, and I was horrified. “God be praised, that He made the Wersgorix so unattractive, if they are of another species!” I exclaimed. “Great is His forethought!”
“Ill-favored though they be,” asked the baron, “are you sure they’re not human?”
“Would God I knew, sire,” I answered after thinking about it. “They look like naught on earth. Yet they do go on two legs, have hands, speech, the power of reason.”
“It matters little,” he decided.
“Oh, but it matters greatly, sire!” I told him. “For see you, if they have souls, then it is our plain duty to win them to the Faith. But if they have not, it were blasphemous to give them the sacraments.”
“I 11 let you find out which,” he said indifferently.
I hurried forthwith to Branithar’s cabin, which was guarded by a couple of spearmen. “What would you?” he asked when I sat down.
“Have you a soul?” I inquired.
“A what?”
I explained what spiritus meant. He was still puzzled. “Do you really think a miniature of yourself lives in your head?” he asked.
“Oh, no. The soul is not material. It is what gives life-well, not exactly that, since animals are alive- will, the self-“
“I see. The brain.”
“No, no, no! The soul is, well, that which lives on after the body is dead, and faces judgment for its actions during life.”
“Ah. You believe, then, that the personality survives after death. An interesting problem. If personality is a pattern rather than a material object, as seems reasonable, then it is theoretically possible that this pattern may be transferred to something else, the same system of relationships but in another physical matrix.”
“Stop maundering!” I snapped impatiently. “You are worse than an Albigensian. Tell me in plain words, do you or do you not have a soul?”
“Our scientists have investigated the problems involved in a pattern concept of personality, but, so far as I know, data are still lacking on which to base a conclusion.”
“There you go again.” I sighed. “Can you not give me a simple answer? Just tell me whether or not you have a soul.”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re no help at all,” I scolded him, and left.
My colleagues and I debated the problem at length, but except for the obvious fact that provisional baptism could be given any nonhumans willing to receive it, no solution was reached. It was a matter for Rome, perhaps for an ecumenical council.
While all this went on, Lady Catherine had mastered her tears and swept haughtily on down a passageway, seeking to ease her inner turmoil by motion. In the long room where the captains dined, she found Sir Owain tuning his harp. He leaped to his feet and bowed. “My lady! This is a pleasant … I might say dazzling.., surprise.”
She sat down on a bench. “Where are we now?” she asked in sudden surrender to her weariness.
Perceiving that she knew the truth, he replied, “I don’t know. Already the sun itself has shrunk till we have lost view of it among the stars.” A slow smile kindled in his dark face. “Yet there is sun enough in this chamber.”
Catherine felt a blush go up her cheeks. She looked down at her shoes. Her own lips stirred upward, unwilled by herself.