But if there were with us
a leader of men, I should have no fear. Men will fight for the King,
they will shed their blood for Eleanor of Guienne, but they would die
ten deaths at the bidding of--"
She paused, and fixed her eyes on Bernard's face.
"Of whom?" he asked, unsuspecting.
"Of Bernard of Clairvaux."
There was a short silence. Then in a clear far-off voice, as if in a
dream, the abbot repeated his own name.
"Bernard of Clairvaux--a leader of men? A soldier? A general?" He
paused as if consulting himself. "Madam," he said at last, "I am
neither general, nor leader, nor soldier. I am a monk, and a churchman
as the Hermit was, but not like him in this--I know the limitation of
my strength. I can urge men to fight for a good cause, but I will not
lead them to death and ruin, as Peter did, while there are men living
who have been trained to the sword as I to the pen."
"I do not ask that you should plan battles, lead forlorn charges, nor
sit down in your tent to study the destruction of walled towns. You can
be our leader without all that, for he who leads men's souls commands
men's bodies and lives in men's hearts. Therefore, I bid you to come
with us and help us, for although a sword is better at need than a
hundred words, yet there are men at whose single word a thousand swords
are drawn like one."
"No, Madam," said the abbot, his even lips closing after the words,
with a look of final decision, "I will not go with you. First, because
I am unfit to be a leader of armies, and secondly, because such life as
there is left in me can be better used at home than in following a
camp.
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