The Riddle and the Knight by Giles Milton

Author:Giles Milton [Milton, Giles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mandeville, John, Sir, Milton, Giles, Travelers' writings, English, Christian pilgrims and pilgrimages, Knights and knighthood, Geography, Medieval, Travel, Travels (Mandeville), Reisverhalen
Publisher: Internet Archive
Published: 2001-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

The Riddle and the Knight

I asked him more about the Assyrian church. Did anyone still call it the Nestorian church? He gave me a confused look. "Nestorian church?" he said. "You're interested in the Nestorian church? I thought you wanted to see a Syrian Orthodox church."

My heart sank. We had spent the whole of yesterday afternoon talking at cross purposes, and my excitement over the Nestorians had all been for nothing. Kaspo must have noticed my disappointment, for he grabbed my arm and chuckled. "Don't worry, don't worry/' he said. "If you want to meet a Nestorian, then you need go no farther than my shop. Mustafa," he called. "There's someone to see you."

Mustafa, a small, thin man with a bald head, appeared from the basement. He was dressed in jeans and a black polo-neck jumper, and certainly didn't look like a descendant of one of the wildest tribes on earth. He shook my hand, and I asked him, with Kaspo's help, if he was indeed a Nestorian. He gave me a quizzical look, then nodded. "Yes," he said. "I am a Nestorian . . . why?"

Mustafa had Iraqi roots but had no idea from where his family originated. It was possible, he said, that he came from Kurdistan, but it was all a long time ago, and he was Syrian now and happy living in Hassake. He was a taciturn man who answered every question wdth either a yes or a no (usually it was no) and seemed bemused to learn that I had travelled thousands of miles to meet him.

Perhaps his reluctance to talk was the last vestige of that rebellious nature that had once been the hallmark of his tribe. For there was every likelihood that Mustafa was indeed descended from one of the families that—only a few generations ago—had left their mountain strongholds. In fact, it was possible that it was his very forefathers that Sir John had met six centuries previously.

Kaspo interrupted our conversation. "xMy brother's obviously not coming. Let's go and see Mustafa's Nestorian church. But I warn you now—don't get excited. The church is not at all interesting. There is no colour and no icons. You will find it very . . . very bland."

The church was fifteen minutes' drive from Kaspo's shop and stood right on the edge of town. To get there we drove through a building site, past unfinished houses and shops, and eventually drew up outside a building with no roof and gaping holes where windows ought to have been.

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