As the three Englishmen marched behind the horses with their weeping burdens Grey Dick reflected aloud after his fashion.
"Jew and Christian!" he said.

"The Jews killed one Man who chanced to be a God, though they knew it not, and ever since the Christians have killed thousands of the Jews.

Now, which is the most wicked, those Jews who killed the Man Who was a God, because He said He was a God, or those Christians who throw a man into a fire to burn before his wife's and children's eyes?
A man who never said that he was a god, but who, they said, put poison into their wells, which he did not do, but which they believed he did because he was one of the race that thirteen hundred years ago killed their God?
Ah, well! Jew and Christian, I think the same devil dwells in them all, but Murgh alone knows the truth of the matter.

If ever we meet again, I'll ask him of it.

Meanwhile, we go to Avignon in strange company, whereof all the holy priests yonder, if any of them still live, to say nothing of the people, may demand an account of us." So spoke Dick as one who seeks an answer, but neither of his companions gave him any.
On they went through the ruined land unpursued, although they had just brought sundry men to their deaths.