Preface

I first met Nicholas de Lange at Oxford in 1969. A mutual friend introduced us. Nicholas, who was just finishing his academic studies at the time, used to wear a three-piece suit with a gold chain dangling from his belt into his trouser pocket. In the 1960s, amidst the hippie atmosphere among the students at Oxford, there was something astonishing in the pose Nicholas struck, as if he was saying to the world: I make my own way, come hell or high water.When we began to talk, I was immediately won over by his sharp humour, his erudition, and – above all – the warmth that he exuded. He was voraciously curious (in my opinion, curiosity is one of the highest moral attributes). It was this curiosity that made him ask me, during our first meeting, what I was writing. I told him that I had just finished writing a story about the crusades. Nicholas, in his jovial enthusiasm, asked my permission to read the story.