561 C.E. Gaul — October Chapter — “Scars”
“My brother has already gone to them to dig the graves. You will find him there on the hill with the donkey cart.”
I follow the road to the village of Saumur with the bag of remedies and a particular whisper goading my imagination.
Why would she mention her brother? Does she think I would know him? Now I am letting my idle wishes stir a dream of hopeful sillies. How would I know any person here? It was nineteen years ago and I was the last to leave that place alive.
Dear God, help me keep my thoughts on purpose for this mission and not to wonder the wishes and dreams that should be kept tucked-in under my tears hiding deep in my grief. Amen.
The bag I have flung over my shoulder is filled with whatever we may call remedies. But it seems too light for the need. What is there that can answer plague after these two decades of knowing? The doctors of the ancient sciences, Hippocrates and Galen — they knew nothing of this plague. They would have had an answer for us had it happened in the older times for knowing all things of science. Yet now it comes on us like raiding hordes landing in their monster-eyed ships sneaking into our homes in the night to steal not just the children and the weak but even the strongest of us. Outbreaks are here and there and they just keep on snatching up whole families moaning and raving in fits of fever then into death. One reaches to help and she too is ravaged. What use can there be in these fragrant salves and herbs but to nurture empty hopes?
I arrive in Saumur with the precious sack of possible “amens” all handed on to the priest.
(Story continues Tuesday, October 22)