Post #23.10, Tuesday, August 24, 2021

Historical setting: 584 C.E. Ligugè

         We don’t have vineyards here at Ligugè now. There is an ancient and unattended sprawling of vines dangling in the wilderness trees among the cells of the monks, but here we purchase our wine. The wine seller is here and I’m disrupted from the inks to go and assist in the unloading of the barrels.

         Oh! This seller of wine is Ezra! I should have realized he brought these wines we drink from his vineyards. I’m so glad to see him.  We unload a barrel and I welcome him. He will be a guest here this night; I have some time to hear of any news of counts and kings, or maybe just my own dear family. So tonight the required silence is breached by whispers in this guest room.

         “How is Colleta? And are my grandchildren well?”

         “Yes, everyone is well, and Count Bertigan and the Lady Celeste are learning to flaunt their new privilege. Daniel is the scribe and teacher, and he provides a bit of strong muscle when actual work is needed. They will be moving from farmyard hovel to grand estate soon, sending servants and tenants into the vineyards to mind the chores.

         “Bert and Daniel, along with the cousin Thole are becoming excellent horsemen. Bert has ordered swords and shields from the smithy.”

         “So sorry to hear of that.  Maybe when the luster wears they will be hammered into more useful tools.

         “Papa, I know you hate the weapons for wars.”

          “How is your sister, Eve? Is her little apprentice still a cheerful child?”

         “It’s well with Eve and Anatase, Papa.”

         I should explain, “Here, I haven’t corrected the confusion, and I have allowed my friend, Brother August, to believe I am the son of Lazarus. Brother August was present with Nic at the disaster at the building site all those years ago and he saw my dead bones. Now I find out it is somewhat humiliating to be the son of Lazarus, Isn’t it, my son?”

         Ezra nearly laughs out loud. I put a finger to my lips to remind of silence. “I’m dealing with my pierced pride here because they assume it was Nic, and not more than five hundred years of practice that made me an able scribe.”

         In the gentle darkness we say our good nights into snores.

         Dear God, thank you for this son and family, thank you for this privilege of being Papa to them all.  Thank you.

(Continues tomorrow)

Published by J.K. Marlin

Retired church playwright learning new art forms-- fiction writing, in historical context and now blogging these stories. The Lazarus Pages have a recurring character -- best friend of Jesus -- repeatedly waking to life in various periods of church history and spirituality.

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