#44.4, Tues., May 9, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Chalôns

         Rage ignites these bishops – a flicker of wrath poofs to flaming venom!  Father Columbanus’ suggestion for improving the use of a bishops’ council rings of insolence to these gathered. I assume I will be carrying an angry response back to the Father after they take a cooler moment to put words to their wrath. This message I carried here, no doubt, will bring a hostel rebuttal.

         One bishop rises from the huddle and signals a guard. But they aren’t asking the guards for inks to reply. Instead the guard gathers the others and … Now some come up close around me with swords drawn. One, still at the door, reports that the Baro Dithrum fled into the night.

         Were I the warrior-hero my ever-watching sons wish of their Papa, I would just bolt from this room turning sword on sword creating mayhem to cover a daring escape. But my heroic power is only what I was taught by my friend, Jesus.  I learned neither stealth nor violence, I only know the simply, ever-healing, love. That’s hard to wield just now. May my every-watching sons notice courage in my silence.

         Dear God, I’m afraid. Let me find you near.

         My hands are drawn behind my back — tied together at the wrists. The one who is near for this “capture” stands at my back, out of my sight tying a blindfold. Now I hear the slither of swords into sheaths.  Apparently, what they fear of me can be managed by capturing only my hands and my eyes. No swords are needed just now.

         In the center of my back I feel the sharp point of the spear-tip mounted on one of the polearms they carry. Of course a polearm is needed now, since the intimacy of the sword is distasteful; All these pokes and jabs are drawn up from fears. They must think I’m some kind of horned aurouch that can turn on them any moment.

         I hear the doors open and feel a rush of the night winds as I’m prodded forward by the spear tip. Without my hands to stop the fall I miss the first step out the door and fall on my face. If Greg and Gabe are watching all of this, it must be embarrassing for them to see their papa bound and helpless and now lifted back to standing by hostile soldiers.

(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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