Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.
Foggy morning softens the first light of day dispersing the wedding into a yawning dawn. Stretching our tired aches to the edges we start the cleanup, keeping useful leftovers and digging a pit for the rest.
The monks of Luxeuil left when the moon was still reflecting off the creek. Those with the long journey along the Moselle left early also. Except Vizsla, the Avar physician. He stayed, maybe to marvel at the serenity-piercing, organizational skills of Hannah. To keep himself useful he is gathering up fire wood to replenish Mater Doe’s supply.
Haberd is returning from farm chores with the mule and wagon ready to drive his sister with the baby, and Will back to the castle fields. He’s also taking two of the elder nuns as far as Luxeuil. Other nuns scurry to help with the clean-up so that they can follow close after the wagon. But Hannah urges them to go along immediately to save walking those miles unescorted.
The musicians and most of our family are still here for this new tranquility. But now Thad and his little band of musicians are circumambulating the little round thatched house, chanting. “Brandell, Brandell,” Then the chant morphs musical with “Gaia, Gaia, Gaia,” actually, that seems like a dancing song, and these hungover Roman Christian fellows hear it as nearly the same as that Jewish toast to life. So now they are singing a lusty toast, “LeGaia, LeGaia” [spelling, random] and the noise is scraping my memories of the ancient Hebrew joy over the rocky earth of Gaul.
Brandell and Gaia emerge from the little house hand-in-hand, leaving Brandell his other hand to bring out his kithara. Gaia takes a seat and he drops the harp strap over his head, taking the center to sing the happy ending to the grandpapa song that once so unsettled the Church.
“My grandpapa was a Pharisee, fine,
A God beloved, obedient Jew!
He feasted on lamb and sipped blest wine
“Shema Yisrael” — love renews.
“From Jesse springs the sacred shoot
It’s awe of universe above
flourishing from that ancient root
The vine we share in Jesus’ love
Touch my shoulder take my hand,
We’re one together as the vine,
Dancing feet on every land
Let all our daughters sip blest wine!
It’s a foggy morning when the musicians think this new dancing song needs a bit more reference to the intimacy of a man and woman. Brandell smiles at Gaia. What can I say?
(Continues Tuesday, July 2, 2024)
Lazarus Ink 