Historical Setting, 631 C.E. a place where only flowers may grow
Greg and I are here in this place where I have chiseled Ana’s name on a stone to mark the burial of her bones one year ago. Now, our children believe this grieving year is supposed to end. I know it will not. I know grief is always tainting memory. Our children will find their threads of grief are deeply woven into all of life now, even though they assume we grieve no more. They look for hiding places in the depths of their hearts to hide the pangs.
We are standing here at the wall between that place for flowers and the pastureland for war horses and Greg is telling me his plan. Greg is seeing the warriors off to Iberia then planning his own journey with Gaillard to a new land rising from the North Sea.
“Papa, I just had a wonderful thought! Why don’t you come along with us to the Rhine River valley? We’ll just be in a new place with a market and alehouses welcoming strangers. We’ll have some new good times for ourselves.”
He hasn’t thought this through. I ask, “Would you really want to travel with a patriarch mouthing platitudes of pacifism when you are on a journey to buy new swords?”
He laughs. “Our new swords will be our gratuity from the King for the last mission well-done. In one way it is a celebration. But also, this journey will hide our spy mission. And for that, we can use your help. It is the work of keeping peace in our land.”
“How does spying keep peace? It could be a tool for making strategies for wars.”
“It is you, Papa, who tells us wars are made of empty rumors and lies that turn one God beloved people against another — never winning — always wounding.”
“You’ve listened to my tirades?”
“Of course, I listened and I always listen. Our assignment from the King is to go to the market place for armor and to listen — listen to the hopes and fears of various tribes and peoples all spread out in the open in the tavern talk. We can be the first to hear the rumors and lies that set neighbors at war.”
It’s tempting to imagine a new journey just now. This season doesn’t require an extra man for the farm work. And I’m the only man here who sleeps alone, with only a cat to warm my bed.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 