Historical Setting, 631 C.E. Alehouse near Dorestad
We are at the public board at an alehouse near the marketplace where Greg and Gaillard visited the armor smiths. We are enjoying pots of ale, and now we are served bowls of stew. Gaillard left the table but hasn’t returned and it has been a long while. Greg worries. He goes to find him. Now Greg has not come back here either, and more ale has been served; the stew bowls have been taken away.
The young man who is the collector of fees, I spoke with earlier, comes to me and tells me I am needed in the stable. I believe this is a robbery and can only hope that Greg and Gaillard are safe. What can I do? I tell this fellow I have nothing valuable. He doesn’t answer. Now with a dagger at my chin he pushes me behind the stables where I am bound and gagged at dagger point then led on a long walk into darkness climbing the bluff edging the flood plain where a few bare trees are clinging to earth.
I would expect to see the pagan fires of Samhain on a night such as this. But there are no fires, no ritual, no pagan gods of any kind. I do feel the closeness though, of the one God who is present, always, with us. Wherever they have taken Greg and Gaillard may the boys feel the warm presence of Spirit this night. My prayer is silent.
They can see I have nothing to rob. I’m sure they already have Gaillard’s bag of the king’s gold, so this probably isn’t about gold. Now I see. They have Greg and Gaillard captured and are preparing ropes in the tree limbs. The earth was already wounded with a gapping pit to receive our deaths. This is not something easily solved by handing over the King’s gold. There is a rope around my neck now. I see on the ground in front of Greg and Gaillard is that last bird they sent, dead, and nearly plucked clean of its feathers. It was intended to warn the Franks of the dangers from the north. Greg calls me his brother and begs for my life. He says I know nothing at all, and his “brother” should be released.
Two men hold a barrel steady under my feet while a noose is laid around my neck and tied to a tree branch overhead. The barrel rolls from my feet.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 