Copyright Matthew Burden, 2001
(See sidebar menu for links to all previous chapters)
~33~
They woke with the dawn and
prepared to travel south once again. The
day was clear, but had a sharp, cold wind blowing down from the north. It howled around them, biting into their
cloaks with yet another reminder of the oncoming winter.
They had decided to travel
directly on the main road, despite Alfred’s advice to stay as far away as they
could. With luck, they hoped to be able
to reach London
long before the brigands came after them again.
Hannah and Justin led the way, followed by Edward and Alfred, who was
still limping painfully, with Oswald bringing up the rear. Despite the time of year, they still met a
fair number of travelers along the road, making their way back and forth
between the villages.
Hannah turned back to listen
for a moment to the conversation between the two brothers, then shook her head
in wonder.
“It is a change beyond
anything I would have believed possible, Justin,” she said quietly. “I am still not sure whether to trust him or
not.”
“Oh, I think he’s fairly
safe,” Justin replied.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. If you could have seen him before—he was so
hateful and violent, so ready to kill anyone who stood in his way. And now he suddenly turns around and decides
to help us? It doesn’t make sense.”
Justin grinned at her. “It makes perfect sense to me.”
She let out a sigh. “Well, perhaps you could
explain it to me then.”
Justin walked a ways further
before responding, pursing his lips in thought.
“Are you faithful to your religion, Hannah?”
She shrugged. “My father was. Since his death, I...I don't know.”
He nodded, then breathed in
deeply. “I must confess to you, Hannah,
I have not had many dealings with Jews.
In fact, I avoided them for the most part.”
She brushed back a lock of
her dark hair and looked up at him.
“Does that surprise you?” he
asked.
“No,” she replied in a soft
voice. “It is a thing I have come to
expect from Christians. I cannot count
the number of times I have been given those dark, cold stares of hatred.”
“Hmm,” he murmured. “A tragedy, that.” He reached up with his forefinger
to scratch his beard, then looked at her again.
“Perhaps some day you will be able to forgive my people for this.”
“Perhaps,” she replied,
allowing her eyes to wander back to the surrounding landscape. It was beginning to change to a dull brown
hue of winter under the powerful hand of the biting frost. “But my people are all too familiar with
tragedies.”
Justin tilted his head
slightly. “Did you realize that the
first time I ever set foot on Jewish land was to give the robe to your
father? And that was only to save my own
life. Selfish, is it not?”
“You seem far from selfish now. What turned your heart?”
she asked.
At this, he broke into a
wide grin. “That is a chapter of my life
that I have revealed to very few. But perhaps hearing it will help you to better understand. After I delivered the robe to you, I returned
back to my post at York. But as the weeks went by, I felt the pressure
more and more from both the Templars and the Druid nobles to surrender the
information I possessed. I must say, I
was terribly afraid for my life. The
Templars had chased me all across Europe in an
effort to seize the robe, and during that time I became well aware of their
tainted purposes. The Druids, too, had
been on my heels since I set my feet on English soil, and I barely escaped them
in the end.
“So I deserted my post and
fled westward, across the sea toward Ireland. I found refuge among the monks of Iona. I cannot
describe to you, Hannah, the peace that I discovered there. They explained to me the messages of life
that I had never before understood and showed me the wonderful mercy, grace,
and love of God.”
She nodded, listening to the
story, but maintaining an ever-watchful eye on the road before her.
“While I was there, my anam cara, my soul-friend, warned me of the
complacency of living behind walls of brick.
There is a harvest field out in the world, and God is hard-pressed to
find laborers for it—there are so few who are passionate for the Lord now, and
those who are often devote themselves to solitude. So he and I set out together to England, but
parted ways once we reached this side.
Hearing of the massacre in London,
I journeyed down to the woods of this region and have been living here for
several weeks, wondering what service God was calling me to.”
“What happened to your
friend?”
“He went to take over a
priestship in the Welsh country, or so he told me. He was greatly concerned about the Jews as
well, and wondered how widespread the damage was. When this is all finished, I may venture the
trip out west to see how he has fared.”
She nodded. “So what changed your attitude toward my
people?”
“You may not like the
answer, but it is the only one I can give—Christ has changed me. Before, I was like everyone else. I listened to the words of the priests, but I
did not hear them. But at Iona, I realized the wonderful promise of Christ in my
own life, and since that time I have never been able to control the astonishing
outpouring of love and joy in my soul.”
“And you think that’s what
is happening to him?” she pointed back to where Alfred was limping along.
Justin nodded. “He has merely taken the first small steps of
a wonderful journey. That is what has
begun to change him, and it will continue to do so as he surrenders his life to
Christ.”
She shook her head. “I still do not
understand.” With a deep breath, she
looked around at the trees and the fields surrounding them. “But someday, I think I will.”
~ ~ ~
It was nearing noontime when
they retired to a small grove by the wayside to take their midday meal. They had covered a fair distance in the time,
and were rather tired, both from the strain of the walk and the stress of the
previous days. Edward and Alfred had
stayed back in a small town less than a league behind them along the
road. Despite the former brigand’s
repeated comments that he was feeling fine, his brother had demanded that they
seek to find a way to extricate the arrowhead from the still-fresh wound.
The rest of the group
marched off again to wait for them in the peaceful shade of the grove. They had no idea how long such a procedure
would take, but they felt safer when they were well out of sight of travelers on
the road. After a while of waiting,
though, Justin remarked that they were running frightfully low on provisions
and made the suggestion of going quickly back into the village to purchase
enough supplies to get them to London.
Oswald decided to
remain with their packs while the other two ventured back toward the
markets. It was a short walk, but
beneath the beating strength of the hot sun, Hannah tired quickly. She decided to enter a small cobbler’s shop
while waiting for Justin to conclude his errands. She watched the proceedings within the shop
with dulled interest for a few minutes, grateful just for the shelter from the
sun.
“Is there something you
need?” a young woman spoke, glancing up from her task of sewing several pieces
of stiff leather together.
“No,” Hannah replied with a
smile. “I’m merely waiting for a
friend.”
The woman nodded, her eyes
fixed back on her work. “Are you just
passing through, then? My father and I
do not see many people come through our shop who are not from the area.”
“Yes, we’re just going
through on our way to London.”
“Oh,” the cobbler’s daughter
responded cheerfully. “Are you visiting
relatives there?”
Hannah sighed heavily, a
frown pulling down the corners of her mouth.
“I’m afraid so. I live in Newcastle, but my uncle
was taken prisoner in the coronation riots against the Jews. My friends and I are on our way to seek his
freedom.”
She smiled. “Well, I wish you luck, then. We did not have any riots in our town, but we
certainly heard stories of several, from London
and Lincoln and
several other cities nearby.”
Hannah nodded, not really
wishing to pursue a conversation on the subject. After a while, their talk turned to lighter
subjects, and it was not long before Justin returned, his arms bearing a burlap
sack loaded with their provisions.
“Thank you,” Hannah called
out to the daughter as she walked out of the peaceful little shop.
“You’re welcome!” came the
reply. “And good luck!”
~ ~ ~
The village that the two
brothers had halted in did indeed have an aged apothecary, who, by his own
account, also served as a physician when none other could be found. The tiny shop was small and dusty, its
shelves lined with numerous jars of powders and crushed herbs. As Alfred sat down on an old wooden cot with
a groan, the apothecary leaned over with interest.
“Arrowhead?” he asked, his
pale eyes glancing up at Edward, who nodded.
“You’re not to use any magic
potions on me, do you hear?” Alfred said firmly, gritting his teeth in pain.
The elderly man
laughed. “I suppose to the ignorant people
of these parts, I would appear to be a magician. Is that what they told you?” Without waiting for a response, he continued,
shuffling over to a low shelf, where he carefully selected a small bowl of
herbs. “No, it’s all synergy, my
boy—synergy and science. Using God’s
creation to help heal mankind.” He
sighed, working a small mortar and pestle in his hands over the fragrant
leaves. “Very few understand it,
though,” he pursed his lips in thought.
“Someday, though, wisdom will see a new dawning. And eventually even all of this,” he motioned
to his collection of powders and herbs, “will become obsolete.”
Edward rolled his eyes,
eager to be away from the eccentric old man.
“How long will this take?”
He shrugged, squinting his
eyes to look at the raw flesh surrounding the wound. “It depends on how cooperative my patient
is. Do you have a strap of
leather?”
Edward nodded and carefully
cut a section of his belt off using a small knife that Malcolm had given
him. The apothecary handed it over to
Alfred. “Put this between your teeth and
clamp down. It will help you manage the
pain better.”
The process of extracting
the stubborn arrowhead turned out to be long and gruesome. After nearly an hour of painful digging into
the flesh of the wound, the
apothecary was able to extract it.
Alfred, between his heaving breaths and groans of pain, was praying that
he only lived long enough to be able to walk out of that little room.
The old man carefully bound
the wound, bleeding anew, with a clean linen poultice. “Leave the bandage on for several days, my
friend,” he instructed, smiling slightly.
“Can I walk on it?” Alfred
said, slowly rising and testing his weight on the tender leg.
“I don’t know, really,” the
old man chuckled. “I rarely do this sort
of thing. Most people who take an arrow
aren’t as fortunate as you are.”
Alfred groaned and nodded,
placing the chewed-up strip of leather in his mouth again. “I can make it,” he grunted to Edward.
“Good,” his brother chuckled
sympathetically, “because I wasn’t planning on carrying you.” As they exited the shop, he turned long
enough to throw a sack with a few small coins to the apothecary. “Thank you, sir!”
“And thank you!” the old man
replied from his workbench, already hard at work again.
They hobbled quickly out
into the dusty street, turning to follow the southbound road through the market
square and then on toward London.
Unnoticed, from the northeast corner of the square, a pair of eyes, haunted and
incensed, followed their movements until they at last rounded a corner and drew
away from the observer's line of sight.
~ ~ ~
As the two men walked slowly
down the dusty street, Edward sighed.
He glanced over at his brother, hobbling along while trying as hard as
he could not to display any hint of pain.
Edward smiled, knowing that the past few days had seen the beautiful
fruition of years of prayer for Alfred.
“Don’t push it too hard,” he
warned.
Alfred grunted and shook his
head. “I still do not understand the
whole matter of the Templars and Cedric—or Justin—but I do not wish to see them
again. No doubt they will follow us
along this route. We must make
haste. Don’t worry about me.”
“Very well,” Edward
allowed. “Just don’t strain yourself too
much.”
He grunted in response. “Are we going to rejoin the others yet?”
“No, first we must visit the
local tailor. Do you still have the robe
with you?”
He nodded.
“Good. This should not take long,” he said, ducking
low to enter the small shop they had come to.
It was an hour before they
emerged, and by that time they had become truly concerned of the precious
moments slipping away in the race to London. Walking as quickly as Alfred’s wound would
allow, they made their way to the little grove and rejoined the remaining
group. Immediately they were greeted by Oswald,
who came rushing up to give a report.
“Malcolm and the two knights
passed here nearly an hour ago,” he reported breathlessly. “I called out, but we were too far away from
the road to be heard.”
“Then we shall meet again in
London,” Edward
responded.
“Or they may double back to
look for us,” the Scot suggested. “It is
still several days’ march to London
with a wounded man.”
Edward nodded. “But if we remain on the main road, we may be
overtaken by a troop of Templars or by Jonathan’s band.”
“The Templars also passed by
while we were resting--that's why I didn't chase after Malcolm along the road. All six were
present, and it appeared they were making great haste.”
“Then they may not have been searching
for us,” said Edward.
Alfred chuckled wryly. “No, but I’d be willing to wager that they’re
setting up a trap for us in London. And my men cannot be far behind. I can't believe that Jonathan would give up
the chase so easily.”
Oswald nodded, turning to
look at the other two, who were talking quietly as they watched the road. “Then we cannot use the main thoroughfares of
travel,” he sighed. “Which will make the
trip even longer.”
“Yes,” Edward agreed. “So we must be off. There’s no use wasting time standing here
among the trees.”
So the group set about preparing for a long march southward. The day was clear and fairly warm, and they
traveled several leagues under the peaceful shade of leafy boughs before
emerging onto a wide, open field. Ignoring questioning looks from the laborers
busy at taking in the harvest, they quickly traversed the field and continued
on, at last setting camp an hour after sunset near the bank of a small brook.
While Justin and Oswald
broke out the rations for a small meal prior to retiring for the night, the
other three wandered down toward the swift-moving waters of the stream. The air was humid but cool, with a refreshing
vigor that quickened their senses.
Alfred lowered himself wearily onto a moss-covered stone, painfully
stretching his tired limbs.
Hannah knelt down by the
water’s edge, her eyes carefully observing the two brothers as they sat
silently, side by side. Despite the
reassurances from the others, she could not bring herself to trust the former
outlaw. In her mind the vision was still
fresh of that terrifying day when they came upon the cave, and she knew without
a doubt that she would have been lost had it not been for Edward’s heroic stand
in her defense.
But as she watched Alfred, she
noticed that indeed something had changed about him—he was quieter, gentler,
and more at peace with the world. The
fiery, brash warlord had disappeared, and in its place a different fire had
settled on his soul. It was one she had
seen in Edward and his friends, but one that she could not reconcile to the fearsome presence of the brigand.
She still remembered that
terrible moment on the banks of the Tyne when
he had confronted her about the robe.
And yet there before her sat what seemed to be a different man—similar,
but not the same. This was not the same
man who had kidnapped her and threatened their lives over and over, not the
same man whose followers had tried to ravish the pious daughter of Raymond of Newcastle.
As she watched them, they
began to converse in low tones, smiling all the while.
It was as if the topic of their dialogue was so real to them and so
wondrous that they could not hold back the flood of emotions welling up within
them. Even Alfred, once so cold and vile
and cruel, nearly shone with the light of his smile as he spoke.
He whispered something to
Edward, who responded with a slight nod of the head. “Yes, my brother. Have you never heard the story of the calling
of the apostles by our Lord?”
Alfred shook his head,
leaning forward intently.
“They were called to give up
everything—absolutely everything—and to follow Christ with all of their
hearts. Can you imagine what it would
have been like if they had refused and had instead gone back to their
boats? Obedience is essential to the
Christian life.”
“Christ is a hard
taskmaster,” Alfred chuckled.
“It may seem difficult, and rightly so. Walking after the footsteps of Jesus is no
easy task. He has called us to lay down
out very lives for the sake of his calling on us. We were born to seek out the will of God and
to do it without question or hesitation.”
“That I understand,” Alfred
responded, peering at the brook through the gathering gloom. “As a leader of men, I can see how orders
must always be obeyed no matter what circumstances may arise.”
“Yes,” the other
nodded. “But there is something just as
important to remember—when we come to that point of surrendering everything up
to Christ as King—though the task is trying, the rewards are greater than our
wildest imaginings. He instills in the
soul a peace and a humble confidence that is beyond any description—a joy that
runs deeper than the deepest sorrow. It
is at that point that the Spirit of the Lord himself takes full control of
everything we have—only when we surrender it to him. And that responsibility and satisfaction is
the most wondrous experience available to mortal man.”
“And all we need do is
surrender ourselves up?”
“It is no easy task,
Alfred. It could take a long time of
prayer and soul-searching and the confession of sins to humble the pride of our
human spirit and make room for the Holy Spirit to invade our hearts and make
his tabernacle among us. You were sealed
with that Spirit when you pledged your homage to Christ as your Lord, but this
acceptance must manifest itself. Christ
can only be Lord in your life when he is Lord of all of your life. Only then,
through a pure and willing heart, can the Holy Spirit do his mighty work.”
“And you will help me, Ed?”
Alfred asked, and on his voice was a hint of something that Hannah never
expected to hear from him. It was a
trace of fear, but not a fear of death or horror; rather, a fear possessed by
an awestruck excitement in the presence of ineffable holiness.
“I will help you, Alfred,”
he smiled brightly through misted eyes.
“We shall pray for one another, and together we shall pursue and follow
God’s will in everything we do.”
Hannah slowly
rose and made her way back up the bank, but her mind was filled with questions,
and the answers eluded her. No matter
how hard she tried, she could not understand the transformation that had come
upon the brigand. Whether or not they
would see the completion of their journey, she knew that she had been led onto
a road of life that would hold her captive until she realized where it was
bringing her. And she had begun to form
an idea of that final destination—but the thought of it was too wonderful and
too terrible for her to dwell on it.