The Dawn of Grace :: A Mystery and Suspense Christian Historical Fiction Comprising of Enduring Love and Glory (Revelation Book 1)

by Christian Hunt

  Do not wait to do good; grab every opportunity.

  Chapter Six

  History Unveils

  “I have an idea,” Amy said. “Why don't we eat like the Praguenses do?”

  David laughed, delighted that his wife was enjoying herself so. “You, my dear, will be a walking encyclopedia before we are done.” He turned to the boys. “She meant she wants to eat like a Prague citizen.”

  Lucas grinned, but Christophe looked worried. “How do we do that?” he asked.

  “We're going out to eat, silly,” Lucas said.

  “Cool-o!” Christophe bounced down the street ahead of them. “Let's go! This citizen is hungry!”

  That particular section of old town didn't appear to have any restaurants or cafes, however. Farther down the street they only found a butcher shop that was closed. David tried consulting his map. Amy tried asking a couple for directions, but the people she questioned spoke no English. Another tourist like them had had no luck finding a restaurant himself, and one local who spoke broken English offered to show them to the market district for a fee. With each failure, the boys were growing hungrier, and David’s patience was running dry. The day had been too perfect to be spoiled by this experience, David thought. He was about to give up when he noticed an old couple decorating a small Christmas tree on the stoop of their apartment.

  “Excuse me,” David called out. “We’re looking for a restaurant.”

  The old man said something to his wife before walking out to the street. Wiping his hands on his pants, the old man asked, “Any preference? We have many restaurants.”

  “Oh, we’re not looking for a specific one,” David said. “Just somewhere that serves traditional food. We want to experience what your wonderful culture offers.”

  The old man smiled over at Amy and the boys. “My greetings to your family.”

  “Thank you,” David said, smiling in return. “I'm David; this is my wife Amy, and my boys, Lucas and Christophe.”

  “Hello,” the old man said, waving to the boys. “I'm Gustav. You have a beautiful family.” He looked at David. “You are tourists then, yes?”

  David laughed and opened his arms. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Come, come, come,” the old man said, chuckling. “You will have dinner with my wife Ingrid and me, yes?”

  “Oh, no, we couldn’t,” Amy said. “We can't impose on you like that.”

  “Nonsense,” the man countered. “We don't allow hunger on Christmas Eve.”

  The old man called out to his wife, who had just plugged in the lights on their Christmas tree. She walked over toward them with a kind smile. “You will eat with us?” she asked.

  “No, please,” Amy said, “it’s too much.”

  “We couldn't expect you to cook for four extra people,” David said.

  “But I have,” Ingrid said, taking Amy by the hand.

  “'Tis no trouble,” Gustav said, taking David by the arm. “We already have the traditional food you seek. It is our privilege to share it with your beautiful family.”

  David and Amy exchanged looks as the old couple beckoned them inside. “All right,” David said. “We accept if this is truly no trouble to you.”

  “None at all,” Ingrid said. “Come in, come in.”

  Inside, the toasty apartment warmed them. Smells of a wood-burning stove, coal, olibanum, and purpura lingered in the air. After taking their coats, the couple offered the children a plate of candy before dinner. Both boys looked to their parents for permission—confused by the custom and tantalized by the opportunity.

  “They are to awaken your palette,” the old woman said with a smile. “Just take one, please—and your dinner will taste báječný little ones.”

  The boys took a stick apiece, still entranced by the idea of dessert before dinner.

  “Thank you,” Lucas blurted, elbowing Christophe to follow suit.

  Though their apartment was small, an antique wooden table in a cozy dining nook had already been set for four.

  “We lay out spare settings every year for any visitors who arrive at our table. It is our holiday custom to always prepare to host visitors on Christmas Eve,” Gustav explained. Ingrid handed him two more place settings, which he arranged on the table.

  Amy followed Ingrid to the kitchen, and the two women emerged shortly with a brass serving cart filled with serving dishes of carp, fish soup, traditional potato salad, and bread.

  “You cook this much food every year?” David asked as they ate.

  The old woman started to answer, but her husband interjected. “She loves to cook. Ingrid thinks she can feed the world.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to try,” she said with a laugh. “Even if I fail, fewer people go hungry.”

  The old man laughed and gave his wife a peck on the cheek. “We sing Christmas carols after dinner,” the old man said. “Narodil se Kristus Pán.”

  A sharp knock came on the door, and Ingrid chuckled as the front door burst open, five children running up to her, chattering in Czech.

  The old man continued, “We read a Christmas story for the children and explain who Jesus was and why we are celebrating Christmas. We also cut an apple in half and pour lead inside in order to see our future,"

  The old woman got up from her seat, and the children followed her into the kitchen. Amy and David could see the curiosity brimming in Lucas and Christophe, but David shook his head. “Stay where you are,” he ordered.

  They didn’t have to wait long, and soon the old woman came out holding a tray of houska. When she set it on the table, each of the local children grabbed a roll. One child stuffed two in his pockets, and the rest held their rolls to their faces.

  “It is vanilla,” the old woman said to Lucas and Christophe. “Would you boys like one?”

  They each nodded enthusiastically and jumped up to get a roll.

  The old man pushed another small tray of wafers toward David and Amy. “Would you like one?”

  “What are they?” Amy asked, taking one.

  “Another Christmas tradition. We make them from the same dough as the Eucharistic bread, with honey. Some believe it brings a sweet life.”

  “Oh,” David said thoughtfully and took a piece.

  As the children ate their rolls, and the adults ate their wafers, the old man began speaking of the tradition of Ježíšek.

  “For us,” he said, “Ježíšek replaces your Santa. Come, everyone, let us move to the balcony and try to spot Ježíšek.”

  The local children cheered. Christophe and Lucas, still puzzled by all the commotion, looked for direction from their dad.

  David grinned. “Might as well,” he said, waving them on.

  As everyone piled onto the balcony, David and Amy huddled together to fend off the cold. Some of the children pointed to the sky, shouting that they saw something. Then another child would point in a different direction, arguing.

  A bell began ringing behind them, coming from the living room. “Ježíšek,” the old man cried. “Ježíšek!”

  The children crowded through the balcony's doorway, going back inside. David and Amy exchanged amused glances and followed.

  In the living room, presents were stacked under a smaller, tabletop Christmas tree. The children fell to their knees by the tree as the old man began passing out presents. Amy’s heart sank a bit as she saw her boys eagerly watching.

  Just as she thought she ought to step in and pacify their inevitable disappointment, Gustav held up two wrapped packages for the boys.

  “These are for you as well. Ježíšek never forgets anyone.”

  “Oh!” Amy breathed a sigh of relief. “That is so sweet. Thank you.”

  “What do we say, boys?” David reminded them.

  “Thank you,” the boys said in unison as they tore open their packages. Inside, they found chocolates and Christmas pins.

  This was far better than any restaurant would've been, David thought. “Does it ever snow during Christmas?” he asked
Gustav.

  The old man said, “We have Czech saying that goes this way: 'St. Catherine on ice, Christmas on mud.'”

  David chuckled at the old man’s response.

  As the children ate their chocolates and vanilla bread, David and Amy found seats in the tiny living room. The old man took his seat in a cushioned wooden rocking chair. Sucking on a piece of chocolate, he said, “You know; Princess Libuse foretold the birth of the city of Prague. She and her husband Premysl reigned from Vysehrad. She was a prophetess and said, ‘I can see a large city, whose fame will reach the stars.'”

  Amy smiled. “I believe that. This city is so—enchanting.”

  David nodded.

  “Do you know any more stories?” Lucas asked.

  “Hmm,” the old man said. “There is one about the Golem of Prague.”

  “Yeah!” the boys shouted.

  “During the reign of Rudolf II, an old Rabbi, Judah Loew lived in Prague. During that time, the Jewish people were once again under attack, living in fear every day. Rabbi Loew decided to protect the Jews by creating a Golem. This was a giant of a thing! The Kabbalah said one could be made of clay from the banks of River Vltava. So, following the rituals, the Rabbi built the Golem and made it come to life by reciting conjuring chants. Then he put the word emet, which means truth, on the Golem’s forehead.”

  “Why did he do that?” Christophe asked, his mouth full of bread.

  Amy decided to ignore his manners for the moment. Both boys were so engaged; even Lucas.

  “To keep the Golem true and just. It listened to Rabbi’s every order and helped protect the Jewish people. As it grew bigger, however, it became more violent; and started killing. Rabbi Loew was promised that the violence against the Jews would end if the Golem was destroyed. The Rabbi agreed and removed the first letter on its forehead, changing it to met, which means death. The life was taken out of the Golem, and according to legend, the Golem was returned by Rabbi’s son to protect Prague even to this day.”

  “Wow,” David said. “I had no idea there were so many stories in Prague.”

  “Have you heard the story about Bruncvik and his magic sword?” the old man asked.

  David and Amy shook their heads.

  “A long time ago, there lived a young man named Bruncvik. He was coming of age and required adventure to prove his manhood. A young maiden by the name of Neomenia loved him very much and begged him not to leave. Of course, the fire was in his blood, and he said he could not stay. He promised that within seven years, he would return and marry her.”

  Amy sighed and smiled. “That’s sweet.”

  “Yes. And with that, he set out to see the world and have his adventures. At sea, a violent storm developed, and his boat was thrashed about. The winds blew, and the waves crashed over the deck, beaching the boat on the dreaded Amber Island. Two terrible years passed with no hope of freedom.”

  “All the men on the boat died but Bruncvik. Their lack of hope had drained the life from them, but Bruncvik alone had one reason to live, the thought of his lovely, beloved Neomenia, who waited to be his wife. The only two people living on the island were Bruncvik and an old man that had been marooned decades before. When they met, Bruncvik begged the old man to help him escape. Seeing the passion in the youth's eyes, the old man revealed a secret: every year a large bird flew over the island looking for a meal.”

  “Bruncvik covered himself in the skin of a horse and sat atop the largest hill on the island, waiting. Just as the old man said, a giant bird came, picked him up with her claws, and took him off the island. The bird dropped Bruncvik into a nest, where three baby birds surrounded him. Each of these baby birds was the size of a human and began pecking the horse skin Bruncvik wore. When he was free of his disguise, he pulled out his sword and killed the baby birds. With that, he jumped from the nest and walked until he came across a large lion fighting a six-headed beast. Seeing the lion was losing and exhausted, Bruncvik joined in.”

  “After days of fighting together, they defeated the monster and remained friends. They traveled all across the land fighting monsters. During one such fight, the queen of the land tried to seduce Bruncvik to marry her by promising him a magic sword. Not only did he escape from her castle, but also he stole the magic sword! The sword had the special power of chopping off heads with only a single command: 'Blade heads off!' This magic sword made Bruncvik an unconquerable warrior. After many more years of rolling heads, Bruncvik’s youthful blood finally began to settle. He wanted to return to his love to marry her as he’d promised.”

  “Together he and his lion headed home. The adventure, however, did not end with his return. He soon discovered that his beloved Neomenia, who had waited far longer than seven years, was to be married the very next day. She could not wait for her true love any longer. But when she discovered that he had returned, she called off the wedding. Jealousy and rage overwhelmed the rejected fiancé. Gathering his friends together, they plotted to kill Bruncvik. After careful planning, they ambushed him, but Bruncvik was a master fighter and, with his lion and his magic sword, he beheaded them all. Bruncvik and Neomenia were married and lived a long, happy life. They say that his magic sword is hidden somewhere among the stones of Charles Bridge, waiting for the day it is needed again. Of course, only one man knows the true hiding spot.”

  “Who?” Amy asked.

  “King Wenceslas,” Gustav said. “Of course, I am sure you would know of the treasure.”

  “Treasure?” David asked.

  “Yes, the Vysehrad treasure of the first Premyslid rulers. They hid it in a cave somewhere. It is said to be the third largest Prague treasure after the Castle and Loreta treasures.”

  After dinner, they thanked the old couple for their hospitality. Amy gushed her appreciation for the wonderful dinner and the stories, her eyes brimming with a sparkling excitement and hope David had not seen for some time. David smiled at her in agreement; thus far this trip had embraced their family with magic and mystery he knew had been missing. He thanked Gustav for the captivating stories about Golem, Bruncvik, and the magic sword purported to be hidden at Charles Bridge—and told him how impressed he was with the sheer amount of information the old man retained.

  Once they made their way back to the hotel, the boys settled in front of the television for a rerun of the movie Treasure Island, and Amy began preparing for the night.

  “Since you've made up your mind to go back to the Stone Bridge,” she asked, “do you have any idea what you’re going to do when you get there?”

  “I’ve been gathering bits and pieces of information about the bridge. It’s not called the Stone Bridge anymore, but the Charles Bridge.”

  “Oh,” she said, realizing. “That was the bridge Gustav talked about over dinner—in one of his stories?”

  “The very same. The Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV had the Charles Bridge built to replace the Judith Bridge in the fourteenth century. He laid down the foundation stone on the ninth of July 1357, at 5:31 a.m., so that the numerology was planned as a palindrome. The numbers read in the same sequence from both directions: 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 7, 5, 3, 1.”

  “That’s very interesting, but what does it all mean?”

  “I guess that’s what I’ll try to find out.” He knew she would worry about him heading out into the city alone at night, but the questions he had about the Charles Bridge had to be answered at once. He wouldn't sleep a wink otherwise. “Look,” he said, going over to take her in his arms. “I don’t know what I’ll find there, but I have to try.”

  “I-I understand,” she said hesitantly, laying her face against his chest. “I’ll pray for you and your safety until you return. I’m sure God will guide you.”

  Leaning down, he kissed her on the forehead, tucked his grandfather's Bible under his arm, and headed out.

  After all the food he’d consumed at the old couple’s house, he walked at a leisurely pace, allowing his dinner to settle. At nightfall, the Christmas market dwindled, and the st
reets were now mostly silent. Once he reached the bridge, his first impression was awe: two rows of saintly statues, each standing over six meters tall, seemed to guard the bridge's massive stone balustrades, interspersed among dozens of illuminating lamps that lined its six-hundred-meter expanse.

  Tourist traffic along this famed bridge was typically lighter at night, but tonight, David saw absolutely no one else nearby. A little surprised, he looked down the bridge, then set out to it alone, walking toward the center, book and coin in hand. For a few moments, he stopped at each statue, studying the inscriptions below, familiarizing himself with some of the thirty saints who watched over this bridge.

  The air was crisp and chilly, and each breath seemed to remind him that he stood out here with no one else, without any clue what might happen next. David pulled the lapels of his overcoat closer together, suddenly wishing he had added another layer of clothing before heading out on his mission. He continued onward, holding his breath against the cold wind. As he reached the center of the bridge, the air grew even colder, sending shudders through his body. His teeth chattered as he forced out a breath he’d been holding and struggled to take in another. The sound of the water rushing through the arches below made him look out. Was the water actually flowing faster?

  Coming near one of the statues, he leaned against the balustrade. What could the real treasure be that he was trying to discover? Surely it couldn’t be the one the old man had talked about at dinner. Wasn't it more figurative than that?

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”