Reformation

by Henrikson, Mark

  Like a tidal wave overtaking a coastal village, his rebellious movement spilled out into the immaculately manicured gardens behind the castle. The grounds featured a large circular fountain in the center. From there cobblestone paths radiated out among bright floral arrangements and chest high bushes trimmed with hard edges. The beautiful vista extended all the way to the waters of the Rhine River, which was Tomal’s destination.

  Exiting the assembly through the main courtyard following the predetermined judgment of Tonwen’s show trial was out of the question. Any number of zealots and madmen intent on doing him harm lurked immediately outside the castle walls. To avoid their sinister designs, Tomal arranged to leave via a more private route.

  Tomal would have liked nothing more than to stop and smell the roses in the garden grounds, but time was short. He moved with purpose past the central fountain and followed a series of arching bridges and paved paths until he finally reached the river’s edge. There, waiting at the dock, rested a long boat with four sets of rowing oars manned on either side.

  When Tomal’s footfalls transitioned from claps against stone to creaks on the wooden dock, a well-dressed man stepped off the boat to greet him. Tomal met the man with a warm embrace.

  “Prince Fredrick, it is wonderful to see you again, but you should not be here,” Tomal cautioned. “It was far safer for you to support my teachings from the shadows. Seeing you here now, providing my vessel for escape puts you in as much danger as me.”

  “An act of conscience rarely leads one down a safe path,” the prince replied. “As you feared, all the roads leading away from Worms are blocked with the Pope’s henchmen looking to arrest or kill you.”

  The prince then hastily broke the embrace and ushered Tomal into the boat. As the vessel cast off down the river Prince Fredrick shouted from the docks. “We shall see each other again soon.”

  Somehow Tomal had his doubts. While the longboat sped away from the dock, he watched his couple hundred supporters get overrun by an angry mob of thousands. Shouts disparaging Tomal and his satanic upbringing carried down the river long after the source passed from view around a bend.

  Tomal put his mind at ease by listening to the rhythmic pattern of splash and swoosh the oars made in the water. No one made a sound as the miles passed in silence until they reached a cluster of five horsemen holding a sixth steed in waiting.

  A dark brown coat and hood was thrown over Tomal when he stepped off the boat onto dry land. It was not much, but anything to help disguise his identity while out in public following the council ruling was useful.

  While Tomal climbed aboard his horse the man holding the reins gave a status report, “It didn’t take long for word to reach the roadblocks that you escaped using the river. Search parties are perhaps ten minutes behind us right now.”

  “Then we have no time to waste,” Tomal declared as he spurred his mount north toward Hamburg and the heart of support for his reformation movement against the Catholic Church. He turned in his saddle and yelled back to the boat crew. “Continue down river for another five miles and then make like you sent me toward the south. May God be with you on your voyage.”

  “Godspeed,” he heard multiple men shout back. As if the word speed were his cue, Tomal prompted his horse to a full run up and over the nearest hill. He managed to hold the hastened pace on through to the next rise to make sure plenty of undulating ground lay between him and his pursuers to make sure he remained out of sight.

  Eventually Tomal slowed the pace to a brisk trot and allowed the leader of his honor guard to catch up.

  “Any word on the prince or our supporters at the dock?” Tomal asked. “They were overrun almost immediately by the Catholics.”

  “I am afraid not,” the man replied.

  Tomal shook his head with frustration and regret. “Why did he come with the boat? Why didn’t he just meet me in Hamburg like we planned?”

  “The prince believed his public show of support for our cause would serve as an example to bring more supporters out of the shadows.”

  Tomal was mad enough to scream and give his position away to anyone in a five mile radius, but instead, he just turned his head toward the west and watched the sun drop below the horizon. Another hour of travel saw the shadows grow long across the dirt road they traveled and a foreboding darkness settled in.

  “Should we pull off to the side and make camp?” the leader asked.

  “I am exhausted,” Tomal admitted, “but I don’t suppose our pursuers will do us any favors and stop as well. I think we need to continue on through the night and then find shelter and rest during the day.”

  “I was afraid you would say that,” the man groaned. “That will limit the distance we are able to travel per day, but I guess it’s all we can do.”

  Not long before darkness completely claimed the wooded path, the group of six horsemen came upon a four wheeled cart overturned across the road with a lone driver struggling to set it right.

  The sight instantly put Tomal on edge. The sound of metal swords being drawn by his guards let him know he was not alone in his concern. He kept a close eye out, but as they neared the toppled cart Tomal saw no signs of anyone else nearby.

  “I think we can spare a few minutes to perform our Christian duty and help this man,” Tomal said. The others must have agreed because four of them dismounted to lend the man a hand getting under way again.

  “Oh how kind of you to assist,” the man shouted with great delight in a voice that was entirely too loud by Tomal’s judgment. While the men worked in cooperation to set the cart back on all four wheels, his sense of impending danger only grew more pronounced as the stranded man looked at Tomal far too often to not be a sign of danger. A moment later his suspicions were confirmed.

  Four horsemen carrying torches came charging down the road from beyond the overturned cart. Tomal and his lone mounted escort wheeled about to flee in the other direction, but were horrified to see another group of six riders barreling toward them from the opposite direction.

  Left with no other choice, Tomal turned his mount perpendicular to the road and took off down the hillside with ten dark riders in close pursuit. The uneven ground was nearly impossible to navigate in the dark. Tomal realized he was far more likely to get thrown from his horse and break his neck than get away, but he had to try. Capture meant certain death and an end to his rebellious movement against an entity he was certain was controlled by the Alpha.

  Tomal led his horse over bushes, under trees, and through overflowing streams in his effort to get away. His guard was able to stay with him for a few minutes, but Tomal soon found himself alone in his flight.

  He spotted a tall hedge just in time to prompt the horse to leap over the barrier. On the other side the downward sloping hill took a sharp drop which caused his horse to lose its footing. The animal’s hind legs slipped under it, and the animal slid on its backside until finally reaching a flat which allowed it to stand up once more.

  Tomal spurred his mount to move on, but the hobbled gate let him know something on the hind legs was either cut or broken. Rather than nurse a lame horse along, Tomal jumped down and attempted to flee on foot.

  He managed to scramble a hundred yards further down the hillside, but soon found himself encircled by his pursuers. Every direction he attempted to go found another horseman holding a lit torch searching for him. His ring of freedom grew ever smaller until his only refuge was an attempt to silently climb the nearest tree.

  He managed to reach the third branch, about ten feet off the ground, when four horsemen gathered beneath his position and illuminated his hiding spot with their torches.

  “Martin Luther, you are many things, but a skilled rider or a squirrel you are not,” a familiar voice declared. “Hiding up a tree does not become a man of your repute. Climb down; your destiny waits.”

  Tomal released the breath he had been holding and then lowered himself down from the branch and let go to drop the remaining two feet to
the ground. He rose to his full height and looked up at the speaking rider who pulled back his hood. As the man’s face moved into the orange glow of his torch, the smiling face of Prince Fredrick appeared.

  “Come,” the prince said with an awaiting hand extended to help Tomal up onto the back of his horse. “If I let you keep riding on your own tonight all this effort will be for nothing.”

  “What happened to the original plan?” Tomal asked as he slid in behind the saddle to sit upon the horse’s rump. “Why did you stage an attack rather than just ride up and tell us?”

  “Your arguments at the Imperial Diet won over more supporters than even I expected,” the Prince announced. “Enough so that I can shelter you in my own castle at Wartburg rather than retreating all the way to Hamburg. I made it look like a clan of highwaymen took you because I have absolute faith in my men and their loyalty, but had questions about those escorting you.”

  “You nearly scared the life out of me in the process. Wartburg is certainly a shorter ride, but are you sure this will not bring about your downfall?” Tomal asked of his benefactor.

  “Of that I have no doubt,” Prince Fredrick said and then led the group of riders off into the night.

  The morning light greeted Tomal in a very sleep deprived state as the group of riders passed under the protective walls of Prince Fredrick’s castle. He cringed a bit at the sound of heavy doors locking behind them. He calmly looked around the castle grounds to get acquainted with his new surroundings. He was virtually certain he would be seeing a lot of these walls over the next few years as travel for him outside would not be possible for some time.

  The prince proceeded to escort him up to a private bedchamber with a stone floor and weathered timbers for walls and ceiling. The rather Spartan room featured a simple bed in one corner, a ceramic stove for warmth in another, along with a desk and chair with plenty of paper for further writing. Resting alongside the blank pages was a copy of The Bible.

  The prince must have read the gloom in Tomal’s face. He reached out to give him a reassuring pat on the back. “I know it is not much, but it beats being burned at the stake.”

  “With high walls and locked gates, it still feels like a prison. A comfortable and roomy prison to be sure,” Tomal immediately added to try and temper any offense given. “What am I to do now locked away from the people who need to hear me?”

  The prince picked up the Bible and thumbed through a few pages and then set it back down. “It is tragic that such an important book is only written in a dead language that the clergy alone understand, or so they say. It rather limits both the common and educated man to take the word of priests and their interpretations instead of drawing their own conclusions.”

  “Yes, it certainly is a convenient tool to focus the power of the Church into the hands of the few,” Tomal acknowledged.

  “Perhaps a person with a talent for linguistics will one day translate the Latin Bible into a common language for all to read and draw inspiration from,” the prince added.

  Tomal’s mood suddenly brightened to fill the confined space with a radiant glow. “Tell me, Fredrick, do you also have a printing press within these walls?”

  **********

  Hastelloy reached a lull in his storytelling allowing Dr. Holmes to steal a glance toward his brother. It was like looking at a stranger. Where a bright smile and a lighthearted soul usually shined through, Mark now displayed a passive anger and aggression that the victim of a crime might show towards their attacker in a court of law.

  Hastelloy was on trial; Mark sat as the judge, and with pistol in hand, apparently the executioner as well. Jeffrey saw his brother’s eyes moving his way so he abruptly turned his attention to the notepad in his lap.

  “Okay, so Tomal was the one who translated the Bible for the masses,” Dr. Holmes exclaimed while thumbing back through some notes he took in a prior session. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. “Yes, here it is. Back in Egypt you brought up Tomal’s remarkable talent for breaking down and quickly learning new languages. You attribute it to languages being very formulaic and logical just like mathematics, physics and other engineering disciplines in which Tomal excels. Of course he would be the first to translate the Bible into a common language.”

  Hastelloy acknowledged the statement with a sly grin and slight bow of his head. “It was a task not just anyone could do you know. It is a nearly impossible task to force the poetry, rhythm, and meaning of the words from one language into another.”

  The patient let out a regretful laugh as he went on. “Tomal told me some years later that the ordeal was like forcing the beautiful Latin letters to morph into their barbaric German counterparts against their will.”

  For the first time since barging into the office, Mark spoke up. “Alright, this Tomal guy translated the Bible into German. What for? How did that help in this magnanimous struggle you have so honorably carried on against the evil Christian Church that was dominated by the ghost of this Goron character?”

  “It was the key to everything,” Hastelloy shot back, apparently flustered that Mark did not see the obvious answer for himself. “The existence of the translation was a public affirmation of the reformation movement. It deprived any elite or priestly class in society of exclusive control over the word of God. It returned the power of free thought to the people allowing them to develop their own informed opinion rather than simply eating what Goron and his puppets were serving.”

  Before Mark could utter another word, Jeffrey jumped back in to the conversation because Hastelloy’s statement provided the perfect avenue to attack the warped logic of his imaginary world. “Okay, I see how it destabilizes Goron and his influence, but isn’t the church the tool you intended to use in order to bring mankind back from the Dark Ages? Doesn’t destabilizing the church set back the greater good you are striving towards?”

  Hastelloy’s face lit up like a hunter who just watched a ten point buck step into his crosshairs. “Not at all. In fact, Tomal’s creation of an accurate translation of the Bible became a stimulus towards universal education. Everyone wanted to be able to read so they could understand the Bible. Suddenly the relatively unimportant skill of literacy was of paramount importance again. Many thought their eternal salvation depended on it, while others sought the empowerment that came with independent interpretation of the Bible. Either way, from that moment on your people, as a whole, began learning again.”

  “Tomal sure is quite a guy,” Mark jabbed.

  “You don’t even know the half of it,” Dr. Holmes added while turning his notes to a new page to continue the discussion. “He also saved twenty million Novi back in Egypt.”

  “He certainly had his moments,” Hastelloy sighed while reaching for a drink of water before continuing his story.

  Chapter 50: Translation Effect

  “Damn that man!” Archbishop Leonhard hollered at the top of his lungs when he entered Goron’s chapel. He slammed the door behind him with enough force to tip the mighty fortress over the lofty cliff face on which it sat. Still wearing his formal robes after saying mass and carrying a Bible, he turned in circles with apparently no adequate way to vent his anger. “Damn him to hell for all eternity.”

  “Martin Luther?” Goron asked more as a statement than a question. What else could it possibly be? The man was proving to be an absolute menace to Goron’s sphere of influence.

  The archbishop flung the Bible he carried against the nearest wall with every ounce of his rage as propulsion. The thick book slammed spine first against the stones and tore in two upon impact. The separate halves landed in the middle of the floor with large German lettering from a printing press facing up. Archbishop Leonhard pounded his way across the chapel to stand between the severed halves, and still shaking with anger, pointed to them with extended index fingers. “There is a reason translating the Bible from Latin to any language of the commoners has been forbidden for centuries.”

  The archbishop bent down a
nd held the severed book in his hands held apart. “This atrocity will be the downfall of your church on earth; mark my words.”

  Outbursts like this were not uncommon from the easily upset archbishop. Still, Goron felt compelled to at least humor the insignificant man to keep his allegiance strong. “I take it something unpleasant happened at mass this morning?”

  “During my sermon, my words to the people inspired by you, a common man of no distinction saw fit to stand and challenge my teachings,” Archbishop Leonhard said while pacing in angry circles once more. “Imagine the nerve of that uneducated buffoon to stand up in my church and question me, an Archbishop.”

  “My church,” Goron quickly corrected. “You may be the caretaker here on earth, but my spirit and guidance make it flourish.”

  Instantly realizing he’d overstepped his bounds, Archbishop Leonhard dropped to the floor with his head pointed straight down. “Of course, my lord; all that I have I owe to you.”

  After a few quiet moments of reflection, the archbishop looked up with a more settled demeanor. He motioned toward the torn Bible translated into German by Martin Luther once again, “This ... thing. Printing presses all across Europe work day and night churning out Luther’s New Testament translation. It is not just the aristocracy reading this. It is tailors; it is shoemakers, even women. Anyone with the slightest ability to read is studying it as though it were the fountain of all truth.”

  “They are committing passages to memory,” he went on. “It has only been a few months, yet people already deem themselves so learned that they are not ashamed to dispute about faith and the gospel in the middle of a Sunday sermon.”

  “My word is the Bible, and it is the truth,” Goron insisted. “However, it is full of symbolism and metaphors that the common man is not equipped to comprehend. The gospel was written by multiple hands who do, at times, contradict one another. Common men are not meant to sort through it all without the intermediation of a priest. If unchecked, this translation could bring about the downfall of my church on earth.”