Both men agreed they would not try to escape. So Boadicea escorted them down the mountain. Meanwhile Wiglaff, Mornow and Alma remained in the cavern.
Wiglaff broke the silence. “Mornow, do you want to tell me something?”
The shaman’s piercing eyes focused on his protégé. Mornow looked down guiltily. He could not meet Wiglaff’s gaze.
“Yes. Alma and I are going to be married.” He sounded ecstatic.
“I’m happy for you both. You’ll have to let everyone know.”
“In time, yes. For now though, we’d like to keep our marriage plans secret.”
“Since Boadicea suspects the truth, everyone will know in very little time. If you want this to be quiet, you’ll have to be careful not to address each other in obvious ways. You’d better let Boadicea in on your secret explicitly and swear her to silence with a military oath. Check too with Onya. Boadicea is likely to have hinted something to her. So what did you think of our followers of Jesus?”
“I think they’re trouble,” Alma said.
“I disagree. I think they’re entitled to believe whatever they want to believe without prejudice or penalty.”
Alma bristled at this opinion. She crossed her arms and scowled. “You’re opening the door to the destruction of the compact between our fragile civilization and the gods.”
Wiglaff said, “Still, I find their belief to be credible. Both men are utterly convinced of what they told me. I haven’t seen such conviction in anyone who says he believes in the pantheon gods. Besides, the rewards of belief in Jesus are different from those of any of the Roman gods. Not even the Jews advertise such rewards.”
“You sound like a convert, Wiglaff,” Mornow opined. He said this with pursed lips, as if asking his mentor to clarify his position.
“I’m not a convert. I’m intrigued, though, by the foundations of this religion. I can see why the established temples, like yours, Alma, and the Emperor would be worried. I’ve got a great many questions of our guests. Did you notice that before they ate, they prayed? When was the last time you saw anyone else do that?”
Mornow shrugged. Alma pressed her lips together and sulked. She was not happy with the way the whole situation was developing. She wanted to be in charge of the discussion somehow.
Wiglaff shook his head. “Why don’t you go down to the village for dinner? Please let Onya know that I’ll be meditating here. If she wants to bring me food after your meal has ended, that would be fine. I’d like to talk with her.”
Talking and waving their hands energetically to make their points, the young couple walked down the mountain for dinner. Meanwhile, Wiglaff took a deep breath and thought about what Peter and Simon had said. His brainstorming came in a torrent of conflicting thoughts.
Does factual truth matter when faith can cover falsehoods as well as truths? Are miracles real only if they can’t be explained? What if man could conquer death through his beliefs? Would that make him a god?
The shaman looked out over the green and golden landscape, his mind teeming with the possibilities.
The Romans believe in the Elysian Fields. What’s the basis for that belief? Is the promise of heaven like the promise of the Elysian Fields? Peter and Simon were secret believers who served in the Roman army. How many other believers in Jesus are hiding in uniform? In any case, how well organized are these believers in Jesus? Since some clearly are living in Rome, the Levant and Britannia, are they spread worldwide?
Wiglaff dwelled for a moment on the question. After all, Peter and Simon were here at the very edge of the Empire. What did that portend?
The Empire is afraid of these believers. These men were sent into enemy territory on an impossible mission. Boadicea thinks they were sent here purposely to die. What should we Caledonians do for these men? Are they our allies because our enemies hate them? Should we kill them even though their beliefs do us no harm?
Wiglaff took a pinch of willow bark between his teeth and chewed it slowly. Then he took another tack with his thoughts.
Mornow and Alma are engaged to be married. Yet their differences in thinking regarding these believers are apparently profound. Does it matter that they have divergent views? I like his supporting the Christians’ right to believe what they want to. I like Alma’s fierce defense of her god Mercury. But does her religion accept Mornow’s being a shaman-in-training? Her views are, according to her, practical. Is it really practical to persecute followers of a new religion when it doesn’t seem to harm anyone outside it?
For a moment Wiglaff ruminated on the deep question he had posed. He saw the rise and fall of crows in the skies above the landscape but saw no particular meaning in their movements. His mind moved naturally to Alma.
When I talked with Alma about her faith, she had a well-rounded, deep view of Mercury’s powers and limitations. Yet when confronted with the power of this man Jesus, she had to admit greater limitations than she had acknowledged to me formerly. Now that she’s met two believers in Jesus, will she return to discuss the matter with her family across the Wall? Will that set off a witch hunt for similar believers in the army?
Wiglaff felt his headache subsiding. He took another pinch of willow bark. He adjusted his position and attacked the problem of belief from a different direction.
The corruption and depravity of Rome is without possibility of redemption. Goodness is not a virtue of any of the Roman gods. Emperors declare themselves to be gods, and the people are asked to make sacrifices to them. If the people don’t do that, they’re considered enemies of the state and killed. Yet when you know how the Emperor and his court act, the very concept of god is contradicted.
Wiglaff contemplated for a moment how men’s actions contradicted the very idea of god. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He shook when a chilly gust of wind interrupted his scattered thoughts.
Emperors aren’t immortal; in fact, these days they don’t live very long lives. They always seem to be afraid of their families, their courtiers and powerful factions. One Emperor was so deranged that he commanded a horde of his soldiers to search for seashells on the beaches of Gaul rather than mount an invasion of Britannia. If evil and deranged men can declare themselves to be gods, why shouldn’t a good man, with a blameless life (even by a Roman official’s admission) actually be God.?
“Wiglaff, I’ve brought your dinner. Did I disturb you?” Onya asked.
The shaman was visibly startled. “I was just thinking. Thank you for bringing dinner.”
“You seemed to be in one of your trances. Look, you’ve got some stray bark on your mouth. Let me remove it.”
Her gentle fingers expertly removed the pieces of bark on his lips and chin while he remained still and smiling.
“There. That’s better. Have something to eat.”
Wiglaff took a fistful of grains and fruits in one hand and picked some out with his other fingers. He ate and wondered at his appetite. He tried to remember the last time he had feasted.
“That’s right. I knew you must be hungry. I’ll just chatter for a moment while you eat.
He nodded and watched her as she folded her hands and spoke her mind.
“I can’t believe what’s been happening, Wiglaff. First, your nephew proposes to a Roman citizen, who’s also a priestess who loves her god. Then, you call upon two strangers, prisoners who are also Roman citizens, to tell you about their odd religion. Finally, you’ve catalyzed an impressive tribunal that may start up the war again after almost twenty years of peace. Ugard and Onna are as worried about you as I am. Are you well? Please talk with me.”
Wiglaff looked his wife in the eyes. “Onya, you’re so very good to me. Except for occasional headaches, I’m fine. Mornow has made that concoction of willow bark. It helps. Have you tried it?”
“Yes, I have. I use it all the time. I have a bag like that in the hut by the stove. It works for small pains. For the great pains, I still need to chew on a leather strap.”
Wiglaff nodded
and changed the subject. “I’m glad to see Mornow and Alma happy. They’ll have differences, but they’re starting out from the right place.”
Onya winked when she said, “She came with the plan to make him marry her. She told me as much that first night.”
“Women have powerful urges, Onya. She knew what she wanted and got it. Mornow’s still trying to understand what he’s gotten himself into. As for the two prisoners, I seized an opportunity to learn something new.”
“I hope the learning experience has been valuable for you, Wiglaff.” She was looking nervously at her folded hands.
Wiglaff shook his head. “It’s something of an enigma. Tell me something. Did the two men pray before they ate their dinner?”
She was surprised by his question. She wondered how he knew. “Yes, and they invited us to join them in their prayer.”
“And did you join them?” Wiglaff asked her.
“Why not? The only one who refused to do so was Alma, but she was polite and remained silent.” She paused and thought about that observation.
Wiglaff sat back and squinted as if he was trying to visualize what happened.
He stated, “Those two men are completely committed to their faith. I could see it in their eyes. I could hear it in their conviction when they told the story of their Jesus.”
Onya had another view entirely. “When a religious man makes his faith public, I always expect him to beg for money soon thereafter.”
The shaman nodded. “That differentiates these men from the Romans who follow their cluster of gods. I have the impression that believers in Jesus don’t want money.”
Onya was silent for a moment. Then she contributed, “The man called Peter told me he only wants to be good enough to go to heaven.”
Wiglaff’s eyes widened as he sat straight up. “Imagine that: a person wishes to be good enough to go to heaven. Which of the Roman gods asks for goodness? Not one. They all ask for money—and for that money, a very specific reward is supposed to be granted. It’s not always granted, mind you. The gods are fickle. The priests and priestesses are also greedy. You can never pay enough for a favor from the gods. Even when you pay whatever you can, there are no guarantees.”
Onya reflected on the word, ‘guarantees.’ “Peter said the sacrifice of his Jesus was a guarantee that would not be broken because it came from God.”
Wiglaff took her statement as if it contained a question. “I don’t know what to say to that just yet. As for the tribunal, Alma suggested that to me. I thought it was a good idea at the time. We’ve been wrestling to know when the Romans might attack us. The tribunal was the chance for everyone to talk about grievances and perhaps extend the peace a little longer.”
“Yes, but the tribunal hasn’t turned out according to your expectations.”
“Nothing involving the Empire ever does meet expectations, even if it is run by a living god, by which I mean the Emperor.”
“You know that’s nonsense.” Onya was sure her husband hated the idea that the Emperor might be a god, and she wanted to hear him reassure her that he still thought that was true.
Wiglaff did not disappoint her. “Yes, I do. Anyway, Mornow and Alma will marry. The two believers in Jesus will likely be gone in four more days. The tribunal buys time, perhaps, but the war will come no matter what.”
The couple mused on this idea while Wiglaff ate a few more pinches of food.
She studied his face for a moment before asking, “Why is it that even when you utter bad news, I like to know what’s what?”
Wiglaff smiled at his wife. “Because you’re a very special person, Onya. That’s why I love you. I’d like to do something we haven’t done in a while. I want to light a new torch and walk you back to the hut. Would you like that?”
“Yes. Here, I’ll pack up the remains of your dinner. You didn’t eat much. I’m worried for your health.”
She took the bag from his hand and brushed a few stray seeds from his clothing. She found a seed on his chin and put it in her mouth. Ready for them to depart, she paused to hear his final words.
“When I come back, I’ll be meditating on all that we’ve discussed. It’s never a good idea for me to try meditating on a full stomach.”
“As you wish.”
Wiglaff lit the torch and walked his wife back to their hut. When they arrived there, everyone was asleep except Boadicea, who stood wide awake outside the adjacent hut where the two Christians slept. After Onya had gone into her hut, Wiglaff walked over to talk with his daughter.
“Are you going to stand out here all night long?”
“I must, for Winna. I can’t trust that the prisoners will keep their word not to escape.”
“Do as you think fit. I believe these men are as good as their word.”
“How do you know that?” She never could read people as Wiglaff did.
“I know it from the look in their eyes. It’s the look that goes beyond all harm.”
Boadicea was nervously fiddling with twigs as she spoke.
“Now you’ve lost me,” she confessed.
Wiglaff sighed. “These two men believe—really believe—in goodness. If they’re good, they’ll earn eternal life in a place called heaven. If you could go to such a place, wouldn’t you be good?”
Boadicea smiled. “I’d wish for all Roman soldiers to think that way. Then I’d be happy to send them all where they say they want to be.”
“You certainly get the idea, but I’m startled by where you took it.”
Boadicea twiddled with her sticks and changed the subject. “So Mornow and Alma are going to be married after all?”
“It’s supposed to be a secret, but yes, they are.” He stretched his arms wide and let them fall by his sides. By this gesture he suggested the marriage was definitely going to happen. No one could prevent the inevitable.
“I don’t like it, but if it makes my cousin happy, I’m okay with it. Tell me, though, if I were to marry someone like Peter in there, what would you think?”
Wiglaff looked at her face to see whether she was serious. In the torchlight, her eyes glittered with anticipation of his answer. She was earnest, to be sure. He nodded. “Boadicea, that would depend on whether he made you happy.”
“But he’s a Roman soldier. He’s also a follower of Jesus and therefore an outcast.”
“What’s your point, Boadicea?” Wiglaff smiled and cocked his head at her.
“I’m not getting any younger, and Peter is big and strong. He has gentle eyes like yours. I have the feeling he’s a very good man. I’m beginning to like him a lot.”
Wiglaff almost laughed but caught himself. He sighed and thought about how his daughter had become a woman overnight. “I’m beginning to think things are moving way too fast for me.”
“Father, you’ve been through the war. You fought on the front lines. I don’t think anything can move too fast for you.”
“Thank you for saying so, daughter. Right now I have the weight of a future war on my shoulders.”
The two contemplated the thought of war with grim determination. Wiglaff held the torch. Boadicea fiddled with her sticks.
“Peter says the idea of restarting the war is madness.”
“He does? Why?”
“He says the soldiers are restive. They haven’t been paid. Their officers are corrupt.”
“I’ll bet they hate the cold weather too. And the military food is bad.”
Boadicea’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“It is always so with soldiers. Have you heard the adage that an army lives on its stomach?”
“Father, what does that adage mean?”
Wiglaff and Boadicea sat back against the hut together, looking up into the starry night. After a moment, the father answered his daughter’s question.
“It means you should feed your soldiers well. Like that breakfast you had before you left on your mission to Winna that started the tribunal.”
“I’m a little hungry,
now that you mention it.”
“I’ll sneak home and fetch you something to eat.” Wiglaff quietly entered Onya’s hut and returned with the remains of his own dinner.
“Here, eat this. Do you need a blanket for the night chill?”
“Cold is good for me. Part of my training was learning to sleep naked in the snow.”
Wiglaff laughed and shook his head. “Is there another woman warrior like you in the world?”
“Winna says I’m just like her. You knew her when she was my age; what do you think?”
“You’re the perfect image of her, only better. A father has the right to be proud of his offspring.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Boadicea said this sincerely, though she suspected her father was simply flattering her. She became concerned with his welfare. “Hadn’t you better get up to the cavern? That torch is likely to burn out if you don’t start now.”
Wiglaff went back to his cavern. The torch went out just as he entered his space. He sat near the entry and listened to the night sounds. The she-wolf and her pups trooped by the entrance. Bats swooped this way and that, catching insects. The sounds of frogs and crickets filled the air. Wiglaff took a deep breath and relaxed completely. He fell asleep before he could begin thinking again. His night was full of fitful dreams and menacing portents.
Chief among the shaman’s visions that night were his awakening in a broad, flowery meadow in daylight with skylarks rising towards the sun, the winged feet of Mercury hurrying time along too fast for human thought, and an enormous wedding feast with Roman soldiers eating at a long table alongside all their enemies. The last was especially troubling, because he became aware that at the head of the table on a throne of blood was an enormous man with a hawk-like nose eating a human leg.
“Uncle, wake up. The prisoners are here. I’ve brought you breakfast.” Boadicea gave him a sack with food. She then led the prisoners to their places. Satisfied that she had done what was required, she stood at attention by the entrance to the cavern. Mornow sat beside his uncle. Alma sat beside her betrothed, with one hand on his arm.
The WIglaff Tales (The Wiglaff Chronicles Book 1) Page 18