Stone of Help (Annals of Lystra) Read online

  Weary now, Deirdre looked toward a huge, hotly burning bonfire. So that was the peculiar smell. As they approached the northern face of the outpost, she stared at the massive battering ram jutting through the broken gates. The men working around it paused to salute or call greetings to them. Some even came forward to bow formally in welcome to Deirdre. She flushed, feeling how nice it was to be treated with honor again.

  Kam was pointing out a problem to Galapos: “We’ve discovered that Tremaine’s battering ram was built with a number of baffles and locks, to prevent its being taken apart on the sly. Our best machinists are looking at it now, but all they can say with surety is that figuring out how to disassemble and move it will require some time.”

  “Time I don’t wish to take,” said Galapos. “We’ll leave it for now, and send a unit to work on it later. We must hie ourselves to Westford. Instruct the men to be ready to leave at dawn.”

  Roman dismounted and reached up to lift Deirdre down. “You must rest tonight for the return ride. . . . I wish there were a way to make it easier for you.” He held her gently as she stretched, then leaned forward to kiss her, unconscious of the surrounding winks and grins. Embarrassed, she murmured a complaint he did not hear.

  Kam, watching them, muttered to Galapos, “Is the Chataine . . . ?”

  “She will bear my first grandchild in the winter,” Galapos stated proudly. Kam’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “We’ll celebrate upon our return to the city,” Galapos added, almost as an order.

  Deirdre stared in wonder at the shattered gates as Roman led her past them into the heart of the fortress. There, a kitchen squad had completed preparing a feast from the best of the outpost’s supplies. A soldier clanged a noisy bell, bringing the men into the hall in a tidal rush.

  As they ploughed through the mess line, grabbing plates and mugs and bread, Galapos walked to the front where they could all see him and raised his hands. The soldiers stopped excitedly, some settling on the benches to eat.

  Galapos said, “Before we eat, we are going to offer a prayer of thanks to God for the very fact of being here to eat.” The men looked at him dumbfounded, and he barked, “On your feet!” They jumped up and stood at attention. “Good,” Galapos muttered, then, after an uncertain hesitation, inquired, “Roman, will you say it for us?”

  Roman lowered his head and said, “Lord God Almighty, we thank you for your mighty deliverance of us today. We thank you for giving life, and bread, and health. God, grant your blessing on us all! Amen.”

  Some voices said, “Hear, hear!” and they crowded into the line again. Then the soldiers had for themselves a hearty, backslapping dinner, recalling to each other every incident of the battle and siege.

  The head table, however, at which sat Galapos, Deirdre, and Roman, was quiet. Galapos watched the men as he ate, pondering the monstrous task that lay before him of rebuilding the province in the wake of Tremaine’s invasion. He feared what they might find remaining of Westford upon their return. Those townspeople who had survived had certainly been stripped of their possessions and livelihoods. Or worse—Galapos had seen whole cities razed to the ground by Tremaine on a whim. And there were certainly soldiers on the loose who had defected from one army or the other, turning renegade and preying on the scattered villagers. How would he ever rebuild a stable population from the dispossessed?

  From deep within himself rose the conviction that he was unequal to the work before him. After all, he was only a soldier. His cunning had already failed him at the most critical point of their defense—he had misjudged Tremaine’s strength and Corneus’ loyalty. How could he then perform more ably in a harder task? He could not. . . . He required a wisdom greater than his own. . . .

  Roman ate without tasting or seeing the beef and lentils. Why? he marveled. Why had God been so good to him? To answer his prayer and spare his life and the lives of his men was enough, but—he felt Deirdre’s presence beside him without looking to her—to reach into the depths of his heart and grant him his most secret, most treasured dream . . . it was too extravagant. Too undeserved. He remembered his conviction after Deirdre’s illness that God had both their lives in His hands, that He would resolve matters in His way. But he had never dreamed that God’s way would entail such happiness, such fulfillment of desire. It was an uncalled-for kindness to grant a prayer Roman had never dared to pray.

  And more. He raised his eyes to scan the room full of men newly released from the pit of death. To place him over such loyal, faithful companions who would not give him up to Tremaine to save their own lives, and to give the rule of the province into the hand of brave Galapos, his father-in-law. . . . He looked to the Commander over Deirdre’s golden head and saw Galapos eyeing him pensively in return.

  Deirdre, for her part, was wondering how she would ever endure the ride to Westford.

  Following the dinner, Roman led her up to his tiny room. Glancing about, she asked, “Roman, aren’t you entitled to a larger room than this?”

  He looked surprised. “There are no larger quarters than this, except for the Commander’s, Deirdre.”

  “But how could the soldiers sleep in anything smaller?” asked the Chataine.

  “I don’t suppose they could, so theirs are much larger!” he laughed. She looked at him crossly and he explained, “They sleep in halls of a hundred each. I, at least, have the privacy of my own room. It’s the best I have to give you tonight, Deirdre. I know you’re weary,” he said anxiously. She looked dismally at the small, hard cot. It was ironic that the accommodations of freedom were so much less comfortable than Corneus’ palace prison.

  “Wait here,” he said, and left.

  She sat gingerly on the cot, rubbing her aching back. Momentarily the door opened and a cot walked in. Roman appeared behind it and set it beside the other cot. He piled blankets on the one next to the wall, as a makeshift mattress. “I hope this will do for the night,” he mumbled.

  “Yes, certainly,” she acquiesced, lying down. “Thank you, Roman. You are always so kind.”

  He took her hands and pressed them to his face. “I still cannot believe God’s kindness. I am full to overflowing . . . I could stand no more happiness.” He leaned over her to rest on his elbow and kiss her. She responded, but winced at his beard. “Let me get water to shave,” he said, drawing up. But a knock sounded on the door. Roman opened it to Galapos.

  The Commander coughed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my boy,” he apologized, glancing at Deirdre. “I had a question for you.”

  Roman motioned him in and they sat on the cot next to Deirdre’s. “What is it, Galapos?”

  “Roman . . .” he coughed again, seeming uncertain how to begin. “You know I have not spoken well of God in the past . . . it is not mannerly to call someone a delusion. Yet He has spared my life as well as yours. Would He help me now, as He has helped you?”

  “You need only ask Him, Galapos,” Roman smiled, leaning back.

  “I do not know how, Roman,” he said a little testily.

  Roman inclined his head, sympathetic to his discomfort. Roman knew firsthand how difficult it was for a self-reliant man to relinquish control to anyone—even God. “First, Galapos, claim your redemption. You have heard Tychus tell of the Christ, haven’t you?” Galapos nodded. “Well then, will you acknowledge that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, able to save those who call on His name?”

  “If it’s His name you called on to bring our deliverance, then yes,” Galapos said.

  “And you, Deirdre?” Roman shifted toward her.

  “I already have, Roman,” she said quietly.

  He turned back to Galapos. “Then confess this fact to God. Ask His forgiveness for your unbelief, and commit to do what He has told you. Then He will give you whatever you need—and more,” he said, glancing toward his wife.

  Galapos nodded slowly. “That is a simple thing for me to do. Having done that, will I receive wisdom from Him to rule Lystra?”

  Roman eased back on his elb
ow. “Ask Him. Fill His ear with your requests and complaints. Search His Word for the wisdom He has already made known. Then cover your head for the torrent of answer He will pour down upon you.”

  Galapos grinned, “You yourself look drenched, my boy.”

  “I am. I am covered with streams of mercy. Which reminds me—you both must be baptized straightway. Deirdre?” They turned again to see her sleeping sweetly.

  Galapos stood. “We will, tomorrow. And we’ll talk further.” They clasped hands and he left. Roman bent over Deirdre to kiss her on the forehead, then put out the candle and lay down on the cot beside hers, breathing in a yawn and out a sigh.

  Chapter 2

  When Deirdre awoke in the morning Roman was gone. She did not even stir to look for a note, however. There was no reason she could see to rush getting up.

  A little while later he came into the room, and smiled when she turned sleepy eyes toward him. “You must have rested well. I hardly felt you stir all night,” he said, reaching over the cot to help her up.

  “Yes, I did,” she murmured.

  He began to kiss her but stopped, suddenly turning serious. “Oh—now, Deirdre, the scouts have found Tremaine’s personal carriage. It’s a very good one, with springs and cushions, and I feel you should ride in it to Westford. We’ll make much better time, and I’ll drive it for you—”

  “Yes, Roman,” she acceded immediately.

  He paused, caught off guard. “Oh—well, good. Come have breakfast, then—”

  She was shaking her head. “No, nothing now, but some water. You’re all probably ready to leave.”

  “Yes,” he said briskly. Stepping from the room, he summoned a soldier to attend her and strode away almost bouncing.

  Soon she went out to meet him on the grounds. There she blinked at the procession which awaited her. She was blessed to have never in her life witnessed the terror of an approaching army; so to her, now, six hundred men and two thousand horses seemed like hordes.

  Galapos greeted her with a kiss. “Chataine, you look refreshed this morning—and maybe a little rounder,” he winked. She blushed and put a hand to her belly.

  Roman broke away from a soldier to assist her into the open-topped carriage, then hopped up beside her. Pleasantly surprised, Deirdre glanced around the interior. It was a very satisfactory carriage, with gilded framing and embroidered seats. She decided she could probably endure riding in this for a while.

  Galapos, on his charger before them, had raised his hand to give the signal to move when a mild hubbub reached his ears. A soldier came forward. “Commander, we saved this for you to wear on your return to Westford. It is rightfully yours now.” He held up the magnificent golden robe that had been Tremaine’s.

  Galapos took it, grasping the fellow’s shoulder. “Thank you, Lorean.” Then he raised his voice. “I thank you all, but it is not rightfully mine. You know that it wasn’t I who led you in this victory. This was God’s work. So let’s just hang this robe on the gates as a reminder of that, shall we?”

  Shouting and whistling, the soldiers agreed, and as Galapos led them out of the broken gates, he tossed the golden mantle to hang on a standing post twenty feet off the ground. Roman and Deirdre followed in the carriage, and the soldiers cheered as they exited the outpost, each saluting the golden robe.

  They spurred to a relaxed canter. Deirdre sat back in the plush carriage, marveling at the comfort of it. “This is so easy!” she exclaimed to Roman. “I’ve never ridden in such a carriage. And there I was dreading this short ride!”

  Roman smiled in satisfaction. “The Lord sees to all the details.”

  She smiled, too, taking in the green warmth of late summer. “This is wonderful.” She looked over at him—his brown hands skillfully handling the reins, foot propped above the brake board, back straight and face freshly shaven. “Nor have I ever seen you smile so much,” she observed.

  “I never knew I had so much to smile about. The years I spent warding you and wishing I was doing something else, something important—how little I realized the significance of what I did every day. I spent eight years courting you, and still fought with Galapos when he needed me most. I am reeling from these recent insights,” he admitted, shaking his head.

  In only a few hours they met up with the Passage north of Westford. From here, they needed simply to follow the river home. But Galapos suddenly called the procession to a halt. Roman drew up the carriage reins and called, “What is it, Galapos?”

  “It is the river, Roman,” he called back, trotting to the carriage side. Deirdre snickered and Roman dropped his shoulders in mild exasperation. “It is water, Roman,” Galapos continued thoughtfully. “And why shouldn’t I be baptized here?”

  Roman looked out over the lazy river. “You could, except we have no holy man here to baptize you.”

  “You are the holiest man I know,” Galapos said evenly. “What prohibits you from baptizing me?”

  “And me, Roman!” exclaimed Deirdre, sitting up.

  Roman seemed taken aback. “But . . . I am not worthy . . . !”

  “Then who on earth is worthy?” retorted Galapos. He turned to the men mounted in ranks and shouted, “We’re stopping here for a matter of importance. You’ve heard how the Lord delivered us when Roman called on the name of Jesus. Because of this, I have confessed belief in this Jesus, and Roman is going to baptize me—and the Chataine—here. Any of you who wish to confess likewise may do so.” He dismounted.

  Roman helped Deirdre from the carriage and they walked to the water’s edge. While Deirdre and Galapos shed some outer clothes, Roman took off his leather shortcoat, muttering, “Now how does this go?” (None of the soldiers presumed to come any closer until Deirdre was fully dressed.)

  The three waded out into waist-deep water, where Roman faced Galapos and said, “As the resurrected Christ Jesus commanded us to baptize His followers in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, so I baptize you. The apostle said, ‘We are buried with Christ by baptism into death, so that as He was raised from the dead by the power of the Father, we also might walk in newness of life.’”

  He lowered Galapos into the water and brought him up again. Then Roman turned to his wife. “And you, Deirdre, I baptize likewise.” He carefully lowered and then lifted her. She sputtered a little, gathering her wet petticoats.

  When Deirdre had returned to the carriage, Kam suddenly dismounted and stepped forward. “I wish to follow the Commander in baptism.”

  Roman asked him, “Do you believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God?”

  “Yes, sir!” Kam said. Roman accepted him into the water and repeated the words he had said over Galapos, then dunked him. Meanwhile, several more soldiers waded out. Roman baptized them, then looked up to see a line forming. Briefly, he questioned each one before baptizing him.

  After dipping the thirtieth or so man, he paused to rest. Lifting his head, he uttered an exclamation at the size of the waiting line. “Galapos—come help me! I can’t possibly baptize all of these men.”

  The Commander amiably splashed out to where he stood. “Getting feeble in middle age, my boy?” he jested before taking hold of the man standing before them. Roman nodded absently, watching the line grow.

  Deirdre sat in the carriage, observing with amusement as they courageously struggled to baptize the growing tide of new converts. Roman would painstakingly lower each man backwards into the water as if laying him out in a grave, but Galapos chose the easier method of gripping the front of the man’s shirt, thrusting him under water, and then yanking him up. Presently, Kam and another man were enlisted to help while Roman and Galapos rested. Deirdre scanned the river contentedly, combing through her long wet hair with her fingers. She nibbled on a bit of bread from the food pouch, then curled up on the soft cushions to nap.

  Some time later in the golden afternoon, she was awakened by a bouncing motion. Roman, dripping and exhausted, had plopped onto the seat panting. “Finished?” she yawned.

&nbs
p; “I think we baptized the whole six hundred,” he said between breaths. “I hope—they all realize what they have done.”

  “May we go home now?” she asked, sitting up and stretching.

  “Yes . . . let me rest a moment, then we’ll start again,” he said, still winded.

  “Oh Roman—I can drive the carriage,” she offered, taking up the reins.

  “No, Deirdre—it’s different from guiding a horse.” He motioned to a soldier, who took the reins and sat in front of them to drive. At Galapos’ command, the mostly sodden army moved forward.

  With twilight spreading around them, Deirdre grew excited to recognize the lay of the land. Then, the shining towers of Westford came into view. “Home, home!” she sang.

  Roman took her hand. “Deirdre, remember what we told you. Westford has fallen. What you see when we arrive may not look like home.” She heard him, but did not believe him.

  They crossed the ancient stone bridge just north of Westford, and all eyes peered anxiously toward the town. “The buildings stand,” Roman remarked to Galapos.

  “Aye.” Wordlessly, they trooped into the main thoroughfare. Galapos motioned for a halt, peering into the growing shadows. There was emptiness everywhere. No people, living or dead. No litter from war or violence. Abandoned shops, shutters banging in the wind. No animals, save some stray dogs yapping hungrily around the horses’ legs. It was a riddle of emptiness.

  Galapos, eyes scanning the town, gestured a soldier forward. “Search the shops for the slain or wounded,” he ordered. The soldier scrambled down from his horse and trotted to the nearest door. To a pair of men, Galapos instructed, “See what remains at the Village Branch.” They spurred away.

  Galapos hesitated then, showing reluctance. “Roman, let’s leave the Chataine with Kam and inspect the palace—”

  “You will not!” she declared hotly, determined not to be left behind. A glance from Roman recalled her to courtesy. “Galapos, please, let me come too. I can bear it.”