welcome, stranger,” st christopher said. “and if you have a tale to tell, we will be happy to listen.”
invited by st christopher to tell his tale - or any tale - the traveler who called himself “the stranger” complied, once he had shed his wet clothing for dry, and was seated in front of a fire in the main dining room of the saint’s inn.
his audience consisted of the saintly innkeeper, his wife, mary magdalen, and the stable boy, who was known as clod in the incarnation he found himself in.
paracelsus, the ostler, had retired to his bed of straw in the stable, after attending to the stranger’s horse.
the rain continued to beat more furiously than ever on the roof and windows of the inn.
“is there no end to these wretched traveler’s tales?,” grumbled mary magdalen under her breath, but the stranger ignored her, and the saint and the stable boy leaned forward and listened attentively as he began.
once upon a time there was a king. he was called john lancelot v. he was descended from a long line of mighty kings, and wished with all his heart to be a mighty king himself, but in truth he was anything but a mighty king.
in fact he was a king in aught but name, what was left of this kingdom consisting of little but his castle, a few miserable peasant huts and plots of land surrounding the castle and a veritable plague of churches and monasteries under the protection of his wife, the saintly veronica.
at the time our story begins his kingdom, like many other larger and wealthier ones, was a fiefdom of the mighty emperor trag iii, the scourge of heaven and earth, who had emerged from the steppes of
asia to make himself master of all known lands under the sun.
having little but his dreams, john lancelot could often be seen, in fair weather and foul, wandering the rutted paths of his poor kingdom, muttering and talking to himself, and beseeching heaven with upraised eyes.
john lancelot wished for much, but he had one dream which he did not think too much to ask of heaven, and that was for a son. a son who might in time find the opportunity to reverse the fallen fortunes of his line, and avenge its ever lengthening catalogue of indignities.
if st veronica could not provide him with a legitimate heir, and it appeared that she could not, then surely some such specimens of rosy cheeked peasant lass as he could find in the hovels of the kingdom could produce something!
the churches and monasteries which so bedeviled the unhappy monarch were overflowing with an abundance of saints and prophets who had fled their lands ahead of the rampaging and idolatrous armies of the terrible trag the conqueror.
so it happened that such worthies as st jerome, st francis the lover of birds, eusebius the exegete, and the prophet ezekiel, were all attendant at the birth of a child foisted by the desperate king on a peasant girl known as fat joan, on a gray morning in a particularly dreary harvest season.
i only pray, cried john lancelot, wringing his hands as the event was waited on, that it be a male child! that is all i ask! is it not little enough?
and behold, the child came forth, and it was indeed a male child.
the king screamed.
what is that? he cried. what manner of creature is that? is it a toad? a spider? by all the pagan gods of conquering asia, what is it?
come, come, sire, the prophet ezekiel expostulated, it is only a child. a rather uncomely one, to be sure, but only a human child for all that. it may well grow up to be as strong and handsome as the original sir lancelot of blessed memory, and restore all the glory of your house. what say you, brothers?, he asked, turning to jerome and francis and eusebius.
throw it in the nearest well, cried john lancelot, not waiting for their reply, and if you can not throw it in a well, get it out of my sight.
i will do that, sire, ezekiel replied, i will have it taken to the monastery forthwith, and given the best education in the arts and philosophies under the moon and stars. in time, with the blessing of heaven , i propose to produce such a paragon as alexander, constantine, and john the revelator could not envision -
at that point the newborn let out a scream that accomplished what the king’s wailing had not - it awakened the cows and goats who had been slumbering in the shadows of the hut, including one goat with more than a passing resemblance to the old one himself…
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