he could not agree with her if she advocated
celibacy exclusively; after all, they were married! And he didn’t think that
state had diminished their closeness to God.
“No,” Lydia replied.
“It’s not that marriage is sin. God made woman as a help for man and said that
‘twas good. Besides, marriage triumphs as an example to the dying world of the
relationship between Christ and His church. But,” she said slowly, “God
created individuals for Himself first and foremost, and He may have other plans
for each of His creations, plans that they can best accomplish in single
devotion to God alone. Others have need of another companion so that they
aren’t distracted by latent passion. And perhaps for some, even, though they
themselves don’t require marriage, ‘tis a sacrifice of love they can make for
another brother or sister. Yet we must never lose sight what matters most.”
“And what is that?”
“That God made us not
for procreation or for achievement or for personal happiness, but for Himself.
I don’t want to see Calum trying to find peace in the arms of his wife. Such
is for those who have no hope, Bricius,” Lydia said gently, laying her
work-worn hand on her husband’s arm.
He sighed. “It just
saddens me to see him sorrow over all that has happened. I think if…”
“Sometimes sorrow heals
the heart, dear one,” she murmured, catching his face in her hands. “I know
‘tis hard. You love him so. But the Man of Sorrows loves him yet more.”
“What do you think that
I ought to do then, Lydia? You should have seen him so eager to get away from
the Samhain celebration.”
“Pray, dear one. Pray.
There is nothing the evil one fears more than a child crying out to his Father,
nothing that so enfeebles his work, you ken.”
“Aye.” Bricius smiled
deeply into his wife’s eyes before bestowing a tender kiss on her forehead. “An
excellent wife, who can find?” he asked quietly. “One who is willing to fight
on behalf of the truth against her husband’s ignorance.”
“Out of love alone, dear
one. And ‘tis only an echo of the same love that will one day turn swords into
plowshares.”
“Aye,” said Bricius,
settling down at his pottery wheel again. “Amen.”
13
As he moved up the wide
stone slabs, his heart pounding in his chest, Deoradhan felt as if he had
traveled back half a decade. His boyhood called out to him from every familiar
corner, every worn step. Was it really so long ago that as a youth on the cusp
of manhood, he had strode down these same steps, determined to never cross them
again, thoughts of undiscriminating and reckless hatred and revenge rushing
through every path his mind took? Now, no longer a child in anyone’s eyes, he
mounted the way into the king’s court again, resolving to remain in this
stronghold until he received a final answer to his complaint.
Slowly, he mounted the
last few steps, his eyes renewing their memories of this great fortress.
Arthur had added more polish to his capitol in everything from the brilliant
banners whipping in the breeze to the foreign voices he had heard around him
from the moment his foot stepped inside the walls. Camelot had become a
modern-day Alexandria for Europe, he thought, a gathering-place for the finest
minds of their day. Even while he resided in Gaul, he had heard scholars speak
in wistful tones of traveling to Camelot. There, they could confer and debate,
share ideas and obtain funding from a king who strove to create a golden age
for his people, a tangible hope rising from the ashes of Rome.
He reached the guards
standing at the Great Hall’s threshold. He didn’t recognize them from his days
here as a boy; their barely-bristled faces testified that they were new
warriors in Arthur’s service. “My name is Deoradhan,” he said. “I wish to
speak with the High King.”
One of the two guards
squinted
celibacy exclusively; after all, they were married! And he didn’t think that
state had diminished their closeness to God.
“No,” Lydia replied.
“It’s not that marriage is sin. God made woman as a help for man and said that
‘twas good. Besides, marriage triumphs as an example to the dying world of the
relationship between Christ and His church. But,” she said slowly, “God
created individuals for Himself first and foremost, and He may have other plans
for each of His creations, plans that they can best accomplish in single
devotion to God alone. Others have need of another companion so that they
aren’t distracted by latent passion. And perhaps for some, even, though they
themselves don’t require marriage, ‘tis a sacrifice of love they can make for
another brother or sister. Yet we must never lose sight what matters most.”
“And what is that?”
“That God made us not
for procreation or for achievement or for personal happiness, but for Himself.
I don’t want to see Calum trying to find peace in the arms of his wife. Such
is for those who have no hope, Bricius,” Lydia said gently, laying her
work-worn hand on her husband’s arm.
He sighed. “It just
saddens me to see him sorrow over all that has happened. I think if…”
“Sometimes sorrow heals
the heart, dear one,” she murmured, catching his face in her hands. “I know
‘tis hard. You love him so. But the Man of Sorrows loves him yet more.”
“What do you think that
I ought to do then, Lydia? You should have seen him so eager to get away from
the Samhain celebration.”
“Pray, dear one. Pray.
There is nothing the evil one fears more than a child crying out to his Father,
nothing that so enfeebles his work, you ken.”
“Aye.” Bricius smiled
deeply into his wife’s eyes before bestowing a tender kiss on her forehead. “An
excellent wife, who can find?” he asked quietly. “One who is willing to fight
on behalf of the truth against her husband’s ignorance.”
“Out of love alone, dear
one. And ‘tis only an echo of the same love that will one day turn swords into
plowshares.”
“Aye,” said Bricius,
settling down at his pottery wheel again. “Amen.”
13
As he moved up the wide
stone slabs, his heart pounding in his chest, Deoradhan felt as if he had
traveled back half a decade. His boyhood called out to him from every familiar
corner, every worn step. Was it really so long ago that as a youth on the cusp
of manhood, he had strode down these same steps, determined to never cross them
again, thoughts of undiscriminating and reckless hatred and revenge rushing
through every path his mind took? Now, no longer a child in anyone’s eyes, he
mounted the way into the king’s court again, resolving to remain in this
stronghold until he received a final answer to his complaint.
Slowly, he mounted the
last few steps, his eyes renewing their memories of this great fortress.
Arthur had added more polish to his capitol in everything from the brilliant
banners whipping in the breeze to the foreign voices he had heard around him
from the moment his foot stepped inside the walls. Camelot had become a
modern-day Alexandria for Europe, he thought, a gathering-place for the finest
minds of their day. Even while he resided in Gaul, he had heard scholars speak
in wistful tones of traveling to Camelot. There, they could confer and debate,
share ideas and obtain funding from a king who strove to create a golden age
for his people, a tangible hope rising from the ashes of Rome.
He reached the guards
standing at the Great Hall’s threshold. He didn’t recognize them from his days
here as a boy; their barely-bristled faces testified that they were new
warriors in Arthur’s service. “My name is Deoradhan,” he said. “I wish to
speak with the High King.”
One of the two guards
squinted
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