A History Through Blood

During the last week of his nightly silent prayer, Benedict's mind became increasingly concerned. The initial elation he felt from the important diplomatic assignment, that he had rightfully earned though his hard work and pious faith, had long since worn off. Long days spent travelling under the blisteringly hot sun while listening to that cursed woman's slave inanely prattle on, translating the local blasphemous stories, had only served to infuriate the priest.

He constantly found himself reading from the book of Job*, comparing his own daily suffering to that of Job. Not that he could compare his current circumstances to the harsh trials and tribulations faced by Job, as that would be unbecoming of a servant of the Lord. It may perhaps be a sinful thought, but he felt a certain kinship with Job. Each night he would review the good Lord's work, spiritually and emotionally latching onto anything related to his position. “Why did I not die at birth, perishing as I came forth from the womb? Why were there knees to receive me or breasts for me to feed on? For now, I would be lying in tranquility, asleep and resting peacefully. With King and counsellors of the earth, who built palaces for themselves that now lie in ruins.” (Job 3:11-14.) Those passages seemed to stick with him, praying for his swift return to England and regretting his hubris in celebrating his foreign assignment.

Benedict missed the cool and clean cathedral of his former home, it's think stone walls protecting him from the worst of the seasonal weather. The rudimentary bedding in the communal dormitories that had been a constant source of discomfort now was a rare luxury, at least compared to the mats placed on the rocky and uneven ground. His fellow priests had approached Arthur about using the wagons, but he was deferred to the cursed vampire who owned the wagons. Their traitorous expedition leader had been either been corrupted by her conniving words or was too simple to realize the Lord's sacred blessing on her was likely temporary. The issue had then been dropped, as showing any weakness to the demon any more than necessary had been deemed blasphemous by his brothers.

The vampire's presence felt to him no different than that of the blood sucking insects that constantly harassed every moving creature on the grassy plains. Each morning Benedict would find yet another welt left by the insufferable parasitic bugs, further supporting his disdain for their consulting demon by association. The local practice of smoke and the juices from plant stems was effective at reducing the frequency of the bites, much to his disapproval as the methodology had been derived from the teachings of the native tribes and their worship of false gods.

It was a loathsome experience, trying to remain both dignified and of moral character when faced with the surrounding heathenism deeply ingrained with-in the lands. The followers of the false prophet** at least held some godly values, with the women covering their bodies as to remain modest and the men showing some adherence to the true faith. Thanks to the vermin's local translator he was able to converse with them and create some notion of diplomacy.

What tested his patience more was the local degeneracy found amongst the “tribal” religions. The lack of manners and clothing were already tempting the wrath of their god with their crude culture, but their worship of wild gods was far more sinful in Benedict's eyes. Their collective following of various local deities, occasional soothsaying and ongoing attempts to communicate with the dead all violated the commandments in his scared texts. Each village seemed to be worse than the previous one, proudly displaying their idolatry without any sense of guilt or shame. That damned woman of course sided with the sinful masses, having her thugs prevent any attempt to cleanse their forsaken idols of demonic taint.

How he yearned for Peregrine's assignment, documenting the reprehensible behavior displayed by the people of this god forsaken continent. It was simple to critique the various sins committed by the inhabitants of the land, citing chapter and verse with every infraction. The sacred words from Genesis, Leviticus, Ezekiel and First Corinthians would have flowed through his quill like water down the Egyptian Nile. Alas, that was not his assignment.

Benedict looked at his own report, detailing the plants common to the region, and found it rather lacking in comparison to his idealized assignment. The current contents of his logs were mostly culinary in nature, with a few plants which held medicinal, or artisan uses from his own observations. At the time he had resented the dubious doctor raising her voice as to provide the local name of the plants, however thanks to her corrupting 'kindness' his efforts were not entirely baron.

It had taken a few weeks to arrive at his latest revelation, but Benedict realized that his own work was not up to the standards expected by their Lord. The brief summaries, limited usage and only partial recordings of the available fauna would not be satisfactory. His focus on the spiritual defects of the local uneducated peasants had blinded him to his own mission. The daily prayers and anointments could continue, but he now realized that Crispin and Peregrine's less stringent adherence to doctrine had created a quality of reports which far exceeded his own. He could allow himself to learn something from these dark-skinned sinners or the vampire's blasphemous existence to better further the good Lord's work, without becoming a further victim of her corruption.

Benedict found the shameless translator separated from her parasitic master, idly conversing with the hired muscle that regularly fought with the monstrous creatures that harassed their wagons. Upon his arrival their conversation seemed to be put on hold, the foreign words quickly hiding whatever undignified blasphemy they were uttering. “Good evening, Father Benedict” greeted Kahina, her diplomatic words and tone inflecting every word. “If you are looking for my Mistress, she is currently acquiring blood from the twins.”

He felt the probing and irritated stares from those around her, giving him pause. Benedict cleared his throat as to regain his composure. “Er... No, I was hoping to join you and ...er... learn more about your... um... beautiful lands.” Kahina didn't even attempt translate his sentence, the mercenaries seemingly had already saw through his attempt at flattery. “Since the encounter with the...” his voice trailed off, faltering in the face of a new sense of annoyance from assembled group. “Are you sure you wish to join our discussion, considering the comments you have been making for the last few months?”

Benedict suddenly found his words, spoken both to his colleagues and in prayer as a potential blade against sin, now turned onto him with an implied disdain. Surely, he could sweet talk this corrupted woman, she was merely a daughter of Eve acting above her station. “I think you may have misheard my statements, given your lack of exposure to our tongue.” Kahina only sighed, “instead of acting as a fool, you should be thanking both Victoria and myself for concealing some of your group's more insulting remarks. We are hired to serve her objectives, which include returning you to England with your detailed reports. This does not include shielding you from the consequences of your own actions.”

“Why...What...I should...” Benedict simply stammered, trying to compose himself in the face of his own faults. It was now clear that Kahina, and likely the damned vampire, had surmised that his report was deficient in multiple areas. Kahina raised her hand as stay the mercenaries, who had inferred enough of their conversation as to derive partial insult. His hopes of extracting any information as to build on his failing report had fallen by the wayside, leaving only a long road to salvage his mission.

“Arthur, although far less devout in his beliefs, has provided me with some of the teachings from your holy book.” Kahina said, sighing at his inability to retort. “'Beware of false prophets, who come to you as sheep, but inwardly they are ravenous dogs. You will know them by their fruits. Every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Therefore, by your fruits you will know them' which I believe is from your book of Matthew.*** Your actions as so far have been selfish and arrogant, some might say with an attitude akin to spoilt goods.”

Not once had Benedict questioned his own motives, appearances or attitude. As he stood open mouthed, he could not offer a retort. To them, he was but an arrogant loudmouth spreading his rot to those who would listen. Try as he might, he was unable to formulate a response which could justify his words, not only to the local heathens, but ultimately himself. It took a minute or so of muffled silence before he realized that he was indeed acting as the god of old, ignoring the lessons of forgiveness from the son. After much stammering he could only offer a muffled apology as he left to pray in solace, questioning his place in the Lord's home for his sin of Pride. His mind fell on 1st Peter 3:8 as he walked: “Finally, all of you should be united in spirit, sympathetic, filled with love for one another, compassionate and humble.”

When he turned to leave, Kahina stopped him. “Arthur also told me other line from your book: 'If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.' It was also from Matthew, I believe. Join us in earnest at dinner, without judgement, and we will assist you. Show us respect, as a fellow man, and we will return in kind.” With that she returned to the grumblings in that savage, no, foreign tone of their escorting mercenaries and seemingly defusing the situation.

He had much to pray and reflect on. Instead of turning to his fellow brothers in faith, he sought solitude for his thoughts. It took several long hours before he understood his fault. He had grown arrogant in nature, like Uzziah in Second Chronicles, and served his own ego in place of the Lord, this true master. His role was not that of a Shepard, guiding their lambs as to not lead them astray. Nor was his role a carpenter or mason, building the home for the flock to rest. No, his role was that of a surveyor of the lands. He was to give advice to the Shepard, not of how to raise his flock, but as to where it was safe to graze.

It was an awkward experience, joining the dark-skinned warriors at dinner and listening to their often-crude stories by the fireside. Even with his unsettled demeanor, his presence in good faith rewarded him with warnings of the Acacia tree's toxic spines as well as how its wood was used by the local villagers. For once he listened to Kahina in earnest, her words were not born out of sin or degeneracy, rather out of the practicality required to live these harsh lands. This would require more thought and prayer, as if the church were to save these wayward souls from the fiery pits of damnation, the church would have to converse with them upon their level.