Antoine meets Etienne

1199, Late Autumn

Throwing off fatigue, he brushed the gravel from his breeches and struggled to his feet. To stay in one spot meant certain death; either his pursuers or the danger of the mountains would claim him. Instinctively he scratched his chin, and sighed in disappointment at how his trademark, well-trimmed beard had become shabby over the last week. The thought of his numerous enemies reveling at the sight of Croc Foncé unkempt and scared infuriated him, pushing him on.

He moved over and around the mountainous terrain finally coming to an overhang that afforded him a view of the landscape below. To call the barely visible track a trail or even a path was to do it undeserved honour. It was the kind of thing that only a goat would consider adequate. He was surprised, therefore, to see a fat monk sitting atop a donkey which was led by a gnarled old peasant. Why the two would be moving in such a deserted part of the alps with a heavy winter storm brewing was beyond him, but he was not one to question such a gift.

With a trained eye he looked ahead and spotted a blind turn, further complicated a recent rockslide. "Perfect," he whispered knowing that it provided him an ideal location to ambush the travelers. The lure of food intoxicated him, surely a fat man would carry with him something to eat; and the peasant? Merely a minor inconvenience.

He moved toward his ambush position, checking his footing carefully. When he looked up again, he saw that two men had stepped out of his ambush position and were confronting the travellers. One held a spear and the other a sword and roundshield. To Etienne, their intention would have been clear even had the spear not been pointed at the peasant's throat.

Silently cursing his luck, Etienne picked up his pace into a controlled slide down the rocky hillside. Alighting on the path, his appearance certainly did not go unnoticed. "What have we here?" he called out walking toward the impending confrontation.

Taking in Etienne's weapons, armour and bearing, the man with the shield shifted to a more battle wary pose and said, "Nothing that is any concern of yours."

Etienne pushed a lock of grimy hair from his brow and looked over to the monk. With a fluid, yet deliberate, motion he repositioned his cloak behind his shoulder and dropped his hands to the hilts of the twin shortswords that hung at his side. "You, monk," he called out. "Is this a concern of mine?"

"All that concerns my brothers in Christ concerns me, and you all," the monk indicated all three brigands with a gesture, "are my brothers and my concern. I beg of you, though, let there be no violence. I have little, nothing beyond the robes on my back, and them I offer freely to you or you or you, if they will do you good. But do not harm this man, nor take his animal which is nearly all he has in the world."

From the sneers on their faces, the two bandits facing the monk did not hold much truck with his pious words.

"There you have it. According to him, I am his brother; so it is my concern." Etienne took a step closer and locked his gaze upon the leader of the two. "Leave him be." The message was simple to understand, and made even simpler as Etienne drew both swords simultaneously.

The one with the spear seemed to hesitate for a moment, but the other one spoke, as he shifted a step closer. "Perhaps you would like to pay their way. You have more than just a robe on your back."

The monk began to speak in Latin, after a moment's confusion, Etienne realized that he was praying.

"Hear that? He is praying for your souls," Etienne stated to further worry the spearman and to distract the leader. At the very moment the man's attention diverted to glance at the praying monk, Etienne stepped in and struck with a vicious cross-cut from his matched swords.

Etienne slipped and nearly fell, his blow going wide. He narrowly parried the bandit's counter strike, and saw out of the corner of his eye, the spearman moving to engage.

Etienne angled around to keep the swordsman between him and and the spear and was rewarded with a stinging blow to the arm that did little damage but did annoy him. The spearman charged around to get in position, and Etienne suddenly reversed directions and jumped between the two men, inside the spear's effective range, and plunged his sword into the spearman's side. The man screamed, dropped his spear and fled up the rocks. That left an opening for the swordsman to open a cut on Etienne's arm.

Etienne chided himself for being sloppy. The hunger and lack of sleep was obviously affecting him more than he thought. "Your friend is the wise one, he will die later. You, now." He took a side step to angle the man's shield and struck again with a double attack, the first to knock his shield aside and the next to strike deep within his defenses.

The bandit batted the incoming blade aside and drifted to one side looking for an opening. The pair settled in for the long haul. They feinted and shifted and traded blows looking for an opening. Both men began to tire, then Etienne saw a chance. He drove low at the man's right thigh, and when he shifted his shield to block, Etienne gave him a vicious cut across the head on his left side.

With blood in his eyes, the man took a step back, saw death in Etienne's eyes, and threw his sword at his foe before falling at the feet of the now dismounted monk, crying, "Mercy! Mercy, Father!"

Etienne batted the thrown sword away, and staggered. Slowly he turned, his muscles tired from the exertion, and he approached the groveling man. "It is not he that can grant mercy," he stated coldly while raising his sword.

"No," said the monk, "it is only the Lord that can truly grant mercy, and he grants it to all who ask." He waddled in front of Etienne, "I, too, ask for mercy. Even this one is one of God's children."

The portly man annoyed Etienne causing him to croak, "Out of the way. I will deal with you later." Using the flat of his blade, he attempted to push aside the monk only to meet resistance. A flick of the wrist brought the blade to bear on the monk's throat, "Although if you choose I could," Etienne paused and shook his head, "I could...deal with you noooooow" he repeated before falling to his knees with his hands over his ears. The cries returned louder than ever. He could see the infant crying, that incessant wailing shrieked into his ears driving him into a tormented mess at the feet of the monk.

"Make it stop!" he cried out writhing on the ground.

The wounded bandit looked at his fallen foe and for a moment looked as though he was considering renewing the fight. The old peasant had picked up the other bandit's spear and was standing near his fallen sword, so he thought better of it and instead began to scramble up the slope after his fled comrade.

The monk laboriously knelt by Etienne and stroked his hair for a moment. "Peace, my son. Peace." He waited while Etienne regained control of himself. "Thank you for what you did for us."

"I," he began after swallowing hard, "intended to kill you. They arrived before I could." Through a tear streaked face, he gazed up into the kindly face of the monk. "I have done much evil, and done what was right in my own eyes," he confessed. Etienne shivered from the cold air, but the gates had been opened and he spoke freely. "I have killed, cheated, and stolen for profit; giving no mercy nor sympathy."

The cries grew louder in his head, and Etienne's voice rose to compete with their volume for he could sense that his time was near. "My deeds have branded me cursed, I am unworthy, chief of sinners," he sobbed with pain. The words came from Etienne's mouth yet he recalled a priest saying those very words years ago in a story. Then the tale caused Etienne to scoff, now they held greater meaning. If only he could call upon their power, to find relief from the torment.

"I cannot go on, alone. I need help. Please, forgive me."

"Only Our Lord can forgive, my son. But are you truly repentant?" Etienne nodded. "Praise to the Lord!" said the Priest, following it up with a few words in Latin. He looked at Etienne carefully, "There is no true evil in you." He turned to the peasant, "Rejoice! He who was lost has been found! I am Antoine, let us pray." The peasant knelt near them, but Etienne could see that he did not relinquish his spear.

From his position, Etienne could see that the monk wore wooden shoes, and it occurred to him that he was perhaps one of the Poor Men of Lyons of which he had heard.

Etienne felt better as the cries in his head dissipated, slowly he kneeled like the monk and cautiously closed his eyes. Never would he have dreamed that he would be praying, and even more outrageous was that he had his eyes closed with a man holding a spear near him. There was something different about this man Antoine, and something different about Etienne; there was a peace that he had never known before. While he did not fully understand all that the monk said he paid attention, and when Antoine fell silent he felt compelled to speak.

"Lord, I know not what can be done to heal one as afflicted as I. But I believe that You alone are capable. I have little to offer one as Yourself, but my word. From this day forth, I wish to honor You by never raising a weapon except in self-defense. Croc Foncé, a man of deceit and evil is buried. And Etienne, a man of peace has been born."

Etienne, raised an eyelid, and looked around the circle adding "Amen."

"Amen," echoed the priest and a moment later the peasant also repeated the word. "My son, you seem to be deeply troubled, and your crimes are many and grave, though I had heard the Croc Foncé kept his beard neatly trimmed," he added with a bare smile. "Why are you faring is this wild place? There are few travellers here, and little prey for brigands."

He scratched the mass of hair on his face and forced a smile of sorts. "I have been pursued for weeks," he looked up into the mountains to check for any watchful eyes. "My past has caught up to me, I fear, and I was desperate man. Yet, I feel better having run across you." Etienne, struggled to his feet and helped Antoine likewise. He reached for his sword and saw the peasant grip the spear tighter. "Fear not," he assured the man, "the words I spoke, I meant."

With a flourish, the swords returned to the their scabbards and Etienne brushed off his cloak adjusting the unique brooch that held it in place. "Might I ask you the same, what brings you to this harsh land?" he asked Antoine.

Antoine bowed his head. "I depend on the charity of others. I spoke truth when I said I had naught to give those men but the robe on my back. My order travels the countryside preaching, and so I do again. Although," he smiled ruefully, "I had hoped to pass the winter in Hubert's village. The agents of the Bishop found me and so I hastened my departure. Hubert tells me of a shrine far up this way where I may be able to pass the winter in some kind of safety." He leaned in, "To be honest, I have never heard of this shrine and want to see it for it's own sake. The donkey carries some food, and Hubert will come when he can. If you are a refugee as well, you are welcome to join me and share what comfort I can give."

Etienne weighed his options, which did not take long. A slight chuckle escaped as he wondered how a peaceful man like Antoine could be considered trouble. Antoine offered nothing of wealth but Etienne knew that the Bishop and his kind often thought differently than he. The journey ahead was not safe as evidenced by the two men, Etienne himself and others like him. Yet to go back meant certain death. Etienne knew that the mage and his minions would pursue him relentlessly and there would be nowhere that he could lay his head.

"I have nowhere else to go, but much to learn from you." He approached the donkey and grabbed its lead rope, "How much further is this shrine Hubert?"

The peasant looked up at the sun, down at the moments, squinted a moment, then said, "If we are not laggard, we shall be there by sundown." He went and picked up the bandit's sword which lay where he had dropped it and added it to the donkey's load. "This way." He set the pace.

True to the old peasant's word, the sun had not yet dimmed when he led them to a crack in a cliff-wall that would easily go unnoticed by even an avid searcher. "Here it is."

Antoine entered the cave and staggered, reaching out to catch himself on the wall. "This is a most holy place!" he said reverently, crossing himself automatically.

"'Tis said the saint lived here some years as a hermit," said Hubert, and the place was admirably suited as a hermit's cell. The cave was small and the opening narrow, so narrow that Antoine could barely pass through. A cleft in the back served as a chimney as the fire-blackened stones beneath it attested. At the back of the cave was a rough stone altar, and on it rested flowers of a relatively recent vintage. "The sheep and goat herds tend the spot," said Hubert noticing the direction of their gaze. He turned to go unload the donkey.

Etienne made an effort to knock the dust from his boots before entering and stood by silently while Antoine explored and satisfied himself with the abode. "This is suitable for you," he said to the monk more as a statement than a question.

As a man who had spent many nights under the stars among the rocky slopes of the mountains, Etienne did not mind staying outside. Brother Antoine probably preferred his privacy, and Etienne did not like closing his eyes in any location where there was only one exit no matter how well disguised, "I will fetch some firewood."

With a turn of his cloak, Etienne left the cave and approached Hubert. "I will return soon," he promised looking out into the dusk, "the cliffs have eyes and I wish to ensure our safety for the night."

Etienne quickly satisfied himself that they were unobserved and scrounged a small supply of firewood, as well as familiarizing himself with the lay of the land. When he returned, he found Hubert gone with the donkey, and two beds made in the shrine.

He silently stepped in and a flickering candle revealed Antoine on his knees in prayer. After a few moments, the monk finished and Etienne assured him "We are safe here." The outlaw carried the firewood to the cleft and soon a fire added to the glow. Etienne arose and tossed off his cloak, finding a seat nearby Antoine. With a sigh of exhaustion he leaned back against the cave wall, and looked upon his companion.

"I am pleased I did not kill you." It was a compliment of sorts, albeit awkward. Etienne was not sure what caused their paths to cross, nor what exactly spared the monk's life. The cries had been silenced ever since the monk showed him compassion and called upon the name of the Lord, and while Etienne knew they were not gone forever, they now had a purpose in his life; a reminder of the man he used to be. It was, as they say, his cross to bear.

"I am pleased, too," said Antoine. "There is much work to be done before I join Our Father. The day has been long, but before we sleep, let us speak of the days to come.

"I shall pass the winter here. Hubert will come if he can and bring food, but it will still be a spare and lean life," he sighed heavily. "I fear I shall not eat well for a long time to come. It will be cold, too. Winter is already laying his hand on the land. This cave is snug, enough, though. If it was good enough for a saint it should be good enough for me. And I think it must have served as refuge for a saint, can you not feel the sanctity of the place?

"Will you stay here, or will you go?"

Etienne considered the possibilities, few though they were. Hubert seemed reliable, but so much could happen to divert him. If the Bishop's men were pursuing Antoine then a peasant would not provide much protection. This coupled with his own troubles made the decision easy. Poverty was certainly not his first choice, yet it was not a stranger to him either.

"It is quaint, and there is a feeling of peace here. I will stay, to learn from you and provide protection for you. But there is much about me you should know." Etienne felt he owed it to the man to tell him of his past, with a clear mind he detailed much of his exploits and interestingly enough the tales did not evoke the joy in Etienne as they had in the past when he reveled in their debauchery. There was a sense of guilt, of shame, in their recounting but the kindly face of Antoine spurred him on to reveal more and more.

"Enough!" said Antoine. "We will be here for many long, cold nights. Let us not use all our conversation on the first evening," he chuckled. "I am glad you are staying. A companion will make the days go faster."

In the evening, they would make a rough meal from their supplies and Antoine would reminisce about the better meals he had in the past. This wore thin quickly. After dinner, however, he would tell stories - often Biblical parables, but not always. Sometimes, he would pick a topic to debate and draw Etienne into a discourse. Etienne, too, told tales, usually of his past, and often in the nature of confession. Most nights they would pray together and then retire.

A fortnight after moving into the cave, Antoine woke one morning and noticed Etienne's palatte near the cave entrance empty. The portly monk staggered to the cave entrance, his eyes still filled with sleep, and there he saw Etienne outside sitting upon a stone. With one of his swords laid across a rock, Etienne gazed into its blade as a mirror and carefully drew his daggar across his cheek removing the abundant growth of beard. The process was laborious and he drew blood several times pausing to apply some nearby snow to the knicks, but persistent he remained until he looked a new man. Upon completion he gathered the cut hair and flung it to the wind, prompting Antoine to whisper the words of our Lord "Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God."

Hubert came to visit a month after their arrival bringing supplies and the news that the Bishop's men had come seeking Antoine and left unsatisfied.

As winter deepened, the men left the cave less frequently, slept more and talked less. Antoine spent more time in prayer, and Etienne, for lack of anything better to do followed suit. It was Mid-January when he had The Dream.

He must have risen in the night, for Antoine had found him sprawled on the small altar in the back of the cave.

He stood before the cave, but the cave as it would be in paradise - warm, clean, sweet-smelling and glowing faintly with a gentle radiance. A man appeared in the entrance and beckoned him into the cave, a man clothed in simple robes which seemed to glow and around whose head a faint halo shone. Etienne entered and saw at the side of the cave a huge bear, yoked like an ox, sleeping. The man bid Etienne sit and said to him, "For too long have your ears been deaf to the guidance of the angel who sits on your shoulder, his quiet still voice was drowned in the rushing of your angry blood. Now you have repented you, and if you listen you will hear his words again as you did as a child, if only you would remember." The man smiled, and his smile took Etienne off to sleep, until he woke shivering on the altar.

"Yes, yes" Etienne whispered his feverish chills from the altar. "Antoine," he called out turning and falling to the ground.

Etienne had taken a chill and was bed-ridden for several days while Antoine nursed him, but even in those days, The Dream was clear. When his fever broke, Antoine asked him what had happened, "You spoke at times of a dream, a vision. What did you see?"

"It was a true vision," said a soft voice inside Etienne's ear.

"It was all true Brother Antoine, what the man," Etienne paused, "the angel told me. I am to listen, and he will speak." Etienne turned to face Antoine, "It was here, in this cave, but not like it is now for there was a sleeping bear over there. And an angel spoke to me. He has not left me, he speaks to me."

Antoine leaned in close, "Tell me everything, every detail that you can." ,p> Etienne grabbed Antoine's robe, "It is not the fever, I am not mad." The exertion exhausted him as his grip faltered and he collapsed back to the bed. After a deep breath, Etienne recounted as much as he could remember about the dream and recited the words said to him verbatim. "I'm not mad Brother Antoine," he said less forcefully adding, "am I?"

"The bear, it was yoked, you say? Why does that sound familiar?" he shook his head to clear it, "No, you are not mad. In a place as holy as this, I can only think you have had a vision of the saint or hermit who dwelt here."

Relieved Etienne sighed, but then moaned "What have I done now to be tormented so? The spirit of a saint chooses to weigh upon and add to my burden!"

Antoine laughed, a shocking sound that echoed around the small cave, "You are never content are you, my friend? A saint has granted you a vision, and you complain. A true vision is a gift given to very few, and it is a sign that you are on your way to redemption." He chuckled again, "Pessimism is your true religion, I fear."

The laughter seemed to soothe Etienne as he smiled, "Perhaps you are right my friend. I am pleased that you find mirth in my woes, by your assurance I will look upon this as a blessing and not a harbinger of my death." Etienne turned on his side, "Brother Antoine. This vision, have you had one like it? how can I find out what it truly means?"

"No, such a gift has not been given to me," said Antoine. "As for it's meaning," he shrugged. "Prayer is the only answer."

"Then that is what I will do," replied Etienne as he turned over and began speaking softly. Intially he began with the methods Antoine had taught him, then Etienne was speaking on a much more personal level. He had much to be thankful for, and while much of the guilt of his past deeds still weighed on him there was a sense of peace. The cries were still present, but they were softer now, and not quite as frequent. Etienne focused on the vision and asked the Lord for wisdom and discernment to be revealed to him so that he could understand what this saint could want from him. It was a mystery, however the opportunity to atone for his life of destruction by helping someone pleased him. Soon, Etienne drifted off to sleep still praying.