Author: Sarah Monzon
Category: Christian
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Yosef looked out over the pitch, his focus on Zaid. “Things have been hard. More so lately. Like someone has added more wood to the fire. Hotter every day. In our school. The community.” He looked down at his shoes. “It is not just toward us, those who are new to this country. Even people who have been here most of their lives or were born here…they feel this heat too. Because of how we look. How we worship.”
Seth held still. What would Justin say to this boy? Or Amber. One of them should be here. They’d have the words he didn’t. They were stronger in their faith. Had been Christians for a lot longer than he had.
“There are pages on Facebook and other social media sites that spread lies and fear about us.” Yosef looked at him then, his face a contortion of inner pain. “Why do people hate me, Coach? Why do they want to hurt me when I have done nothing to them?”
Seth wrapped his arm around Yosef’s slim shoulders. What could he say? He didn’t have an answer. Didn’t really think there was one. “I don’t know, Yosef. I don’t know.” He watched as Zaid dribbled the ball between two defensive players, lined up the ball, then drove it into the back of the net. “Sometimes hate can be rooted in fear.”
Yosef looked at him with his brows drawn. Seth could practically read his thoughts. Who needed to fear a fourteen-year-old kid?
“I don’t know what the Qur’an says, but the Bible teaches that there is no fear in love; that perfect love casts out fear. It also says something even harder, if you can believe it. To love your enemies. Do good to people who hate you. Bless those who curse you.”
Yosef nodded slowly. “This is hard, as you say. But the Qur’an does agree. It says to repel evil with good, and he who is your enemy will become your dearest friend.” He was quiet a second, watching Zaid. “Do you think this will work? People will stop hating us if we love harder.”
Seth wanted to say yes, but people were people. Didn’t always matter what a person did, people would believe whatever they wanted. Instead of lying, he patted Yosef on the back. “Why don’t you go join the game before it’s time to head in for tutoring.”
Yosef jogged onto the pitch and shouted for the ball to be passed to him. Seth walked toward his bag. Whether Zaid wanted anyone to know or not, someone had to be told about his beating. Ben would know what to do. Who to contact.
He retrieved his cell and the screen lit up with a touch. A missed call from Leon McCallister. What did his coach want? Tapping on the icon, he held the phone to his ear to listen to the voice message.
“I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing, Marshall, but I’m not amused. Whether the report I read in the red top this morning is true or not, you need to get yourself together and back to England.
“What do you think this is, American football? Neither the owner nor I appreciate the club name being dragged through the mud this way. My players need to be above reproach, or at the very least, smart enough not to get caught and plastered across the tabloid’s front page. Davie and the rest of the team are in Vegas. Are they acting like angels? I highly doubt it. They were the ones I was worried about. Not you. Especially not after your so-called conversion.”
It sounded like he pulled the phone away and swore lightly. “Just get back here and maybe we can do some damage control. Or better yet, hire your own paparazzo to take pictures of you with those refugee kids. Those bleeding-heart fans will eat that up and forget about that Virgin Mary you’ve been distracted with.” The message ended with a click, a shot to Seth’s heart.
He stood there stunned. The kids erupted in cheers on the field, and he tried to clear the fog from his brain and focus on their shouting.
“Coach, did you see?” Salma glowed. “I score, Coach. First time.”
Seth forced his lips upward. Pushed back the questions and confusion and worry Leon’s message had stirred up inside him. He focused on Salma and pumped his fist in the air. Celebrate the small victories, he’d told them. Look ahead. Don’t focus on the negatives of the moment, because even if you’re down, the game could always turn in your favor during the second half.
Salma ran back to her position of midfielder.
That’s what this was. The reporter had made a strategic goal, but the game wasn’t over. He hoped Amber didn’t throw him a red card and eject him from the game, but even if she did, he wouldn’t give up. He’d respect her decisions and back off. But the season wasn’t over. There’d be another game, and when there was, he’d make sure he won her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Holy Roman Empire, 1527
“Prithee, princess, it is not too late to recant.” Hette stood before Christyne, her hand clutching at her rosary. “The Bishop will know your mind, will he not? When you stand before him? He will know, and then you and my brother will be lost to this world forever.” She sniffed, the beads twisting around her fingers.
“Only God can see the heart of man, Hette.”
The maid hung her head. “Nikolaus would not be persuaded either. I fear you both will be imprisoned in purgatory before being cast into the flames of Hades.”
Christyne reached over and squeezed Hette’s arm. “Your concern warms me, but you must fear not. All will be well.”
Of this she was not certain. How could she be, when heretic hunters stalked the castle halls, bent on destroying any they could grasp in their clutches?
Peter had informed them that the officials in Zurich, mainly the reformer Zwingli, wished for the Anabaptists to return to the city. But Zwingli had previously used the rack as torture to force recantations on those bent to a more radical reform than he preached.
Many opposed to infant baptism had fled. Some to Waldshut, others to Schaffhausen, and still others to unknown places. In the depths of night, the small band beneath the castle had decided to make their way to Waldshut. Anabaptist leaders Balthasar Hubmaier and Wilhelm Reublin had fled to that city, and though their favor with Archduke Ferdinand of Austria was uncertain, a return to Zurich carried the certainty of torture and death.
The door to her bed chamber opened, and an unfamiliar girl stood on the threshold. “Your presence is requested, princess.”
Christyne rose and followed the girl, pausing near the brazier. “I thank thee, Hette. For all you have done.” She did not wait for a reply but hastened after the messenger girl.
Christyne was not surprised when she was escorted into the chambers that Clare had been given. That lady stood at the window, her back to the room. Donned in her wedding finery, she looked radiant. She turned, her face serene. If not for the tightness at her temple, the small tick along her jaw, Christyne would be unaware anything troubled the woman.
Indeed, how could the day not bring trouble? In a short time, Clare would be bound to a man for whom she held little affection. One with as many years as her sire, and who held not the same beliefs as she. Though not bent to cruelty, neither was he easily swayed. Her future was both certain and uncertain.
Clare ran a hand down her velvet gown. The deep blue appeared royal upon her slim shoulders and caused her eyes to shine wide in her pale face. “All is ready?”
“I pray ʼtis so.” Christyne stared beyond her father’s future bride to the carved opening in the wall, shutters unbound, allowing the outdoors in. From this height and the distance she stood from the window, the only view her eyes beheld was that of the trees as they grew upon the slope of the hill. Below her, though…
Did Peter and Nikolaus make preparations? Had Hette returned to the kitchens to gather what vittles she could?
They had but a small window of time to make their escape. While the wedding guests and castle folk were busy attending the ceremony or making ready for the feast thereafter, the Brethren needed to slip out unseen, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and those who would seek their end.
“I have thought much throughout the night.” Clare’s voice wavered.
What maiden did not on the eve of her wedding? Though mayhap some with less trepidation t
han this lady. Christyne wished she could offer a small comfort. “In the measure of a man, he is not entirely found wanting, my father. He can be persuaded to reason, and already I have seen the care he has for you.”
“You mistake me. I have not been pondering my own future, but yours.”
“Mine?”
“By receiving baptism, you have professed your faith. Unless you disavow that action, I fear what will become of you.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “No more than you.”
“Yea, much more. For I am now under your father’s protection, and as you say, his measure has merit. Alas, you are also beyond your time to be given in marriage. And there is one who seeks your hand.”
Dread breathed its hot breath down her spine, causing her body to convulse. “Herzog Kampff.”
Clare’s brows rose. “You know?”
She lifted her chin. “And have refused.”
“Such men do not retreat. They are as dogs with a bone.” Clare’s shoulders sagged. “Though I had hoped to have you near me, to be a sister more than a daughter, a friend when I will have need of one, you must go.”
How could she? Her absence would not go unnoticed, and then all the lives they had fought so hard to preserve would be forfeit.
Clare leveled her gaze on Christyne, steel in her eyes. “You must. For if he has you, he will tear you limb from limb.”
Surely it would not come to that. “My father has given the duke his answer.”
“Which I overheard him reconsidering yestereve.” Though Clare had stayed beside the window throughout their exchange, she now rushed forward and gripped Christyne’s hands, the strength therein surprising.
“After the ceremony and before the merrymaking, you must slip out. Nikolaus will be waiting for you in the courtyard, for his presence is expected within the castle walls.”
Christyne turned her head, her eyes tracking the length of the room, then the vista from the window. She had ever called Heidelbraum her home and had never thought to flee from its borders.
What would her life be like if she left? Always on the run, one step in front of those who wished to kill her? Gone the authority of her title and the ease such prestige brought. But she had laid down such an existence when she received the water over her head. Had taken up the cross when she chose the eternal over the temporal.
Ethereal blue eyes and swatches of raven hair flashed across her mind. She had witnessed destiny within the depths of his gaze. Mayhap their lives were linked more than she had previously considered. Who would have thought a princess’s and a scholar’s fates would so intimately entangle?
A soft knock sounded on the door before the same girl appeared again. “ʼTis time.”
Clare’s chest expanded as she took in a deep breath. “I thank you.” She eyed Christyne. “The time for the processional is upon us.”
Though marriages customarily occurred at the bride’s estate, because of the unique situation and punishment to Clare’s father, it was declared that the ceremony would be held at Heidelbraum. The procession, too, had been altered. The bride and groom would not be walking through the streets of the town to legitimize the union in the eyes of the people, nor would Clare be atop a white horse. In so doing, the emperor stripped Clare’s family and left them clothed in humiliation.
If the monarch witnessed Clare, shoulders back and regal in her finery, he would not observe a woman in shame. Rather, a lady with more strength and determination than all of his landsknechte combined.
Two servants pulled open the doors, and cheers erupted on the other side. Prince Ernst awaited them and held out his arm to Clare. People of every station lined the courtyard. Some Christyne recognized as family and friends from court, dressed in splendor. Others were feudal tenants from her father’s lands, gathered to celebrate with their master.
The crowd split, allowing the bride and groom passage across the courtyard and entrance into the castle’s chapel. Bishop Wilmer awaited near the dais. His jeweled vestments, arched miter upon his head, and scepter in his hand gleamed in the morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows.
Christyne knelt and then sat at the front of the chapel. She folded her hands in her lap, pressing her fingers together so they would not fidget. Though her body sat within the four walls, her ears took in the words of the gathering rite the bishop recited even as her mind wandered to the undercroft.
Did Lorenz, Katherine, and Bytzel even now seek exit from that hidden place or did they yet wait for a more perfect time? Did they follow her route out of the castle battlement or remain huddled in a dark, earthen corner?
Bishop Wilmer’s voice droned on as he continued the liturgy. With small movements, Christyne rotated her shoulders and turned her head. The door to the chapel had been left open so all without could partake of the ceremony.
Dark eyes met her own. Held her gaze captive in a menacing grip. Kampff’s lips curled in a self-satisfying smirk as confidence rolled off his imposing figure. She wished to look away, but something held her there. A flash in his eyes. A knowing. The holder of a secret.
Christyne sucked in a breath and shifted forward.
He could not be privy to their comings and goings.
Her heart raced, mind working to decipher what the evil man’s look could mean. How could she ever have thought he had not earned his reputation? He no longer even pretended the guise of a sheep, baring instead the fangs of a ravenous wolf.
The rite of marriage, vows exchanged. Now all would receive the holy sacrament of the Eucharist. She rose and stepped in front of Bishop Wilmer, her lips parted to receive the converted substances of the body and blood of Christ. He placed the wafer on her tongue, and she closed her lips as the host dissolved. As she closed her hand around the chalice, the Bishop offered the wine with the words, “The Blood of Christ,” and she responded, “Amen,” and sipped. She stepped aside so the next guest could receive the sacrament.
Did the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ through transubstantiation? So much she had yet to learn. Who would teach her?
Her knees hit the ground as she bowed her head. Prayed that even now the Brethren were far from there, including Nikolaus. If she needed to find another means of escape from the duke, then so be it, but she could not have the others risking their lives for her.
Christyne scarcely paid attention to the remainder of the ceremony until the end of the concluding rite was said. She kept her eyes down as she followed the others making their way out of the chapel. Even so, she felt eyes on her. An evil gaze that heated her blood until she felt as if she were burning beneath her skin.
She stepped out of the chapel and warily looked up. She glanced about but did not see Kampff. Her shoulders sagged in relief. There were many crowded in the courtyard, melodies from the musicians and laughter from the jesters mixing together to make guests drunk on celebrations. If ever there was a distraction where a few extra bodies would go unnoticed, it was now.
A strong hand enclosed upon her upper arm. Her breath hitched, and she whirled around. Ice and sky stared back at her.
Her pulse froze.
He could not be here.
“Lorenz,” she hissed, looking around furtively. “You must leave. Now.”
“Not without you.” His hand slid down her arm. He threaded his fingers with hers.
She refused to be moved by his touch. Not when his life was in such danger. “Where is Nikolaus?”
Concern flitted like a cloud over the vibrancy of his gaze. “I know not. But this I do know—I could not depart and leave you behind.”
His words penetrated her heart much like the arrow that had pierced his flesh. Both caused pain. Both could end his life.
Fool he was to come for her. Did he not know the trap he could possibly have walked into? His face was known to those who sought him, a prize upon his head. He should have fled before all was lost.
A shadow crossed over them and she glanced up. Not a cloud in the sky. Appr
ehension caused her body to tense, dread cinching about her like a rope encircling her throat.
Lorenz’s blue eyes widened as he looked beyond her. She’d begun to turn when a familiar figure in an ostentatious uniform stepped into her line of sight. A hand clamped upon her shoulder at the same time the landsknecht jerked at Lorenz’s arm.
“No one is going anywhere, heretics, except to the devil himself,” Kampff’s voice boomed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Germany, Present Day
Amber stared at her computer screen, the numbness she’d felt in her core for the past hour crawling its way to her head little by little, tearing and changing the landscape of her mind like a glacier did the mountains.
She’d composed her response to the department head of her school, denying that she’d had any sort of relations, biblical or otherwise, with Seth Marshall and reiterating her desire to finish the program when she returned and start her career as a hospital chaplain. But the words had left her fingertips and pressed limply into the keyboard. There’d been no conviction behind her statements. No soul-burning passion that’d punctuated her declarations like there’d been with her entrance interview into the program.
Viral.
More than a handful of people had seen that article. She’d found it on social media, though searching for it reminded her of Martin Luther climbing the Scala Sancta, the Holy Stairs, on his knees, whipping himself. Self-inflicted pain that did not cleanse the soul. Over a million shares of the link so far.
She’d worried no one would be able to relate to her and vice versa, but now, on top of that, she’d have to endure the questioning looks as people sifted through their banks of knowledge to try and place her face. And then the dawning gleam in their eye as they recalled, oh, she was the easy girl who went on a humanitarian trip and ended up—
She slammed the door on that thought.
Either way, she found herself at the same place. Unequipped to do a job she’d thought she’d been called to do. Might as well be a contractor who showed up at a job without a hammer. Or a plumber without a wrench. She was only fooling herself if she thought she could really do this.