The seventeenth day of April, the year of our lord 1198
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
- Matthew 5:9-
Thankfully this day and night pass quietly. We take guard ourselves with as few men as possible to give them time to rest and recover. They need to be fit and healthy as they are all that stands between us and eternal death during the hours of daylight. Thankfully the others agree.
The eighteenth day of April, the year of our lord 1198
Blessed is he who prays with fervor, for the devil never approaches him.
-St. Ephrem of Syria (ca. 306-373)-
Day three of our journey. It feels like we have been on the road much longer. The men are rested and my travelling companions seem content to waste their nights waiting for day. Bah! I cannot sit watch and pray and the cart, humidity and light do not allow me to paint, write or do anything remotely significant. I refuse to waste another night and so retire to my coach for prayer and planning. I shall once again start sketching the chapel and assessing its costs. Thankfully, the others leave me alone this night.
The nineteenth day of April, the year of our lord 1198
Rightly do we , who have been saved through you, pure Virgin, confess that you are the Mother of God, extolling you with the angelic choirs. For God, whom men cannot see, on whom the ranks of angels do not dare to look, has through you become visible to men as the Logos made flesh. Glorifying Him with the heavenly hosts we proclaim you blessed.
-St. Peter of Damaskos-
I wake frightfully early but luckily the sun has just set. The men are concerned, we are in a valley and at the far end there are lights visible, either a great fire or multiple torches. I wake the others to ask their opinion. It is probably a village but they cannot say for sure. We leave the men to guard camp and leave for this village. I take some trade goods in the hope that I can work on our relations with the villagers and see if we can persuade any to come with us as labourers or tenants on the village to be built near our fortification. As we near the fires we can safely conclude it is a village, we can hear them chanting some strange song. The Norseman goes on ahead to scout the village while Zedenek and I stay with the horses. After some time we can hear shouting, Hródgar has been discovered. We leave the horses and run toward the village. Zedenek is first to arrive at some sort of makeshift bridge, but I soon follow.
We halt as the Norseman comes hurtling towards us yelling at us to get back. Something about werewolves. We stand our ground for a few seconds but the Norseman almost drags us along, so I run to the horses. Zedenek walks slowly back across the bridge. As I reach the horses the Father of All Wolves looks me in the eye. He stands on a small hillock not far away and looks straight at me. To protect the horses I place myself in its path. I fear it will surely overpower me so I intend not to show fear and make it doubt its ability to harm me.
The Norseman yells at me. I should not provoke the Alfa male. I waver for a few heartbeats and then try to lead my horse out. Zedenek is also ahorse and we slowly move away from the village. Just then an awful howling starts up all around us. Suddenly wolves, thankfully much smaller than the one on the hill, beset our mounts and chase us away from the village. As we depart at speed we hear howling near our caravan. They are attacking the men! They stand no chance against these creatures, we must ride to their aid.
The going is bad and Zedenek’s horse loses its footing. Both horse and rider go down. I halt but the horse is fine, good, we can not waste a horse in this wilderness. The Norseman approaches. Horses are too slow and cumbersome. I leave my charge with Zedenek who will need to walk his, and start for the caravan. No time now to be squeamish and unwilling to show my powers. I set out for the camp much faster than the horse could ever take me at night and leave the others behind. As soon as I arrive I see that all has been for naught. The wolfthings have not touched the camp and although the men are startled, they are fine. Bah! I hate this ongodly place with all my heart and soul. How I wish to be back home, to pray and find solace at the Hegia Sophia with hos holyness or lay eyes on our saviour on earth, Alexios Angelos.
My mood has soured and as both my companions return to the camp I retire the last few hours of the night for some much needed contemplation. Blessed be the meek, phah… I would have that creature’s heart before the year is out, ungodly filth!