Autumn, 1363 AD, Dawn, Britain
Lawrence circled the dilapidated cabin, warily, in the misty half-light of a forested sunrise. It had occurred to him, in the early morning hours, that it wouldn't have taken much thought or effort for one or both of his fallen brothers to guess his intended destination and make for the cabin directly, instead of continuing to track him in the dark. Now that he thought of it, maybe coming to the trackers' cabin wasn't such a good idea after all.
His bloodshot eyes took in the worn wooden exterior planks, the partially caved-in roof and the rotted shutters hanging loosely from darkly shadowed windows. The cabin certainly looked empty enough.
Completing his second circuit, Lawrence mustered all of his courage and stepped onto the porch, taking extra care to step lively around broken boards that had created treacherous holes leading straight down to the damp earth, four feet below. He reached for the cabin door, marveling that it at least still hung on its hinges, as he drew in a small measure of to cover himself in a protective shield before slowly pushing the door inward.
The air in front of him exploded.
Lawrence cowered as dozens of bats burst forth from the interior of the cabin, disturbed from their brief slumber after a long night's hunt. In seconds the flurry was over, leaving the startled monk lying flat on his stomach, the musty odor of rotten boards assaulting his nostrils.
He chuckled to himself, feeling relieved that the gift of chuckling was still his to enjoy, as he slowly raised himself from the porch and dusted off random pieces of debris from his already soiled mantle. Knowing now that the fruit bats wouldn't have shared their sleeping quarters with any creature on two legs, Lawrence confidently pushed open the cabin door for the second time and stepped inside.
It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim, interior light. Squinting in the darkness, Lawrence was eventually able to make out the jumbled and disappointing squalor surrounding him. The interior of the cabin was hardly any more accommodating than its exterior; containing only a broken table, a few rotting chairs and several empty cabinets with doors hanging by one hinge, when they had any doors left at all. It was clear that no one had used the cabin in years, save for the bats; with the unbearable odor of their guano making certain that no one, including Lawrence, was going to be taking up residence anytime soon.
He pulled over the heartiest looking chair and gingerly sat down, making sure that its integrity was still intact before committing himself fully to its embrace.
His wearied thoughts turned melancholy.
.
Lawrence rubbed his hands over his grimy face and sighed heavily.
A thought began to tickle at the back of his mind.
A half smile played across Lawrence's face as the genesis of a plan began to form in his mind.
It occurred to the monk that his nemesis, Rugio, hadn't exactly sent the sharpest tools in the shed to track him. This observation was evidenced by two facts: first, they hadn't caught up with him yet; and second, they hadn't taken the initiative to head him off as he made for, what should have been, an obvious destination. Any number of brothers came to Lawrence's mind who had the potential to show such ineptness in the forest, but in the end he decided that it didn't really matter. What mattered was that the cabin now stood empty and he was the only one who knew it.
Uncertain of exactly how much scheming time he had before his guests arrived, Lawrence set about the task of making the cabin look occupied. Handfuls of kindling were stacked at the front door. A hasty fire was built in the dirty, but usable, fireplace and the window shutters were closed in as much as they could be in their various states of disrepair.
Satisfied, after an hour's work, that anyone who stumbled upon the cabin would consider it presently inhabited, Lawrence retrieved his satchel from the tree he had hidden it behind and went about the next phase of his plan by constructing a makeshift blind, twenty-five yards away from the cabin at the forest's edge; formed mostly of fallen tree branches and mulch from the leaf-covered ground. Marking off fifty paces from the blind, back in the direction of the rising sun, Lawrence hid his satchel of books behind an enormous maple tree; covering it completely with half-decayed, musty leaves, before returning to his lookout.
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Able to sit still, finally, Lawrence breathed deeply and took stock of his situation. The morning definitely hadn't gone as he'd originally planned. He hadn't slept soundly in two days. His fever was gone, but his body still ached from head to toe, due to fatigue and malnutrition. He indulged himself in a brief moment of self-pity. There would be no sleep by a warm fire. There would be no days of rest and recovery from his wounds. There would only be more hiding, more running and eventually, more death.
He dozed, on and off, for the next hour as the sunlight worked its way, lazily, up the silent trees and the shadows shortened. Lawrence deemed it mid-morning when he heard the first indication of his pursuers. It began as a soft rustling off in the distance and grew more distinct with each passing moment; eventually becoming the steady cadence of the type of men's footfalls who clearly didn't know how to mask their presence in the woods.
In due time, he saw two cowled forms approach the edge of the small clearing and pause to take in the crumbling cabin before them.
What happened next set Lawrence's already hazy mind reeling.
The two men called out to him and stepped, openly and without pretense, into the sunny clearing.
"Lawrence, brother!" shouted the taller of the two, now easily recognized by Lawrence as Brother Thomas, one of the Abbey's cooks.
His companion, Silas , echoed the plea, "Lawrence, we mean you no harm! We have escaped the treachery at the Abbey, just as you have! We only seek your company and counsel! Please, will you not hear us out?"
Lawrence remained concealed and motionless. He didn't deem himself to be such a fool as to take these men at their word.
Lawrence had to admit to himself that Silas and Thomas hadn't been on his short list of supposed "dim ones" he assumed Rugio had sent. Was there another reason that he hadn't been caught in the night? Was it because the brother's intentions were pure and they were running for their own lives, even as he was?
As Brothers Silas and Thomas approached the entrance to the cabin and continued to entreat him to come out, Lawrence puzzled out the problem in his mind. How had these men escaped, if their story true? Thomas was a cook and easily could have risen early to begin his preparations for breaking fast. He could think of no such excuse for Joseph. Yet, if Lawrence had been alerted about the massacres by seemingly random bumps in the night, might not someone else have also been alerted? In their defense, the two men certainly weren't approaching the cabin with any overt stealth or cunning. Most notably, as he stealthily probed the power beneath him, he couldn't sense any trace of being used.
The two black-mantled forms carefully stepped onto the front porch, avoiding the maze of trip holes, even as Lawrence had. Silas knocked once, then twice. Hearing no answer, Thomas slowly began to push open the door. They still hadn't drawn in and Lawrence, concealed yards away in his blind, was becoming more conflicted by the moment.
Seeing both of the monks fully enter the broken down building, Lawrence knew that the opportune time had come. He had them both in a confined space. He could still feel no indication that they had covered themselves with . So, stepping out from his blind in clear view of the cabin, Lawrence drew greater measures of into himself; preparing a massive discharge that would incinerate the building whole, along with every occupant within.
The Lord had delivered his enemies into his hands!
thought Lawrence, pausing. Lawrence had released into his enemies, just days before. But, at that time he had clearly known their intentions. He had seen Rugio murder dear Justin. He had known that the motley crew was working their way down the Abbey's south wing and, just prior to Justin's death, he had also heard the cries of two others before their lives were taken from them.
Then, he didn't have a choice.
Now, he did.
Lawrence's weary doubts began to dissuade him.
It would be so easy. Just one quick release and his life would be saved as well as his precious trust. Even if he was mistaken, wasn't protecting the books worth the risk of error?
An inner debate of seconds seemed to take hours before Lawrence surrendered his hold on , feeling its power drain from his body; lightning crackling underneath his feet before fleeing into the awaiting depths below. He knew that he was not the Almighty. Such life and death decisions were not his to make. If the books were to be kept safe, then Jesu would keep them safe. Lawrence would not become like those who had taken the life of Justin, especially in the face of self-doubt.
Stepping into the clearing, he shouted in the direction of the cabin.
"Brothers, here I am! Seek me or slay me! My life is bound up in the will of the Almighty! I abandon myself to your intent!"
With that, Lawrence kneeled onto the leafy ground and awaited the Sovereign Lord's will for his life.
Brothers Silas and Thomas slowly opened the cabin door and looked off in the direction of Lawrence's voice. Spying him at the forest's edge, they carefully made their way off of the withered porch and walked across the clearing to stand only yards away from their kneeling brother.
