The professor dropped his hammer and ran away from Martin. He looked back with terror in his eyes.
Martin said, “You forgot your hammer,” then started to nail his own thesis to the door. He knew his words were heavy, but he still thought the professor to be overly worried. I only want the truth, who can be against that? he thought. I only want a debate; certainly, I have the right to debate these things openly. He looked at his theses and wondered how he could protect more people from the evil of indulgences. If they trusted in an indulgence instead of repentance, then they could endanger their mortal soul. He would have to think of some way that he could get his message across to more than the few dozen at best who would be at the debate, but he didn’t know how.
Martin walked away from the door onto lengthening shadows of houses and trees. A hooded figure walked towards him carrying a lantern which illuminated the path. The figure was black and somehow reminded Martin of the time Germany had been infested with the plague.
The hooded figure asked, “Martin, what are you doing here?”
The voice was familiar; it was his old friend. Martin said, “Alexius? You shouldn’t walk out like that; you practically scared me to death.”
Alexius said, “I wanted to come out and see what sort of thing would be posted on the church door.”
Martin said, “I have posted a list of grievances with the practice of indulgences. They are an obstacle to salvation. They are against true repentance and I cannot believe the Pope has sanctioned them.”
Alexius said, “It looks like my feeling was correct. I thought there would be a good debate posted tonight.”
Martin said, “Another professor was here and posted a debate on Plato. I think I will agree with his premises, but I think my argument has much greater weight.
Alexius said, “I will have to look at his thesis as well.”
Martin said, “I am glad to see you, old friend, but I must get back to sing vespers.”
Alexius said, “Of course. I wish you well.”
Kidnapped
Martin rode in the carriage through the rough lines of forest on his way back to Wittenberg, the Imperial safe conduct letter in his pocket. The sun had set and in the carriage, it was hard to see without its light. Hooves of horses beat in the night. More hooves than there was supposed to be. Martin heard a shout from outside, “Halt if you want to live!”
Martin could feel the carriage slow and come to a stop. The carriage driver said, “Why are you come out against us, none of us are rich, but you may take what we have.”
The stranger’s voice said, “We only want that traitor to the Pope, Martin Luther.”
The carriage door was thrown open and Martin saw a man wearing a black mask that covered his whole face and chain mail armor. The man grabbed Martin and dragged him outside.
Martin said, “I will go with you, but do not harm these innocents, they are only obeying the wishes of the Holy Roman Emperor.”
Martin could see six of the bandits, each dressed similarly in masks, chainmail, and black robes. One bandit held his arm, but the rest were holding swords and maces. The one who held him said, “Don’t worry, it’s only you that we want. The rest of these people can go when we have taken care of you.”
The man bound Martin in ropes and put a gag in his mouth. Two of the other bandits helped him throw Martin up on a horse. The kidnappers led Martin away on his horse through the deepening shadows of the night. The men were virtually silent during the trip through the thick canopy of trees where Martin couldn’t see even the slightest trail. The moon was only a sliver when it was visible through the branches.
After at least an hour, one of them said, “Luther, dismount your horse, we will walk for a few miles.”
Martin tried to get down from the steed, but it was impossible with his hands tied. The men helped him, and he got down. Then one of the men took the horses while they walked through an overgrown path. Martin knew they were doing this to avoid being trailed; if a skilled tracker came, he would follow the horses. The bandits surrounded Martin.
One of them said, “Luther, walk with us.”
They walked through the overgrown trail, insects bit and the occasional branch scratched his face. He could smell, but not see in the virtual darkness, moss, and decaying logs. Eventually, they reached a crest, and he could see a courtyard. The closer he came, the better he could make out the details; a well had been dug in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by bricks. The building didn’t look like a castle on this side, but it was as large as one. The light colored walls on its side were framed by darker boards, and a small spire rose up, but not over the height of the main building. Martin thought this was The Knight’s House at Wartburg.
One of the bandits said, “Now you have to put this on while we take you inside.”
He handed Martin a mask, he put it on and was led through the rooms awkwardly until the air grew colder and the smell of it grew dank. He heard the squeak of rusty hinges and the clinking of metal.
The bandit said, “You can take your mask off now.”
Martin opened his eyes and saw what he had feared; he was in a prison cell. The room was sparse; pale bricks made up the walls; a small desk for the guard was situated across the room.
One of the bandits drew near the bars of the cell and said, “Luther, there are many who want to destroy you. If you value your life, don’t tell anyone who you are. We have arranged to do this to you to keep you safe.”
Martin asked, “Who, who has done this?”
The bandit said, “You will find out in time, but for now it is too risky to tell you.”
Martin watched him as he went away and wondered who his benefactor was.
Fleeing England and the King
A tall man dressed as a monk hung onto the railing of a small sailing ship, a black king from a chess set in his hand. A full moon shone down on him and illuminated his aquiline nose and pale complexion. The man seemed not capable of properly wearing the tattered clothing that hung on him. On his right hand he wore a gold ring inset with a large ruby; this seemed to fit the man much better than the old rags. Large boots that were common for some monks overpowered his feet.
The air smelled fresh and cool and he looked out to the gathering clouds; the dark blue of the sky had gathered into black. Lightning tore into England’s countryside, where he had just left. A violent storm was coming towards him; he might be able to outrun it for a while, but it would overtake him eventually.
He heard shouting behind him, “Thomas! Thomas!”
Thomas turned around; Brother Jacob was running up to him. He also wore monk robes, but they seemed to fit naturally on his pudgy frame. His face was round and jolly, and his eyes were brown and dull. Thomas said, “Brother Jacob, please refrain from calling me that out here. Remember, I am to be known as Brother Christian.”
Jacob bowed before Thomas.
Thomas frowned, “And please don’t do that. I am running for my life, and for the sanctity of the Church of England, I don’t want to be recognized. Besides, perhaps one day you will be the archbishop.”
Jacob said, “You don’t really think so, do you?”
Thomas said, “Of course I do. I remember when I crossed the Channel with the old Archbishop Theobald. The king, this was before Henry, had forbidden his crossing to meet with the Pope. I was his only companion, just like you are now, and there were these two men oaring the boat. I don’t think that they had ever rowed a boat before, but it was all the help to be had. At least I was able to secure passage with this crew. I think that the English Channel’s waters were lower by the time we got across, there was so much water in the boat.”
Jacob frowned, “I don’t really think that you could lower the water of the English Channel with just a few gallons of water in a boat, especially one small enough to oar.”
Thomas said, “I do know that, my dear friend, it was a hyperbole.”
Jacob said, “I don’t think even with one of t
hese hyperboles that you would be able to.…”
Thomas cut him off, “It’s an exaggeration to make a point. A joke.” Thomas smiled.
Jacob took a few moments to think about this and then laughed, “I get it now, a joke.”
Thomas said, “When we got to the council, the Pope had received word about how difficult our journey was and said ‘I heard you had to swim the Channel.’” Thomas chuckled.
Jacob asked, “Why would he say that?”
Thomas thought, This man will never be archbishop, and said, “Don’t worry about it.”
Jacob said, “But you said that you had ridden in a boat. Did it sink?”
A huge raindrop landed on Thomas and he shivered. He said, “Let’s go inside, this rain is as cold as the grave.”
Jacob said, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Meeting with the king
Thomas sat in the drawing room of the grand estate at Tours. Large windows framed by lace showed the gardens, but it was late in the year and most of the flowers had died. Thomas looked at the ornate carvings on the door frames; they showed an angry angel lunging with a scythe.
The king burst into the room without warning and said, “Hello, Thomas, I hope all is well.”
Thomas said, “Everything is fine with me. I have taken a leave from the monastery to get ready for my journey.”
The king asked, “You really were a monk? I thought it was a disguise.”
Thomas smiled, “I know that you know perfectly well that I was a real monk.”
The king said, “Yes, perhaps, but your outfit never looked right on you. I think you needed a little humility.”
Thomas said, “So you have done all of this to me to provide me with the missing humility.”
The king said, “You know better than that, Thomas, you have always been my friend.”
Thomas asked, “Then you are going to restore my property to me immediately?”
The king stopped walking for about the first time that Thomas remembered, and said, “Oh, why do you not do what I want? I would hand everything over to you then.”
Thomas looked at the king; he had not changed at all. He said, “Oh, King, there is nothing more I want to do than to do everything that you want, but how can I betray my conscience? Am I just a person or am I the Church? If I were just a person, I could do whatever you would please, but as the representative of the Church of England, I have to obey God in all.”
The king said, “Have I not raised you from the poor and humble to the summit of honor and rank? How can it be that after so many favors, you are not only ungrateful but oppose me in everything?”
Thomas said, “I am not unmindful of the favors which, not simply you, but God the giver of all things, has decided to confer on me through you. As St. Peter says, ‘We ought to obey God rather than men.’”
Henry said, “I don’t want a sermon from you. Are you not the son of one of my serfs?”
Thomas said, “It is true that I am not of royal lineage; but then, neither was St. Peter.”
The king sunk his head down and said, “I think he would cause me less trouble than you do.”
Thomas said, “I think there is a chance you are right. I wish it wasn’t so.”
Henry paced back and forth for a few moments and then said, “I have to be getting back now. Goodbye, Thomas.”
Thomas said, “My lord, my heart tells me that I depart as one who you will not see again.”
The king stopped and turned to him and said, “Do you count me as faithless then?”
Thomas said, “May you never be, my lord.”
Bibliography
Cover Art is Vasiliy Polenov’s “On the Genisaret”
Bunyan, John, and W. R. Owens. The Pilgrim's Progress. Oxford [England: Oxford UP, 2003.
Print.
"Favorite Monks: St. Telemachus: Monk Who Ended the Coliseum Games (ThePrayerFoundation)." The Prayer Foundation. Web. 14 Mar. 2011.
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About The Author
William Dean Hamilton, is the author of over 1,000 articles, works of fiction and Poetry, has just had his book, “Would You Do What They Did? Great Christian Leaders From Our Past” published by Crosslink Publishing. Mr. Hamilton writes the blog This Week in Christian History. He has recently been interviewed on Red’s Revelations, in Book Goodies, and by the Awesome Gang. 110 copies of one of his previous books, “Blessed, Life and Films of Val Kilmer,” were signed by Val Kilmer.
“Would You Do What They Did? Great Christian Leaders From Our Past” was just published by Crosslink Publishing. Come, tame a wolf, flee from the wrath of the king, feel the horror of impending doom on a ship, and the uncertainty of one’s own salvation with these great heroes of the faith. The book is a creative nonfiction collection of biographies of Martin Luther, Francis of Assisi, John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist Church, and Thomas Becket.
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