Prologue
The air was cold, biting. The crisp autumn morning filled with the damp, musky scent of earth and the odor of decaying
leaves. The frigid wind was not yet tainted with the acrid breath of fear or the choking coppery stench of blood. Nor
was the rain-muffled serenity yet broken by the clanging of swords and heart-piercing screams of the wounded and
dying. All of that was yet to come, when the land would receive its bounty, cradling the dead and absorbing the tears of
those left behind.
Shrouded by the relentless mist, a solitary knight sat confidently upon his charger and calmly regarded the craggy plain
with a practiced eye. One more battlefield, one more useless tract of barren sod stretched before him, one more God-
forsaken croft he had been ordered to defend in his lifetime of service as the King’s champion. Silently cursing the
freezing rain, he frowned, pondering the strategic value of this stone-riddled field where he would once again be forced
to draw his sword and spill blood. He understood, dispassionately and intellectually, the need for this latest show of
force but could no longer separate his personal feelings from those of the professional soldier residing within him
enough to make sense of the slaughter of innocents, of mere boys barely past their teens who stood ill equipped and
unprepared to face a contingent of well-trained knights. He was tired: tired of the fighting and of the waste and of the
futility.
leaves. The frigid wind was not yet tainted with the acrid breath of fear or the choking coppery stench of blood. Nor
was the rain-muffled serenity yet broken by the clanging of swords and heart-piercing screams of the wounded and
dying. All of that was yet to come, when the land would receive its bounty, cradling the dead and absorbing the tears of
those left behind.
Shrouded by the relentless mist, a solitary knight sat confidently upon his charger and calmly regarded the craggy plain
with a practiced eye. One more battlefield, one more useless tract of barren sod stretched before him, one more God-
forsaken croft he had been ordered to defend in his lifetime of service as the King’s champion. Silently cursing the
freezing rain, he frowned, pondering the strategic value of this stone-riddled field where he would once again be forced
to draw his sword and spill blood. He understood, dispassionately and intellectually, the need for this latest show of
force but could no longer separate his personal feelings from those of the professional soldier residing within him
enough to make sense of the slaughter of innocents, of mere boys barely past their teens who stood ill equipped and
unprepared to face a contingent of well-trained knights. He was tired: tired of the fighting and of the waste and of the
futility.
| "Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus ventris tui, lessus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae." * |
The Black Monk reverently kissed the gold cross hanging on a golden chain about his neck before slipping it back
beneath his maille hauberuk. Raising his sword he drew a final cleansing breath, lungs burning from the wet, stinging
air before releasing it in a blood-curdling cry as he spurred his charger over the sodden turf.
The battle was met.
beneath his maille hauberuk. Raising his sword he drew a final cleansing breath, lungs burning from the wet, stinging
air before releasing it in a blood-curdling cry as he spurred his charger over the sodden turf.
The battle was met.
 | |  | |  |
| It's been a long, long journey down the river through the night It's been a long, long journey, you were not in sight It's been a long, long journey, now I want to touch the light |
| Momentary madness that I should let you go Momentary madness to call and tell you so Momentary madness can be a lifetime, don't you know |
Unbidden by conscious thought, his mind conjured an image, one of unbelievable softness and warmth. She was there,
just out of reach as always, but ever in his heart. He could see her riding toward the plain, her long dark hair flowing
unfettered in the wind as she urged her mount onward at break-neck speed. She was coming for him at last, calling him
home, bidding him to lay down his arms and fight no more. It was a dream he had often, one of hearth and home,
with his lady fair standing by his side on a brilliant summer day as they watched their young sons tussle upon the
ground.
just out of reach as always, but ever in his heart. He could see her riding toward the plain, her long dark hair flowing
unfettered in the wind as she urged her mount onward at break-neck speed. She was coming for him at last, calling him
home, bidding him to lay down his arms and fight no more. It was a dream he had often, one of hearth and home,
with his lady fair standing by his side on a brilliant summer day as they watched their young sons tussle upon the
ground.
| Still I'm a believer in the mystery train I am a receiver in the mark of Cain I am a believer in a grace of rain I am a believer in a grace of rain |
A soft whinny stirred him from his fanciful musings. He reached forward to stroke the roan’s neck and murmur
soothingly in his ear, noting with a sense of deepening melancholy that his charger bore the same cruel marks of
passing time, as did he. Odysseus’ once smooth coat was nicked with scars from all but forgotten campaigns and his
mane and muzzle shot through with gray. Indeed, the horse, like the knight astride his sturdy back, looked every bit the
aging warrior. Both knew, somehow, that this would be their last stand and, should God smile favorably down upon
them, they would finally be rewarded with that ever-elusive peace they had so long fought to attain.
soothingly in his ear, noting with a sense of deepening melancholy that his charger bore the same cruel marks of
passing time, as did he. Odysseus’ once smooth coat was nicked with scars from all but forgotten campaigns and his
mane and muzzle shot through with gray. Indeed, the horse, like the knight astride his sturdy back, looked every bit the
aging warrior. Both knew, somehow, that this would be their last stand and, should God smile favorably down upon
them, they would finally be rewarded with that ever-elusive peace they had so long fought to attain.
| Faithless heart's a sailor, blowing in the sails Believing he is moving as if the wind had failed Faithless heart's a sailor, blowing in the sails |
Across the field the opposition had assembled. A tall imposing figure mounted on a jet-black stallion hurled taunts at
the well-disciplined knights in an attempt to turn the advantage towards his company of rag-tag farmers and peasants.
The champion, that solitary figure on the graying roan, took his place before his men and slowly, deliberately
unsheathed his gleaming broad sword.
the well-disciplined knights in an attempt to turn the advantage towards his company of rag-tag farmers and peasants.
The champion, that solitary figure on the graying roan, took his place before his men and slowly, deliberately
unsheathed his gleaming broad sword.
| I'm a man without ritual, I'm a man without desire A man without ritual who's looking all the time Still a man without ritual is always out of line |
He looked over his shoulder at his armored warriors before turning his attention to his foe, absently fingering the worn
ebony beads secured to his belt, his lips moving in silent prayer.
ebony beads secured to his belt, his lips moving in silent prayer.
| Still I'm a believer in the mystery train I am a receiver in the mark of Cain I am a believer in a grace of rain I am a believer in a grace of rain ** |
* “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary,
Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death.”
** “A Grace of Rain” Words and Music by John Stewart. The Secret Tapes II (Homecoming, 650, 1987; Neon Beach (Homecoming, 700,
1990).
Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death.”
** “A Grace of Rain” Words and Music by John Stewart. The Secret Tapes II (Homecoming, 650, 1987; Neon Beach (Homecoming, 700,
1990).
