Thetis rolled back on the pile of pillows and announced to the ceiling, "I am replete." She lifted her arms, shoving aside the muffling blankets stuffed with goat-hair as she reached for Ragoczy Franciscus. "Thoroughly, deliciously replete." She cocked her head. "If I am replete, you must be, too." She had not wanted to come to this place at first, not knowing what she would find in this withdrawing room. The bed-which also served as a couch-with its heaps of silk-covered pillows and heavy, soft blankets, had surprised her as much as the two oil-lamps that smelled of roses and jasmine.
"What you have, I share; I thank you for what you have given me," he said from the alcove near the window where he had gone to look out at the night sky; satisfied, he turned back toward her. "There could be more, if you wanted."
"More?" she said speculatively, eyeing him with roguish satisfaction. "You say we can only do this twice more before I am at risk to become like you?"
He leaned over and kissed her lightly, the heavy black silk of his kandys whispering luxuriously as he moved. "Yes."
"But if I should change my mind? What if I should want to be like you after all? To rise after death?" She caught his wrist, holding him purposefully.
"It is not something I would advise you to do, not without careful reflection. This life is not for everyone, especially for a woman like you: you have more than yourself to think about." He brushed her dark-blond hair back from her face, watching the firelight play on her features. "It is not a life that would please you, Thetis, and I would not like to lose you to the True Death." Again he felt a pang of grief for Nicoris.
"Such a dramatic warning," she chided him teasingly.
"Not dramatic, simply accurate. It has happened before," he said softly.
She offered a tentative smile. "Will you tell me? When I'm not so satisfied?" She lay back, her arms flung up to hug the pillow behind her.
"When the life of those of my blood seems less enticing than it does at this moment," he said, regarding her with abiding thoughtfulness.
"You've told me what to avoid, and how to deal with the most pressing difficulties," she reminded him. "Most of them are not so difficult-no worse than being a widow alone."
"Those lessons were hard-won, and nothing to be made light of," he said, a slight frown between his fine brows.
"You manage your life well enough," she pointed out.
"But I have had centuries to learn, and I have no children, which-"
She tugged him toward her. "You have those of your blood; aren't they like children?"
"They are very few, and at great distances from here. We do not often come together once we enter this life. It increases our risks and offers little compensation." As he spoke, he found himself missing Olivia, and wondering how she was faring in her distant Roman estate. Had this harsh weather touched her at all, or had she remained unscathed?
"Those who come to your life cannot make love with another of your kind; you must seek the living," she said as if reciting a foolish lesson. "I did listen."
He took her face in his hands, gazing into her face as he said, "You have nothing to fear from me. Nothing."
"But what you are," she said, and sank one hand into the short waves of his dark hair so she could pull his head to her mouth.
"How does that frighten you now, when you have seen what it is to be a vampire?" He showed no distress at her remark, and his manner remained attentive.
"It is dying that frightens me, not you," she said with conviction. "You are so much that is truly wonderful that I wonder if you are also terrible." She sought his lips with her own, as if to set her seal upon him. When she released him, her eyes were serious. "I am grateful to you for so much."
"I have told you repeatedly you have no reason to be." He kissed her again, his lips persuasive, unhurried, and evocative.
"Can you ... will you pleasure me again?" she asked in a rush.
"If it is what you want. Dawn is still a long way off, and the night is clear and calm." He ran his finger along her brow, his touch light and passionate at once. "If you wish to have pleasure once more, you will have it."
She reached out for him. "Oh, yes. I do want to have pleasure. I wish I could have it every night from now until the end of time."
"That is not possible," he reminded her when he had kissed her once more.
"Then I want to spend the night in full ardor," she said at once, and drew him nearer, pulling the blanket off her so that he could see most of her body. "All this is yours, to do with as you like."
He touched her shoulder with delicate care, as if she were made of the most fragile porcelain. "Tell me what delights you most." He continued along her clavicle, then down to the swell of her breast. "Where are your sensations the sweetest?"
She wriggled with anticipation. "Everything you do is sweet to me." She stretched, making more of her flesh accessible. "I would like you to ... to use your lips as well as your hands."
"Certainly," said Ragoczy Franciscus, beginning a series of little tongue-flick nibbles along the same route his fingers had just taken, making his way down toward the hardening nipple of her breast.
"Oh, yes," she whispered, shivering blissfully as her body awakened to the transports to come. "That's ..." Her sigh expressed her increasing arousal. She tried to hold her breath so that she could feel the whole of what he did without the distraction of breathing; she finally had to inhale, and as she did, his mouth touched her breast, creating another surge of sensitivity that left her superbly weak, and each subsequent breath renewed the coursing thrill of his skillful caresses. As he continued to feel his way along the rises and curves of her flesh, Thetis began to succumb to the rapture that welled from the inmost part of her. She could feel her body gather as if readying for release. "Not yet, not yet," she murmured as he reached the seascented recesses at the apex of her thighs. "Not yet; not yet." This time she was a bit more forceful. "I am not ready."
"Then I will explore farther afield," he said, the musical quality of his voice as enticing as what his hands were doing to her hips.
"If I had more flesh, you would be better pleased," she said as she glanced down at her body. "I am all bones and sinew."
"That does not matter, so long as you are fulfilled," he said, stopping his expert ministrations. "It is your delectation that signifies, not how your body is formed."
She closed her eyes. "I will imagine I am voluptuous as a Tunisian dancing girl," she said. She had seen one once, when she was still unmarried in Constantinople; then the woman's luxurious black skin and ample curves had seemed unimaginably sensual, opulent and enticing, a feast for the senses and sensations; now, the memory provided her with an unhappy comparison to her current state.
To her astonishment, he said, "No. Do not yearn for anything but for yourself. It is you, as you are, that I seek. That is the reason blood is so important to our touching: nothing is as uniquely you as your blood, and nothing else is so truly alive." He bent and kissed the sharp rise of her hip. "This is you, and your hands are you, and all your skin is you, contains you." He resumed his tantalizing stroking of her flanks and legs, causing tingles wherever he touched.
"Why does this gratify you?" She was growing curious, and her excitement added to the urgency of her question. "You could demand so much more."
He moved up her body and kissed her; it was a long, complex kiss, calming and inflaming at once, bringing both tranquillity and ecstasy to her; the restlessness that had been increasing within her was replaced with serene anticipation, and a feeling of equanimity that she had not known since the birth of her first child. When they finished the kiss, he moved back just far enough to be able to speak. "It gratifies me because you accept what I can give to you. You permit me to know a quality of your soul, not simply a spasm of the flesh."
Her lips formed words, but no sound came until she began to weep. "I didn't understand. I thought I did, but I didn't." There was a kind of anguish in her that she could not express and it made her crying worse. Kissing the tears from her face, he sheltered her in his arms, his whole attention on her; he held her until her sobs abated and she clung to him with more ardor than misery, and her heartbeat once again revealed a return of sensual rapture. Gradually, he began to stroke her as he had before, and to ignite the many fervid responses he had discovered in her; she wakened quickly to the promise of answered need. "Yes," she exulted as he finally moved between her legs, using his tongue to set off minute explosions of ineffable transports that suddenly burgeoned into a pulsing release that amazed her with its intensity as much as its vastness. It took her a short while to come to herself, and when she did, she felt Ragoczy Franciscus' mouth still on her throat. "Remarkable," she said slowly.
"Yes, it was," he said, rolling onto his back and giving her his chest to rest upon.
"I never felt anything like that," she said a bit later. "I didn't know I could-did you?"
He kissed her forehead. "I hoped," he told her.
"Oh," she said, closing her eyes for a brief rest while the last of her excitation faded from her body. When she opened her eyes again, the room was awash in pallid sunshine and Ragoczy Franciscus was fully dressed in a kandys of black silk topped with a curly, black-shearling shuba. She sat up quickly, pulling the blanket about her. "I must have fallen asleep."
"You did," he said, his eyes affectionate. "I sent word to Sinu that you had come into this withdrawing room to get warm. There is a very cold, high wind coming out of the northeast."
Her alarm increased. "Do they know ... anything?"
"You mean about our time together? I doubt it. Rojeh has taken good care that any speculation is quashed at the outset; I am sure he has offset most suspicions." He indicated a woolen talaris laid over the back of a rosewood chair. "I asked Sinu to bring your clothes here. I told her you would want to have her help dressing when you awoke," he went on. "It is your usual custom, and she would think it odd if I had not asked."
"I have done something reckless, coming to you as I did, and the falling asleep where I could be found by anyone in the household," she muttered, preparing to get up. "You had better leave me alone or the servants will talk, no matter what your Rojeh does."
"He laughs at any suggestions that there is any unbecoming conduct in this house. He boasts of my remoteness and my inclination to hold apart from foreigners. So far, your servants, and mine, are persuaded."
She glared at him. "You had best leave, then, or no one will-"
He started toward the door. "I will ask Sinu to assist you, and to bring you your breakfast. I am sorry that we have only millet-loaf and butter for you to eat, but food is growing scarcer as the year winds down." Saying this, he slipped out into the corridor, where he found Pentefilia waiting, her thin arms crossed and a sharp expression in her hazel-green eyes. "Good day to you" was his unflustered greeting.
"You shouldn't be alone with my mother," she criticized.
"I was worried that she might have taken ill," said Ragoczy Franciscus. "She was cold in the night and went into the withdrawing room to make the most of the fire there."
"Still, you shouldn't be with her. She's a widow, and you are not my father. Patriarch Stavros says that it could lead to temptation and torment." Her expression did not soften, nor did she show any inclination to move from her post. "I saw you go into the withdrawing room, just after Sinu left."
"I have a jar of lamp-oil I keep there, and I wanted to refill the lamps so that your mother would have a pleasant scent to waken her." He could see that Pentefilia had no intention of departing, so he said, "Do you know where Sinu is? Your mother wants to get dressed."
"I am not leaving," said Pentefilia defiantly. "You cannot make me leave."
"No. I do not suppose I could do that," said Ragoczy Franciscus mendaciously but with an accommodating smile. "That is why I plan to seek her out."
"Sinu is in the washing room, doing our clothes," said Pentefilia as if parting with a military secret.
"Thank you," said Ragoczy Franciscus, adding as he turned away, "You may want to knock on the door and assure yourself that all is well."
"I will," said Pentefilia.
Ragoczy Franciscus made his way down to the lowest level of the house; in the kitchen he ordered Dasur to heat up a wedge of millet-loaf and prepare a pot of mint tea. "She is finally rising."
"Just as well. Herakles is fretting, and not just because his hip is giving him pain." Dasur gestured to the shelves across from the open hearth. "Look at that! It is almost as bare as a stork's nest in winter."
"I can arrange for a goat or two from the Jou'an-Jou'an camp," Ragoczy Franciscus offered. "It is not much, but as there has been no market for ten days, everyone is short on food."
"Will the Jou'an-Jou'an give you any?" Dasur asked. "Most of those camped around the town keep their food and their livestock for themselves."
"I have been treating their horses for cracked, peeling hooves; they have lost nine head to the condition and I hope they will not lose more. So long as the herd improves, I doubt they will begrudge me a goat or two," he said with a slight raising of his brows.
"Then take them," said Dasur.
"I must go to the Jou'an-Jou'an camp today, and I will fetch a goat or two."
"The goats will hardly be fat, but it is better than nothing but millet-cake and cheese." Dasur took a tray from the plateboard. "How much longer will the Jou'an-Jou'an remain?"
Ragoczy Franciscus nodded. "They meant to move on before now, but many of their ponies cannot walk, and that has kept them where they are. As soon as they can do so, I know they will leave."
Dasur went to get the millet-cake. "Then I must look for another source of meat, against their going." He cut two deep wedges from the round loaf. "The widow's breakfast will be ready shortly."
"Then I had best summon her woman," said Ragoczy Franciscus, and left the kitchen, finding his way through the dim, narrow corridors without hesitation. He had almost reached the washing room when he heard a commotion beyond the walls of the house, and a rising chorus of shouts. Pausing, he tried to make out what he heard and realized that people in the street were crying, "Fire! Fire!" Quickly he retraced his steps to the kitchen, demanding, "Where is Rojeh? Where is Aethalric? Chtavo?"
"They are with the mason at the widow's house, with Herakles," said Dasur. "Is something wrong?"
"I fear so," said Ragoczy Franciscus. "I want you to put one of the children to watch in my study"-it was the highest room in the house-"and then I want you to ready a cart, in case you have to leave."
"Why should I leave?" Dasur asked.
"Because there is a fire somewhere in Sarai," said Ragoczy Franciscus bluntly. "Do not wait until you see flames at the door: leave if the fire turns in this direction."
Dasur paled visibly. "I will do as you order."
"Good. I will return when I can, but I must rely upon you to protect the people in this house. Do you understand?" He saw Dasur duck his head. "Good." With that, he rushed toward the stable-yard and, after a swift glance around to be sure he was not seen, vaulted over the high wall and into the side-yard of Eleutherios Panayiotos' house. A quick glimpse of the sky told him that the fire was still some distance away, for the smoke sliding on the brisk wind was not dense enough to indicate close proximity. He rushed through the yard toward the house itself, calling to Rojeh and the others as he went.
"My master?" Rojeh answered, stepping out of a partially demolished shed where workmen's tools were stored.
"There is a fire. We must go help fight it," he said curtly. He pointed toward the sky.
"So that is what the clamor is all about," said Aethalric. "I wondered why the din-"
"A bad thing," said Herakles. "It could damage fishing, being down toward the docks."
"So it might," said Ragoczy Franciscus as the others came up to him. "I will provide two silver pieces for any of you who decide to help battle the fire."
At that Aethalric grinned. "I would cross the Serpent Sea if the pay was good enough," he announced, and surveyed the others. "What about you?"
Chtavo rubbed his hands together. "I am with you."
"Those of you who want to come, come. If you would rather stay here, then guard the widow and her children, and protect her house," said Ragoczy Franciscus, heading for the main gate. "Bring buckets and rakes."
The mason, a powerful, squat man with spatulate hands and a much-broken nose, spoke up. "I have my wagon behind the house. It has all manner of tools."
"Very good," Ragoczy Franciscus called over his shoulder. "Bring it and all you have." As he reached the gate, he pulled back the bolt and shoved it open. "Hurry."
The sound of urgent voices was rising, becoming a howl in counterpoint to the wind; in the south, smoke was billowing out over the high stone wall of the town, roiling along the two long piers, and hugging the shore of the sea beyond. From all over Sarai people were running toward the smoke, creating confusion in the street and the first stirrings of panic in the town's inhabitants.
"Is there anyone in the house?" Aethalric shouted as he came to the gate, rake in one hand, bucket in the other.
"There is no one that I know of," said Ragoczy Franciscus. "I will offer to help fight the fire." He disliked fire intensely and had to steel himself to face it; fire had licked most of the skin from his body two centuries earlier, and the experience was still fresh in his memory; had it taken hold of him then, he would have died the True Death: for a time after it happened, he wished he had, so agonizing was the damage it did. He set his teeth and called out to Rojeh, "Fetch me pails."
"I will, my master," Rojeh answered, and came from the shed carrying an array of buckets, pails, and a small barrel. "Which do you want?"
"Leave the barrel, give the two metal buckets to me, and find me a rake," Ragoczy Franciscus said as Chtavo and Herakles hurried out the gate, armed with pails and shovels.
Rojeh appeared with a long rake and an ax. "We may need both of these."
"Give me the ax. You keep the rake," Ragoczy Franciscus said, moving aside as the mason and his apprentice moved the donkey-drawn cart through the gate.
The apprentice nodded, his young face showing stark dread. "Famine a dying sun, and now this. The world is ending."
"Then you will have nothing to worry about when this is over," snapped the mason, and all but shoved the young man into the street; the donkey and the cart lurched after him.
Satisfied that no one remained at Eleutherios Panayiotos' house, Ragoczy Franciscus motioned Rojeh out into the street, stepped out beside him, and pulled the gate closed behind them. "I think the Street of the Water Temple would be the quickest. Not too many will use it."
"And it goes directly to the waterfront, and the Fishermen's Market," Rojeh said, agreeing. "If that square isn't burning yet, it is a good staging area for fighting the fire."
Ragoczy Franciscus hefted the ax so that the handle lay on his shoulder and taking the bucket in his other hand, he set out at a rapid walk. "Be careful as you go."
As they started down the narrow, ancient street, they saw people teeming out of their houses, many with valuables clutched in their arms, some with children around them clinging to their clothes. Women struggled with infants in their arms, and older children tugged along younger ones, all of them making for the western gate of the town, which was the farthest away from the fire. In amongst them ran men with chests and other booty in their arms; which were rightful owners salvaging treasure and which were thieves making off with plunder was impossible to determine. Everywhere shouts and wails of alarm created an incomprehensible din, and the confusion increased steadily as Ragoczy Franciscus and Rojeh made their way toward the ominous clouds of dark-gray smoke.
From a side street, a man in Armenian clothing came running, arms windmilling, his face contorted in a rictus of fear. He careened into Ragoczy Franciscus, cursed, shoved himself free, and went on at a more frantic pace, shouting incoherently as he went.
"He is frightened," said Ragoczy Franciscus as he brushed himself off. "More than I am."
They reached the livestock-market square and found that this was the main staging area for those willing to fight the fire. Emrach Sarai'af was standing to one side, shouting for foreigners to come to him. His big arms were crossed over his barrel chest as if to help him shout more loudly. As he caught sight of Ragoczy Franciscus, he pointed to him. "You are here! I have sent your servants to the bucket line."
"Very good. Would you like me to join them?" Ragoczy Franciscus assumed a sang-froid he did not feel. "My manservant and I are at your disposal. What is burning, and how far has it spread?"
"One of the wharves is burning, and the warehouses next to it. They contain furs and wood, which also burn, which makes it much worse," said Emrach. "A few of the smaller buildings adjoining the warehouses have also started to burn, and sparks are setting small fires near the main blaze. At least the wind is not blowing the flames deeper into the town. That is something in our favor." His eyes narrowed. "Do you think you could help take down the small houses between the fire and this square? We are going to pull down as many as we can. Most of them are poor and made only of wood." His eyes narrowed. "Well? It has to be done quickly."
"Whose houses are they?" Ragoczy Franciscus asked.
"The dockworkers and other laborers. Don't worry about damaging them. They are poor folks' houses, and those who live in them haven't much to lose." He glared at the foreigner in black. "Do you say it should not be done?"
"No," said Ragoczy Franciscus. "But I regret the necessity. When you have little, it is a terrible thing to have that taken from you."
"Oh, I realize that. With winter coming, it will be hard on those workers who have lost houses." Emrach pointed toward a small cluster of shacks. "If you want to start there?"
"Very well," said Ragoczy Franciscus. "With whom will we work?"
"For now, you and your man are on your own," Emrach declared, and looked past Ragoczy Franciscus to a group of Volgamen who were approaching. "You men. Go down to the wharf that isn't burning and see that the boats there are safe. If they have to be towed out to sea, you must arrange that."
Realizing that he had been dismissed, Ragoczy Franciscus signaled to Rojeh. "Let us start."
"Are those houses empty?" Rojeh asked.
"I sincerely hope so," said Ragoczy Franciscus, and trudged toward the huts. "Rough planking like that burns easily," he said as they reached the rickety structures, seeing how they leaned together for support. "For the safety of the town, they should be razed."
"But you worry about the dockworkers who live in them," said Rojeh with conviction.
"There is another hard winter coming," said Ragoczy Franciscus as he swung his ax down from his shoulder and faced the simple wood buildings. "I will try to find the main beams and the walls carrying the most weight. Once we get those down, the rest should be simple."
Rojeh knew better than to question this assertion. Ragoczy Franciscus set his bucket down, saying as he did, "There is a water trough near the Christian compound. Fill this and your pail there, and bring them back. We will need water-"
"-if anything begins to smolder," Rojeh finished, hastening to obey.
Confronting the small wooden houses, Ragoczy Franciscus felt a pang of sorrow for these buildings, so forlorn to begin with, and now given as sacrifices to the advancing fire. Looking about, he realized that the houses were vacant, that the workers who had lived in them had abandoned them some time ago. Reluctantly he swung his ax at the nearest door and felt the planks splinter under his first blow. He tugged the ax free and struck again, this time destroying the door. He went into the small house, making a quick inspection of its interior, noticing a crudely painted Christian icon on the wall over the single window. A swift survey of the two rooms showed him where the weight of the house was centered, and he began his calculations.
"My master," Rojeh called from outside. "Where are you?"
"In here. I've found the trunk of the roof," he said. "If I bring down the north wall, I should be able to fell the house like a tree."
"How do you wish me to help?" Rojeh asked.
"Pull the rubble away as I knock down the wall," said Ragoczy Franciscus, and chopped at the main supports of the wall, hearing the wood crack on his third blow.
The single bell at the Most Holy Dormition was tolling out the call to midday worship when the group of five houses finally collapsed. The fire had come closer, and the air was acrid with smoke. Cinders floated on the rising wind, many of them igniting small fires where they landed, whether on wood, on clothing, or on debris.
"I'll get us more water!" Rojeh shouted as Ragoczy Franciscus struggled to pull a large beam out of the confusion of the wrecked building at the edge of the square.
"Good!" He was beginning to tire. "And then help me stack all this."
Rojeh said nothing; he brought the water, saying as he neared Ragoczy Franciscus, "The wharf is not burning any longer. What's left of the fire is confined to the south end of the town."
Ragoczy Franciscus nodded to show he had heard. "I hope we did not demolish these houses for no reason."
"The fire isn't out yet," Rojeh reminded him, and took up his rake again to clear away the wreckage. He rubbed his face and left a smear of soot and grime across his forehead and cheek; then he took up his ax and looked about. "Where next?"
"To where the last of the fire is." Saying this, he turned on his heel and started across the wide market-square through the scudding smoke and the hectic disorder of the afternoon.
Text of a letter from Brother Theofeo in Antioch to Pope Silverius in Roma, carried by pilgrims and delivered at Easter in 537.
Hail, Silverius, true and only Pope of Christians, our source of intercession in this world, and the means of the salvation of all souls on earth, this from your most humble servant, Brother Theofeo, currently in Antioch, but bound, as you have ordered, for the trade routes of the East, on this the last day of November in the 536thyear of Redemption.
I have at last arrived in this city, and I regret to tell you that most of the churches here remain stubborn in their adherence to the Eastern Rite, preferring the teachings from Constantinople to those from Roma, thus showing their lack of comprehension of all that Christ sacrificed for us, and for which they will pay dearly when He comes again in glory to judge the living and the dead. There have been many conversions of late, but not to the True Church, which may mean that in the name of Christ many are led from Grace to Perdition. Amen.
For surely the end of the world is at hand. Many have starved, and others have suffered from fevers. Some have lost their wits, while others have had to give up every possession in order to get enough to eat. The sun has not given life to the fields, and the farms show sparse growth, so that there is talk of another year of famine in the coming winter, which must surely mean that the end of the world has arrived and the Messiah is coming to purge away the sins of the world. Amen.
Sailors here have said that the sea has continued to be turbulent, and if my crossing was an example, then I must accept what they told me as truth, for I have rarely encountered so many days of squalls and tempests as I found coming here. And now we are subjected to rain, as if Noah were needed again. One man I spoke with told me that he had lost his house, his barns, his wife, and three of his children to floods. Amen.
I have been informed that in some parts of the city there has been a dramatic upswelling of rats, that these fell creatures, rather than hiding in the shadows, have taken to the streets in chittering swarms, devouring all that they encounter, including children. Some have lost donkeys to them, as well as the dogs and cats that roam the streets. Some say this is another plague, as there were in Egypt, and that locusts may soon be upon us. There have also been many mad dogs seen, and a few have bitten men and given them their madness. Now any stray dog is in danger of being stoned to death, for fear of the madness. The carcasses are left for carrion birds and rats to eat, and that has led to fights among these scavengers that remind us that Mercy is often most lacking where it is most needed. Amen.
There is a hermitage established not far from here, in the desert, where it is said a hundred holy men are in constant prayer for the salvation of all souls. I have determined to find these hermits and discover what they know of these hard years, for they must have garnered wisdom through their long years of prayer. Amen.
Marsh Fever is increasing in this city, and there are makeshift shelters for the afflicted. Some of the Christians, in charity, have devoted themselves to tending those with Marsh Fever, and there is now a Patriarch assigned to supervise the activities of those nurses, for many of them are ill-prepared for what they must do to succor the sufferers. I myself have given three days to attend Brother Maurinios, who had taken Marsh Fever, and who passed beyond this life to Glory in Paradise two days since. I have benefited from the Patriarch's instructions. Amen.
Travelers from the East-and there are fewer of them than there have been in the past-tell of similar harsh conditions as far as the Fortress of the Stone Tower and beyond. There are accounts of whole tribes of grassland peoples moving westward with herds and flocks, because their pasturage has dried to nothing and they must find other ground or starve. I am making a point of seeking out various travelers to discover what they have seen for themselves, to be sure that the chronicles I have been given are not rendered more exciting by the addition of calamities beyond what they may have experienced. Amen.
One of the Patriarchs from the Church of the Annunciation led a procession of penitents through the streets not three days since, all singing the Dance of Jesus, and exhorting all they encountered to join with them in prayer and contrition, to Confess past errors and embrace humility and their faith for the sake of their souls. Many of those who saw them joined with them, proclaiming that they would forsake sin and live in virtue for the life that is to come. I saw this with my own eyes, and I was touched by their fervor and saddened by their error in following the Eastern Rite. Amen.
I shall await your instructions, Holy Father, and I will pray for the triumph of Faith before we are all Judged. This tribulation can only bring greater joy in Paradise, and so we must bow to God's Will and dedicate ourselves to emulating the sacrifice made for the atonement of our sins, and for our Salvation. Your courier may find me at the Church of the Apostle Luke in the Street of the Saddle-Makers here in Antioch. Amen.
Brother Theofeo
At the end of November in the 536thYear of Salvation