Mirages swam in the distance. His eyes blinked and pricked from the blowing sand. He pulled his cloak tight. Crack, crack came the first thunder clap. Juno his horse sidestepped. He was suddenly a fearful child again. Absurd, he thought, reflecting on his recent elevation to fully qualified teacher. Healing rivulets of rain ran down his face, rinsing out his eyes. Wind tugged his cloak. He spurred Juno into a gallop. Sheet lightening lit up distant town walls. Fork lightening flashed.
He felt stone and scrub beneath him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He smelled burnt flesh and wild desert thyme. Stumbling upright, he took a hesitant step. His right ankle twisted under him as he fell. Juno’s ribcage rose and fell rhythmically under his damp hands. Holding the surcingle in his left hand, he moved the right up the mane and grasped the bridle. Struggling to hold Juno, he fancied he heard a voice above the wind whistle saying, “Persecutor, persecutor.”
“Who is there shouting at me,” he cried.
There was no answer. Wind stung his face. He steadied the horse, forced the swelling foot into the stirrup and remounted. His trust in Juno was well founded and they entered the city gates an hour later. He called out his name and soon, his friends helped him dismount, tending to the damaged ankle.
For the next two days, he spoke endlessly of the strange voices he had heard after the fall. His friends murmured discreetly that the event appeared to have changed him. They became convinced of this when he began criticising his former teachers and extolling a new one they had only vaguely heard of. The blindness lasted two days but, as he continued his journey to Tarsus, Saul was already morphing into Paul.