Suddenly a man stepped out of the woods. He was large with wild brown hair. His beard was just as wild. He wore a leather vest over a long tunic.
Patrick braced himself. Was this man dangerous? Patrick got ready to run away.
Telemachus didn’t look scared at all. He gazed up at the man. “Greetings, Brother,” he said.
“I smelled the meat,” the man said. “I want some.” His voice was low and raspy.
“You’re welcome to it,” Telemachus said. He handed him the knife and the rabbit.
The man took a bite of the meat. Patrick saw the man tuck the monk’s knife into his belt. Patrick also noticed that the man’s eyes darted back and forth. What was the man looking for?
The stranger asked the monk, “You’re a man of God?”
“Humbly, I hope to be,” Telemachus said. “You don’t look Roman.”
“I’m not,” the man said. He spat out a piece of rabbit bone. “You would call me a barbarian—though I am a Christian.”
“You have come far from home,” Telemachus said.
“I was captured by Roman soldiers,” the man said. “They were taking me to the arena to fight. I’m not interested in dying, and so I escaped.”
“I was at the arena this morning,” Patrick said. “A man there said they kill animals at the games.”
“Animals?” said the barbarian. He snorted. “You’re worried about the animals?”
“Yes,” Patrick said. “Aren’t you?”
The barbarian scowled. “I’m more worried about how the animals will tear apart the prisoners. I’m worried the Romans will kill us all—just for sport.”
Telemachus stroked his beard. “I knew such things happened long ago,” he said. “But I didn’t want to believe our emperor would allow it now.”
The barbarian spat again. “Believe it,” he said. “The crowds will watch and wait for blood. Each time a man is hurt, the people will cheer.”
Patrick heard shouts somewhere deep in the forest. The man heard them too. He threw down what was left of the meat.
“They’re coming,” the barbarian said.
“Hide in the cave,” Telemachus said.
“No,” the man said. “I don’t expect a holy man to protect me.” He pulled the knife out of his belt. He pointed it at Telemachus. “Do you have anything I can sell?”
“I have only a few worthless things,” he said. “But they belong to God.”
“Give them to me,” the man said.
“But I am to take them to the bishop of Rome,” Telemachus said.
“Give them to me now!” said the barbarian.
Patrick remembered the armband hidden under his robe. Was this the man Mr. Whittaker mentioned? Should he offer the armband to him? Maybe it would keep them from being harmed.
Before Patrick could speak, the monk said, “As you wish.”
Telemachus looked behind the log. He picked up a small sack that had been hidden.
The barbarian moved quickly. He grabbed the sack from the monk. Everything inside it fell out. Something shiny clanged against the ground. It was a large silver cup.
Patrick’s heart leaped as he remembered his mission. It’s the monk’s cup!
The barbarian picked up the cup. “You call this worthless?” he asked. “This chalice has great value.”
“It was a gift,” Telemachus said. “I plan to use it in Rome. I’ll share the Lord’s Supper with it.”
“Not now, you won’t,” the man said. “I can sell this. I’ll need money for my trip home.”
There were more shouts in the forest. The sounds were coming closer.
The barbarian looked at Telemachus and then at Patrick. He held up the silver cup.
“I’m called Aldric,” he said. “One day I will repay you for this.”
Patrick watched as the barbarian ran off through the snow.
The monk’s cup was gone.
Telemachus lowered his head. He looked as if he were praying.
“That was a bad thing for him to do,” Patrick said.
Telemachus shook his head. “No,” the monk said, “all that I have belongs to God, not to me. Let us pray the chalice will be used for good.”
Patrick hoped so. He wasn’t likely to bring it to Mr. Whittaker.
All of a sudden a small group of soldiers pushed through the trees. They used their spears to move the branches. The red crests on their helmets were dusted with snow.
“We’re looking for a runaway slave. A barbarian,” one of them said. “Have you seen him?”
Patrick looked at Telemachus to see what he would say. The monk said nothing.
A second soldier pointed to tracks in the snow. “There!” he said. “The barbarian went that way!”
The Roman soldiers ran off after Aldric. Their swords and shields clanked as they ran.
Telemachus picked up a dry branch. He threw it on the fire. The fire popped and sizzled.
“We’ll sleep by the warm fire tonight,” he said. “Then we’ll look for your cousin in the morning.”
Patrick wanted to protest. He wanted to find Beth right away. But he knew he should listen to the monk.
Besides, he didn’t have a better idea.
Night fell and the moon appeared. It was a thin sliver. It made Patrick think of Albert and the mysterious letters.
Is the new moon here the same as it was in Greenland—is it the same where Albert lives? What exactly is Lord Darkthorn’s tower? Could it be worse than knowing that Beth is in the hands of a Roman soldier?