The Scarlet Cross by Karleen Bradford Read Free Book Online

of the previous village. They might even stone him as well.
    But if he were to do God’s bidding, he must start somewhere…
    A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He jumped up to see Father Martin and an older, grey-haired priest beside him.
    “This is Father Bertrand,” Father Martin said. “He would speak with you.”
    Stephen followed the older priest into the dim interior of the empty church.
    “Show him the letter, Stephen,” Father Martin said. “Tell him what happened.”
    Stephen fumbled inside his pouch and brought out the letter. With downcast eyes and halting words, he repeated his story. Father Martin sat silently beside him. Father Bertrand asked more questions than either Father Martin or Father Jean-Paul had. He was more insistent, wanting Stephen to repeat even the smallest detail over and over. Finally, he seemed satisfied.
    “Our Lord works in wondrous ways,” he said. “Who would have thought He would have chosen an innocent such as you to do His work?”
    “Suffer the little children to come unto me,” Father Martin said quietly.
    “Yes, so the Christ spoke,” Father Bertrand agreed. He turned back to Stephen. “You will stay here this night. Tomorrow, after Mass, I will present you to the people of this town. I will tell them of your task and you will speak to them. You will begin here,” he said.
    After returning to the market and filling their bellies to the bursting point with the meat pies that had tempted Stephen so, they returned to the church. Father Bertrand gave them blankets and told them they could shelter there for the night. This church was larger than the one in the last village and had pews on which Father Martin and Stephen could spread out their cloaks. But now, in the solemn darkness, Stephen could not sleep. Long after Father Martin’s gentle snores began, he lay staring at the cross above the altar. The moon was high and a single beam struck in through one small window, illuminating the figure of Christ on the cross. Finally, Stephen cast off his covering and knelt in front of Him.
    “Give me the words, oh, Lord,” he prayed. “The words that will convince the people that I truly do Your will.” But his heart felt as heavy as a stone and he shook with fear. Themeat pies that he had devoured so eagerly had turned sour in his stomach. He could not get the memory of the boys who had jeered at him out of his mind. Nor of the man who had insulted Father Martin so. What if this was how they were to be received everywhere they went?
    At this thought, the picture of the girl he had met on the way pushed itself back into his mind. He could see her looking at him still, with those clear, penetrating eyes. Finally, he slept.
    Stephen knelt all during Mass the next morning. His mind seethed with a tempest of thoughts and worries one moment, then turned terrifyingly blank the next. After the last blessing, Father Bertrand beckoned him. Stephen’s heart plummeted and he felt suddenly sick. He had to force himself to make his way up to the priest, past all those assembled in the church. His legs trembled so that he feared they would give way beneath him. A hushed murmur arose as people craned their necks to get a better look at him.
    “Who’s this, then?” He heard the belligerent whisper and his heart sank even further, but Father Bertrand’s voice quelled them.
    “My people. My flock,” he began. “You see before you a boy. A simple boy. Naught but a poor shepherd. But be not deceived by his appearance. This boy has been sent to us by our Lord God himself. He bears a letter for King Philip! A letter commanding him to lead a crusade of innocents to the Holy Land.” The priest’s voice rose. The words thundered out over the congregation. “Hear what he has to say. Listen to him. It is God’s will!”
    In the silence that followed his words, he turned to Stephen.
    Stephen cleared his throat. He clenched his fists at his sides, willed his body to stop