August 16th, 1453
Ioannes Loukas stroked his black beard flecked with grey, as the weary wagon lumbered into Paris. As he saw the great city, its streets and alleys, shops and taverns, its fortresses and university, his heart lifted. Here, at last was society, an end to his wandering across the world.
What exactly drew him to Paris, he did not know. All he knew was that the further he went from Constantinople, the great and holy city, the better. His heart sank again as he recalled the fire and destruction, his homeland being ravaged by barbarians from the East. The Turks bore an air of culture, but their savagery betrayed their true nature as far as he was concerned. But even when Constantinople stood in all its shining glory, darkness haunted the memory of its streets. But no, not now. There would be time to dwell on the past later. Now the present loomed large in Ioannes' vision, as the wagon pulled past the banks of the river Seine.
As the sun began to set over the river, Ioannes made arrangements for the horses and the carriage. He found an inn and paid for a modest room, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention by staying in the best quarters. Offering a brief prayer of thanks for safe travels to Jesus and the Theotokos Mary the Ever-Virgin, Ioannes lay down on his cot, rolled onto one side and waited for sleep.
'A stranger in a strange land'. Kyrie eleison.