The Cripple with the Glass Eye.
He was a terrible slave, his leg was bent in a horrible way that left people wondering how he walked at all. And yet when they left Paris they had taken him for a slave. They found it funny to watch him try to walk in a straight line or when they gave him heavy loads to carry and watched him suffer in his old age to carry out the work. But of course they enjoyed watching, he was a Frankish Christian and since the defeat of the Norse men at the hands of one of their own his life only got worse.
He had to been a soldier in his youth and understood the sting of defeat and when the King disappeared he found that his suffering was lessened, as those who had made him suffer were now preoccupied with deciding what was to be done in the Kings absence.
He was then given as a gift to the Queen, it was hoped that she and her four sons may find some entertainment in the crippled Frankish Christian. They did, especially the youngest son Ivan. He had developed a specific hatred for Christians of any origin and made him carry out the most horrendous of tasks. It had been in a battle that he had lost his eye and in another when his leg had been trampled and left deformed. He felt sorry for the tyrannical youngster who tortured him throughout his day to day tasks; he was a man who had seen too much hate in his life, even if hate was deserved.
Then everything had gone quiet once more, the King had returned and now everyone needed to adjust.
He was told to run a bath, so he was running a bath. In the next room he could hear the King. The King was moving around furniture and opening chests. Eventually something would be thrown onto the fire but the slave never saw what it was, he would only hear the crackling. The slave had never spoken to the King but he knew him for a man who had seen too much and had come to know a life of simplicity in his self-exile, and now anything insignificant must go.
The King marched into the room, his eyes darting around looking at absolutely everything until they rested on the crippled slave. A piece of paper was thrust into his face, the slave took a step back from the bath to stand at attention.
'What does this prayer say?' it was not so much a question from the King but something that had to be known now.
'It is not a Prayer, it is written in English' the crippled slave answered dutifully
The King stared at the paper and then back at the slave 'What is it? That is not what I asked, what does it say?'
'It is a letter King Ragnar'
'Who is it for? Can you read English? What does it say?'
'It is for you, King Ragnar. And yes I can speak that language; I have met many an Englishmen'
'Then read it to me' the letter was thrust into the hand of the slave while Ragnar sat on his chair, ready and listening.
The crippled slave cleared his throat and began to read.
Dear Ragnar,
I know that you cannot read, but there is not a doubt in my mind that you're relentless curiously will make you seek out a way to understand the words written on this page. Probably some foreign slave from a distant land will read this to you. Someone who can speak many languages, someone who has no idea about the world they are about to become a part of, someone like me.
You may be reading this letter thirty years from now, and may not even remember me – but I hope you do, because whether it is in life or death I will never forget you.
The whole reason I am writing this letter to you is because I know that I am going to die. I have seen the way Christians are treated here and I see the looks that I get just for breathing the air. I knew as soon as I was reborn that I was not long for this world, your world. And yet there is so much more I wished to talk to you about, so much more I meant so say but will never get the chance, so it is here in writing.
I was only a child when I was taken to the Monastery at Lindisfarne. My mother who was a short woman who I remember having large cheeks that made her eyes look like she was constantly squinting held my hand as we arrived at the monastery door. I was completely unaware of what was going on but I was asked a lot of questions and my mother kept prompting me to nod, so I did. Eventually it was explained that I was going to be living there and educated in the ways of god, I asked my mother hold long I was going to be staying, she cried.
I never saw her again, or my brothers, or my sister. I have no memory of my father, I don't even know what his name was but he must have been a busy man trying to feed all eight of us. The only father I was brought up with was the one I prayed to in the monastery and was told loved me unconditionally – something I can't remember from my own.
It was winter, there was snow. No, there was slush on the ground when I was led from my morning prayers to Father Cuthbert to be told that the village where my family lived had been hit by a fever and it was unlikely that any had survived. I was still young when I got the news because I was sat across from Father Cuthbert on a chair on which my feet didn't touch the ground.
And from that day on I was alone in this world yet told that I was never alone because god walked beside me, and for a long time that was enough. I did everything I was told, I travelled, I followed the rules and I made my peace with my life as a monk – until you.
I admit that I tried to hate you in the beginning, god taught us never to hate and to forgive those who trespass against us, but I tried anyway and failed. I had to remind myself that you were the one who killed those who had raised me, who had taken away my home but at the same time given me a new one. I was scared of you but trusted you at the same time.
And then it all just stopped making sense. I was ignorant and stupid in your world and eventually everything you said started to make sense and everything I knew didn't. And the unconditional love I felt from god disappeared and I'd never felt more alone in my life. It felt like my god had taken me by the hand and handed me over to someone else to be re-educated.
But this time there was you. You taught me how to fight, to welcome me into your world no questions asked even when so much was being asked of you. I don't know why you saved me I wish I did, but I am glad you did. You gave me a different life, a better life. I knew before Ecbert asked that there was no other king I would rather serve than you.
I found that it was just as easy to love you as it was to love my god. I love you. And that you were always destined for greatness, my only regret is that I will not be there to see just how far you fly.
Goodbye my friend,
Athelstan.
'That is all the letter says King Ragnar' the crippled slave finished. He stared at the King waiting for a response and found none. The King just stared into the abyss.
'King Ragnar?'
'It seems that I have lost my wings?' the King said in little more than a whisper 'I must find them if I am to fly again'
The Kings eyes sharpened and focused on the crippled slave 'you serve my family?'
The slave nodded.
'You now have a new role, you will teach me to read'
'It would be my pleasure King Ragnar'
The King sat back in his chair 'but for now…read the letter again for me please'
The crippled slave nodded and began reading the letter once more. Ragnar clutched his chest, through the material he felt the outline of the cross he still wore but now under his clothing.
He loved me back.