Seven monks were crucified upside down, fourteen renounced their beliefs, and another one hundred disappeared into the world, never to be seen in the region again.
When Arbothnot got wind of this, he was filled with a rage he could not contain. He made his way south to the region to see what could be done, and with every intention of setting matters right. The Oslo Monks will not stand in for the dirt of the earth, nor cast their lives, as pearls, before swine.
Arbothnot was a teacher, and that is what he taught his students. “Cast not your pearls before swine”. They would listen to this, and ask him, quite literally, why such a thing would be done anyway. He explained that pearls were those special things you held dear, and that the swine were those who lacked the intellect, kindness, or concern to respect those cherished things. You don’t waste your time trying to share your most sacred gifts with those who are not receptive. You cannot force good into a bad vessel.
One night Arbothnot lost his will. He found himself in one of the lowest houses in town, sitting in a chair as a woman disrobed. (Though this in itself was not the loss of will of which we speak.) He had known her forever it seemed, and while they had never had any relations, this relationship formed a bedrock upon which he had built much of the meaning for his life, of late.
She came over and he kissed her on her head. He pulled over another chair and lifted her and set her down on it. There they sat across from each other. He leaned down and pulled up her foot and held it in his hand, and then took a cloth from a nearby basin and began to wash her feet.
“Tell me how you are?” he said, watching a smile roll across her face like a rising sun.
But far south, in another region, the king was angered that he had lost a battle with an opponent, who was a most distant cousin from days of youth and innocence, and who he alternately loved and detested. At present, it was a year of mostly detestation. Not only had his cousin humiliated him on the battlefield, but had done so without the actual battle. The cousin came with his forces and instead of waging war, seduced the king’s men into giving him up.
“I have not come to kill, or lay waste to the foundations here. I ask only for your king, my cousin, who has done you no great service, and brought you misery, death, and destruction”.
Town after town refused to answer the kings call to join in arms. He had only his knights and lords to call upon for aid.
“No matter, we are the meat of this force anyway,” said the king, knowing the best trained men still remained with him, and would fight to the end. He sent a messenger to the monks as well, saying, “Stand with your Lord.” He was well aware that his cousin had no monks that stood with him, nor any men of magic or untold power.
The monks, however, refused, saying, “We cannot stand with you on this matter. He is your cousin, and you make war for reasons not befitting a true cause. You would trade family to walk with death, and dine with Satan.”
This outraged the king, but he knew his chances without the monks were slim. It would mean his certain end, and while he was no coward, and willing to die, he would rather have the certainty of life than the unexpected pain or pleasure of the afterlife. One does not bet on things one cannot ascertain with some level of surety. When in doubt, do nothing. His father had told him that. When in doubt, take no action that might provide an adverse impact. The afterlife was entirely too theoretical a place to hasten one’s way to its door.
He sent message to his cousin, begging all forgiveness, and agreeing to return to his cousin the land and taxes he had taken. All was forgiven, and in weeks, they dined as though nothing had happened at all. They pledged allegiance to each other, and laughed at the matter.
While the king laughed, he issued an edict that any monks in the land must come meet with him. Word among the wise got out that the king was wroth with anger. He rounded up those he could find, and that number was twenty-one. The rest had disappeared, or magically become scarce. They were monks after all, with powers unspoken.
Of the twenty one, two thirds promised the king that they would not adhere to any such monk “codes” in the future and would serve him as their lord and master. He was pleased, and let them go. The remaining seven remained firm, and he crucified them upside down, with their hair dipped in honey and the wood beams upon which they hung planted firmly in fields filled with insects, ants mainly, but also butterflies, who were largely oblivious to the death at hand, and fluttered around with their usual purposeless vanity.
“One of these days, love, we must have something beyond this,” said the woman to Arbothnot.
“Is this not enough, that I would listen to you, talk to you, caress your limbs, even die for you?”
“It is enough for now. But sometimes I wonder if it is your place as a monk that keeps us this way, or if it is my place as a woman who does what I do. Sometimes I think that you hold your life as pure, and that to give in to me would darken that purity. It is almost as though you are holding me away not for that god of yours, but rather, because you are that god. And I am a mere plaything, or too dirty. Corrupted.”
“That’s is how you feel?”
“That is how I feel. I know it is probably not true, and that you are dedicated to your way, but still. I am a human, as are you. Do you not ever want more from me? Or is it that I am too common, and that all have had me, and therefore you hold me aloft in false admiration and knowing disdain. You love my appearance, and seeming perfection or beauty, but you know my life and deeds and it as filth to you?”
“Say no more, say no more.”
He picked her up, and for the first time kissed her lips, and carried her to her bed. For the first time they slept in the same bed.
It was the very next morning when he heard the news of what happened in the south, and how his fellows had fled or been killed by the king. His heart turned from sadness to anger, and he left the village of his only love to call that king out.
Upon arriving, the king welcomed him into his estate, and bid him sit and eat. A feast was manufactured in short order, and lords and knights and women and children and others joined in. It was not often that a monk from the north might appear, and despite his own actions, the king knew that a visit from a monk was not an occasion for confrontation.
And while they dined, and drank, and discussed the unfortunate incident- “Yes, in retrospect I realize that the monks were right, and my wrath was foolish, and I have asked the gods to forgive me”, said the king- Arbothnot listened and watched and smiled.
Then, he wrapped the castle in his mind till not a door could be opened, and slew everyone present, including himself.
