Father Jan listened impassively as the stranger spoke. His offer seemed most intriguing. But he could not take up with another band of mercenaries. That part of his life was over. He had new duties. He would surely be reassigned to a new congregation, or kept on at his Order's motherhouse to do administrative work. Many of the priests could hardly read, and there was always more bookkeeping to do than there was men to do it. He was going to tell the stranger as much, as he started to walk away.

“Aye!” The priest called after the man instead. It just slipped out. And it kept slipping out.

“Find me horse, lance, and helm, before the battle tomorrow. Then my service ye shall win!”

[i]Oh, what the Hell?[/i]

Jan could simply write to his Superior General of his exceptional opportunity to minister the faith to these godless heathens, and anyone else they meet. It would be criminal not to provide Mankind's last line of defense with even one chaplain. He would go along with that, wouldn't he? Of [i]course[/i] he would. If not, well- Jan could just contest the issue and bring it to the Ecclesiastical Court. That pack of glorified bureaucrats could spend years dealing with it.

During his time studying, Jan had heard the Court once spent three years on a case, trying to decide whether or not to defrock a priest for stealing bread for a family of peasants. The matter had become moot before a decision could be rendered, as the priest in question had died. It was decided in the end that it would be inappropriate to punish a dead man.

Reasoning that it was rather late enough, the priest decided it was time to retire for the night. It seemed that he had no more confessions to hear, and that beside his evening had been sufficiently exciting.

Coming to his appointed spot, he knelt beside his bedroll. He took into his hands the silver medal about his neck. It was a simple thing, a little spoked wheel, with a star at its center. A reminder of eternity, and the light that shines on even in the darkness that often accompanies it. And Jan prayed solemnly, head bowed. He spoke the words he had first heard long ago, long before his life was marred by slaughter and death, and before he had come to appreciate that which lay beyond these things.

“Oremus.” He began, with the traditional call to prayer. “In principio erat Verbum et Verbum erat apud Deum et Deus erat Verbum. hoc erat in principio apud Deum. Omnia per ipsum facta sunt et sine ipso factum est nihil quod factum est. In ipso vita erat et vita erat lux hominum.”

He became nearly overcome with emotion then, recalling the next line. It was strange that it never struck him so before. Very strange.

“Et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non conprehenderunt.”

[i]And the light shineth in darkness: and the darkness did not overcome it.[/i]

With that thought, the priest climbed into bed and fell to sleep.