Leaving the old gods

A fiction for epiphany, a gift to my ancestors.

Today is the Christian Feast of Epiphany. It celebrates the visitation of the Magi to the Christ child. Well, to protestants like me. In other traditions it also celebrates the baptism of the adult Jesus and the miracle of turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana.

I am currently a Baptist but who knows? I have joked that I am ‘Baplicodox,’ loving beautiful things from the protestant, Catholic and Orthodox traditions.

My ancestry is likely Anglo-Saxon and Frankish, based on family names and DNA (to the extent those tests hold true). I suppose it is also confirmed by the way I love the sound of old English and French. I was destined to love these things with a name like Keith Edwin, both very old English names. King Edwin, after all, was the first Christian King of Northumbria, England. He was canonized. No relation I suppose.

I think about when it was my ancestors became Christian. My daughter and I recently pondered this mystery. I have no idea. A normal American, I have about three generations of memory and stories. But at some point, my people became believers.

I thought about how this might have looked, although it was probably much less dramatic. And like everyone, it’s fun to think of ancient lords but in reality most of us come from ancient farmers, laborers and slaves.

By the way, after this I think I’m finished writing about Christmas until next year. Apologies to people of other faiths or who are atheists. We’ll return to our ‘regularly scheduled programming’ in a couple of days.

So here goes:

Here I kneel by the manger, years since the star shown on the child king. This cave is warm, beasts still lie in it, and the summer sun has warmed its entrance.

The owner of this place, an inn-keeper, shakes and looks at me in terror. Not without reason. I come from the far north, from places where blood freezes as it falls from wounds. Where the wind and snow are hard as iron. Where the bears are as large as this cave.

I travel in my battle-gear, with servants and lesser lords. My beard is long and thick, my axe longer than the gladius the Romans wear. My horses tall and mighty, unsettled by camels and by the desert air.

I realize, looking at this poor place, that my old gods will not cross the threshold. I see them, you know. I am a great lord, possessor of lands, of men and women. I wear silver on my arms. The gods come to me. At first in dreams of childhood, but now in broad daylight.

They laughed at this journey, taunting me every mile, told me to turn back, that it was a fool’s errand. Better to find another great warrior for an alliance, better to marry my daughters and sons for strength. All better than to travel here.

A star, you see, was seen in more than the east. When first it shone my gods pointed and spoke magical words. Then they sat, and thick tears streamed down their mysterious, pale faces. Even Woden was shaken. He paced and stomped his feet. I saw this in the night. I am not lying.

They came along, I thought to continue mocking me. In fact it was to confirm their worst fears. That their time was truly drawing to a close. That their powers were fading. That they had no magic against this. No stones to throw to guide them, no bird’s intestines to advise them, no sacrifice of beast or man to defend them.

I speak the Roman tongue. I have, in my long life of battle, faced Romans in the shield-wall. My sword has tasted their life-blood. They die well and I have no anger towards them.

But as I sat by the empty feeding trough, I stood quickly as a suspicious centurion came in. He asked my business and whether I was staying or leaving. A good soldier, he was trying to learn if he would have to fight me. He was counting the cost of having his men face mine, waiting outside. Both of us spoke with hand on hilt, profane acts in that simple but holy place.

I told him I had come to see an infant king. I expected the typical laughter, the hard-bought sarcasm of the legions. ‘He was here,’ he said. I looked up, shocked. ‘Oh yes. I passed through that night. I saw the shepherds coming into town. I saw the star bright as day.’ He leaned closer. ‘I think I saw gods flying overhead and singing to the child. At first I thought perhaps Jupiter or Apollo were near. But they would not deign to do that for a poor child.’ He shook his head.

‘I see gods also, friend. It is no wonder.’ I took my hand from my sword and put it on his shoulder.

‘I come here some nights myself,’ he went on. ‘The manger there, it casts a glow at times. And however cold the winter night there is still warmth. There was a scrap of swaddling left in the corner. I still carry it. I always will. I cannot explain. But now, my lust for war is fading. I asked the priest of Mithras, but he says it is all a lie and I should ask to be transferred to a place where there is death. But I have no stomach for it. In another year I retire to a nice farm in Spalatum. But even that, well…’

‘I do not understand myself.’ I stretched saddle stiff bones. ‘Still, I am at peace. I will not trouble your town, brother. I will leave now. But I fear that you and I have only begun our journeys.’ I do not know what I meant, but it remained true for the rest of my life.

‘Go in peace,’ he said to me. He handed me a silver flask of wine and I gave him a ring of silver with amber set in it. I hoped that we would never cross blades, the Roman and I.

The journey home was long but pleasant. We were untroubled by bandits or sickness. The horses seemed healthier, and my men happier. My gods, however, were surly when I asked them about the king. They knew something, they knew many things but they refused to share them. They simply stared at the night sky and sang what sounded like dirges.

When I finally road back to my farm and strode into my hall, my children were safe and happy. They ran to me, laughing, stronger, taller. My woman folded herself into my embrace for the longest time. That night by the fire I told them my tale. She said ‘an infant king, I saw him in a dream.’

The next day my oldest, who already trains with the blade, pulled my sword from its scabbard. It fell into dust on the ground before the hearth. It was well oiled and bright the entire journey, of that I am certain. But now, in a place of peace and love…

If ever there was a sign.

I hope that my children and theirs will learn who the child was for I continue to pray to him. Who else?

My old gods never showed their faces to me again.