Thessalonica

“Amen!” the worshipers cried out again.

“The Lord God shall see that we do all we can in our own behalf, and, being merciful toward us and filled with loving kindness, shall grant us a measure of His strength as well.” Eusebius waved the grappling hook about. If he’d gone fishing with it, he might have snagged a whale. But whales were not its intended prey; it was made for catching rams and their sheds.

Just for a moment, George thought the grappling hook glowed with a light that did not spring from the candles and lamps in the basilica of St. Demetrius. Before he could be sure he hadn’t imagined it, Bishop Eusebius set down the hook with a clank of iron and held up another. Again, he and the Thessalonicans prayed. Again, George thought he saw a glow surround the hook with light apparently not from any natural source. Again, he admitted to himself that he couldn’t be sure.

Another clank of iron heralded Eusebius’ setting down the second hook and picking up a third. All in all, the congregation must have sought to pray virtue into at least a dozen grappling hooks. George wondered how the bishop kept track of which ones had been prayed over and which hadn’t. Did one of them, by some mischance, have a double dose of divine power prayed into it while another went without? Or could Eusebius sense the difference between a grappling hook the Lord had been invited to fortify and one He had not?

“When the enemy attacks, we shall all stand fast,” Eusebius declared. “The liturgy is accomplished. Go in peace, but knowing you shall be tested in the fire of war.”

“We’ll smash them, won’t we, Father?” Theodore said eagerly as they walked out of the church. “God will help us.”

“I hope so.” George’s eyes went to the ruins of the ciborium, and to the smoke stains still blackening the columns and ceiling nearby. God had helped then, dousing the flames and speaking through Rufus to get the people up onto the walls when the Slavs first appeared in large numbers.

But, even as he walked across the square to the meeting place on which he’d agreed with Irene, he heard drums thundering outside Thessalonica: not drums calling men to battle--alarms would have come from the wall had that happened--but more likely summoning the gods and demons of the Slavs and Avars to fortify the onslaught that was to come. Men against men, walls against siege engines, God against gods …

“There’s Mother.” Theodore pointed. George waved to Irene. Theodore, having spotted her, cast his eyes on some of the other women--younger, unmarried women-- coming out of the basilica. Some people might have disapproved of such concupiscent thoughts on the heels of the divine liturgy. In theory, George disapproved of them, too. In practice, he remembered having done the same thing when he was a youth. And, for that matter, he still looked at pretty girls when he got the chance, even if he had no intention of doing anything but looking. He remembered the one he’d seen when the garrison marched away.

That, unfortunately, made him remember the garrison had marched away, something he would sooner have forgotten. The militiamen had kept Thessalonica safe so far, but the Slavs and Avars hadn’t yet seriously assaulted the walls. Soon--maybe as soon as tomorrow--they would. Having a couple of thousand professionals in place alongside people like him would have made him rest easier of nights.

“Well, let’s go home,” Irene said when she’d made her way through the crowd to George’s side. Then she spoke to Sophia, in a low tone George didn’t think he was meant to hear: “Don’t stare at them that way, dear. You’re supposed to be--reserved.”

“Mother!” Sophia’s reply hit the indignant high note every young woman seems to find by instinct. Her ears turned pink.

George knew young women eyed young men, too. He smiled to himself; by the way Irene addressed her daughter, that was supposed to be a secret of sorts. He shrugged. One of these days, if he found the right chance, maybe he’d tease his wife about it.

“I always feel better coming out of church after the liturgy,” Irene said. “It reminds me of how much in God’s hands I am.”

“Yes, Bishop Eusebius said the same thing,” George answered, and let it go at that. His own faith, while real, was harder to kindle.

But after a few more paces, Irene said, “While Bishop Eusebius was praying over those hooks, though, I couldn’t help but wonder what the Slavs and Avars were doing at the same time.”

“Yes,” George said again, this time in an altogether different tone of voice. He set a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I’m glad our parents thought we were a good match for each other. They were right in more ways than they knew. I was thinking the same thing myself.”

“Were you?” Irene walked on a little farther. “Well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I was surprised, not after all those years you wouldn’t. And since I’m not surprised, anyhow--”