I looked out from the high rocky hills on to the open sea, and I held my child close to my chest as the battle raged between friendly galleons and cold-hearted brigantines. James soaked my simple tunic with his tears and sweat and fear, I could do nothing for him. How could I tell him it would be all right? What sort of damnable lie was that? Likewise, “We’ll be fine,” likewise “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” likewise “I’ll protect you at all costs.”

The rumble of cannon, the din, the smoke, I thought I could hear old fashioned swords clatter on the decks of the ships. One of them started to burn, and then, I saw it explode. James howled, I winced, men died.

There were only two more galleons left to go through, and our force of ten ships was racing towards shore. One galleon slowly lumbered in pursuit, while another turned its broadside to my ship, the last in line. I could feel that all my hair on the left side of my face had been singed off entirely from the blast. That was fine. I would do worse to the enemy.

I headed uphill and decided to forget casual appearances, I should run for it, seeing a half-score of frigates nearing my home shore. James toddled along behind me, but I picked him up again and sprinted, trying not to trip over any of the sharp and slippery rocks that would lead me into a headfirst fall into a sudden gorge. The coastline was harsh.

Another galleon sank, and I decided I could wait no longer. I commandeered a jolly boat and rowed out to the beaches of the heathen lands, my teeth bared, my eyes gleaming, my flintlock full loaded. But patience is a virtue, and the Crusader swept past me and beat me to my prize.

Did you see my people slaughtered? I heard the most horrible screaming and wailing that I have ever heard. Like Lot’s wife, I turned back, and, like Lot’s wife, I wished I hadn’t. My village was aflame. The fiery, hungry monster was eating my people, my hometown, and the forest to the east.

I saw a pagan and his son running on the stone hill. I jumped out of my rowboat and ran towards him in pursuit.

I saw a pagan with an angry grin following us. I couldn’t stop running if I tried.

“Stop!”

Say nothing to him.

“Stop, infidel, or I shoot!”

Say nothing to him. James, oh dear boy James, please don’t leave me, hold on tight, you’ve taken my hearing in one ear from your cries, but by all that is holy, I won’t let you go.

Take careful aim and—fire!

Pain! Oh, inexorable pain! Don’t drop to the ground…keep running…don’t…

He’s fallen and one Christ-hater is done, please, my Savior, let me catch up to the child. The sins of the fathers…

“James…don’t look at me, I love you so much, James…”

Give me strength, be my strength, make me Samson.

“James, run, James, if you ever loved me back, run!”

He’s running. I run faster.

There he goes, please, oh please, escape that man.

“Caught you, little heathen bastard! No, no, I won’t let you go back to daddy! No, no, daddies are only for good little Christian boys.”

JAMES!

Psalm 137, verse number nine!

NO, NOT MY ONLY BEGOTTEN SON!

“Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones!”

It was a sickening crunch.