Vicis Cambrensis

An attempt to emulate Geraldus Cambrensis who wrote the Itinerary of Archbishop Baldwin through Wales (1191).

In the year 1185 from the incarnation of our Lord, Lucius the Third being the head of the apostolic see; Issac the Second, Emperor at Constantinople; Frederick, Emperor in Germany and King of the Romans; Phillip the Second, King of France; Henry the Second in England,

William the Second in Sicily, Bela in Hungary, Baldwin the Fifth in Jerusalem, a most miraculous and astonishing happening united the whole of Christendom through the communion of saints in accordance to Divine Will.

The Abbot Gregg Gruffyd of Llantarnam was touring the grounds, as is his custom following cloister, when the distinguished Abbot and his aide were made by Providence to look upon the south and east of the abbey's lands which were forested.  No sooner had the Abbot heeded this call had a man appeared from within the forest.  

The Abbot who had been discussing his difficulties with understanding the Revelations bequeathed to John, stopped abruptly and caused his aide to also notice the stranger.  This notice must then have spread to the stranger who began to approach the Abbot from a distance of several hundred yards.  Upon crossing the distance, the stranger appealed to the Abbot for understanding regarding his circumstance, but the Abbot had not observed nor heard of any of his ambiguous happenings, nor had Providence revealed the nature of these events to him.  

The appearance of the man when he first arrived is of note as he wore a tunic cut short at the waist and blotched with every manner of ink, as were his trousers.  His tunic bore writing in a foreign tongue and he carried a satchel on his back which was marred like the rest of his clothing.  Though the man professed to being a soldier, he carried no armor and only a b*****d sword within its sheath.  

Seeing that the confusion could not be cleared soon, the Abbot, like Abraham, took the stranger into his quarters and allowed his aide to remain during the conversation, which he attempts record as accurately as our Lord permits him to remember.

"Thank you, father, but where am I?" he asked.  (Here it may be noted that the humility of our good Abbot shone as it was left to his aide to correct our queer guest in wrongly placing the Abbot's title.)

"We are in Llantarnam Abbey in Gwent," answered the Abbot.

"What country is that in?"
"Cambrenia," answered the Abbot again.

"Cambrenia? How far am I from Kabul, Abbot?" asked the stranger.

"I have not heard of Kabul.  Are you from Kabul?" he asked

"No, I'm an American.  I'm deployed to Afghanistan.  I was just there before I was lost in your woods."  Our guest sighed heavily and all hope seemed to flee his soul.

The American showed signs that his constitution has failing from the stress of his trials and it was suggested to the Abbot by his aide that our guest's mind may not be rational given his experiences.  He then made every effort to entice the American to bed rest, but he protested every commodity.

When the guest saw a passing monk with loose paper, he became excited and asked the Abbot for paper and a pen.  When he acquiesced, the American began drawing curious lines to form a map.  He then started pointing to dots he had added.  He asked the Abbot whether or not he had ever heard of cities he listed.  It must be noted that the American was blessed with cleverness.

Their conversation took the following form:

"Kabul?"

"No."

"Istanbul?"

"No."

"Bejing?"

"No."

"Los Angeles?"

"No."

"New York?"

"No."

He stopped his interrogation to analyze the appearance of the Abbot and then his aide.  The American then asked to see the Holy Bible which the aide was accustomed to carrying with him during his routine.  

"Latin! Rome?"

"Rome is far to the south of here," answered the Abbot.

"Berlin?"

"No."

"Paris?"
"Paris is not half the distance to Rome."

"London?"

"Londinium? That lies to the east some distance."

The American found Londinium on his map and took his pen to the east. The pen scrolled across the map not far from our present location and the Abbot pointed to the now more obvious position of the abbey.  

Having located ourselves on a map that spanned to lands not yet revealed to mankind, the American sighed again and stood.  Being a man of some considerable stature, the effect was profound. 

"Abbot, I am Sergeant John Baltimore of the US Army.  I would be much indebted to you if you could point me in the direction of the town."
"Sergeant John, I am glad that this confusion has cleared.  I would gladly ride you out to the town.  It is a few miles from here and I have some business to conduct with the local priest," said the Abbot.

They departed immediately on horseback with the assistance of the Abbot's aide who carried the topic for discussion in his satchel.  While they rode they discussed the most peculiar areas of the Sergeant's life. 

"I wonder how I got here.  I've never traveled so far, so fast before.  Abbot, you wouldn't happen to have a bullet train or something on your grounds?"
"I am quite sure we do not.  How far have you traveled?" asked the Abbot in rare curiosity.
"Well, I've been to Afghanistan twice and that's about 9000 miles each way."
"9000 miles!  How long that must have taken!  You must be an old man in disguise."
Sergeant John laughed and said, "It feels like it sometimes.  I'm twenty six, I promise.  I guess you guys don't travel a lot, huh?" he added.
"I took a great journey once when I was younger.  I carried my grandfather's body back from the Holy Land.  You see, he died fighting for Jerusalem.  I was very young."
"The best of us go in sacrifice,"  said the American.
A short length of time passed and our company arrived in Llantarnam.  The Abbot and his aide bade farewell to the stranger and made for the church.  At the conclusion of our business we exited the church and found Baltimore sitting in grief on the stairs to the church.  The good Abbot asked the American if he required additional assistance.
He responded, "Abbot, I walked that way (pointing east) and I walked that way (pointing west)  and I haven't seen anything.  I understand that I may be in the country, so I didn't wonder at the rural aesthetic.  But I have been wondering for the last hour or so what country town has no signs, no paved roads, no cars.  The clothing people wear  here is strange.  The Constable I was hoping would guide me to London, wore a sword.  No one here seems to have heard of the war in Afghanistan or Iraq.  There are no cell phones.  No IPods.  There are no store fronts. 
"So, Abbot of Llantarnam, tell me:  How many years have passed since the birth of Jesus Christ of Nazarreth?  Or has that not happened yet?"

"The Church and Bride of Christ has waited for a long one thousand one hundred and eighty-five years for His return," he said, wearing a sad smile of compassion.

"Then I've lost it.  Maybe I hit my head-"

"Lost what?" he asked.

"What? Oh, my sanity.  I think I'm insane, mad, crazy, bonkers," said Baltimore drifting into his thoughts.

"Well, I've never met a madman who could say that he was mad.  Nor have I heard of a madman who has such knowledge of the lay of the Earth.  Perhaps you are just tired-"

"I was fighting a war," he interrupted. "I was engaging the enemy with my squad when I tripped over something and my helmet slid over my face.  When I righted it I was in your woods.  That is impossible.  Ergo, I must be mad."  He finished his splintered logic with emphasis that demanded a moment's silence to penetrate the listeners' thoughts.

"Well, if you are mad, then there is a room in the Abbey which is perfectly suited for mentally confused.  I must insist.  Tomorrow can be no darker than today."

Eventually being coaxed to hospitality, John rested in the room meant for visiting members of the cloth for no less than one and a half days. 

As Good Lord allowed time to pass peacefully in the abbey, John Baltimore became a most unusual addition to the divine organization.  The time for the celebration of the Advent of our Lord drew near and the abbey's meager preparations for the holy occasion began in earnest.  Baltimore took every interest in the preparations and the ceremonies, stopping the work on more than several occasions to inquire about the meaning of the topic at hand.

When that blessed time arrived, which all Christendom, whether at peace or war, congregates together with the Holy Ghost in pining for the symbolic arrival of our Lord and Savior, John Baltimore asked most desperately to be in attendance.  Clearly, his experience had not included the traditions of the abbey nor of the age or of the region, so the affect on another man might have been offense, the Abbot smiled with the grace at the strange man and his peculiar and simple ways. 

The eve of the Anniversary of the Birth of the Holy Christ, Baltimore found himself in attendance.  Following the mass, the monks retired to their quarters to await the coming of the profound day.  Baltimore, however, did not retire but headed to the moonlit garden where he sat down (not on a bench, but on the path that led through there) and gazed into the heavens.  He was singing softly, as a madman mutters softly to his demons.  His aide remembered part of the song and records it here:

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!


  The Abbot in his goodness took his place next to the American. 
"What song is that?" he asked.
"Stille Nacht.  It's a Christmas tradition back home.  We sing it every Christmas Eve at midnight while we hold candles."
"Why do you hold the candles?  Even we have candlesticks." he said.
"So do we," he said chuckling. "We have a big candle in the front that symbolizes the light of Christ and the leader of the ceremony lights his candle.  With his he lights two deacons' candles and they pass it on to everybody in the church.  It's like the light of Christ being passed on by the people who have had the light of Christ passed to them."
The Abbot thought for a moment, visualizing what the American's ceremony.  "I like this."

The American smiled and looked back at the stars. 

"Did you have a family?" asked the Abbot.
"Yes.  My wife Miranda and the prettiest little girl you've ever seen.  She'll be six tomorrow," he sighed. "Tomorrow and eight hundred years."

John Baltimore sat in the garden trying to retain his composure though his pain had infected the author, nearly to the point of collapse. 

"John," said the Abbot. "Do you know why I like enough to welcome you into this abbey?"
The American shook his head.
"When this happened to you, you found Brother Joseph and I and you asked what happened.  You asked how it had happened.  Never once did the words 'Why did this happen to me' escape your lips."
"I sure think it a lot," confessed the American.
"'Out of the mouth flows the contents of the soul.' 

 

 

The last that the abbey and anyone who answered our queries had heard of John Baltimore was at the visit of Archbishop Baldwin of Canteburry when he passed through Llantarnam to preach the retaking of Jerusalem in the year 1187.  John Baltimore saw fit to go to town on that day when he heard of the arrival of the Archbishop.  What is recorded here is what we have been told by the Archbishop's entourage when he paid a visit to Llantarnam Abbey after our cloister. 

 

John had walked into town and listened to the sermons preached there.  Being moved to speech, he waited until he was able to approach a member of the Archbishop's entourage.  Finding him John immediately engaged in the following conversation.

 

"Don't you see!  It doesn't end!  For the next thousand years it doesn't end!"

The aide: "What doesn't end?"

"The war for the holy land.  Even a thousand years from now Israel still is a graveyard of soldiers from around the world.  You can't go to war!"

The aide: "But the Saladin has taken the Holy Land that God Almighty has given to His children.  We must take it back.  It is Divine Will."

"If it was Divine Will, it wouldn't have been taken from us.  Let Saladin have his prize.  Jerusalem is no more holy than Canteburry."

The aide: "That's blasphemy!  The land on which our Lord bled must be kept from the enemies of Christendom.  Who are you that questions the Might of the Lord?"

At this time, we are told that others had taken notice of this commotion.

 

"I am a soldier that fights this same war long after all you see here is forgotten."

The aide: "How can that be?  Divine Will will persevere this trial of men and peace will come to Jerusalem.  Do you know that Jerusalem means-"

"Yes, new peace.  You can take Jerusalem, but your children will have it taken from them and their children will take it back.  It doesn't end.  Why not be the better generation and let the enemy have their city.  I've been there.  It's really not that great.  Really hot."

The aide: "Those that oppose the Will of the Lord of Hosts are enemies of all Christendom!  'Cut off thy hand lest it causes you to sin!'"

"' For I, the Lord, your God, and am a jealous God punishing the children for the sins of fathers to the third and fourth generation.'"

The two having reached an impasse of quotation to their respective causes, the Archbishop intervened.

 

"What is your argument?" asked the Archbishop.

"Archbishop," said John Baltimore paying respects.  "You have amassed one of the largest groups of true Christians with brave hearts.  You must not send them to war."

"The Lord wills it," said the Archbishop.

"If God, the Omnipotent Lord, willed Christendom to have Jerusalem, it would not have fallen."

"God, the Omnipotent Lord, willed the Israelites to have and posses the Land of Israel, but when their faith faltered, He punished them," he said.

"Let the Holy Land be conquered by the might of trade.  If a battle for Jerusalem is had the war will last a thousand years and claim millions for lives.  It must be stopped."

"Let this be an opportunity for faith to increase.  If the Lord wills for this world to be torn asunder by a war that reaches out for a millennium, then so be it.  Who are we to question Him?" said the Archbishop, gaining even more crusaders for his cause.

"Perhaps, Archbishop the Will of the Lord is misunderstood.  How can the God of Peace want to set the world at war?"

"Just as He willed the Israelites to take the Holy Land by force, and just as He willed Christendom to unite one hundred years ago, and again fifty years ago.  Even as He does again now call on the faithful."
"Then it has already begun..." said John Baltimore.  We are told that his face became downcast and he stood silent.

"You said you are a soldier," said the Archbishop.

"Yes."

"What moved a man of peace to war?"

John thought a moment.  "My country was at war.  I could not watch my countrymen go to war and wait for their bodies to come back."

"If you were moved by peace and love for your country to go to war, how much more should you fight for your God?" 

 

John Baltimore asked the Archbishop if he would still be there in the morning and asked to be given a night's leave to consider the crusade.  That is the last that anyone can remember seeing John Baltimore.  The author will admit an undue interest in the tale that had unfolded before him, but may be forgiven for having concluded that Baltimore left the land of Cambria approximately the same time as the Archbishop and the new Crusaders.

This simple monk believes that John found in Christ's Army the hope he needed to carry on with his trial, and, perhaps, even his ails were cured by the Almighty after such a show of faith.  But, alas, I have no proof, and it has been some twenty years since his departure. 

I broached the subject with the good Abbot a year after John left having found the Abbot burning our recent guest's belongings.  (It should be noted here, that the Abbot and John Baltimore were in total agreement that everything he brought should be destroyed.)  The Abbot did not spare a glance, nor did he pause a moment to consider, but said cryptically, "I think John was smarter than that."

And thus this chapter in experience at Llantarnam Abbey in the country of Cambria has been recorded to reflect the glory of our True and Triune God with the hope that any and all who read and meditate upon this note shall find it beneficial to the understanding of His greatness and the Love and Life which He bestows upon us.  May the Lord Almighty make this otherwise insignificant parchment reflect a small fraction of His Light, just as those of us here at Llantarnam Abbey saw reflected in John Baltimore and hope to reflect on the world in the Glory of the Almighty.  Amen.

Author's Note

Of course, the population of Cambria or Wales would have spoken Welsh and/or Latin (depending on the status of the individual) and an American would not be able to communicate with the residents. However, there wouldn't be much of a story there, so please forgive the historical inaccuracy in this matter. Everything else is meant to be accurate, so if you find something that isn't, please inform me in the comments section. This is mostly a just-for-fun thing.