A REALLY BRIGHT IDEA

Plans are laid for the expectant Maria with Jo-jo to make the journey to an Inn in Bethlehem.

The old soldier, outcast from the Roman Army on duty in the grotty Eastern town of Nazareth - grotty was his word because the locals had been responsible for his many handicaps in an attack of unparalleled viciousness on his person when nobody important had been looking - ighed to himself.

He was worried. It had been he who'd suggested that the silly young Maria go to an Inn he knew of where the inn-keeper's wife would “see to” her pregnancy while there was still time, but that had been weeks ago and he guessed that time was up and it was already too late. He'd heard rows from her home, between her and Jo-jo, her promised future husband, and he wasn't surprised.

There aren't, he reasoned, too many men who would willingly accept responsibility for the consequences of another man's carnal escapades with his betrothed. Most men, indeed, would have fled and never returned until the proper authorities had arranged a damned good stoning for her, which is the punishment that she’d earned by being so darned promiscuous. In fact, Jo-Jo went up in his estimation when he heard some of the things the young carpenter had said. Though his opinion didn't rise too far when he remembered how the youth had accepted coin from the girl, knowing perfectly well what she’d done to obtain it.

In the end it had all come down to Maria's father who firstly beat her (not too hard, thankfully, he wasn't a sadist, and he’d mentioned stoning without doing anything about it) for getting in the condition she was in and secondly ordered her to go to the Inn that the old crippled soldier had told her about, and get seen to.

“Get rid of the little swine before you soil my doorstep again!” he had growled as she left. “I don't want to see hide nor hair of you until the job's done, you sorry little s**t! And let's have no more stories of blokes with wings shagging ya!”

Yes, she’d disregarded the soldier's advice and told the story she and her captain had come up with, that she’d been visited by an angel. Of course nobody believed her! What would an angel be doing, visiting an immoral child like her in a backwater place like this?

And the two young people had left, a pathetic sight with the girl, not yet thirteen years old, already swelling whilst the youth, hardly any older, lagged behind in shame. After all, he knew the problem wasn't his, but he’d made the crucial error of falling in love with her. Now former friends (if that’s what they’d been) pointed at him, sniggered and called him the sort of names he didn’t like hearing. And the rabbi had heard to, and started asking questions.

The old soldier watched and there was moisture in his eyes when he decided, completely out of character, to find his way ahead of them and prepare some kind of welcome for them. So he called in a favour, borrowed an elderly and extremely weary horse, and set out for Bethlehem himself, going by a different route.

But the distance was great - eighty miles or so by road - for him with his damaged limbs and sad old nag, and he guessed that, although the youngsters should be able to make such a journey in four or five days, the girl was far from fit and anything could happen.

And there would be dangers on the way. Bands of robbers lurked in the wilderness between towns and cities, ready to waylay unwary travellers, and it wasn't uncommon for them to leave their victims dead or dying. The wilds, he knew, were unruly places without proper law or any semblance of genuine order. So he prayed to Saturn, God of Time, that they might have time to make the journey safely and without hindrance. Saturn, he knew, might cast an aura of protection over them. That's what the gods could do. But he still worried. He wasn't too convinced in the power of those same gods. They hadn't helped him when he'd needed the assistance of a deity, not them and not Jehovah, not even ancient Baal.

As for himself, he had the wary eye of an old campaigner and knew that he had a fair chance of taking care of himself even if trouble did spring from the shadows.

So it was that after only three days he arrived in Bethlehem and sought out the Inn. He'd stayed there before and knew the Inn-keeper and his wife well enough to be looked on as an old friend.

“There are two young folks coming this way,” he said after a jug of wine had washed away the worst debris from his travels and he had begun feeling almost human again.

“Oh yes?” muttered the Inn-keeper's wife, knowing that trouble was on the way. What other reason, she thought, would an injured old soldier have for travelling so many miles on a useless old horse?

“The girl's in trouble,” he told them, bluntly.

“You been up to your tricks?” asked the Inn-keeper, “You always did have an eye for the ladies ... and reluctant to keep your tackle quiet!”

“Look at me!” growled the old soldier. “I'm lucky if I can find my willy these days, let alone use it!”

“Then what's it to you?”

“I was privy to it happening, on my own, watching the world go by from my position on the street, and I saw it all happen. It was an army Captain, brutal fellow with the wenches, and he's gone and left her with a stomach full of trouble.”

“She can't stay here!” said the Inn-keeper bluntly. “This is a decent house and if words get round that it's something else then my trade'll drop through the floor!”

“But I suggested...” the soldier said quietly. “I thought your missus might be able to do something for the girl, though in my opinion it might well be too late.”

“There's a stable, temporary, the one where you put your nag,” muttered the Inn-keeper. “I suppose they can stay there: it's out of sight, and they do say as out of sight is out of mind. But I said temporary and I meant temporary.”

“OK, keep your hair on!” It had been a long journey, and the old soldier was feeling irritable. It hadn't taken long for the effects of the jug of wine to start wearing off. Then: “I'll fix a light on the roof, one that can be seen from afar, so they know which stable. It'll give me summat to do. I'll get a good wick and burn it day and night until they're here. It'll stop them getting lost. If that's okay with you, that is!”

“Do what you want!”

“It'll help them,” sighed the old Soldier. “It'll look fair like a star: a guiding star on a dark night. You have got a good oil lamp going spare, I suppose.”

“Might have.”

“Then I'll borrow it if you don't mind. I feel sorry for the poor blighters, at their age, still no more than kids really, having to make a journey like that. It's a long way from Nazareth! But a warming light over the stable will soothe their hearts, it will: a star to guide them on their way!”

“You ought to have been a poet,” muttered the Inn-keeper. “Now have a drop more wine and shut up!”

© Peter Rogerson 15.11.12, revised 23.11.16