WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED...

Innocent sheep need protecting from wolves and thieves...

   The crippled Roman Soldier winced as he climbed off his old horse, leaned against a stunted tree and stared across the open plain North of Bethlehem. It wasn’t getting any easier being rippled, and the pain was getting worse.

He could just about make out the slowly moving dots of sheep munching their way across the sparse grassland and, closer to him, a huddled group of shepherds, three in all, to whom had fallen the unenviable task of watching for predators such as wolves that might fancy a nice leg of tender young lamb during the hours of darkness.

A reasonable distance away was a lean-to tent, a shelter in which their comrades who had done the day shift, slept, tossing and turning and occasionally grunting in their sleep.

He knew men like this. They were young, brutish and unreliable, but they did know when they were on to a good thing because the work, if you removed predatory beasts from the equation, was hardly onerous even if you counted the unsociable hours it involved. And predatory beasts weren’t as common as rumour (put about by them) suggested they might be.

Night was well under way and they, having no fear of supervision by the bad-tempered Shepherd whose snores could be heard emanating loudly from the tent, were intent on enjoying a large jug of wine, and they'd already savoured a fair quantity of the stuff because their mannerisms and slurred voices were those of drunken men who are trying to appear sober just in case sobriety was called for.

“'S good stuff this,” leered one of them, indicating the jug and hiccuping audibly.

“Shurrup!” snarled a second. “The boss'll hear and then we'll all be for it.” He stood up and swayed slightly, and then grinned. “But 's good,” he confirmed, and aimed his flaccid penis towards a clump of weeds and urinated with a satisfying “Ahhh!”

“Dirty pig!” grinned the third shepherd watchman.

“I'll take a piss if I wan' to,”

“And the angels'll see ya!”

“What bleeding angels?”

“Those in th' scriptures. Warriors in the big fight in Heaven against the devil. Those angels. Winged blokes kissed by the Lord hisself.”

“What they wanna come all the ay down here and peek at my willy for? You reckon they're gay?”

“Y' shouldn't talk like that. Not about angels.”

“Mebbe they are gay.”

“And mebbe you'll be struck down dead for as much as thinkin’ such things!”

“Angels aren't bloody gay! Not them!”

“Soldiers o' the one true god.”

“Then why are they int’rested in my dick?”

“’Cause it’s so bleeding small!” This was followed by a series of muted chuckles.

“D'you reckon there are such things as angels?” asked the first shepherd, tucking his penis out of sight cautiously, checking with a casual glance that it hadn’t shrunk during the altercation.

“It says so, don't it, in th' good book.”

“Ah, but d’you reckon it's true?”

“Are you doubtin' what the ancients wrote on their parchment?”

“I was jus' wonderin'.”

“The Rabbi says there's angels, ‘e’s most ins … ins ...ins ...sistent. so there must be. An’ I reckon I saw one once.”

“Ya did?”

“Pissin’, it was, in the grass!”

The crippled soldier grinned to himself. He knew all about men like this, young, none of the normal comforts of home while they were at work at the most menial task on the planet, just lives to be lived, a crust to be earned and wine to be supped.

And, of course, tales to be told. Lies to be bragged. Histories to be invented.

“Hey!” he called from his place by the stunted tree.

“What! What's that?”

“Who's there?”

“What you want?”

The crippled soldier remained in the shadows. He was going to enjoy himself. It was time life gave him a bit more than endless pain.

“You want angels?” he called. His accent was far from local but they could easily make sense of his words. “You want th’ glory of God in your field, with your sheep?”

“What yer on about?” ventured the second shepherd, nervously peering into the gloom.

“I know angels,” came a whisper from the shadows. “I’ve come from them.”

“Ya what?”

“Down there...” He pointed back down the road to Bethlehem, but they couldn't see, which rather spoilt the gesture. “Back t' the town … there's a new baby...”

“There's allus babies bein' born!” scoffed the first Shepherd. “Loads o' them, all th' time.”

“Ah, but this one's special,” murmured the soldier so quietly they had to really strain their alcoholic ears to catch it. He continued, a shade louder… “This one's different. I heard, only heard mark you, but from a reliable source, that it's daddy was an angel! I heard that its mother was met by an angel and that she's still a virgin! Think of that: a virgin giving birth!”

“Imposs … ible.”

“That no man's been near her, just an angel. Gabriel, they called him, Gabriel from the stars! And we all know about angels, don’t we?”

“Heard what?”

“They don’t have dicks! So she’s gotta be a virgin, don’t you think? Father Gabriel… it’s got a ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I've 'eard of 'im!”

“One of our lord's top min...min...mini... sters. Tha's it. Ministers.”

“That's what I heard,” confirmed the soldier. “And I'll tell you what. You go down there, to the town, and seek out a bright and shining light, a bit like a brand new star, and there you'll find the baby from your god. That's what you'll find. The baby from your god fathered by an angel.”

“Dirty b*****d,” muttered the second shepherd.

“Let's go!” decided the first shepherd. “Let’s go and check this out!”

“What all of us?”

“All of us!”

“What about the sheep?”

“Sod the sheep! When did we last see a wolf round here ‘cept in hour dreams? And this might be the chance of a lifetime! T' meet a baby whose daddy was an angel! I'm game.”

The second shepherd paused.

“I'll stay an' watch,” he volunteered. “I'm not into angels. You two go, an' I'll stay and watch.”

The crippled soldier was back on his old horse and it was slowly walking away, its hooves silent on the sparse grass.

“Take a gift,” he called. “Take a gift for the angel's baby!”

“A fleece!” suggested the first shepherd. “A nice clean fleece!”

“Good thinkin! We got fleeces!”

And two drunken shepherds, carrying a fluffy fleece between them, started staggering down the road to Bethlehem.

In the distance a light shone above a stable, a flickering light that smelt of burning oil.

© Peter Rogerson 21.11.12, revised 27.11.16