Bernard's Star

The sun rose that day as it did every day, a radiant witness to all it illuminated. As the shadows crept downwards along the stone walls that ringed the courtyard, the turning of the earth illuminated the wooden gallows that occupied the west end. The light crept upwards along the stairs—a creeping floodlight finally casting its rays through the thick hemp circle of the hangman’s knot, casting its own shadow where it hadn’t before.

A high single window, really just a cut square in the stone wall, too small to squeeze through but large enough to look through, framed a face looking onto the square below. The dawn’s light summoned the face to the window and his eyes sought out the appointed place. Bernard gazed dispassionately at the gallows and noose below now that the day of his execution had arrived. He wore a rough linen shift that fell to his knees and his beard reached to his collarbones. His hair, grimy and loose, also reached to his collarbones. His short stubby nose, broken and bent from the beatings of the inquisitor long since lacked the capacity to usher offense of his lack of hygiene.

They gave him plenty of time to recant, over the year he spent in his cell. When the beatings and torture of the inquisitor failed, they put him in the small cell, broiling in the summer and freezing in the winter. They also fed him poorly, a thin stew of wilted vegetables sometimes with a lump of oily gristle floating within accompanied by a husk of mostly moldy bread. When they first dragged him from his room at the priory, he was both hale and strong, now he was a shadow that today’s sun threatened to extinguish.

Bernard welcomed the thought. He welcomed today. At first, despite his vision, he dreaded the noose when they told him through the iron oak door that he was sentenced to death. Then, he dreaded the day would never come, that he would spend the rest of a too long life in this stone cell, barely big enough to take three strides in any direction, his only company his memories, his faith, and the increasingly infrequent mockery of the guards when they delivered his daily gruel.

Today was to be his last day in the cell and for this he could feel nothing but gratitude. So Bernard watched the courtyard from his window above as the morning unfolded. They opened the gate that led into the square as the sun cleared the outer walls of the small keep and Bernard watched as the nearest farmers that lived outside those walls slowly filled the available space. Some held the hands of their small children and a few had them riding their shoulders. Their attendance was mandatory.

Bernard took this as a cue that the guards would be coming soon and he dragged his filthy fingers through his greasy hair in a vain attempt to improve his appearance. He managed a wan smile when he realized what he was doing. No one was going to care and soon enough neither would he.

He heard the door unlock at the end of the hallway that led to his cell and the footsteps of the two guards approaching. Bernard was flattered that they sent two. After his long imprisonment, he would not be able to resist a half grown boy, let alone two of the keep’s guards. They reached his door and the turning of the black iron key seemed impossibly loud to Bernard’s ears.

The guards said nothing. They merely marched into his cell and with one under each of his arms they lifted and marched him out. When they got to the door that led outside to the courtyard, at the west end of the keep and behind the gallows, Bernard found his voice. “Let me go,” he said, “I can walk the rest of the way.” The two well fed men released him and the smaller of the two opened the door as the other shoved Bernard from behind.

“You should have recanted your sorcery.” The one holding the door said.

“And miss this day? I think not.” Bernard replied. As he stepped out into the bright daylight, Bernard lifted his face to the sky and breathed deeply, it was all as he had seen. It wouldn’t be too much longer now.

#

I did not sleep much at all that night. The anticipation was nearly overwhelming. I woke shortly before dawn and pressing my face to the open air of my cell window, I watched as the sun crept up and over the walls of the keep where I had been imprisoned for a year.

Throughout the night before that fated morning, I could not keep my thoughts away from the circumstances that led to my imprisonment. I, Bernard, speak these thoughts as a way to keep the history of what I saw and what I have become. Perhaps these words will find themselves in the eyes of a future seer and provide a measure of comfort. The visions have stopped, so I cannot be certain.

My first vision I kept to myself, fearing I was going mad, or worse, being tempted by a demon from the upper reaches of hell. I was praying in my room, as we all do in the priory before retiring for the evening. As I came to the end of my praise towards our creator, I felt a curious sensation in the back of my mind, much like a deck of cards being shuffled. Immediately thereafter, I sensed I was not alone in my room. This feeling was resolved when I noticed a small figure in the corner. It stood barely as high as my waist and I am not an overly tall man. It’s eyes were big and when I gazed into them, I saw the heavens unfold, our sun blazing full and close and the heavenly spheres dance in their procession. I saw the moon slide in front of our sun and the shadow fall upon the earth below. When this vision passed from my eyes, the figure was no longer there.

I spoke of this vision to the Prior and he frowned and forbade me from sharing it with my fellow monks. Unfortunately, I had already shared what I had seen with brother Paul and when the sun’s occlusion came to pass three days later, the news of my foreknowledge had spread throughout the priory. Other visitations came with accompanied visions, I felt compelled to share them, except for my final vision. The beatings. The imprisonment. The sun’s march across the courtyard and the gallows at the end. The guards marching me from my cell and the shorter of the two saying, “You should have recanted your sorcery.”

“And miss this day? I think not.” I replied. I lifted my head to the sky and breathed deeply welcoming the warmth of the sun against my body. I knew everything was as it should be and I strode to the gallows with a strength I had not felt in many months.

The Prior was there on the gallows along with the regional inquisitor but I ignored them both as they read the charges of sorcery and heresy to which I was to be put to the rope. The crowd was eerily quiet, as if they could sense what was to come. As Prior Richard reached for the noose, he asked me in a loud booming voice, “Will you recant your association with evil and be delivered unto our creator? Avoid the flames of punishment for eternity. You can still find yourself in heaven, even now, at the moment of your death.”

My heart soared. The words were just as I had heard them in my room at the priory. I grinned at the crowd and looking up I said, “I recant nothing and I look forward to my journey into the heavens. Look! Even now, my delivery is at hand.”

It was at that moment the sun’s rays were once again occluded, this time not by the moon but by a black triangle wider than a plowed field and mere feet above the keep’s walls, moving slower than a spring cloud.

My visitors were neither demons nor angels.

They have taught me much.