FORGET TO TURN THE OTHER CHEEK!”
Three miles west of the city of Paltyrrha, the Archpriest Athanasios was trying very hard to find a comfortable position for his numb posterior and aching thighs. The raggedy gray donkey called Dyskolos had certainly lived up to his name, being difficult, poky, and not at all inclined to obey a man of the cloth. Without any warning, he would suddenly speed up to a bone-jarring trot, bypassing all the men marching in line, who would encourage the evil beast with catcalls, insults, and laughter, and occasionally with jabs of their sharp spears. Then the beast would jerk to a complete stop, allowing the jeering foot soldiers to catch up and pass them again, while Athanasios, legs pumping and arms waving, angrily tried to spur the tyrant forward.
It had been a frustrating afternoon for the priest, inexperienced rider that he was, but he attempted to pass the time as profitably as he could by saying his daily prayers, and beseeching God’s benign intervention with their dangerous mission. But time and again he found himself distracted by having to attend to the reins, as he held on to his precarious seat.
On his fifth or sixth such run, Dyskolos tried a new maneuver, and succeeded in abruptly bucking Athanasios off over his head, straight into a large mud puddle. The startled priest found himself flat on his back and soaked through, struggling to regain his wind as he stared up at the vacuous face of his obstinate mount. Dyskolos smiled back with bared yellow teeth, having finally rid himself of his unwelcome burden. Then, floppy ears laid back, he stretched out his scrawny neck and shook his head, flinging foam into the priest’s face and jingling his bridle jauntily, and braying raucously a few times in unconcealed triumph.
Several soldiers of the Kosnicki Brigade, who were marching right next to them, almost fell over, they were laughing so hard.
“Now, father,” one of them yelled, “don’t forget to turn the other cheek!”
There were more hoots and guffaws.
“An ass in time saves nine!” another quipped.
The troops behind them began to bunch up as they watched the welcome spectacle of a cleric finally receiving his comeuppance.
Athanasios climbed shakily to his feet, then gazed down at his ruined cloak, his cheeks burning with the shame. He hated being humiliated like this. From the time he was a child, he had disliked being made the brunt of public ridicule or scorn.
“Hey, what’s going on here!” shouted the captain of the squad, riding over from the other side of the column.
He was a tall, amiable-looking man in his late thirties, clean-shaven save for a trim mustache, and neatly decked out with light chain mail, helmet and jaunty feather, and military cloak. His gear was beautifully polished, and he sat confidently astride a handsome bay, its shiny black mane and tail floating in the breeze. He gracefully dismounted, and gave the priest a hand, steadying him a bit as Athanasios tried to regain his composure.
“Sorry, father,” the officer said, “these rubes don’t know any better.”
He glared at the assembled soldiers, and vigorously waved them on.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he yelled. “You! Get along over there. Come on, move it out!”
His men gradually sorted themselves into loose ranks again, and the column started forward.
The captain quickly grabbed Dyskolos’s reins to prevent him from running off, and handed them over to Athanasios, simultaneously inclining his head.
“Sir Maurin von Markstadt, Lord Ézion, at your service, father. You seem to be having a little trouble with your mount.”
The hieromonk looked upon his savior with immense gratitude.
“Oh, thank you so much, milord,” he said. “I’m the Archpriest Athanasios Hokhanêmsos.”
He shook his head in dismay, brushing futilely at his damp clothing.
“I must confess, I don’t really know what I’m doing wrong. They showed me how to control the beast, but Dyskolos is the devil himself.”
“Dyskolos, eh?” The officer snorted. “Oh, I’ve heard about that one. I think someone was trying to play a joke on you, father. This donkey’s a real ass.”
He cleared his throat as he swallowed a laugh.
“However,” the officer said, “we have our ways.”
Maurin led Athanasios and his mount off the crowded road and over to a nearby tree. He chose a small, supple limb, broke it off with his bare hands, then carefully stripped it with his knife. He whipped it experimentally through the air a couple of times.
“Yes, that’ll do nicely,” he muttered to himself.
Then he turned to the priest.
“Would you happen to have an old spare rag,” he said, “something you won’t be needing again?”
Athanasios pondered a moment. “Well, I think so, milord, but....”
“If you’ll get it, please,” the captain said, “I’ll demonstrate.”
The priest rummaged around in his kit, and finally tore a strip from a frayed, well-worn tunic.
“Will this do?” he asked.
“Perfectly,” Maurin said, smiling. “You just have to be a little smarter than the beasties,” he said, abruptly stepping on the donkey’s reins to hold its head momentarily still, and then wrapping the cloth several times around its eyes.
He stepped back to admire his handiwork, tucking in the ragged edge of cloth.
“There, that should fix him. Now you can mount,” Maurin instructed the priest.
Athanasios climbed back into the saddle. Dyskolos stirred uncomfortably, badly wanting to be rid of his burden, but uncertain of himself in his blindness.
“You see, father,” the officer said, “without his sight, old Dysk here has lost his manhood, so to speak, although he had already lost that some years ago, ha ha ha, and so he won’t go running off to where he shouldn’t be going.”
“Well, then, how do I get him to move?” the priest asked.
Maurin handed him the switch.
“Try this, father,” he said. “A little application to the appropriate hindparts will work wonders, you’ll find.”
Sure enough, the beast was quite docile now, and moved when and where the hieromonk directed.
“It’s a miracle!” Athanasios said, “a gift from God.”
“Not really,” Maurin responded. “You just have to outthink them. You’ll find that after a few days, friend Dyskolos will have decided that you’re the master here, and then you won’t need the blind any longer.”
“May I ride with you a while, milord?” Athanasios asked.
“Certainly, father, I’d enjoy your company.” The captain nodded cheerfully.
