Now whence did the tale trundle into slumber yestereve ... ah, yes. As I recall it hath just entered the city, buffeted to and fro amidst the frothing sea of man and was seeking the hospice of Saint John in the search of the drunken beggar. Whilst sunlight brings a glimmer of warmth to the city; nighttime life, and verily warmth, bleeds from it milady until what remains are windswept, lonely streets and forgotten people clutching little comfort to themselves. From deep within this hubris of paper shelters a shaky voice directed mine steps to the very road where Saint John found his mission. To my humble remembrance the house of God was a glory of coloured glass whence His children could come to celebrate and worship and t'was with eager steps that I hurried thence. What I found was not what was sought as my eyes beheld an abomination, a sham of plaster walls and grimy windows. A red sigil perched above the entrance, bathing the door in a lurid glow. The doors to sanctuary were barred with but one entrance hidden within the dim recess of a dank alleyway. There, a single light - squeaking a worn protest against the barest breath of icy wind promised the warmth and refuge sought.

T'was there that a matron in modern raiment met me and ushered me indoors. Mere moments after my form filt their door the warmth of a blanket shrugged about my shoulders ere being led down a worn corridor to a dining hall where others, dressed and wrapped much like myself, huddled their hands about bowls of soup with a coarse bread as a robust companion. With my belly filt and warm from this fare the lady led me to a communal barracks; warm despite the chill where I was shown to a simple bed. Upon the gray covers and threadbare pillows rested a brown book, the Word of God with pages turned to thin and age worn into its spine. And within those hallowed pages I found some comfort once more as my fingers wended their way to the words of Luke. Tis most curious how the Lord speaks to one as required, for as Luke wrote,

And seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind. For all these things do the nations of the world seek after: and your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.

There remains innumerable words surrounding my rudimentary selection; but with those words cast before mine eyes, milady, I could once more see lilies upon evergreen fields and within my black heart know that God provides for one and for all. Within that simplest of moments, milady, my soul found comfort and warmth against the bleak desolation encroaching upon me from the moment I'd entered this forgotten city. Even in this shattered rainment, in a world where love and charity is nigh on abandoned, His Church hath reached out to His people and He shelters them, feeds them and will clothe them. With tears of joy brimming 'neath my eyes I drifted into a peaceful slumber; filled with a quiet optimism belied by mine first vision of this Holy Mission. For that night I was, as wert the men and women around me, sheltered with warmth and safe.

As thee can well guess, this is but the first footsteps upon a path that led me half a score of days away from this glade. This tale is long not told and thine curious impatience burns my ears even now. But fingers long accustomed to a sword hilt struggle oft time with the gentler graces of this quill. Thus, my lady, I'll remain thine in teasing torment and will bid thee adieu till the morrow.

Yet, even as I sit here with my hands atremble the calming song of thy feathered friends as dusk approaches, the babble of the brook and sublime serenity of this glade are working there magick upon me; working the knots from mine mind to soothe this wrathful wraith. For milady, that is what man is to their fellows. Wraiths, empty spirits of hollow echoes and nothing more. I ventured from this hallowed canopy of leaves, through rows upon rows of houses filled with wonders such as we can scarce imagine. My feet wandered on roads that were warm by day, sealed against the inclemental weather and safe against the very clop of hoof. I saw the horseless carriages travelling at speeds that no destrier could match with young and old sitting confident within their belly. T'was by following a shiny river of these on roads raised far above the mere soil that I came to a rise and beheld the first city. For a day and a night I watched and waited; huddled within the cold shelter of an overbridge. Milady, the sight of such a thing - a sprawling, seething mass of humanity blanketed in a foul yellow-gray fog. Their artisans are sorcerors in their own rights, lifting buildings far above mortal ken until their tops pierce the very clouds. But it belches forth a foul stench and even from this distance one can see it harbours something undeniably wrong. But where the city is a monstrosity by day - akin to some ravenous maw that devours all who eagerly strive towards it; it becomes a jewel at night shining with a glory that far outshines the stars. Myriads of lights illuminate it until it shimmers as one of the Lady Guinivere's bejewelled gowns and reflects in the waters lying at her feet. Tis beautiful to behold and yet, as darkness fell the city disgorged its load and once more every man, woman and child who had so eagerly entered felt an even more fervent desire to depart. In droves they fled from the moment when the lady revealed her beauty.

I kept a quiet vigil and savoured her moonlit evanescence until, with the coming of dawn her grace was withdrawn. For but a moment her towers gleamed with a golden light and with this glory held to my heart I ventured onto the road that led into her heart. To dwell upon the cacophany; the filth and general malaise that dwells within those bustling streets would only serve to hurt thee, milady. Gray smoke seethes from their sewers and piles of offal rots in the back streets where as often the stirs and flutters will be another human being, discarded to live amongst the rats in miserable poverty. The sight of those towers unmans one, monuments to power and glory that pushes you deeper into a small place within your heart as you realise that the faceless and eyeless masses that wander these streets worship but one god. To their eyes I was but another discarded rag, to be ignored despite my pleas for direction. And worse, to fill their sight as a scrambling beggar for whom their charity would not touch their eyes, but was left at a scattering of coins on the floor for me to pick at like a dog grateful for the leavings off his masters table. My soul burns with humiliation as I recall this, milady and even more how the sour taste of pride rose in my throat as I fell to my hands and knees and scurried to retrieve those few coins. Perchance the drunken beggar shall know of a needful soul; or mayhap at the Holy Mission t'would stretch the larder. But as hunger gnawed upon my belly and my weary feet sought this refuge I began to wonder if ever I would find it amongst this fools maze.

But find it I did, milady. Find it I did, indeed.

Tis a tale for another day though as weariness hath finally caught me and it's willful and wicked fingers are lulling me to sleep. Until the sunlit morn once more kisses me awake I will remain thine, caught within thy loving embrace

Much akin to a fleabitten cur he scratched in unseemly places and with much muttering rose to an ungainly height. Tis my thought, as I shifted for view from amongst the leafy fronds, that his head felt the pounding of liquors' hammer as he clutched his head and moaned and cussed something fierce. But as with such pangs it passed and he steadied himself. Twould seem that he carried some manner of pack about his person, or mayhap many, as from one he pulled a most tarnished bowl which he filled from the pond and thirstily drank down; as if to quench a terrible drought within. The glimmering waters filt him with vigour for after a second bowl he stripped down and armed with a cake of softly fragrant soap sat down squarely within the pond. With barely restrained indignation I was forced to watch him dirty the water, humming a bawdy tune in a rough voice as he scrubbed layers of grime from his person and from his clothes. Once he had finished his ablutions and his clothes adorned the branches surrounding the glade akin to an audience of tattered scarecrows; he pulled one pack to himself and from within retrieved a few curious objects. Milady, with a speed which would have shamed Merlin he had gathered a handful of dry twigs and built a small, well sheltered fire. Abubble on top was a most curious pot - magically filled with beans that soon sent a most delectable scent wafting amongst the trees. Thus, huddled in sticklike nudity over a the ruddy warmth he consumed the beans and scraped the pot clean before returning it to his pack. With his hunger sated he sat back and fell into another comfortable slumber, perchance to dispell the remaining vestiges of his nightly embrace of the bottle.

Still, I hid myself in the thicket and watched, waited, till he awoke. The sun had risen to noon and sunlight was now falling through a darker circle of clouds to fill the glade with a light that glimmered across the water and on the leaves like fairies wings. And as the sunlight played upon his face and brought a warmth to his awakening he was once more caught within a light. A vision that seemed to transcend the mortal thew of flesh and bone and glorified him with a halo of irridiscent glory that seemed a portent - a voice from the heavens. Milady, as this thought revealed itself I nearly missed his departure. He had wrapped himself oncemore in the humble rags of his station and buried the coals. T'was then I caught a glimpse of the bottle and my heart wept for him; for even in this most blessed of places the world's pain so filled his heart he sought this foul reprieve. T'was with tears in my eyes I watched him wander from the glade. Once more, bent and as ragged as he had entered but perchance with a smattering of regathered fortitude. Thusly I pray at least.

But thus the adventure does not end, milady. Once he hath passed from eye, if not mind, I scrambled down into the glade. And lo, the waters of the pool was once more crystal clear. And there beside it, half hidden by the leaves and branches where it fell, was the pack. T'was made of a curious fabric in faded blue, tough as leather but supple and where the edges had scuffed through one could see the very fibres. Inside he had left his pot, a small receptacle that bore an artful image of saucy beans all round its side. The others inhabitants of the pack are no less. Some are beyond my comprehension, objects that are foreign beyond my comprehension and would surely be as wonderful as the treasures of Araby. One pocket held pages of torn parchment, thin as if scraped with a knife, and each piece is covered on each side in tales of the world. Milady, stories of Jerusalem and wars beyond our comprehension. Tales of a myriad of Kings and Queens, nobles. Milady, as a chicken scratching for a grub will ne'er peck a ruby, so I am a fowl scratching the dirt sheltering this precious knowledge. Whilst I've read every word I fear it is beyond my ken, tis simply too complicated for me to understand without a broader understanding of their world. As Solomon wrote in Proverbs,

A man's steps are directed by the Lord. How then can anyone understand his own way?

Thus I think the Lord hath guided me to the path He wishes me to tread and thus I must walk this way in faith for I comprehend it not. Verily, this resolution frightens me milady. It truely frightens me to the blackest bottoms of my soul. But amongst his few posessions there are dirty and tattered clothing, sufficient in size and shape to cover my lanky frame and a single letter, penned on a dirty and much folded parchment. What is writ there, milady is this - "St. John's Holy Mission - Hot meals and Shelter - Free to those in need. 8th Street and " the rest rendered illegible. T'would seem that the beggar was a herald sent to provide the means if not the very reason; or so I hath reasoned after a night in contemplation. For if he can face this world then so should I and thus I have gathered my quills and inks and what few posessions would be fit for this strange time and with this unfragrant gift am about to leave the shelter of this comfortable glade. Mine arms and armour hath been carefully hidden and as I am writing this letter in the early morning sunlight my heart is filled with a curious buyoancy, a happiness that heralds a change of direction with a renewed sense of purpose.

I wilt be far from our tree's bole and thus my humble letters to thee might be perforce delayed in their delivery; but be assured my feet will find their way to this glade anon and thy magick can once more bring my words to thee. Milady, my love, I cannot tell thee how much my heart longs for thee. Just the blessed assurance of thy tone or the soft fragrance of thy presence would surely strengthen me beyond measure; even as the memory can now succour me. My heart will always belong to thee and I, in hopeful trepidation, will remain thine.

There was the faintest glimmer of peace as he slept; as if all worldy cares had been brushed from his brow and whilst he was swaddled in this infantile innocence 'twas akin to standing guard over another bonnie, blue eyed boy. And whilst my younger brother's golden curls could ne'er be mistaken for this lanky, unwashed tangle of dark hair the words Asaph penned in the eighty second Psalm came once more to me:

"Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked. They know not, neither will they understand; they walk on in darkness".

Mayhap, the Lord will do likewise to this undeserving servant. Or, perchance, He has. For in that moment Milady the wretch was transformed unto my mind - halting me in mid tilt. For when the High King touched his sword to my shoulder I became a defender of men such as this - the foul turned fair. Perhaps this has been a sign from God to remind me of where my duty lies. Thus I've stood a quiet vigil over him; to protect the innocent and the weak as my King hath commanded and as I am oathbound to do. But Milady now I am a-brim with concern for this poor soul. His sleep is scarred by nightmares; the taint of daemons haunt his nights as he whimpers the darkness away. It defies comprehension that our world could have fallen this far so as to wrack ones sleep so. My prayers and comforting touch have done aught to assuage this tormented slumber and ... ah. Milady, he stirs awake thus I must hurriedly doff this quill to tend his needs.

Until my words can grace these pages again I remain, as always, your unworthy servant.

Thus is is that I find myself perched on the stone looking down upon this odious figure with no whit as to what to do. He seems content to sleep and methinks he would need some time to restore himself to consciousness. But then? My thoughts are that I must bend myself to the unpleasant task of carrying him far beyond the glade; but I suspect he was drawn to it's warmth and I am loathe to leave a fellow man asleep in the cold woods. And perhaps with a selfish interest at heart I long to hear a voice other than my own adressed towards me. He has the look of a stick figure of angles and bitterly thin limbs like a tree that has shed it's summer rainment. My thought is that he poses little threat so - for now - I will be content to simply watch him sleep and perchance, when he awakens, reason with his fuddled mind. In the meantime I will bend my mind and prayers to this task as I'm sure the Lord will show me the correct path.

Now, as always, your thoughtful servant

The Lord has answered my prayers as my courage has returned and with it my feet have found their way past the shelter of thy glade. Since the quarter moon of midsummer night I have wandered, lurking at the fringes of their society like a leprous begger for fear that my speech and countenance would cause fright to them. But the people are so engrossed in their own affairs that a man out of time such as myself could wander verily unnoticed in their midst. They scurry about like so many ants, forever in pursuit of some nameless goal. This is oft curious to behold but twinged with sadness as you watch them dance around one another without even the basest touch of compassion or humanity in their eyes. Yet their speech is much as I remembered but wrought with haste and bereft of courtesy. From what little I have learned it would seem that Christendom wars yet on the infidel and their numbers - milady - they are a veritable tide of humanity breaking upon the world's shores. T'would seem that the war will continue till the ends of time.

My days are spent learning, milady. Knowledge is easily come by but I fear comprehension is another matter entirely. Their peasantry is literate and can read and write in ways that would engender envy in the humblest scribe. But the written word is not their only marvel - they have curious boxes, windows into another place and time, and from these one can glean fragments of the world as it is now - oh, there is so much to pen that I fear my fingers will be worn to stubs 'fore I've touched upon a tenth of what is now the world. It is a marvel that would've astounded even Merlin as within their depths people move and speak and seem to live normal lives - players upon the stage.

This very night I'd been peering through a window into a domicile. It evoked memories of Sir Thomas, the young nobleman of Gaul whose paramour felt the touch of his eyes most intimitately. And much like Sir Thomas my own curiosity was ended abruptly by the master's dogs. Though this mutt was but the size of a mouse, fear of discovery bade me bid a hasty retreat. Even now the image of your brave knight, clanking away into the dark night from a mere pup brings tears of mirth to my eyes as I am sure they would to thine.

Ah my lady, tis as if everything reminds me of you and even now those selfsame tears well with sorrow. It has been too many years since I've felt thy presence and my heart yearns for a time when we will, once more, be reunited. Before sorrow swamps me, I will beg thy forgiveness and leave thee with my love - now, as always, your humble servant.

I fear for what has become of the world and pray to the Lord for the courage needed to face it. As always, your faithful servant