Onward and onward, faster and faster forward, he and Devoir urgently gallop along the country lane to the quiet town of Crécy. Cresting a hill on the outskirts, he brings his horse to a stop and sees the noble armies below arrayed for battle in the late afternoon sun. The swirling wind picks up the sounds of men calling out encouragements as they march forward or defend their positions. The battle is only now being joined; he is not too late.
He knows in his transformed heart that many friends will die this day. No, he corrects himself. There are no friends anymore, nor enemies. There are only God’s children down in the valley below, squabbling over lands and titles and other forms of mortal honor and glory. However, all of His children are worthy of forgiveness, of mercy, and of love. And that is why he is here today, to bring the fallen home.
Amid the wind-borne sounds of violence and alarm that are rising from the battle below comes another sound altogether, from another wind, from another town. Turning towards the south he hears a familiar prayer from his lover’s mourning voice, from a small church, in a small barony far away.
“… lacrimosa dies illa,
qua resurget ex favilla
judicandus homo reus —
Huic ergo parce, Deus.
Pie Jesu Domine,
dona eis requiem.”
… that tearful day,
when from the ashes shall rise again
sinful man to be judged.
Therefore pardon him, o God.
Merciful Lord Jesus,
give them rest.
“Amen.”