Before Winter: Chapter 23

Twenty-Three: On the Road Again

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the third day of the ninth month.

My arm, of course, is still bound up, so Timothy continues to write at my dictation. We are hoping to cover the distance to Philippi in about two weeks, pushing ourselves as much as we can. Already, we risk arriving too late to find a ship willing to take us to Rome. Besides, we will have to get some provisions, and a water flask, but the only valuable we have to trade with is my silver signet ring, which I doubt will be worth enough to provide us with food for the whole journey.

Timothy looked up, the pen hovering motionless in his hand. “What is wrong, Mark?”

Surprised, Mark broke off his dictation. “What do you mean?”

“Well, why are you wasting ink and filling up what little parchment we have with these worries? I thought you were the cheerful, confident one.”

“I think I had forgotten that you were recording my words.” Mark sighed. “I was just thinking aloud. My arm is aching, my inability to use it is frustrating, and I am bone-tired from walking all day. I cannot always be carefree.”

Since they had not reached the nearest town before dark, they were camped in the open. Timothy was sitting cross-legged by the fire, with the sheet of parchment on his knee tilted toward the light, and Mark was lying flat on his back, with his head propped up on a log.

“It is true, there are many obstacles in our path.” Timothy frowned into the leaping flames of the fire. “But we have also seen great blessings in the last days.”

Mark smiled and turned his head toward Timothy. “You are right. Let us try again!”

Another day of traveling is completed, and we have made good progress. God has kept us safe on the road, and I pray that he will guard us through the rest of our journey, that we may reach Philippi in good time.

“Better?” He asked Timothy, as the scratching of pen against parchment ceased.

With a nod, Timothy sprinkled some sand over the page to absorb the excess ink, then shook it off onto the ground. Refolding the parchment, he placed it in his belt, and stretched himself out to sleep.

“Good night, Mark.”

“Good night.”

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the seventh day of the ninth month.

By the grace of God, we are halfway to Philippi! My arm seems to be healing nicely, and does not give me much pain, so we have been able to travel faster than expected. I am anxious to finish this stage of our journey and get on board a ship again as soon as possible.

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the ninth day of the ninth month.

Another day of walking is past, and we have found a place to stay for the night. We are in a small town, but it was an excellent opportunity to replenish our supplies, and since it is the Sabbath, we visited a synagogue. There we met a God-fearing Gentile, with whom we shared the gospel. He invited us to spend the night in his home, that we might discuss these matters in greater depth. Unfortunately, as we were leaving the synagogue, I tripped on the steps, and fell to the ground, landing on my broken arm. Timothy is very concerned about this, and in truth it is quite painful, but I hope that after a good night’s rest it will be better, and we can continue on our way.

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the eleventh day of the ninth month.

I, Timothy, continue this account, though Mark is no longer dictating to me, for reasons which I shall relate.

Yesterday, Mark’s arm seemed much improved, despite his fall, so we set out to walk to the next town. As the day progressed, however, the arm got worse, and he was running a fever in a great deal of pain last night. This morning he insisted that we press on, but the miles have been slow and painful. He is scarcely conscious of his surroundings, and often mutters meaningless words to himself as he stumbles along beside me. We are still at least three days’ journey from Philippi, but I am not sure if he will make it that far.

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the twelfth day of the ninth month.

Mark collapsed when he tried to get up this morning. He is flushed with a dangerous fever, and barely able to eat any food. I decided to rest for a day, and see if he improved, but by late afternoon it was clear he could travel no further on foot. I fashioned a stretcher from a few tree-limbs and our one blanket, and dragged him along until we came to the hut of a shepherd. In charity, he agreed that Mark could stay there for a few days while I continue on to Philippi and return with help. When I unwound the strips of cloth from his arm to re-bandage them with clean material, I saw a great deal of discolouration, and the cloths were stained with a clear fluid.

I blame myself for pushing him too hard, in my selfish desire to find Alexander. If I had been content to rest for a few more days, he would not have been so tired that he lost his balance. Now our journey is delayed further, thanks to my actions. If this infection spreads, I do not see how I can bring back help in time. It is in the hands of the Lord.