posted on Aug, 26 2004 @ 12:37 AM
The thread is at a strange place, with me pointing a benign but nonetheless accusing finger at dear Friend Paul and TSOL, and my feeling pretty crappy
overall for maybe leading ARP down the primrose path. Sigh.
All this drama notwithstanding, I feel it strangely apropos to tell the tale of what I assume to be an imaginary character named “Lukas of Andromea”.
I am not sure if the name is right, or if this is a truly a past memory of mine, so, as ever, caveat reador.
I have mentioned that I have issues with the word “master”. I postulated that perhaps I had lived a life as a slave in the American South during the
time of slavery, but no, I have no such memories.
Rather, as I drove though high winds today, heading into and out of town, and contending with the major rerouted traffic from a major wildfire, the
tale of “Lukas of Andromea” built up in my mind. I think it is all fantasy, but wish to share it anyway.
Lukas grew to young adulthood in the village of Andromea in ancient Greece. They didn’t call it “Greece”, all I get is “Andromea” (no, not
“Andromeda”). Like many young bucks his age, his passion was warfare and battle.
Over time, he became a great warrior and leader of men. He wielded spear and sword of bronze and brass. “The spear is for piercing, the sword for
chopping.” I have images of his men hammering their swords back to sharpness between battles, with the aid of young helpers and smiths of great
Lukas was a captain of men, and fearless in battle. I think he was a captain of Alexander’s men, but I do not know. His company, which varied in
number from 30 to 100, was known as the “Lions”, for they were fearless in battle. Many good men had died under Lukas’ command, but those who survived
loved him, for he was shrewd and cunning in the ways of warfare.
One fine, sunny day, in a land far, far from home, Lukas and his men, numbering nearly a hundred at the time, pursued a band of marauders who had
harried the royal camp. They chased the enemy for two days, stopping only briefly in the night to rest. Finally, they caught them, but it was a
The Lions were greatly outnumbered by the barbaric enemies, strange dark-skinned men who tanned their leather with the hair remaining on the hide.
They carried spiked shields and weapons of wood, and had a foul and pungent odor.
The Lions fought bravely, indeed, it was a battle fit for song, but no song was sung, for the Lions were defeated utterly. They were slaughtered to
the last man and boy, for even the squires were slaughtered. But Lukas they took alive, at the orders of their captain.
He saw all his brave men cut down, chopped and beaten before him. Brave men, valiant sergeants and veterans of many battles, men of strong arms and
keen eyes, men he loved. They slaughtered them all. Even the young helpers, they killed them all. All his beautiful men, he saw them killed because of
his pride, thinking them unbeatable.
I cannot recount the agony of Lukas on seeing his men laid low. There is much sorrow in the memory, seeing them lying cut, beaten and bloodied in a
dry wash in bare mountains. The red of blood and flies upon them.
To be left alive broke Lukas, and left him unfit to fight to the death.
They led him away, bound at the hands, a rope around his neck, Lukas the Fearless, led away like a goat.
A valiant and brave leader of men, his enemy saw fit to make him a slave. And so it was that Lukas the Fearless served a mongrel man as his slave for
three years before falling again into shame.
For Lukas was beheaded by his master, for consorting with one of the master’s wives. In the end, the master took pity upon him, who had otherwise
served him in honor, the fallen captain, and granted him a quick death.
But Lukas died on his knees, begging for his life in the end. He died in utter shame, he who had been a great captain of men, died as a slave in
shame, with no monument to mark his grave.
I do not know if this man’s memories are within me, but, real or fictitious, I think he has much to teach.