Andreas

We have heard of heroes in ages past, of twelve true thanes under the turning stars, the Lord’s own champions. Their glory lived on in the grim struggle where standards clashed. Their lots were laid out as the Lord Himself, Heaven’s High King, handed them their fates. Famed were those men across the fields of earth, bold-hearted leaders, keen in the battle-press, where hand guarded helmet on the field of doom, and the broad shield was broken in the bitter fray.

One of them was Matthew, who first with might preached the pure gospel, proclaiming God’s law. Fate had assigned him that far-off country, the grim land of Mermedonia, a place of dread, where no guest could journey for gold or for love, nor find any welcome in that hateful nation. That whole land was stained, its cities of men soaked with the slaughter of strangers who came there. It was the custom of that cursed tribe that any foreigner who fared to their shores they fed upon for food, a foul, grim feast.

Such was their law, a loathsome habit, to give to all guests who came to that ground a bitter drink that bewildered the mind, stole a man’s senses, his soul’s true thought. Soon after they drank that deadly draught, the fiends would feed on the fated man’s flesh.

So Matthew the mighty, that man of God, came to that city. The crowds soon gathered, the wicked war-smiths, and with wrathful hands they seized the holy man, set him in chains, and blinded the blessed one, the book-learned teacher. Yet his heart held firm, his holy thoughts were bound to his Maker, though misery bit him. He praised the Glory-King in his grim prison, the Lord of Life, with loyal words.

Then the man-eaters measured out his fate: after thirty days, their death-doomed captive would be led from his cell, and the life torn from him, his bone-house broken for their bloody feast. The days were dwindling. The doughty hero, the Lord’s true thane, was trapped in darkness, his heart heavy. He called to Heaven’s-Guardian, cried from his chains with a clear voice, spoke these words to the Wielder of All:

“My Lord and my Light, I look now to You. Forsake me not, Father, in this foul nation, Giver of Glory, for I know Your goodness. Send me Your solace, Savior of souls, Your bright-shining angel, to bring me comfort, lest these blood-thirsty beasts, blinded by sin, should think that I stand here, stripped of all strength, abandoned by my Lord. I will abide in Your love, and bear with patience what pains they bring me.”

After this prayer, a pure voice answered, a holy sound from the heavens above. The word of the Glory-King woke the darkness: “Hold fast, my Matthew! Do not lose heart. I shall not leave you lost in this torment, nor forsake My own. I shall free you from bondage, and all of the host that holds you captive. I will send Andrew to save you from sorrow; he will release you from this raw hatred. Your time of trial is turning to its end; twenty nights remain, then torment is over. Your body will break from this bitter prison.”

With that, the High King, the Holy Spirit, departed to heaven, his home of glory. The hero held hope, his heart was renewed, and he thanked his Maker for that mighty promise.

Then the Lord of Hosts spoke his holy word, commanding Andrew with a clear voice, as he stood by the shore of the surging whale-road: “You must go now, and chart a journey, fare over the flood-path to a far country, the land of the man-eaters, Mermedonia. There your own brother, through the enemy’s malice, is held hard in chains. You must hasten to help him, to free your kinsman from that cruel nation before the day comes when the death-squads gather and his body is broken for their bloody banquet.”

Quickly then Andrew answered his King: “How can I, my Lord, on this long journey, fare so fast, Father, across the far waters? I am not wise in the ways of the world, nor do I know the paths of men, the highways on land or the harbor-mouths. This quest You command, O King of Angels, is not for a man, however mighty. An angel could find it, faring from heaven, he knows the currents and the cold ocean-streams, the salt-water roads and the sweep of the land. But I am flesh, Lord, and frail is my knowledge of how to journey on the gannet’s-bath. This is a strange coast, a country unknown.”

The Eternal Lord answered him in turn: “Ah, my good Andrew, why are you so slow, your faith so feeble, your feet so unwilling? The path is not hard for a hero who serves me. Go now to the shore where the great waves thunder, the edge of the ocean-stream. There you will find a ship on the shingle, a sea-worthy vessel. It will bear you bravely on the bath of the whale to that grim ground, where glory awaits you.”

Then Andrew departed, as his Lord directed, the bold-hearted hero, to the breaking surf, God’s good thane walking by the wide water’s edge. The waves were churning, the winter storms rising, the ocean-currents crashing together. He saw on the sand, at the sea’s margin, a high-prowed ship. And in that vessel sat three strong sailors, thanes of the sea, throned on the benches. They were the Lord Himself, the Almighty King, with his angels two, disguised in the likeness of lonely shipmen. Their gear was gleaming, like gods they seemed.

Andrew the holy hailed them from shore, and spoke these words from the water’s edge: “From where have you come in your keel so swift, you warriors weary from the wave-path’s toil, sailing your sea-wood on the seal’s-domain?”

The Helmsman hailed them, the holy man, and from the sea-bank spoke these words: “Whence have you come in your swift-sailing keel, you men of might on the moving sea, in your lone wave-rider? From what far shore has the ocean-stream over the waves’ roll brought you?”

The Almighty God answered him then, though the one who awaited the word did not know what manner of man he was, of all who hold speech, that he parleyed with there on the shingle-strand: “We are from the marches of Mermedonia, ferried from afar. The flood has borne us on the whale-road in our high-prowed ship, our swift sea-steed, speedily sailing, until we sought out this people’s shore, driven by the wind, wrecked by the weather.”

Then Andreas humbly answered him thus: “I wish to ask you, though I have few rings, or treasure-trove, to truly give you, that you would bring us in your broad-beamed keel, your high-horned ship, over the whale’s home-sea to that same country. Your reward from God will be great indeed, if you guide us kindly.”

Again the Prince of all nobles answered, the Shaper of angels, from the ship’s high side: “No far-wanderer may find a welcome there, nor may any stranger enjoy that land, for in that city, they suffer slaughter, all those who from afar ferry their lives there. And yet you wish now, over the wide water, to spill your own soul in that fated place.”

To him then Andreas gave this answer: “A great lust drives us to that land-border, a mighty hope of the heart, to that famous city, dearest of chieftains, if you will show us your mercy now on this sea-journey.”

The Lord of angels answered him then, Savior of men, from the ship’s stern-post: “We will willingly, with warm hearts, ferry you freely across the fish’s-bath, even to that land that your lust now urges you to seek and to find, once you have settled your fare with us, the fee that is written, as we, the ship-wards, the heralds of the waves, are willing to grant you.” Then quickly Andreas, friendless and wanting, made his reply: “I have no hammered gold, no hoarded wealth, no riches or rations, no rings of wire, no land nor locked arm-bands, that I might awaken your desire for them, your worldly will, as you have declared in your words to me.”

Then the Prince of men, where he sat on the planking, over the shingle-drift, spoke in return: “How did it happen, my dearest friend, that you wished to seek the sea-cliffs, the meeting of ocean-streams, bereft of all treasure, to board a boat by the cold bluffs? You have no comfort for the current’s path, no bread for sustenance, no bright, clear drink to cheer your spirits. The path of pain is strong for one who travels the long sea-lanes.”

Then Andreas, through his answer, wise in his wits, unlocked his word-hoard: “It does not befit you, since the Lord has given you wealth and provisions and worldly success, that you should answer with such arrogance, seeking to scorn me. It is better for all that a man with meekness should meet another who fares from afar, as Christ Himself, the glorious King, gave His command. We are his thanes, chosen as champions. He is the rightful King, Wielder and Worker of wondrous glory, the one eternal God of all creation. He encompasses all by His craft alone, heaven and earth, with holy might, best of all victories. He Himself said it, Father of all folk, and bade us to fare across the wide ground to gather in souls: ‘Go now across all the earth’s corners, even as wide as the water washes, or where the ways lie on the land-plains. Preach in the cities the bright belief over the breast of the world. I will hold you in my peace. You need not carry treasures on that journey, gold nor silver. I will grant you every good thing according to your own desire.’ Now you yourself may hear our quest, you who are wise in thought. I must know quickly what boon you are willing to grant to us.”

The eternal Lord answered him then: “If you are thanes of the one who holds glory over middle-earth, as you say to me, and you have held to what the Holy One bade, then I will gladly ferry you now over the brine-streams, as you have beseeched.” Then they climbed in the keel, courageous-hearted, the bold men of spirit; each one's mood on the sea-journey was suddenly gladdened.

Then over the waves’ swing, Andrew began to ask for mercy for the mariners, from the Wielder of Glory, and spoke these words: “May the Lord grant you glorious honor, your will in the world and wealth in His wonder, the Maker of mankind, for you have shown me friendship and favor on this far journey!” The holy man sat himself near the Helmsman, noble by noble. Never have I heard of a comelier keel, so richly laden with high-born treasures. Heroes sat within, glorious chieftains, thanes of great beauty.

Then the mighty King, the eternal Almighty, spoke, and bade his angel to go, his famous thane, and give them food, to comfort the friendless on the flood’s wild surge, that they might the more easily over the waves’ press endure their ordeal. Then the deep was disturbed, the whale-mere was stirred. The horn-fish played, gliding through the spear-sea, and the grey gull, slaughter-greedy, circled. The sky-candle darkened, winds waxed wild, waves ground together, streams were stirred up, the stays sang out, the sails were soaked. The sea-dread stood in threatening throngs. The thanes became fearful in spirit. Not one of them thought that he would reach land with his life remaining, of those who with Andrew on the ocean-stream had sought out that ship. It was not known to them yet who guided the vessel on its watery way.

Then the holy man on the heaving path, over the churning sea, Andrew still, a thane true to his Lord, gave his thanks to the mighty captain, when he had been fed: “May the true God for this goodly meal, the bright Fount of life, grant you reward, the Wielder of hosts, and give you sustenance, heavenly bread, as you have shown me kindness and comfort on this cold sea-stream! Now they are threatened, these thanes of mine, my young war-men. The great sea thunders, the ocean is pouring. The ground is stirred, the depths are disturbed, my troop is distressed, the might of these brave men is much afflicted.”

From the helm the Shaper of heroes answered him: “Let our vessel now ferry you forth, the ship to the shore over the sea-fastness, and let your warriors wait there then, your men on the land, until you return.” At once the heroes gave him their answer, the stout-hearted thanes; they would not suffer it, that they should forsake at the ship’s high prow their beloved teacher and choose the land: “Where would we wander, lordless and lost, grieving in spirit, bereft of all good, wounded with sin, if we should forsake you? We would be loathed in every land, scorned by all peoples, when the sons of men, the bold in spirit, sit and consider which of them best, in the bitter struggle, served his own lord, when hand and shield on the battle-plain were broken by blades, and endured hardship in the hate-driven fray.”

Then the mighty King, the covenant-keeper, spoke, and raised his voice for a time: “If you are a thane of the Throne-sitter, the King of Glory, as you claim in your speech, recount the mysteries, how He, the Redeemer, taught those who speak under the sky. This is a long journey on the fallow flood; comfort your comrades, calm their hearts. The path is still great over the grey sea-stream, the land is far off that we fare to find. The sea is stirred up, the sand with the ground. God can easily grant His aid to those who travel the war-path of waves.”

Then wisely he started to strengthen his followers, his glory-blessed men, with these good words: “You knew in your hearts when you climbed on the sea, that you brought your lives to a hostile folk, and for the Lord’s love would suffer death, give up your souls in a strange kingdom. I myself know this, that the Shaper of angels, the Lord of hosts, will shield us from harm. The water-terror shall, subdued and threatened by the glorious King, and the grim, playing waves, become more gentle. So it once happened that we on a sea-boat, over the shore’s strife, tested the waters, riding the waves. Fearsome they seemed, the awful old tides. The ocean-streams beat on the board-prows, the surf often answered one wave with another. At times there arose from the breast of the brine into the boat’s embrace a terror over the waves. The Almighty was there, the Maker of mankind, on the moving sea, watching in brightness. The men became fearful, their hearts filled with fright, they yearned for peace, for the Prince’s mercy. Then the company began to cry out in the keel; the King rose at once, Giver of grace to angels, and stilled the waves, the water’s welling. He rebuked the winds, the sea settled, the meeting of currents grew mild and calm. Then our spirits laughed, when we saw under the sky’s sweep the winds and the waves and the water-terrors become afraid before the Lord’s awe. And so I tell you in truth, that the living God never forsakes a man on this earth, if his inner might holds.”

So spoke the holy champion, thoughtful in his ways. The blessed warrior taught his thanes, he heartened the heroes, until suddenly sleep overcame them, weary by the mast. The mere grew quiet, the waves’ beginning turned back again, the rough sea-torment. Then the holy one’s spirit, after that grim hour, was greatly gladdened. He began to speak then, shrewd in his counsel, wise in his wits, he unlocked his word-hoard: “Never have I met a better seaman, more skilled in his craft, so it seems to me, a stronger rower, a shrewder guide, wiser in his words. I wish to ask you, uncorrupted hero, for one more boon, though I have few rings, or rich treasures, or hammered gold to hand you now. I would win your friendship, glorious chieftain, your good will, if I could but gain it. For this you will reap a reward, a holy hope in heaven’s high glory, if you will grant your grace and your lore to us, the sea-weary. I wish to seek from you, battle-brave hero, one certain skill: that you would teach me, since the true King and Shaper of men gave you such strength, how you hold the wave-floater steady, the sea-stallion, and steer it on the sound. I have been, in my time, now and before, sixteen times on a sea-boat, my hands frozen while stirring the mere, the ocean-streams—this is one time more— yet I have never seen any man, any son of heroes, who is like to you, steering at the stern. The stream’s-welling stills, the surf beats the shore. This boat is so swift, it fares, foam-necked, most like a fowl, gliding on the ocean. I know for a fact that I have never seen on the wave-path in any seafarer such a strange skill. It is most like as if it stood still on the shore of the land, where no storm can stir it, no wind can awaken it, no water-floods break its broad prow, yet on the brine it speeds, swift under sail. You yourself are young, shelter of warriors, not old in winters, yet you have in your heart, you wave-rider, the answer of a hero. You know for every word in the world its wise understanding.”

The eternal Lord answered him then: “It often happens that we on the sea-path, with our men in our ships, when the squall comes, break over the bath-way on our brine-stallions. Sometimes on the waves it goes hard for us, on the sea it is grim, though we survive the journey, the fearsome faring. The flood-welling cannot hinder any man against the Maker’s will; He holds the power of life, He who binds the seas, the brown waves, who tames and threatens them. He shall rule the nations with righteousness, He who raised the heavens and fastened them firm with His own hands, who worked and wrought them, and filled the glorious, bright-shining home, so the angels’ homeland was blessed and made fair through His might alone. Therefore it is seen, the truth is revealed, known and acknowledged, that you are a worthy thane of the King, the Throne-sitter, for the sea-deeps knew at once, the sweep of the great sea, that you had the gift of the Holy Spirit. The tide turned back, the churning of waves. The terror was stilled, the wide-stretching water. The waves grew calm once they perceived that God had protected you with His covenant, He who established the glory of life with His strong might.”

Then the brave-hearted champion spoke with a holy voice, honoring the King, the Wielder of Glory, and spoke these words: “Be ever blessed, Prince of mankind, Lord and Savior! Your glory lives forever! Both near and far your name is holy, adorned with wonder over all the nations, made famous by mercy. There is no man under the heaven’s-arch, of all the kindreds of men, who can recount or reckon the number of how gloriously, Ruler of peoples, Giver of grace to souls, you share out your gifts. Truly it is seen, Savior of souls, that you have been gracious to this young man, and honored him, young, with your good gifts, wise in his wits and in his word-craft. Among those of his age I have never met in any mind-hoard a greater wisdom.”

From the keel the King of all glory answered him, the Beginning and End asked him boldly: “Tell me, wise-minded thane, if you can, how it came to pass between two peoples, that the lawless ones, with evil intent, the kindred of Jews, against God’s own Child raised up their malice. The wretched men did not believe in their Life-Giver, the grim and gallows-minded, that He was God, though He showed many wonders to the multitudes, clear and visible. The sinful could not recognize the Royal Child, who was born as a shield and solace for the sons of men, for all earth-dwellers. In the Prince grew word and wisdom, yet of those wonders, the Lord of glory never revealed a single part before that corrupt people.”

Then Andreas gave him this answer: “How could it happen in any nation, that you have not heard of the Savior’s might, dearest of men, how He showed His grace wide through the world, the Wielder’s own Son? He gave speech to the dumb, the deaf heard Him, the lame and the leper rejoiced in their hearts, those who were long limb-sick, weary, unwell, bound up in torments, the blind in the cities were brought to see. So on the ground-way of the race of men He, in many and various ways, awoke men from death with a word. Likewise He also, the King-brave, revealed many wonders through His mighty craft. He hallowed for the host of men wine from water, and willed it to change, for the joy of the people, to the better kind. Likewise He fed, from two small fishes and from five loaves, of the folk of men five thousand souls. The foot-soldiers sat, weary-minded, they welcomed their rest, tired after wandering, they took their food, men on the mold, as was most pleasing to them. Now you can hear, my dearest young man, how the Guardian of glory, in word and in deed, loved us in this life, and through His lore drew us to that fair joy, where the free may, blessed with the angels, abide in that land, all those who after death seek out the Lord.”

Then again the Guardian of the way unlocked his word-hoard, the hero over the hull-planks spoke out boldly: “Can you tell me, so that I may know the truth, whether your Wielder, those wonders on earth that He performed, and not a few times, for the comfort of the folk, revealed them openly, where the bishops and book-men and elders held their high council, the speakers in assembly? It seems to me that out of envy they wove their malice through deep delusion. To the Devil’s lore the death-doomed men listened too keenly, to the wrathful liar. Fate betrayed them, beguiled and misled them. Now they must ever, the weary with the wicked, suffer their vengeance, a bitter burning in the slayer’s embrace.”

Then Andreas gave him this answer: “I tell you truly that He very often performed before the people’s princes wonder after wonder in the sight of men, and also in secret the Lord of mankind worked His folk-counsel, as He planned for their peace.” The Prince of all nobles answered him then: “Can you, wise hero, tell me in words, spirit-strong man, the might that He showed, the dear-hearted Lord, in secret, when you often with the Lord, the Ruler of skies, sat in council?” Then Andreas gave him this answer: “Why do you ask me, my dearest lord, with wondrous words, when you yourself know every event through the craft of your wisdom, and see the truth?”

Still the Guardian of the way spoke against him: “I do not ask you for blame or for scorn, nor through sharp speech on this whale-road, but my heart rejoices, it flourishes with joy through your fine speech, noble and eternal. I am not the only one, but for every man his mood is lifted, his spirit is comforted, for him who, far or near, remembers in his mind how the Son performed His works, God’s Child on the ground. The souls departed, seeking their journey, the joys of the heavens, the home of the angels, through that noble might.”

At once Andreas gave him this answer: “Now in you yourself I know the truth, the wit of wisdom, a wondrous craft, a gift of victory given you; your breast within blossoms with wisdom, with brighter bliss. Now to you myself I will tell the tale, the start and the end, as I of that Prince’s word and wisdom in the gathering of men from His own mouth always have heard it. Often they assembled, the wide-ranging hosts, a measureless folk, for the Lord’s judgment, where they hearkened to the Holy One’s lore. Then again departed the Prince of all nobles, the bright Giver of grace, into another dwelling, where towards Him, praising God, to that meeting-place many men came, wise hall-counselors. They always rejoiced, the light-hearted men, at the city-warden’s coming.

So it happened once that the Victory-Judge fared forth, the mighty Lord. There was no more folk on that journey, of His own people, than eleven champions, counted as glorious. He Himself was the twelfth. Then we came to the royal seat, where there was timbered the temple of the Lord, high and horn-gabled, famed among men, adorned with glory. With scornful words, a high priest began, through hateful thought, to hiss his malice, he unlocked his heart-hoard, he wove his wickedness. He knew in his wits that we followed the tracks of the Righteous One, obeyed His lore. He at once raised his voice, the stubborn-souled, blended with bitterness: ‘Behold, you are wretched above all men! You walk wide paths, you fare on many a hard journey, you follow the teachings of a foreigner now, without our people’s law, you proclaim a prince bereft of blessing, you say in truth that with the Son of the Maker you dwell day by day. It is known to our nobles from whence that founder’s family sprang. He was fostered among this folk-share, a child born young among his own kinsmen. Thus are they named, who sit in their homes, his father and mother, as we have heard tell in our mind’s memory, Mary and Joseph. And there are with him in his family two others, men born as brothers, in bonds of kinship, the sons of Joseph, Simon and Jacob.’

So spoke the leaders of the people, the nobles eager for fame; they thought to hide the Maker’s might. But malice returned, endless evil, to where it first rose. Then the King departed, with His troop of thanes, from that meeting-place, mighty in power, the Lord of hosts, to seek a secret land. He, through many wonders in that wilderness, showed by His craft that He was the rightful King over middle-earth, mighty in power, Wielder and Worker of wondrous glory, the one eternal God of all creation. Likewise He revealed a countless number of other wonder-works in the sight of men.

Then He went again, a second time, with a great company, and stood in the temple, the Lord of glory. A clamor of voices rose throughout the high hall. The sinful did not swallow the Holy One’s lore, though He showed so many true signs, where they could see them. Likewise He, the Lord of victories, saw wondrously graven, the likenesses of His own angels, on the wall of the hall, on two sides, brightly adorned, beautifully wrought. He spoke this word: ‘This is the likeness of the angel-kindred, the most renowned, that is with the city-dwellers in this great fortress. Cherubim and Seraphim they are named in the joys of heaven. Before the face of the eternal Lord they stand, steadfast, they praise with their voices, with holy hymns, the heaven-king’s glory, the Maker’s protection. Here is marked out the form of the holy, through the might of a hand written on the wall, the thanes of glory.’

Then again spoke the Lord of hosts, the heaven-holy Spirit, before the great host: ‘Now I command a sign to be shown, a wonder to happen in the midst of men, that this likeness should seek the earth, beautiful, from the wall, and speak with words, tell true tidings—so shall the people believe in this land—what my lineage is.’ The wonder did not dare then to hide the Savior’s command before the company, but from the wall it leaped, the ancient artwork, so that it stood on the floor, stone from stone. A voice came after, loud through the hard thing, a sound thundered, it chided with words. It seemed a marvel to the stern-minded, the stone’s beginning. It shamed the priests with clear signs, the wise one to the crowd, and spoke this word: ‘You are misguided, of wretched thoughts, by wiles betrayed, or you know no better, your minds marred. You call this man the eternal Son of God, He who the ground and the sea, heaven and earth and the heaving waves, the salt sea-streams and the sky above marked out with His hands. This is that same all-wielding God whom our fathers knew in days of old. He to Abraham and Isaac and Jacob gave out His gifts, honored them with wealth, and said in words first to Abraham the noble promise, that from his kindred should be born the God of glory. That fate is with you now, open, revealed. You may with your eyes now see the God of victory, the owner of the sky.’

After these words the host listened, throughout that wide hall, all fell silent. Then the eldest began again, the sinful to speak—they knew not the truth— that it was done by sorcery, by phantom-tricks, that the shining stone spoke before men. Malice grew through the breasts of the people, brand-hot envy welled in their wits, a worm of bright hues, of elfin venom. There was revealed through their sharp speech the doubting mind, the men’s mis-thought, wrapped up in murder.

Then the King commanded the mighty work to go, the stone on the street from the city-plain, and to go forth, to tread the earth-way, the green grounds, to carry God’s errands with His teachings to that land-march, to the Canaanites, by the King’s word to bid Abraham with his two sons from their earth-grave first to arise, to leave their land-rest, to gather their limbs, to receive a spirit and the state of youth, to come forth again, present in person, the wise old prophets, to make known to the folk what God they had known through His great might. He went then to fare, as the mighty Lord, the Shaper of men, had prescribed for him, over the border-paths, until he came to Mamre, shining brightly, as the Maker bade him, where the bodies for a long time, the corpses of the high-fathers, had been concealed. He commanded them quickly to stand up, Abraham and Isaac, and the third noble, Jacob from the grit, for God’s great purpose, swiftly from that fast sleep. He bade them prepare for the journey, to go to the Lord’s judgment. They were to make known to that folk who at the first creation first fashioned the all-green earth and the high heavens, where the Wielder was who established that work. They did not dare then to delay any longer the word of the Glory-King. The three wise men went, courageous, to tread the border-land. They left the mold-house, the earth-graves stood open; they wished at once to make known the Father of first works. Then the folk became gripped with fear, where the nobles honored with words the Lord of glory. He then quickly bade them, the Shepherd of the kingdom, to their state of bliss a second time to seek with peace the joys of the heavens, and for all time to come to enjoy them at will.

Now you may hear, my dearest young man, how He, a host of wonders, made known with words, yet they did not believe His teachings, the mind-blind men. I know many a tale yet, great and glorious, that the Son performed, the Ruler of skies, that you cannot bear, nor hold in your heart, though you are keen of thought.”

Thus Andreas the livelong day praised with his speech the Holy One’s lore, until suddenly sleep overcame him on the whale-road, near the Heaven-King. Then the Giver of life bade His angels to lead him over the press of the waves, to ferry him in their arms, in the Father’s care, the beloved with blessings, over the sea-fastness, until sleep overcame the sea-weary men. Through the air’s play he came to the land, to the city that the King of angels… Then the blessed ones arose to journey, to seek their home on the upward way. They left the holy man by the highway to sleep in peace under the sky’s shelter, to wait there gladly near the city wall, for his fierce foes, for the length of the night, until the Lord let the day-candle shine out brightly. The shadows dwindled, wan under the clouds. Then came a blast of weather, a clear heaven-gleam, to glitter over the halls. The battle-hardened hero awoke, he surveyed the plain before the city-gates. The steep mountains, the cliffs towered, around the grey stone were tile-adorned timbers, towers stood, windy walls. Then the wise man knew that he the land of Mermedonia had sought on his journey, as the Lord Himself, the Father of mankind, had prescribed for him. He saw then on the grit his young followers, the battle-brave men, he saw them lying asleep. He at once began to wake the warriors, and spoke this word: “I can tell you a truth made manifest, that yesterday on the ocean-stream, over the oar’s-wealth, a Prince ferried us. In that keel was the King of all glory, the Wielder of nations. I knew His words, though He had hidden His own fair face.”

The nobles answered him then, the young men with one voice, with spiritual secrets: “We, Andreas, can easily tell you of our journey, so that you yourself may understand it clearly with your spirit’s thoughts. As we were sea-weary, sleep overcame us. Then eagles came over the waves’ welling, faring in flight, exulting in their feathers, and from us sleepers they snatched our souls, with joy they ferried them, flying on the air, with clamorous bliss, bright and gentle. They loved us with blessings and lived in praise, where there was endless song and the sky’s turning, a beautiful host of troops and a throng of glory. Around the Noble One angels stood, thanes around their King, in their thousands, they praised on high with holy voices the Lord of lords. The joy was in that hope. There we knew the holy high-fathers and a mighty host of martyrs, who sang to the Victory-Lord true-souled praise, the nobles eager for glory. David was there, the blessed champion, son of Jesse, come before Christ, the king of Israel. Likewise we saw, before the Son of the Maker, the eternally noble, you yourself standing, twelve in number, glorious heroes. The throne-sitters served you, the holy high-angels. It is well for those men who may enjoy those blessings. There was the bliss of glory, the power of warriors, a noble beginning; there was no strife for any. For him a path of exile is fated, torment laid open, who must become a stranger to those joys, to wander low, when he goes from here.”

Then the mind of the holy man in his breast was greatly gladdened, after he heard the speech of his young followers, that God wished to honor them so much above all men, and the shelter of warriors spoke this word: “Now I, Lord God, have understood that you on the sea-path were not far away, Glory of kings, when I climbed in the keel, though I on the wave-journey, Prince of angels, Giver of grace to souls, could not perceive you. Be merciful to me now, mighty Maker, joyful, bright King! I on the brine-stream spoke a host of words; I know now after who with honors in that wooden boat ferried me over the floods. That is the spirit of comfort for the kindred of men. There help is ready, mercy from the mighty, for every man, a gift of victory, for him who seeks it from Him.”

Then before his eyes the form appeared, the Prince was revealed at that very time, the King of all living, in the guise of a youth. Then He spoke this word, the Lord of glory: “Hail to you, Andreas, with this loyal troop, rejoicing in spirit! I hold you in my peace, so that the evil foes, the grim snare-smiths, may not harm your soul.” He fell then to the earth, the wise hero sought peace with his words, he asked his friend-lord: “How did I do this, Wielder of men, sinful against myself, Savior of souls, that I, you so good, could not perceive on the path of the waves, where I spoke more of my words before my Maker than I should have?”

The all-wielding God answered him: “You did not sin so greatly then as when in Achaia you made refusal, saying you could not fare on the far ways nor come to that city, to hold that meeting, within the time-mark of three nights, as I bade you to go over the strife of the waves. You know now more clearly that I can easily aid and advance each one of my friends in any land, where it is most pleasing to me. Arise now quickly, understand my counsel, blessed hero, as the bright Father will honor you with gifts of glory for all time, with craft and with might. You go into that city, under the fortress-lock, where your brother is. I know Matthew, by the hands of evil men, is touched with sword-wounds, the dear kinsman beset with snares. You must seek him, release the beloved from the haters’ loathing, and all that mankind that dwells with him, the foreigners in evil chains, bound up in bale. For them salvation shall quickly come in this world, and in glory, reward, as I myself was telling them before. Now you, Andreas, must venture at once into the grip of the grim. War is fated for you; with hard sword-swings your body shall be shared out, become wounded, and like water your blood shall flow. But they cannot deal out your death, though you suffer blows, the strikes of the sinful. You bear that sorrow; do not let the power of the heathens, the grim spear-strife, turn you away, that you betray God, your own great Lord. Be ever eager for glory; let it be in your mind how it became known to many men, famed through many lands, that they mocked me, fastened with fetters, the wretched men. They taunted with words, they struck and they scourged me; the sinful could not through their sharp speech make known the truth. When I among the Jews covered the gallows—the rood was raised— where a certain warrior from my side let out blood, gore to the ground. I endured many hardships on earth. I wished in that through a glad heart to set you an example, as it will be shown in this foreign nation. There are many in this mighty city whom you will turn to the light of heaven through my name, though they have committed many murders in days of old.”

The Holy One then went to seek the heavens, the King of all kings, that clean home, humbly upward, where grace is granted to every man who knows how to find it. Then he was mindful, the patient-minded, the battle-hardened hero; he went into the city quickly, the resolute champion, spurred on by courage, the man strong of spirit, true to his Maker, he stepped on the street—the path guided him— so that no man could perceive him, no sinful one see him. The Lord of victories had in that place enfolded with His protection His beloved leader with His own praise.

The noble had then pressed inward, Christ’s champion, near to the prison. He saw a host of heathens together, before the barred doors guards were standing, seven together. Sudden death took them all, they fell, fame-less. The death-rush seized the sword-bloody heroes. Then the holy man prayed to the merciful Father, with his breast’s deep thoughts he praised on high the heaven-king’s glory, God’s dominion. The door at once sprang open at the hand’s touch of the Holy Spirit, and he went inside, mindful of his might, the battle-bold hero. The heathens slept, drunk on their blood, they reddened the death-plain. He saw Matthew in that murder-den, the stout-hearted hero under the dark lock, speaking praise to the Lord, words of honor to the Prince of angels. He sat there alone, grieving with sorrows in that grim hall. He saw then under the sky his own dear comrade, the holy saw the holy. Hope was renewed. He rose up to meet him, he thanked God that they, safe and sound, were ever allowed to see each other under the sun. Peace was shared between the two brothers, bliss made new. Each one embraced the other with his arms, they kissed and they clasped. To Christ they were both beloved in spirit. A light shone around them, holy and heaven-bright. The heart within welled up with joys. Then first Andreas began with his speech to greet his noble comrade in that locked cell, the God-fearing man, he told him of the war-dealings, the fight of the foes: “Now this folk is eager, the men hither…” After these words the thanes of glory, both the brothers, bowed down to prayer, they sent their pleas before the Son of God. Likewise the holy man in that grim prison greeted his God and begged Him for grace, the Savior for help, before his body should fall before the heathens’ battle-power, and then he led them from their limb-bonds, from that fortress into the Lord’s peace, one hundred and two, counted in number, and also forty, saved from the strife— he left not one of them under the city-lock fastened in fetters—and of women there yet, in addition to the host, one less than fifty he freed, the fearful. They were fain of their journey, they went at once, they waited no longer in that grim hall for the things of war.

Then Matthew went to lead the multitude into God’s keeping, as the holy man bade him. The host on its willing way was wrapped in a cloud, lest the guilt-stained haters should come to harm them with arrow-flight, the ancient foes. There the brave men held council with him, the true-sworn comrades, before they turned in two. Each of the heroes strengthened the other with hope of heaven’s kingdom, and with words warded off hell’s torments. So the warriors with him, the stout-hearted heroes, with holy voices, the proven champions, honored the King, the Wielder of fates, whose glory will never among men have an end.

Then Andreas went into the city, glad-hearted, walking, until he had learned of the grim ones’ gathering, the foe’s folk-might, until he found by the border-path standing near the street a pillar of bronze. He sat down beside it; he had pure love, an eternal upward thought to the angels’ bliss; from there he waited under the city-lock what works of war would be granted to him. Then they assembled, the wide-ranging hosts, the folk’s first-spears. To that fortress the faithless war-band came with their weapons, the heathen battle-fiends, to where the captives before under the barred shadow had suffered harm. The hostile-minded intended and wanted to make a meal of the foreigners, their fated feast. That hope failed them, when with their company the prison door the angry ash-bearers found standing open, the work of hammers unlocked, the guards dead. The joyless ones then turned back again, bereft of their lust, to bear the bad news, they told the folk that of the far-comers, the foreign-tongued, they had not found a single one left alive in the prison, but there, sword-bloody, the guards lay, pale on the grit, bereft of their spirits, the bodies of the fated. Then many became afraid at that sudden news, the leaders of the folk, humbled, heart-sorrowful, in expectation of hunger, of the pale cup-bearer. They knew no better plan than to feast upon the dead, the departed, for their life’s sustenance. For the door-thanes, in a single hour, for all of them together, through that hard game the hild-bed was stirred.

Then I have heard that at once the people were summoned together, the city-dwellers called. The warriors came, a throng of fighters, riding on horses, proud on their mares, the council-holders, glorious with ash-spears. Then all together at the meeting-place the nation was gathered. They let then among them the lots decide which of them first should pay with his life as food for the others; they cast lots with hell-crafts, with heathen idols they reckoned between them. Then the lot fell even upon one of the old companions, who was a wise man to the warrior-troop, at the head of the host. At once he was then fast in fetters, despairing of his life. The brave-hearted man cried out then with a care-filled voice, he said he would give his own son into their power, his young offspring, for his life’s ransom. They took that offering at once, with thanks. The people were lustful, heart-sad for meat; they had no joy in treasure, no hope in hoard-wealth. They were by hunger fiercely afflicted, as that folk-scather grimly ruled. Then many a warrior, a battle-eager man, was stirred in his breast for the young one’s life. For that battle-play the sign of woe was widely known, proclaimed through the city to many a man, that they the boy’s death should seek in a throng, the old and the young, to take their share of his life for their pleasure. They at once, the heathen temple-guards, gathered a host of the city-dwellers. A cry rose up when the young man began with a grieving voice, held fast before the host, to chant a harm-song, bereft of his friends, to wish for peace. The wretched one could not find any mercy, any grace from that folk, that would grant him his life, his existence. The monsters had sought out their strife. The sword’s edge, sharp and shower-hard, from the scather’s hand, fire-marked and foul, was to claim his life.

Then to Andreas it seemed a piteous thing, a terrible folk-bale to endure, that one so unguilty should his life at once have to surrender. The people’s hate was bold and hard-hearted. The mighty men shoved, the proud young thanes, in their lust for murder, they wanted at once, the courage-brave, on that young boy’s body to shear off his head, to take it with spears. God stood before him, the Holy One from on high, before the heathen folk. He bade the weapons of men, like wax, in that onslaught to all melt away, lest the guilt-stained haters might harm him, the awful adversaries, with the power of their edges. So he was released from the people’s hate, the young man from the snare. To God be all thanks, the Lord of lords, that He gives glory to every man who seeks help from Him with wisdom. There is always ready an eternal peace for him who can find it.

Then weeping was raised in the city of men, a loud cry of the host. The heralds shrieked, they mourned their meat-lack, they stood weary, fettered by hunger. The horn-halls stood empty, the wine-halls wasted; the warriors had no wealth to enjoy in that bitter time. They sat, cunning-minded, apart in council, to ponder their poverty. They had no joy in their home. Then one warrior often asked another: “Let him not hide who has sound counsel, wisdom in his soul! Now the time has come, a measureless misery; there is now great need that we hearken to the words of the wise.”

Then before the host the devil appeared, wan and featureless, he had a fiend’s form. The bringer of murder began then to betray, the hell-limper, the holy man, the hostile-minded, and spoke this word: “Here has journeyed from a far-flung path a certain prince to your city's heart, a foreign fiend, whom I have heard named Andreas. He has shaped this sorrow for you, when he spirited from your stronghold more of mankind than was meet or right. Now you may easily exact your vengeance for his wicked works. Let the weapon's point, the iron edge-hard, shear his life's-hoard, the fated man's soul-house. Go forth fiercely, so you may crush this foe in combat!”

To him then Andreas gave this answer: “Behold, you boldly instruct this people, you urge them to battle! You know the bale-fire’s torment, hot in hell, yet you incite this host, this troop to the fight. You are at feud with God, the Judge of all men. See, you devil’s-dart, you increase your own anguish. The Almighty humbled you, the high one, and into darkness shoved you, where the King of kings laid you in clamps, and they have ever since called you Satan, all those who know how to judge the Lord’s law.”

Yet still the adversary instructed with words the folk to the fight, with the fiend’s own craft: “Now you hear the warrior’s challenge, he who has done this host the most harm. That is Andreas, who contends with me with wondrous words before this crowd of men.”

Then the sign was given to the city-sitters. They leaped up, battle-eager, with the host’s great roar, and to the wall-gates the warriors thronged, keen under their standards, a mighty company, to that onslaught, with spears and with shields. Then spoke the word the Lord of hosts, the Maker mighty in power, He said to His thane: “You must, Andreas, perform deeds of courage! Do not shy from the multitude, but your own mind make firm against the strong! The hour is not far off when the slaughter-cruel will lay you in torments, in cold clamps. Make yourself known, harden your heart, make firm your spirit, that they may know my might in you. They cannot and may not, against my will, your body, though guilty of sins, deal out to death, though you suffer blows, the dark death-strikes. I dwell with you.”

After those words an immense war-band came, wicked lore-smiths, with a linden-wood crash, swollen with rage; they swiftly bore him out and there the holy man’s hands they bound. When the joy of princes was thus revealed, and they could with their eyes, in person, see the victory-brave one, there was many a man on that slaughter-plain lusting for war from the people’s host. Little they sorrowed what reward would be theirs for it after. They ordered him then to be led over the land, dragged time and again, the tormenting foes, as savagely as they could find a way. They dragged the dear-hearted through the down-caves, around the stone-slopes, the steadfast one, even as wide as the ways lay, the ancient work of giants, within the city, the stone-paved streets. A storm rose up through the city-courts, no small cry of the heathen host. The holy one’s body was seethed with sore wounds, steamed with sweat, his bone-house broken. Blood welled in waves, in hot gore. He had within him unwavering courage; that noble mind was sundered from sins, though he so many sorrows, with deep, dire blows, was doomed to endure.

So it was all day until evening came, the victory-bright one scourged. The pain returned around the hero’s breast, until the bright sun, the sky-gleaming jewel, went gliding to its setting. The people then led their loathed enemy to the prison. He was to Christ, nonetheless, beloved in spirit. His mind was light, holy near his heart, his spirit untiring. When the holy man was under the dark shadow, the courage-hard hero, the livelong night beset with sorrows. Snow bound the earth in winter’s drifts. The weather grew cold with hard hail-showers, likewise rime and frost, the hoar-frost warriors, locked the heroes’ homeland, the seats of the people. The lands were frozen with cold icicles, the water’s power clamored over the ice-streams, it bridged with ice the pale brine-road. The blithe-hearted hero dwelled, the uncorrupted man, mindful of his might, bold and enduring in his dire needs that winter-cold night. He did not cease in his wits, nor quail at the terror, from what he began before, that he would ever most gloriously praise the Lord, honor Him with words, until the gem of glory, heaven-bright, dawned. Then came a host of heroes to that dim dungeon, no small company, striding, slaughter-greedy, with the troop’s great noise. They ordered the noble to be led out at once into the wrathful ones’ power, the faithful hero.

Then it was again as before, the livelong day he was scourged with sore blows. Sweat welled in waves through his bone-cage, he swallowed blood-clots, hot gore. His body did not shrink from the work, weary with wounds. Then a ring of weeping came through the hero’s breast, pale it fared forth, a stream welled from his wounds, and he spoke this word: “See now, Lord God, my life’s hard path, Giver of joy to hosts! You know and perceive the hard journeys of every single soul. I believe in You, my Life-Giver, that You, merciful to me, for Your mighty powers, Savior of men, will never, eternal Almighty, abandon me, so long as I strive, while my life lives, my soul on this earth, that I, Maker, from Your beloved teachings little will swerve. You are a shield against the scather’s weapons, eternal Fount of grace, for all Your own; do not let the slayer of mankind now mock me, the first-born of evil, through the fiend’s foul craft lay blame upon those who bear Your praise.”

Then there appeared the atrocious spirit, the wrathful promise-breaker. The fiend instructed the warriors before the great host, the devil of hell, accursed in torments, and spoke this word: “Slay the sinner, by his own mouth’s witness, the people’s foe! He preaches too much!” Then the onslaught was stirred up again, with a new voice. The malice arose until the sun went gliding to its setting under the dark cliff. Night took its helmet, it spread its brown-darkness over the steep mountains, and the holy man was led to the hall, the dear and fame-eager, into that dim chamber; he must then in that narrow cell for the night’s long length, the faithful one, dwell in that foul place.

Then came one of seven, going to the hall, a terrible monster, mindful of evils, the dark lord of murder, shrouded in murk, a death-cruel devil, bereft of all virtues. He began then to speak words of scorn to the holy man: “What did you hope for, Andreas, in your coming hither into the power of the wrathful? Where is your glory, that you in your pride raised up so high, when you humbled the worship of our own gods? You have now claimed for yourself alone all this land and its people, as did your teacher. He raised a kingdom, whose name was Christ, over middle-earth, while he had the might. Him Herod deprived of his life, overcame him in battle, the king of the Jews, bereft him of his realm, and gave him to the rood, so that on the gallows he sent forth his spirit. So I now command my own children, my powerful thanes, that they humble you, a lesser one, in battle. Let the spear’s point, the venom-stained shaft, delve deep into the fated one’s soul. Go forth fiercely, that you may quell the war-man’s boast.” They were savage, they rushed on him at once with greedy grips. God stood before him, the steadfast Steersman, through His strong might. When they recognized Christ’s rood on his fair face, that famous sign, they became afraid in that attack, fearful, terrified, and taken to flight.

The ancient foe began again as before, the hell-captive, to chant his harm-song: “What has become of you, so brave, my warriors, my shield-companions, that you had so little success?” The wretched one gave him an answer, the old foe, and spoke to his father: “We cannot quickly fasten our hate on him, or death through our cunning. Go yourself to him! There you will readily find a fight, a fearsome battle, if you dare further to venture your life against that lone one. We can easily, dearest of lords, in that man-play, give you better counsel; before you readily make your war-charge, your onslaught of battle, see how you fare in that counter-blow. Let us go again, that we may mock him, fast in his bonds, reproach him for his wretched path. We have words ready against that monster, all well-planned!”

Then he roared with a loud voice, tormented by tortures, and spoke this word: “You, Andreas, have long fared forth with your sorcerous crafts! See, you have misled and misguided many a people! Now you no longer can wield that work. For you grim torments are fated for your deeds. You shall, weary-minded, humbled, joyless, suffer harm, a sore death-agony. My men for that war-play are ready, who will at once with deeds of courage in no long time press out your life. Who is so mighty over middle-earth, that he can release you from your limb-bonds, of all mankind, against my will?”

To him then Andreas gave this answer: “Behold, the Almighty God can easily save me, the Savior from strife, He who in need long ago fastened you in fiery clamps! There you ever since, bound in torment, have dwelled in exile, deprived of glory, since you scorned the heaven-king’s word. There was evil’s origin, there will never be an end to your exile. You shall for all time extend your anguish. For you always, from day to day, your path of pain will be stronger.” Then he was put to flight, he who that feud long ago against God grimly had waged.

Then came at dawn, with the day’s first light, a host of heathens to seek the holy man with a troop of people. They ordered the hard-souled thane to be led out a third time; they wanted at once the courage-brave one’s spirit to melt. It could not be so! Then anew the malice was stirred, hard and hate-grim. The holy man was sorely scourged, bound with cunning knots, driven through with wound-gashes, while the day shone. He began then, grief-minded, to cry out to God, hard from his fetters, with a holy voice, he wept, weary-spirited, and spoke this word: “Never have I fared, by my Lord’s will, under the heaven’s arch on a harder path, where I was to judge by the Lord’s law. My limbs are unlocked, my body sorely broken, my bone-house is blood-stained, my wounds well up, my sinew-gashes sweat gore. See now, Lord of Victories, my Savior and Sovereign, how in the daylight among the Jews You became grief-stricken, when from the gallows, God everlasting, Lord of ancient works, you cried to the Father, Glory of kings, and spoke thus: ‘I ask of You, Father of angels, Fount of all light, why have You forsaken me?’ And I now for three days have had to endure slaughter-grim torments. I pray, God of hosts, that I may give up my spirit, Giver of soul-feasts, into Your own hand. You promised that through Your holy word, when You began to strengthen us twelve, that the hate-fierce foe’s battle would not harm us, nor a part of our body be quickly torn off, nor sinew nor bone lie on the path, nor a lock from our head be lost to destruction, if we would follow Your holy lore. Now my sinews are slipped, my sweat has been shed, my locks lie scattered over the land, my hair on the earth. The parting of my soul is far dearer to me than this life of care.”

A voice answered him then, to the steadfast one, the word of the Glory-King resounded: “Do not weep for your wretched path, my dearest friend, it is not too fearsome for you. I hold you in my peace, with my own protection I have set you about. My might is over all, victory’s gift is given. The truth will be shown by many at the council on that great day, that it shall come to pass that this beautiful creation, heaven and earth, shall fall together, before a single word is ever undone that I through my mouth begin to speak. See now your own tracks, how your sweat has shed, through the breaking of bones, a bloody path, the body’s wounds. No more harm through the thrust of spears can they do to you, they who have done the hardest of harms.”

Then the beloved champion looked on his trail after the word-speech of the Glory-King. He saw blooming groves standing, adorned with blossoms, where he before had shed his blood. Then the shelter of warriors spoke this word: “To You be thanks and praise, Wielder of peoples, for all time, glory in the heavens, that You in my sorrow, my Victory-Lord, a stranger, did not leave me alone.” So the deed-doer praised the Lord with a holy voice until the clear sail, the glory-bright, went gliding under the clouds.

Then the folk-leaders for a fourth time, the awful adversaries, led the noble to that prison; they wanted the mind’s craft, the hero’s spirit, to turn in that dark night. Then came the Lord God into that barred hall, the glory of heroes, and His weary friend He greeted with words and spoke of comfort, the Father of mankind, the Teacher of life, He bade his body to enjoy its health: “You shall no longer in the shame of the snare-weavers suffer your sorrow.” He arose then, strong in his might, he gave thanks to the Maker, whole from the fetters of the hard torments. His face was not marred, nor a scrap from his garment quickly loosened, nor a lock from his head, nor a bone broken, nor a bloody wound long on his body, nor any mark of harm, through the dire blows steamed with gore, but he was again as before, through that noble might, leading the praise, and in his body, strong.

Listen, I for a while now the holy one’s lore, a song-telling, the praise of what he wrought, have spoken in words, a fate made clear beyond my measure. It is much to say, a long lesson, what he endured in his life, all from the beginning. A man more learned on this earth than I count myself to be must find in his heart one who from the start knows all the hardships that he with courage endured, the grim battles. Yet we still shall, in little pieces, a part of the song-words further recount. It is an ancient tale, how he a great host of torments suffered, of hard battles, in that heathen city.

He saw by the wall, wondrously fast under the hall’s side, pillars not small, columns standing, storm-driven, the ancient work of giants. He to one of them, mighty and mind-brave, held a council, wise, wondrously keen, he raised up his voice: “Hear me now, marble-stone, by the Maker's decree, before whose face all of creation becomes afraid, when they see the Father of heavens and earth with the greatest of hosts on middle-earth seeking mankind. Let now from your foundations streams start to well, a river in-flooding, for the Almighty now, Heaven's High King, commands you to hasten and upon this corrupt folk to send forth a wide-running water for the ruin of men, a pouring ocean. Behold, you are better than gold, than treasure-gifts! On you the King Himself wrote, the God of glory, He made known in words the ready mysteries, and the righteous law He marked out in ten words, the Maker mighty in power. To Moses He gave it, as the truth-fast ones afterwards held it, the brave young thanes, his own kinsmen, the God-fearing men, Joshua and Tobias. Now you can know that the King of angels adorned you far more with gifts in old days than all the kindred of gems. Through His holy command you must quickly show if you have any understanding of Him.”

The word was no sooner spoken than the stone split open. A stream welled out, it flowed over the fields. Foaming rollers at the day’s dawning covered the earth, the mere-flood grew. A mead-pouring sorrow came after the feast-day; they awoke from their sleep, the cunning-minded. The sound took the ground, deeply disturbed. The host was terrified by the flood’s sudden rush. The fated died, the young in the ocean the war-rush took through the salt-way. That was a sorrowful burden, a bitter beer-serving. The cup-bearers did not fail, the serving-thanes. There was for each one enough from the day’s start, a drink ready at once. The water’s power grew. The men lamented, the old ash-bearers. Their desire was to get out, to flee the fallow stream, they wanted to save their lives, to seek a dwelling in the down-caves, a refuge on the earth. An angel blocked them, who overspread the city with a black flame, with a hot battle-steam. The surf was rough inside, beating. The host of men could not from that fortress escape in flight. The waves grew, the waters roared, fire-sparks flew, the flood welled with waves. There was easily found within the city a grieving-song woven. Many a fearful one mourned his misery, they chanted a death-song. A terrible burning became visible to the eye, a hard harm to the host, a horrible clamor. Through the air’s play blasts of flame wrapped round the walls, the waters grew. There was the weeping of men widely heard, the wretched clamor of the people.

Then one began, a friendless hero, to gather the folk, humbled, heart-grieving, lamenting he spoke: “Now you yourselves can know the truth, that we with unrighteousness the foreigner in the prison laid in clamps, in tormenting bonds. Fate now harms us, hard and hate-grim. That is here so clear; it is much better, as I count the truth, that we release him from his limb-bonds, all of one mind— haste is best—and we the holy one beg for help, for grace and for comfort. Peace after sorrow will be ready for us at once, if we seek it from him.”

Then to Andreas it became clear in his heart’s-hoard the people’s behavior; there the might of the proud was bent, the power of warriors. The water embraced them, the mountain-stream flowed, the flood was in its lust, until it rose over the breast, the welling brine, to the men’s shoulders. Then the noble commanded the stream-course to still, the storms to rest around the stone-slopes. He stepped out quickly, the keen, brave-hearted, he gave up the prison, the wise-minded, beloved of God. For him at once through the stream’s rush a street was cleared. The victory-plain was smooth, the ground was always dry from the flood, where his foot stepped. The city-dwellers became blithe in their mood, rejoicing in spirit. Then had come forth grace after grief. The ocean grew calm through the holy one’s command, it gave a hearing to his prayer, the brine-road abated. Then the mountain split open, a terrible earth-grave, and there it let the flood in its embrace, the fallow waves, the pouring torrent, the ground swallowed all. He did not sink there the waves alone, but also of the host the very worst, the hostile folk-scathers, fourteen of them went with that wave to shake into ruin under the ground of the earth. Then became afraid, fearful-hearted, many of the folk in their tracks. They expected the death of women and men, of dire things a harsher time, after the evil-stained, the murder-guilty, the battle-addicts, sank under the ground. They then of one mind all said: “Now it is seen that the true Maker, the King of all creatures, wields with His crafts, He who sent this messenger hither for the help of the peoples. There is now great need that we with our virtues eagerly obey.”

Then the holy one began to gladden the heroes, to guide the throng of warriors with his words: “Do not be too fearful, though the fall has chosen the kindred of the sinful. They suffered death, torments for their deeds. For you the light of glory is brightly opened, if you think aright.” He sent then his plea before the Son of God, he begged the Holy One to bring help to the youth of the people, who in the ocean before through the flood’s embrace had given their lives, that their spirits, bereft of God, into the ruin of torments, stripped of glory, into the fiends’ power, should not be ferried. Then that errand to the all-wielding God, after the spoken words of the Holy Spirit, was spoken with thanks by the people’s leader. He commanded them then, all sound and whole, to arise, the young from the ground, whom the ocean had killed. Then there quickly stood up many at the meeting, as I have heard, ungrown youths; then was all together bodily and ghostly, though they just before through the flood’s rush had let go their lives. They received baptism and the pledge of peace, the promise of glory, freed from torments, the Maker’s protection. Then the brave one commanded, the King’s craftsman, a church to be timbered, to prepare God’s temple, where the youth arose through the Father’s baptism and the flood sprang forth.

Then they gathered, a throng of men, warriors throughout the wine-city, wide and far, heroes of one mind, and their women with them, they said they would loyally obey, would receive eagerly the bath of baptism for the Lord’s will, and the devil-gilds, the old idol-steads, they would abandon. Then among that folk baptism was raised, noble among the heroes, and God’s law was rightly established, counsel in the land with the city-dwellers, a church was hallowed. There the messenger of God set up one man, a wise-souled man, keen in his words, in that bright city as bishop for the people, and he hallowed him before the great host through the apostolic office, named Platan, for the people’s need, and boldly commanded that they his lore should eagerly follow, should perform the counsel for their souls. He told them his eager intent, that he that gold-city wished to give up, the hall-joy of men and the hoarded treasure, the bright ring-halls, and for himself the brine-path at the sea’s edge he wished to seek. That was for the host a hard thing to bear, that their folk-leader no longer wished to dwell among them.

Then to him the God of glory on that journey Himself appeared, and spoke this word, the Lord of hosts: “The folk from their sins? Their spirit is eager, they go grieving, they mourn their sorrow, men and women together. Their weeping has come, their mourning mood… You shall not that flock abandon in such a new joy, but my name in their heart’s-hoard you must firmly build. Dwell in that wine-city, shelter of warriors, that treasure-adorned hall, for a space of seven nights. Afterwards you with my mercy shall fare forth.”

Then he went again, a second time, the brave one, strong in his might, to seek the city of Mermedonia. The word and wisdom of the Christians grew, after the thane of glory, the noble king’s messenger, they saw with their eyes. He taught then the people on the path of belief, he strengthened them brightly, the glorious one, he guided to glory a measureless host, to that holy home of the kingdom of heavens, where Father and Son and the Spirit of comfort in the Trinity wield their glory in a world of worlds, a treasure-house of wonder. Likewise the holy one rebuked the hosts, drove out the devil-gilds and felled their delusion. That was for Satan a sorrow to suffer, a great grief of the mind, that he saw that multitude turn, blithe of heart, from the halls of hell through Andreas’s gracious lore to a fairer joy, where there will never be a foe’s coming, of a grim-minded spirit, into that land.

Then were fulfilled, by the Lord’s decree, the days in their number, as the Lord had commanded that he in that storm-swept city should dwell. He began then to make himself ready and to prepare for the sea, exulting in bliss; he wished on the brine-path Achaia a second time himself to seek, where he the soul’s-parting, a battle-death, endured. For that slayer it was not a matter for laughter, but in hell’s jaw he set his journey, and afterwards never, the foe, friendless, enjoyed any comfort.

Then I have heard that the host of the people led their beloved teacher to the ship’s high prow, the men heart-grieving. For many there the heart was hot, the spirit was welling. They brought him then at the brine’s-ness to the wave-plank, the un-slow warrior. They stood then on the shore, weeping, as long as they on the waves the joy of princes over the seal’s-path were able to see, and then they honored the Owner of glory, they cried in a chorus, and called out thus: “One is the eternal God of all creation! His might and His majesty over middle-earth are famously blessed, and His glory over all in heaven's high-throne shines on the holy, beautiful in splendor for a broad age, eternal with angels. He is the noble King!”