for you! You cannot refuse: you would offend these good people".
Pétros sighed, put it on and humbly thanked him while he was carrying the gifts and walking with the Bishop.
"It doesn't look bad for you...you could use it as a work uniform."
"Work uniform?" asked the astonished little man.
"Of course, you have to make a living, and my diocese needs a handyman. Do you have any experience?"
"Before that damned Pelznickel enlisted me in his ranks, I was one of the best carpenters in my city, then because of gambling debts I had to do things, let's say...undignified..."
"The past is the past, let's leave it behind us, every man has the right to a second chance and you have earned it. In two days it will be Christmas, I am entrusting you with an assignment: for that date you have to build three wooden rocking horses, I want to give them to those poor boys to try to partially erase their painful memories; don't worry about the tools and the material, I will give them to you when we get home...".
Pétros with a smile repeated that word to himself, savouring it as sweetly as he had not done in a long time.
"Home..."
Part II
The cursed oil jar
Chapter 5
It is when darkness falls that the dark forces love to act, protected from the shadows, to hide their wickedness.
Some monstrous creatures had positioned themselves, according to orders, in the neuralgic points, while others, grinning quietly, sprinkled oil on the fields following in detail the great plan.
None of the inhabitants could imagine what catastrophe would fall upon them, something that would mark them forever...
When a red light suddenly shone in the sky, many were fascinated by the unusual phenomenon, which generated hilarity. In reality it was the signal to unleash Hell. The red abandoned the sky to colour the fields, the fires spread so quickly that any attempt to stem them was useless, the destruction was total and every crop was reduced to ashes and smoke, condemning the population to starvation.
Among the despair of many, who watched the disaster in astonishment, there was a voice that brought thoughts of hope.
"We ask the Bishop for help!
"Yes! That holy man is the only one who can help us!"
"Hurry, let's go!"
So it was that a delegation left for the diocese, hoping that their bishop would not abandon them.
When the loud sound of the clapper finally succeeded in waking up Pétros, some time had passed. With a staggering gait, the little man walked towards the doorway mumbling words almost at random between yawning and yawning.
"I'm coming...I'm coming...but who is disturbing at this time of night? Thank heaven that I open the door, Nicholas would first have beaten you and then, perhaps, he would have asked what you want..."
When he opened the door he was confronted by about twenty men whose faces, blackened by smoke, were illuminated by the light of flashlights.
"Uh...I guess it's not a burnt roast, is it? Nicholas! Nicholas! I think there's a problem!"
The large delegation had gathered in a semicircle in the presbytery around the bishop reflecting, while the little helper walked nervously here and there, causing more than anything else irritation.
"The matter is serious, Excellency..." began one of the group.
"Not a single grain of wheat has been saved, and we don't know how to feed our children..." continued another one.
Pétros rejoiced, happy to have found a solution.
"Found it! We ask the Emperor to provide us with some of his, they have so much of it at the capital that he won't mind giving us a few bags of it!"
Nicholas shattered his dreams like ceramic tiles thrown to the ground.
"They have so much of it precisely because they don't give anybody any, not even an ounce, and then a few bags would never be enough for everyone? It would take at least half a load.
Without losing heart, Pétros brought up another one of his ideas.
"Let's assault a passing ship and borrow the cargo!"
Observing the grim look that the Bishop gave him, the little man became even smaller and tried to make up for it in his own way.
"...obviously without hurting anyone...and then returning the stolen goods...not even that way, is that it?"
"I say: are you stupid, or what? It's called piracy! And apart from the fact that it is immoral and against the laws of God to take possession of the things of others by force, didn't you think that you would then have the entire imperial fleet hunting you down as long as you live? Leaving aside the repercussions for the city! Think before you shoot such idiocies!"
The helper resented the reproach.
"I only wanted to be of help!"
"Well, so you're not!"
"Then say your idea, because you never like other people's ideas! I really want to know how you hope to convince a ship loaded with grain to call at our ports and give us all the goods, in defiance of the imperial laws!" the little man challenged him.
The priest's gaze changed its expression: at first it was absent and vacuous, as if it were dull, then, as if emerging from a long apnoea, it returned to normal and even gave those present a slight smile.
"Finally you said something useful!" exclaimed Nicholas.
"You're joking, aren't you?" replied Pétros, believing himself mocked.
"I never joke when I have visions."
"Visions? What visions?"
Nicholas lied on the ground among curious expressions and unexpressed questions.
"I'll show you, stand next to me and stare at the ceiling. Would you, please, give me your coats as pillows?"
The two of them found themselves with their faces facing upwards. Pétros was embarrassed, but he had witnessed in person the wonders of mankind and was convinced that this occasion would be like the other, then he remembered the last time he had received a handful and his tranquillity suddenly disappeared.
"Boss, can you assure me that I won't receive another punch in the head?"
"The other time we were in a hurry and I didn't know if you would cooperate or not, this time there will be no need, just follow my instructions. Start by relaxing."
The helper took a deep breath of relief and tried not to disappoint the expectations of his principal.
"See that blue dot at the top? Fix it carefully, then slowly open and close your eyes five times. Good. Now keep them closed and think of the sound of the wind blowing through the sails of a ship, along with the lapping of the waves crashing against the hull..."
Pétros did everything he was told, but did not notice any change, at least until, sure of the failure of the experiment, he decided to open his eyes again.
"But where..." he wondered in dismay without finishing the sentence.
What his eyes saw was undoubtedly the wooden pier of a boat and the slight rocking under his feet confirmed it.
"We are aboard the Ule, a muriophoroi4 granary ship docked in the port of Alexandria. They