I offered to take first watch and let the men rest. After a round of protests, they conceded. Disrobing enough to be comfortable while they rested but not so much that they would be unprepared in the event of an attack, they settled on the cots that had been provided for us. We each felt wrong utilizing them while the rest of the men slept on the hard ground. But we knew that neither Barrak, nor his officers, would not yield to our objections.

I sat on my cot, alert and attentive to all that I heard going on in the camp around me. Benner and Cormac were snoring within moments of laying their heads on their pillows. Damian, on the other hand, stood at the entrance to the tent, holding the flap back and stared out into the garrison for a long time. At first, the guards thought something was wrong and seemed awkward with him standing there, but after a time, they simply took up their post and let him be. Something about his stance silenced them as well as any objection or admonishment to rest I may have had on my lips.

After ten minutes, he let the flap close. Returning to his cot, which was immediately next to mine, he sat facing me. He sighed deeply and stripped off his shirt. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a wooden cylinder. Unscrewing its lid, he stuck two fingers in. When he withdrew them, a white ointment coated his fingers. Leaning back slightly, he began to apply the ointment to the scar on his abdomen.

“Keeps the scar from getting stiff and hard. Keeps it pliable.” He spoke without looking at me while he applied the ointment. Finishing, he replaced the lid and lay back, his left side facing me, hands under the back of his head. The bare flesh of his chest was just barely visible in the low light of the lantern that hung from the center of the tent. The long white scar across his abdomen seemed to glow in the light. I stared at it, deep in thought myself. Damian’s eyes remained open and his breathing regular. I could tell something was on his mind. I suspected it related to the question upon mine as I continued to stare at the scar on his torso. Uncertain if it was wise or if I was doing the right thing, I gently began to probe for an answer to a question I had wondered since the first day I spotted this healing injury across his abdomen.

“Damian,” I began. But I never got more out.

“Selman,” he responded, “was not just my best friend. He was my little brother.” His voice was low and soft. His right hand instinctually drifted to his abdomen. His fingers lightly running over the scar. He allowed his fingers to trace the now white scar that cut from one side of his abdomen to the other. He was silent for a few moments as his fingers traced the wound, almost as if he was unaware, he was even doing so.

“He was only in the king’s army because of me. I grew to love the king from the very first day I entered his service. I spoke so highly of him, he wanted to enlist. He was so gifted and skilled that he quickly was selected to be in the king’s guard. I was so proud of him. We had always been close, separated only by a year. In fact, we were born in the same year.”

Glancing at me and with mirth in voice, he muttered, “My father did not wait long after I was born….” His voice trailed off and his gaze drifted back toward the top of tent.

Quietly, he continued. “We could have been twins. By the time he joined, I had already been in the king’s service for two years. They were hard years. Being separated from him was hard. I think it was part, if not a big part, of the real reason why he enlisted…to be near me.”
He spoke so tenderly I almost had a hard time seeing him as the same man. It was a new and different side to him than I had ever seen before.

“I still miss him. Every day.”

Tears began to form and trickle down his face. He let them run, making no attempt to stop them or wipe them away. His hand came to a rest now, palm down, on his belly. His second hand now joined his first and they formed a protective barrier of his abdomen. I could see the pain and grief that had overtaken him and without thinking, I reached across his torso, the back of my arm resting on his torso, my palm facing up. I slid my hand under his so that his wrist rested in my palm and his palm rested on my wrist. I squeezed his wrist; one brother to another, providing assurance he was not alone. Without looking at me, his grip tightened on my wrist. He shifted his hand, taking mine with it and the back of my arm now rested on the bare flesh of his torso where the line of his scar stood. The rippled and jagged protrusion of his scar pressed into the back of my arm. I could feel the pain he felt. But it was pain far deeper than a sword wound. Tears shimmered in his eyes.

“It was stupid, Valiant. It should not have happened. Lucas was the king’s banner bearer at the time. Probably the most arrogant and most entitled one yet. He was the son of the king’s ambassador to the north, a great and wise man. His son was nothing like him. Entitled, spoiled, demanding, petulant. Foolish idiot, that is what he was. Anger crept into his voice as the tears flowed freely now. His grip on my wrist grew uncomfortably tight, but I held and said nothing. I wanted to tell him to stop, that he did not need to tell the story, did not need to go there. But I instinctively knew he needed to tell it, that in a way it was healing and helpful to do so. I strengthen my grip; a physical reminder of my presence and I willed every ounce of strength I could muster into him as he continued.

“In addition to being the banner bearer, Lucas was a gifted politician. The king sent Lucas on a diplomatic mission to his father’s providence. He sent six soldiers, members of his own guard to go with him as his protective detail. Selman and I were among them.

Everything went fine on the journey there. We were in the home of Lucas’ father for three weeks while Lucas conducted the king’s business.

On the night before we were to head back, Lucas snuck out and headed into town.”

Damian’s voice grew hard, angry, dangerous. His gripp tightened even more and I started to feel my hand tingle from the loss of blood flow. His voice grew louder and in a short bark he growled, “He knew was not supposed to go anywhere without his guard. Stupid fool. Indulgent coward. He snuck out because he knew we would not permit him to go.”

He turned to look at me now, anger flashing through his tears. Realizing the tightness of his grip, he lightened but did not release. Cormac and Benner roused from their slumber by his voice, raised their heads slightly, hands gripping their weapon’s thinking danger was upon them. Realizing it was only Damian, they relaxed but did not go back to sleep. They propped up on one arm and with firm looks, indicated their readiness to lend their strength to him.

Damian continued, “He went to the brothel. Apparently, there was a favored member there he liked to visit. Problem is, he still owed the owner. He was refused entrance and grew angry. A struggle broke out and Lucas found himself in a poor way.

Selman, discovering Lucas’ departure, roused me from sleep and we followed him and arrived just as the ensuing struggle began. It was our job to keep the king’s banner bearer safe. Despite the stupidity of the struggle, despite our anger over his petulance, we stepped in to rescue Lucas. And rescue him, we did. A sword was aimed for his neck and was about to bite into Lucas’ flesh when Selman block it with his sword. Chaos ensued. I still don’t know how it happened, but before I knew it…”

Damian’s voice faltered here. His voice cracked. His body began to shake, tremors running through his body.

“Before I knew it,” he continued, “Selman was run through with a sword. I turned just in time to see it protrude from his chest and be pulled back.”

Anger racing through him, he shouted now, “He was stabbed in the back by a coward!”

Convulsions of anger shook his body. All I could do was hold on his anger and grief rippled through his body.

After a few moments, he calmed and in a quieter voice, he continued.

“As he collapsed to the ground, I screamed in rage and struck down the man who stood standing. In my rage, my training was for naught. I missed the second man. That’s how I got this. “

Never letting go of my hand, he brought his left hand down now. Shifting, his right hand so that it drew upwards toward his upper chest. My arm, which has been resting on his scar, shifted with it. The scar now stood open and exposed. He gently ran the fingers of his left hand over the scar. I felt Damian shiver slightly. Tears streaming down his face as his gaze remained locked on the top of the tent.

He wept slightly for a few moments. Cormac and Benner remained silent but sat up now on their bunks. When Damian spoke again, it was rough, husky. “Nearly killed me. I was in a bad way for months. By the time you came, Valiant,” he glanced at me, “I had been out of active service for six months and was just beginning to get my strength back.”

Damian sighed and his gaze clouded over. He straightened his head, fixing his gaze once more on the ceiling of the tent. “I think it was the sight of a dead body and of another mortally wounded, the sight of blood in the street, that ended it. The mob panicked and fled. Lucas included. Before long, we were left alone in the street. I drug myself over to my brother’s body, shaking with pain, rage, grief, and adrenaline.

After a while I became vaguely aware of voices and attempts were made to remove me from my brother’s body. They were unsuccessful. It was only after I passed out from pain and blood loss that they were able to remove me. When I awoke, I was in a bed at the ambassador’s home, my wounds bandaged. It was four more weeks before I was strong enough to be brought back to the castle. We were not able to bring Selman’s body. We had to give him a soldier’s burial there in that cursed place.”

Damian’s voice was so full of grief, my own eyes teared and I cried openly and freely. Damian’s voice cracked as he wept and muttered, “My brother’s death was so senseless and meaningless, Valiant! It shouldn’t have happened.”

He wept uncontrollably then. His grip tightening on my wrist and mine on his. He rolled to his side, facing me, curled into a ball, and wept with spasms of grief, the likes of which I have never witnessed. I slipped off my cot, knelt beside him, pulled myself as close as I could, and rested my forehead on his side even as I wept with him. My tears flowed down my face, wetting his torso. I felt his left arm wrap around my back, and he clung to me like he was hanging over a precipice whose bottom could not be seen, and I was his only lifeline. We remained like that for some time. I lost track of time. Honestly, it did not matter to me. I would have remained there for as long as necessary.

Eventually, his left arm released me, and I was able to withdraw, though our right arms remained clasped. He remained on his side. His eyes closed now. His breathing indicated he was still awake but spent.

Even as the tears continued to flow down my face, the conviction in my heart resolved so clear and resolute that the words were flowing before I could think about the wisdom of doing so.

“It wasn’t senseless, Damian, not so! Don’t you see, Selman gave his life for another. He gave his life to save a life, one who didn’t even deserve it, whose foolishness didn’t merit it. That’s grace, Damian! The same grace our king exemplifies and models; the same grace he lives by with everyone he encounters.”

I paused, catching my breath, then raced on.

“Damian, Selman is the greatest of the king’s servants because he understood the character and person of our king and chose to emulate that life in his own actions for a man who was undeserving. He lived out everything the king taught him. His death honors our king! It is beautiful, brother!”

My heart was filled with a mixture of grief and sorrow, but also joy and awe in that moment and my hand gripped Damian’s wrist even more firmly as I willed him to see it.

Damian let out a moan of agony and grief that I could not read. He wept once more. Violent sobs and tremors shook his body. Benner and Cormac slipped from their cots and knelt on his other side now, their arms wrapping his body, resting their heads on his torso tears streaming from their faces. As one, Benner, Cormac, and I knelt there forming a protective barrier over Damian.

They, I, he, we, wept for what seemed like forever. As he slowly gained control, he attempted to roll to his back again. Benner, Cormac, and I withdrew permitting him to do so. We remained kneeling, our hands resting on him for strength.

“Valiant,” Damian breathed, “…you have redeemed the role banner bearer from all those who proceeded you.” He looked at me then. “Your words hurt. They hurt because I know they are true. You have helped me to see what my grief blinded me to. I didn’t see it. You have helped me see what I did not want to see. I wanted to be angry. I wanted his death to be senseless so I could continue justifying my anger and vengeance. But I realize now, I had become a prisoner of my anger and grief.” He wailed, fresh tears flowing again. It was disconcerting to me to see such a hard, weathered solider reduced to such a state.

“I didn’t see it. I couldn’t. I was so angry.” Looking at me, he slurred, “But you are right. He lived everything our king was about. Even the king himself tried to get me to see…. but I was so angry. I have failed my king and my brother in not seeing, not understanding…” He trailed off.

It was Cormac who spoke now, “No, Damian, you have not. You have only failed him if you continue to let that anger eat at and destroy you. But if you cast it aside, if you choose to forgive Lucas, if you choose to extend grace as he teaches, as he does, then your anger turns into glory for the name of our king through grace and forgiveness.”

Damian nodded his head and murmured so lowly that none of us caught it.

He fell silent now for several moments and none of us interrupted that silence. The stillness of the moment bore a weight to it that could be felt, and we knew it was silence we could not, must not interrupt; one that we needed to wait out.

After several moments, in a voice barely above a whisper, Damian murmured, “I…. forgive…. Lucas. I release you from the debt owed for my brother’s death.” He suddenly grew so still, his grip on my wrist went slack, and I feared his heart stopped. Placing my left hand on his chest, I could still feel his heart beating and my panic eased. His breath slowed but remained steady. I realized that he had fallen asleep, so exhausted was he.

We all withdrew and returned to our cots.

Cormac, head bowed toward the ground, spoke softly, “Lucas was released from the king’s service after that.” Lifting his gaze to me, he continued, “The king was without a banner bearer after that. Until you.”

Understanding dawned on me. The questions I had asked since my arrival filed through my mind once more. Why me? Why a commoner instead of aristocrat? Why now? Why the change in tactic of responsibility and training for banner bearers? The full understanding filled me with sorrow. But not the sorrow I might have expected. The sorrow I felt was for the blindness and failure of my predecessors to truly see and adore the king for who he was. That was really Lucas’ greatest failure.

After a few silent moments, we glanced at each other and acknowledged the moment with a simple look. Cormac and Benner retreated to their cots and settled back into sleep. I sat on my cot for a while after. My ear was attentive to the sounds of the camp, alert for danger even as I was trained to do. My gaze, however, never left Damian’s scar. It suddenly occurred to me that this scar would take on new meaning. For so long it had stood as a symbol of pain and grief. A reminder of that which Damian had lost. This scar had always stood to remind Damian of what he no longer had. Now, it would stand as a reminder of grace, forgiveness, and freedom. It took pain and loss to fully understand grace and forgiveness. It took bondage and slavery, to his anger and hurt, to understand the joy and freedom of surrender. Even as I stared at the scar, it seemed to change. What once seemed ugly and grotesque, now had a beauty and light to it. My heart filled with gratitude for my king, for my brothers in arms, and as I settled in to take the first watch of the night, I felt hope and peace.