Arnoldo
“They gain their wealth at the hands of the poor!” the bald man dressed in a monk’s habit shouted from a wooden crate in the main street of Brescia. “The Romish Church has no right to own property.”With one voice, the crowd revealed their reverence of him, but Theresa stood by the door of her father’s blacksmith shop pondering his sanity. Did not this man realize he was inciting his own death?
Her fist tightened around the scroll handed to her by the monk’s disciple. She was playing the fool now. Would she be killed for bearing a message?
“He studied in France,” a passerby whispered as he bumped Theresa’s shoulder.
She draped her scarf over her head and across her face.
“He claims the Church does not have the right to rule as a kingdom,” another whispered in return.
Theresa ducked under a farmer’s canopy and slipped past another.
“The sacraments the Church practices are not as written in Scripture!” The man, lifted a book in his hand. “Convert and be baptized again!”
“Arnoldo!” Theresa hissed as she drew up behind him. “I have a message.”
The monk stepped down from the crate and pulled on his beard. “What is it?”
“A message.” Theresa pressed the scroll into his hand. “You must leave. The count-bishop is preparing his coaches. He plans to take you to the Pope.”
The clop-clop of prancing hooves on cobblestone and the anxious neighing of high-strung horses rose above the crowd’s murmurs. Arnoldo looked across the market. “I see you are right. That is his impressive vehicle now, is it not?”
“Yes. Please, come with me.” Theresa turned and lifted her skirts. “I know a way to the Alps where he will not dare follow . . . not in a coach.”
“But to run . . .”
“To run is to save your life and perhaps give you opportunity to share the truth with many more.”
Her words seemed to convince him for he grabbed her elbow and waved her on. They weaved through the merchant canopies that lined the street. These hovered over her as a net sent by Satan to capture them. She pressed her hand against her throbbing chest and ducked under another tent.
“There he runs!” The count-bishop barked.
“Down here.” Theresa gestured to a stairwell.
“Follow them!” Pounding boots drew close. The monk breathed heavily at her side as he maneuvered the crumbling steps.
“We’ve not far.” She gripped his elbow and led him down a dark corridor. For years her family had used this passage to escape the attacks of the Lombards on their city. Now, Lord willing, it would provide a way of escape for Arnoldo.
Footsteps echoed against the stone walls, riding on the cool of the passage. Theresa shivered and urged the monk forward to what appeared to be a dead end.
“We’ve nowhere to go.” He panted.
She ran her hand along the wall until she felt the familiar star-shaped stone and pressed it. A quiet creaking announced the slow movement of the wall. Earthy air slipped through and surrounded them. She pushed the monk into the black corridor and glanced back before following him.
The bishop’s men had not yet reached the head of the corridor. She tugged on a heavy cord and the wall moved back into place. If God be with them, the men would not see the wall move.
“It’s so dark.”
“Ssh.” She grabbed the monk’s hand and lifted her other hand to the cold wall beside her. Sliding her foot to the edge of the wall, she inched along it.
For a hundred feet she shuffled, holding Arnoldo’s hand with her left and running her right along the wall. Around a turn and a light the size of a pinhead shone at the end. “You’ll need to get on your hands and knees. The ceiling lowers before we reach the exit.”
A whiff of onion and body odor floated by as the rough wool of the monk’s garb rubbed against her hand. She bent down beside him. “Grab my foot, and I’ll guide you.”
They crawled one after the other for several feet while the light grew until blue sky could be seen through a hole the size of a bear’s waist.
The monk’s heavy breathing echoed through the narrow passageway.
Theresa clenched her teeth and glanced back. Lord willing, he would make it.
The grit of the floor pressed into Theresa’s hands, and her knees bled against her skirt. She held her breath as she peered out through the hole. If the things went as planned, her brother, Joseph, would be waiting with horses.
“Pst!”
She turned and saw her brother holding two bays. “The bishop’s men have come through the city gates. We must hurry.”
Theresa pointed to the scroll in the monk’s hand. “That is a letter of introduction. My father has a friend in Zurich with whom you will stay. My brother will take you as far as the Liechenstein. There you will be given further directions.”
“God be with you.” The monk bowed his head to her.
“And you.”
Shouts rode upon the wind.
“The guards are coming.” Joseph helped the monk onto the smaller bay. “Theresa, go back.”
She dove into the hole and held her breath as she listened to the thunder of horses’ hooves fade. God of mercy, help them. Keep them safe.
The sun began to set before Theresa made her way back down the dark tunnel. By the time she left the corridors, darkness had engulfed the town of Brescia. She stepped out into the street, pulling her hood over her head and around her face.
“Theresa!” a man hissed.
She rushed to the voice. “Father.”
He took her hands and pulled her into a dark building. “Did he get away? Did Joseph make it?”
“Yes.”
He nodded and looked across the alley. “He was Brescia’s hope, you know.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Heaven beheld Italia’s tears and sent us Arnoldo. God be praised.”
“Jacob.”
Theresa slipped behind her father. She didn’t recognize the voice. Who could it be?
“Eugenius, what is the word?” Her father drew his arm around her and placed her beside him. “This is my daughter. She led Arnoldo to Joseph.”
The tall man with dark robes and a hood that hid his face nodded to her. “My pigeon brought word they made it to Liechenstein.” He rested a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “They’re safe and Joseph will return in the morrow.”
Theresa felt her father’s arm relax, though her own body trembled with fatigue.
“God be praised,” her father replied and led her to a chair.
Tears rolled down her face as she sat. God had spared them. By God’s grace, Arnoldo would continue to speak of the freedom found in Christ. Perhaps she had not been such a fool to help him after all.
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Arnoldo continued to preach the True Gospel of the free gift of salvation. He later returned to Rome, convincing many of their freedom, but when he retired to Tuscany, he was seized. Taken to Rome, he was condemned by the Pope who had him crucified and burned, and his ashes thrown into the Tiber.
While it may appear as though the clergy won, Arnoldo’s followers continued his message of preaching the True Gospel of Christ. Unlike those clergy who did not believe that one is saved by faith in the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ, Arnoldo now finds his rest in Heaven, with other martyrs of the faith.
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Food for Thought
- How does one get saved? Read Romans 10:9-13.
- Does the Bible warn us of those who teach false doctrine? Read Paul's epistle to the Galatians; I Timothy 4:1-5; II Timothy 3:1-9; II Peter 2.
- If you lived in a time and a place where you could be killed for sharing God's true Gospel, would you have the courage to do so? Read Philippians 1.
