There were no windows either. Only a curious slit high up in the back wall, too high to serve as a window and too small to let in much light. It was strangely-shaped too-one long vertical slash, crossed at its upper terminus by a horizontal slash nearly as long.

The light entering through this unusual window slanted down in a bright shaft in which midges and motes of dust idly whirled. She watched for a moment and then turned to go, but reached the fallen roof beam and stopped. The peace of the odd ruin appealed to her and she sat down on the beam, the light from the curious window falling all around her.

The warmth of the sunlight on her back felt good and Charis closed her eyes. Outside she heard the tinkling of the tiny silver Bells braided into her pony’s mane as the horse grazed quietly and the sigh of the breeze…

But there was something else as well. As she listened, Charis became aware of a mumble of voices speaking softly nearby. Her gray pony whickered to her, tossing its head, making the Bells jingle in gentle alarm. Visitors.

The voices stopped as the strangers entered the clearing. Perhaps they had seen her mount. She could not see her guests but imagined them standing without, looking dumbly at the pony and at the rained building. She heard the slight shuffle of stealthy footsteps as someone approached the structure.

A dark shape appeared in the doorway, that of a young man above middle height who stood blinking into the light. She watched as the man’s eyes wandered over the interior and then, at last, came to rest on her, taking her in first as a feature of the place and only later as a living being like himself. The shock of this small revelation made the man gasp and fall back. His reaction was noticed, for a quick exclamation of concern sounded from outside.

The man in the doorway did not answer; he did not take his eyes off Charis. He stood for a moment, staring, then took a slow step into the ruin and sank to his knees, clasping his hands in front of him.

Charis was as surprised by this behavior as the man was shocked by her. The stranger’s companion exclaimed again- Charis heard the fear in the man’s voice-but received no answer, for the man in front of her remained motionless, staring at her, terror and rapture on his face.

His fellow rushed in then, took in his friend in a prolonged gape, and raised his eyes to where Charis sat, hands folded in her lap, serene and regal as any queen on her throne. The second intruder sank to his knees also and raised trembling hands in supplication to her. “Maria!” he said, joyous tears boiling over his cheeks. “Ave, Maria!”

This both unnerved and fascinated Charis. Clearly she was being addressed in some reverential way but in a strange speech-definitely not the language of the local Dumnoni. Who were these men-dressed plainly, hair cropped short over their round heads in the manner of scholars, their young, bearded faces bright with joy and reflected sunlight-who could they be?

She rose to her feet, a motion which brought a gasp from one of the men. “Who are you?” she asked in the speech of the Britons.

The men looked at her, their eyes growing wide with wonder. To her surprise one of them answered her. “Holy Mary, mother of the Christ, Lord of all the Hosts of Heaven, have mercy on us!”

Although the words were strange, she understood them; the man could speak the local dialect. “Who are you?” she asked again.

“Why-followers of Martin,” the man sputtered, confused.

“Ave, ave, Maria, Mater Deo!” jabbered the second stranger, his face raised to the hole in the roof, the light full on his blissful countenance,

“Why have you come here?”

“We have come seeking this holy place…”He gazed at her and doubt came into his eyes. Charis read his confusion.

“You are far from home,” she said quietly.

The man nodded but did not speak. The expression of joy faded from his face, replaced by one of uncertainty.

“Who is this Holy Mary of whom you speak?”

“Mother of the Most High God, Jesu the Christ, Savior of Mankind, Lord of Heaven and Earth.” He lowered his hands and unclasped them. “You are not the Blessed Lady?”

Charis smiled. “I have never heard of this goddess.”

The man’s round face flushed crimson. He climbed quickly to his feet. “Forgive me, lady,” he muttered. His friend opened his eyes and peered around. Seeing his companion on his feet, he too jumped up and rushed forward, falling on his face at Charis’ feet and seizing the embroidered hem of her tunic in his hands. He raised the garment to his lips and kissed it.

“Collen!” exclaimed the first man, and went on to say something in a burst of odd-sounding speech which Charis did not understand. The other looked around curiously, glanced back at Charis, dropped the hem and scuttled backwards.

“Forgive us, lady,” said the first intruder. “We thought… We did not know.”

Charis dismissed the apology with a gesture and asked, “She is your goddess, this Mary?”

“Goddess?” The man blanched, but answered forthrightly, “In the name of Jesu, no! We worship no god but the True God.” He raised a hand to their surroundings. “The God who was once worshiped here in this very place.”

“The True God?” Charis puzzled at the meaning of these words. “Worshiped here?” It seemed unlikely to her.

The second man asked a question of the first, who answered him in the foreign tongue. They discussed something for a moment and then the first turned and addressed Charis. “Collen here is not fluent in the tongue of the Britons as I am. Although his grandmother was born in Logres, he is from Gaul and has only the speech of the Gauls and of our brothers in Rome.” He smiled and made a polite bow. “My name is Dafyd. I am of the Silures in Dyfed, no great distance from here.”

“I am Charis; I live near this place in the palace of my father, Avallach, who is king of all these lands.”

The man’s glance quickened. “Avallach? The king of the Fair Folk who dwell on the Glass Isle?”

“Ynys Witrin; yes, that is what they call our palace.”

Dafyd’s eyes grew round. His comrade glanced at him in alarm and asked an unintelligible question. The first man put out a hand to silence the other and shook his head, keeping his eyes on Charis all the while. “Faery,” he whispered.

“Is something wrong?” Charis asked.

“The people here tell many strange tales about you. We have heard things” He broke off.

“Disturbing things,” Charis guessed from the trepidation in his voice.

Dafyd nodded.

“Enchantments and magic,” she continued. “We are said to change our shapes at will: wolves, hounds, stags; we take on the forms of birds and fly; we never sleep or rest; and we have but to bid and the winds bring us news from any corner of our realm, thus any word or speech is known to us… Yes, I know well what they say of us.” She shrugged and lifted an eyebrow. “But you appear to be learned men, what will you Believe?”

“We will Believe,” Dafyd answered slowly, “what the Holy God reveals to us as the truth of this matter.”

Charis pondered these words for a moment and asked, “This god is this same True God?”

“He is one and the same, lady,” replied Dafyd. “We call him Lord and King, Almighty Father, for he is Creator of all that is seen and unseen, and we are his servants.”

“Indeed? I have never heard of this god,” replied Charis matter-of-factly. “Tell me about him.”

Dafyd grinned happily. He spoke a quick word to Collen, who with a last backward glance moved to the doorway and hurried off. “I sent him to look after the horses,” Dafyd explained. “He will wait for us without.”

Charis seated herself once more on the fallen beam and indicated that the holy man should take a place next to her.

He did so, approaching with caution, settling beside her, near but holding himself apart, as from an open flame.