Dawn peeked its way into Konrad’s window. For the first time in hours, he looked up from his work and took a precious moment to view the sunrise. While it wasn’t the first time he had spent an entire night translating, it still surprised him how rapt in his work he could get. The Lord once again smiles on his humble servant, he thought. Then, much to his surprise, a knock came at his door.
Opening the door, Konrad saw the warm face of his friend Johann.
“What are you doing up so early, Johann?”
“I could say the same to you. Your candle remains lit over your latest translation.”
“Point taken. What do you need, my friend?”
Johann produced an official-looking piece of paper from his coat. It was one of the newfangled sheets mass-produced from a printing press. While Konrad knew the importance and help of such a machine, the weight of his art’s death still weighed heavy on his soul. Taking the paper, he read its blocky text and perfectly spaced letters. His eyes only made it a few lines down the page before looking up at Johann wide-eyed.
“A copy of Isaiah written before the birth of Our Lord? Who has this? How did they get it? Where is it? When can I—” Johann quickly cut off his barrage of questions.
“Apparently, some monk in Italy saw the error of Rome’s ways and wants to give some of the Hebrew texts gained in the First Crusade to aid our cause of translating them directly into the vernacular. I came to you as soon as I could. There is simply no one else as committed to the mission as you.”
Konrad grinned from ear to ear. While it was a well-known fact within the Lutheran community that he was the most talented and fervent translator, hearing the praise confirmed that what he spent almost every waking moment doing was as valued by others as it was by him. “Where is he? When can we go? How can I get there?”
Johann’s smile came to match his own. “While I do not have your translating skills, the Lord has gifted me with great wealth and I intend to use it to advance His kingdom. I have already arranged a wagon for you. It leaves this afternoon.”
Konrad rushed into his patron’s arms, gave him a hug tighter than his boyish frame should have been capable of, and hurried back into his house to prepare his things.
A month later, Konrad arrived at the monastery where he was to obtain the holiest relic he would ever lay eyes on. While the dirty papists admired their bones and teeth of saints long dead, Konrad valued the inspired and inerrant word of God. Just to think, he was about to get his hands on one of the most important Old Testament books in its original Hebrew. The good he could do translating it into the language of the common man had him nearly jumping with excitement, but enough anticipation—he all but ran up to the monastery door, grabbed the knocker and slammed it thrice. After only a few seconds, the large doors opened to reveal…not what he was expecting.
Instead of the humble monk Konrad was told he would meet, he saw a wicked creature in cardinal’s robes with a group of armed retainers flanking his left and right. Upon seeing him, the man’s natural scowl slowly transformed into a predatory grin. “Good afternoon, Konrad Schreiber. I have a job for you.” Konrad froze, his mind racing. He somehow made it to twenty-five years of age without a single day of hard labor, while the men in front of him clearly had a much different upbringing. Without hope of escape, he hung his head and cried as the men bound his hands and escorted him to his new quarters.