Amen

“Oh, Allah above, as Djaq would say -

please smile upon these stinking men.

And spare me a blessing as I darn these socks

Much - the cook, the mother hen.

.

Please let pheasants rain down on my kitchen,

Or if that's a wish stretched too far -

When we're lost, let the North Road find us,

Through the glow of your Christ's star.

.

We're hungry, my Lord, churning and tired

And my eyes see nothing but dust,

Please lift the corner's of my Master's lips,

I'll sing and dance if I must!

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The fire could burn for eternity and more,

That is – if you're willing to spare us,

Will's spirits need lifting; his cold hands need gifting,

We'll even fast a day if you dare us.

.

This sword has touched a Turk's heart,

And a Turk – like my sister – has a soul,

But please forgive me my sins and relieve Robin's 'mares,

For his dreams have taken their toll.

.

So, Allah above, as Djaq would say -

please smile upon these stinking men.

And spare me a blessing as I darn these socks

Much – I pray, again.”

.

“That's an interesting hymn, Much,” the Saracen's dark eyes crinkle with amusement yet, beneath the stifled laughter, there is tender warmth.

“Let's make a new name,” the outlaw taps his wooden spoon thoughtfully, “so that we can both be happy. Allah and God combined, shall we say?”

“I am content with our separate religions,” comes the response.

“Let us create a Lallah or Allog!” Much cries.

“Or Allah-God,” Djaq suggests, “or perhaps Gallah?”

“Lord and Allah – Lallah,” the chef insists.

“Allord?”

“Yes,” Much decides with a radiant grin, “Allord. We shall praise Allord. Oh, Allord above...”