They worked even when it rained and at the beginning of Stefan's sixth week as a slave, the old man slipped in the mud and started to fall. Stefan dropped his basket and reached out just in time to keep the old man's head from hitting a sharp rock.
Suddenly, Stefan felt the lash of a whip. The pain made him arch his back and in an instant, he spun around. This time when the guard tried to strike him, Stefan grabbed hold of the whip and yanked the guard to him. He stood a good foot taller than his captor, was enraged enough to kill him and the guard had terror in his eyes. But Stefan worked the whip handle out of the man's hand, broke it over his knee and tossed it away. He looked to see if the old man needed more help, saw his grateful nod and went back to work.
The stunned guard could do nothing but stare at the blood soaking through the back of Stefan's tunic. He finally recovered his wits, picked up what was left of his whip and considered its usefulness. He decided there was enough of a handle left to strike Stefan a second time and pulled his hand back.
"I would not attempt it, were I ye, Striker."
The guard turned just in time to see a monk ride his mule out of the trees behind him. He lowered both the whip and his head. "I am Gowan, father."
"Striker suits ye better. Have ye not heard the words of the Lord? A lad who be willing to lose his life for another will sit at the right hand o' God and pass judgment on such as ye when ye have gone to yer just rewards."
All the slaves stopped working and turned to listen. The riled guard dismissed the monk's words and yelled, "Back to work, all o' ye!"
"Where be yer commander, Striker?" asked the monk.
"'Tis the Sabbath. He be resting."
"Aye, 'tis the Sabbath to be sure. 'Tis the only day I am allowed to ride me mule and see the land, which I consider a good way to rest. Perhaps ye would care to show me where in the Good Book it says these men are not also allowed a day o' rest."
At that, the guard frowned. "I dinna make the decisions."
"Who does?"
"My commander."
"Then ye will go and fetch him for me."
"Fetch him? He will have my head if I…"
"I will have yer head if ye dinna." The monk considered the perplexed look on the guard's face for a moment. "Might I remind ye, ye build this bridge for the monastery. When the Pope hears…"