She was silent for a minute. Then she went on.
“Are all of you Christians? The doctor and the other, and the darker-faced men?”
“The darker-faced men are not, though they also believe in one God, but they do not believe in Christ, saying that He was only a great prophet, not God. My two friends are Christians by birth, but the doctor says that such things are beyond him, and he will not believe in anything he cannot see or handle and prove for himself. Wrexham—the stout man you saw for a minute last night—believes in God, I think, but he pretends he is not sure, and so, like many people, from wanting to be quite sure of everything, he is not even sure of not believing.”
“That must be very sad for him.”
“It is, since he is such a good man. However, if we get to heaven we shall find him and lots more up above us, all right, for all the good things they have done so much better than we who, knowing more, should be better than they.”
“True, Harilek. You, like me, are clearly a believer in the faith. I am more than glad.”
We were silent a little after that, and then she asked where Wrexham was, so I told her what he was doing, and how he had tried to get the old chief’s body back to bury.
“He is clearly a brave man. Fancy crawling right up to the gates like that,” said Aryenis. “Is he also a soldier?”
“Not always, though he has fought much. He is an engineer, one who has knowledge of building and mines, and the making of all kinds of metal-work and such things.”
“And the darker-faced men?”