Ben reclined in his chair as the coach sped onwards. It hadn’t been an easy decision for him to attend English camp in Moldova, but he felt wanted and that was certainly a good feeling. More so, he also felt a divine calling which was hard to resist.

So here he found himself hurtling towards the unknown. The coach around him was a fairly standard affair, although one thing stood out. At the front, precariously perched above the driver it had to be said, was a television screen. It was showing a Russian film. Undoubtedly a classic of the Soviet era Ben surmised.

Ben’s Russian was only basic level, but nevertheless the pictures were sufficiently telling. The film seemed to be about some sort of Russian soldier from yesteryear who was sojourning through a desert. Based on the opening scene which depicted a well-built, but nevertheless attractive lady, wending her way through lush fields, unperturbed by the heavy water buckets she was carrying, Ben felt like he knew where the soldier was headed. However, in order to get there, he was having some trials and tribulations. That’s always the way, thought Ben! The main problem involved some odd antiques with a harem and some unfortunate encounters with a Sultan. The exact details were somewhat beyond Ben’s Russian prowess, but in any case, he was doing his best to not get too captivated by what was going on. It was hard though and however much he tried to look in other directions, somehow his eyes kept on getting drawn back to the flickering screen.

After a while though a meaningful diversion did appear. At one of their stops, Ben noticed a smart student type who entered the bus and plonked himself down right across the aisle from him. Ben felt like this must be some sort of sign.

It didn’t come easy to Ben to talk to strangers but this time he felt like he just had to. He began to search for an opportunity. He took his usual soft approach catching the guy’s gaze a couple of times before finally, after about an hour, managing to utter something.

‘Do you know where we are,’ asked Ben in his fluent, but rather English, Romanian.

The young man replied, ‘Targu Frumos’.

Ben waited expectantly to see if his opening line led to any further discussion. After a pause Ben realised that he had to do some more probing.

‘Do you know how long till we get to Moldova?’

‘About an hour so’.

This time the young man’s interest was raised.

‘Where are you from?’

‘England’.

The man paused processing this information. He looked again at Ben and asked the inevitable, ‘How do you know Romanian?’

‘Oh, I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Romania. More than that though, I think it was God’s plan for me to learn!’

The man’s interest was pricked.

‘Have you ever been to Moldova before?’

‘No, it’s my first time!’

‘Well, you’re in for an experience!’ said the man in conclusion with a glint in his eye, before turning o check his mobile telephone.

Ben, not being one to insist realised that this was his queue to do the same, except that he hadn’t yet invested in a modern smart phone. Nevertheless, he had a quick glance at his Nokia. There were no sms or missed calls, so the entertainment value of the phone passed quickly. Ben’s newfound companion was getting engrossed in some sort of online discussions with people who were obviously more interesting than Ben, but no problem thought Ben. He leaned back and began starring out the window, admiring the Romanian countryside, or least as much of it as he could make out in the gloom of early evening.

Time passed and Ben became increasingly fidgety. He was also getting hungry, but they hadn’t yet reached the border and from there, there was still two hours to his destination. His travel companion seemed to also have run out of people to talk to on the internet. Either that or his fingers were just sore. In any case, he turned now back to Ben.

 ‘What religion are you from?’

Ben understood the question in terms of the words, but he was a bit confused about the sentiment.

‘Well, I’m not really religious. I just believe in the Bible and what it says’. He began to wonder if he’s appearance suggested one religion or another. At times in Romania, he had taken for being a Mormon, although that was probably due to his heavily English accented Romanian making him seem like he was from the local Mormon temple.

‘What church do you go to?’, continued the man, not taking the bait to be drawn into a conversation about the Bible.

‘Well, as it happens, a Baptist Church’.

Ben felt like this admission was possibly a mistake. Certainly, it seemed to cause a pause in the man’s questioning. Eventually, though he resumed.

‘Do you know about Stephen Cel Mare?’

Ben didn’t quite twig the link, but he had most definitely read up on Stephen.

‘Of course! Moldova’s greatest ruler!’

‘He won 46 of 48 battles you know?’

Ben had heard something to this effect.

‘But do you know what he did after each victory?’

This was a more testing question. A big party was an obvious answer, but he felt that there must be more to the question.

‘Not really’.

‘Well, actually he fired an arrow off a hillside and then built a monastery where it landed’.

Potentially tricky thought Ben to himself, but then again, Stephen was probably a good aim if he’d won so many battles.

‘You see, Stephen was a champion of Orthodoxy. We in Moldova are Orthodox Christians. We don’t need other types of Christians who have broken away from the true church’.

Ben hadn’t really seen himself before as being broken away from the true church.

‘Well, I don’t think my church is that strange,’ said Ben, not entirely convinced.

‘Maybe so, but we are the apostolic succession!’

Ben could see the conversation descending into something of a never-ending argument, so he decided to change tact.

‘You know, I’m going to an English camp. Would you like to come?’

The young man looked taken aback. Ben realised that he needed some convincing.

‘It’ll be great. There’ll be other English people and games and a swimming pool and….’

Ben stopped as the man looked away. His powers of persuasion were obviously limited. However, after a brief pause the man turned back.

‘Maybe I’ll come. What’s your number?’

Ben didn’t have a Moldovan telephone yet, but he exchanged email addresses and social media. In doing so, he realised that he hadn’t even asked the man’s name. No matter though as the contact exchange revealed to him that information; Ion.  

Prologue 2 Despair