Sunday, August 1, 2010
Picture B: Image of a castle set on a hill top
A visitor to the medieval castle crossed the drawbridge over the moat and approached the narrow doorway, which was protected by a tower on each side. As he was admitted, the pathway behind him crashed and he knew that there was no way back. The only way forward, was downwards. The iron grating gradually rose on its creaking pulleys while the heavy, wooden doors swung open, finding himself in the courtyard commanded by the great central tower, where the lord and his family lived, especially in time of war. At the summit of the tower rose a platform from where the sentinel surveyed the country far and wide; below two stories underground lay the dungeon, dark, damp, and dirty. As the visitor walked about the court-yard, he came upon the Great hall, used as the lord's residence in time of peace, the armory, the chapel, the kitchens, and the stables. “Turn around and don’t say a word.” That was what he heard, what he did. “Good. Now if you may, follow the path.” The voice meant, the path down.