Martin Luther is fearlessly prepared to face destiny. The shrieks of running horses echoes through the peaceful Beech trees, signaling the most important event of 1521.
Carrying the most wanted man in the Holy Roman Empire, a horse-drawn carriage runs through the woods. Operating at top speed, the driver has only one impossible mission: get Martin Luther to Wittenberg, alive. Luther, however, is surprisingly calm. His usual emotionless face does not reflect the horror that is awaiting him. At some level, he always knew that the day would come when he rebelled against the most powerful man in the Holy Roman Empire, Pope Leo X. He has sacrificed everything for his faith—and his faith only—and now is the day to confront the consequences. In sharp contrast with Luther, the color is drained from the face of his companion. Paralyzed with fear, the skinny old man stares into space with widened eyes, mouth half-open.
The coach’s wheels wobble on their axles; they are surely not made for such speed. The driver whips the horses to run faster. The light brown horses scream in pain.
The driver looks back. Although no one is there, he is still distressed. They must not be far behind. He whips the horses again; this time harder. The whip inflicts fresh wounds on their back, mixing the light brown hair with fresh, red blood. The poor horses run as fast as they can, but civilian horses are not made for a day like this.
A stone is shattered to pieces by the touch of a golden horseshoe worn by a black horse. This is not one of the civilian horses that are using every last ounce of their strength to save Luther’s life. This is a warhorse leading a group of six. The warriors have their swords drawn from their scabbards; the swords that are ready to shed more blood. They seem unstoppable, whisking through the forest like a strong wind.
Far ahead, a thick tree branch blocks their way. They should slow down to maneuver around it. That, however, would give Luther a slightly higher chance to escape. The lead warrior, without slowing, holds his sword up. He charges closer and closer to the branch. This is impossible; they should stop now before it is too late. Right before hitting the thick branch, the warrior slashes it away with one swing of his sword, like he is executing a guillotine. The cut branch punches his shield before it gets thrown away to the side of the road. The warrior swiftly guides the small army past the obstruction and on to their next target.
As if he just sensed something, Luther’s companion unconsciously touches his neck and then his head to ensure that they are still there. He sinks back to his seat, panting.
Luther, on the other hand, is bravely tranquil. He puts his hand on the companion’s hand. A sense of peace is transferred to the companion’s heart when he looks Luther in the eye. The companion is breathing slower now.
The face of an innocent baby deer reflects in the calm water of a small puddle. The water is crystal clear. Leaning forward, the baby deer drinks from it.
As she is drinking, her ears perk up and tilt toward the end of the road. The sound of horses approaching from far away is now audible. The galloping sound becomes louder and louder. The deer looks up and sees a big cloud of dust approaching. Following her instincts, she darts away.
In no time, the warriors appear through the dust. While passing, the horses’ hoofs step over the puddle, turning its clear water into dirty mud.
The coach driver looks back to see if he can see the warriors yet. A cloud of dust approaching from far away. This is the end, the terrified driver thinks and whips the horses to run faster; but how much faster can they go?! The horses shriek from exhaustion.
The wheel collides with a stone. The coach shakes, bouncing left and right. “JESUS,” the companion screams. His arms wrapped around Luther, he hugs him tightly from the side.
Luther, still calm, puts one arm on the companion’s shoulder, trying to soothe him. As the companion is in his arm, Luther looks back and notices the cloud of dust getting closer and closer. That frightens him a bit. He manages to keep it together though. He has to be brave for both of them.
“It shall be well,” he says to the companion. “Have faith, my friend. Have faith.”
“Martin Luther,” a hostile voice calls.
Recognizing the voice, Luther turns his head toward it.
Flashback to a few days ago.