The Oxford Set
It was a sunny, late August day in the quaint Wiltshire village of Brambleton, and St Joseph the Immaculate, the local church, was packed.
Dylan and Scarlett Jones were in the congregation. They visited the village occasionally from their home in nearby Bath to see Dylan’s uncle, Henry.
Dylan’s uncle was a priest, but he was unsure if a divine being existed. However, he respected people’s beliefs as long as it did not harm anyone and liked to visit small churches like St. Joseph’s.
Once the service had ended and the congregation gathered at the back of the church, Dylan and Scarlett caught up with the vicar.
“Very riveting sermon, Henry. Congrats.” Dylan said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Thank you, Dil. I hope it possibly brought you two closer to God,” said Henry.
Dylan smirked.
“Nice try, but no. I think he’ll have to show himself if that’s ever gonna happen.”
Henry laughed Dylan’s comment off, then took a sip of his tea.
“A little birdy told me that you’re off to Jordan to seek the Holy Grail.” Henry said, “is that true?”
“It is, yeah.” Dylan said. “If I do find it, you can have it.”
Scarlett looked at her husband with wide, bulging eyes.
“Hey, what happened to the Old Petra Museum?” Scarlett said. “I thought they had a look in.”
“Well, no one knows it exists, do they, babe?” Dylan said. “No one’s going to know if it’s in a small village church in Wiltshire now, are they?”
“We would know, and so would visitors to this church,” Henry said. “It is a nice offer, Dil, and I am grateful, but I am not worthy to possess such an artefact.”
“Oh, come off it, mate!” Dylan said. “‘Course you are!”
“Saying an edifying sermon does not give me the right to own the actual cup that Christ drank from Dil,” Henry said.
“Suit yourself,” said Dylan.
After a few minutes of catching up, the congregation left the church and dispersed into the village.
Dylan, Scarlett, and Henry walked to the other end of the village, to the luxury five-star hotel Dylan and Scarlett were staying at, just because they could.
As they walked over the bridge, a lone man dressed as a Roman Centurion walked past them in the opposite direction.
Dylan noticed him and smiled. “Great outfit mate.” Dylan said. Scarlett and Henry continued to talk to each other, not appearing to notice the Centurion.
“Gratias tibi ago, bone domine*.” The Centurion replied in perfect Latin.
“Gratias, Mate!**” Dylan said, being fluent in Latin, having studied it whilst at Stowe and Oxford.
“Who are you talking to, babe?” Scarlett said.
“That guy, there, dressed as a Roman Centurion. Didn’t you see him?” Dylan said.
“No. We’re the only people here, Dylan. You appeared to be talking to yourself.” Scarlett said.
Confused, Dylan remained silent for the rest of the walk back.
Brambletons have been seeing a Roman Centurion crossing that bridge for centuries, said Henry while having a pint.. “I’ve never seen it myself, but many people in my congregation have.”
“But that’s not possible. Ghosts don’t exist, do they?” Dylan said.
“I did not entirely know it whether ghosts exist or not,” Henry said. “Something your brother clearly isn’t aware of.”
Dylan laughed before taking a sip of his pint.
“Yeah. I better not tell Ben about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Dylan said.
“Or maybe you should tell him. He could do with opening his mind,” said Scarlett.
Dylan laughed before taking another sip of his pint.
After Dylan and Henry had finished their pints, and Scarlett her wine, Henry bid farewell to his nephew and niece-in-law and returned to the vicarage.
That night, Dylan decided that he would indeed tell his brother about the ghost, and so had a zoom call with him.
“It was a figment of your imagination, Dylan,” Ben said
“But I saw it, clear as day, mate,” Dylan said.
Ben glared at his brother through the computer screen, over the rim of a glass of red wine.
Ben then turned to Scarlett, who was sitting next to Ben on the Zoom call.
“You didn’t see the Centurion, did you, Scarlett?” Ben said.
Scarlett simply shook her head, being somewhat afraid of Ben when he was in his skeptic mode.
“And did our dear uncle see the Centurion?” Ben said.
Dylan silently shook his head before taking a sip of his wine.
“Then the only rational explanation was that you imagined it,” Ben said. “But oh well, at least you had a chance to practise your Latin.”
“I’m not the only one who’s seen the ghost, mate. Loads of people have,” Dylan said.
“As have seen, most paranormal sightings around the world.” Ben said. “That doesn’t mean what they saw was real.”
A few hours later, Dylan and Scarlett sat up in bed.
“Perhaps the Centurion was just a guy in a costume, and he moved too quickly for you to see him?” Dylan said.
Scarlett turned the page of the edition of the Guardian she was reading.
“That might be possible. But the Communion Wine may also have got to your head. That stuff is potent.” Scarlett said.
“I didn’t drink that much, babe.” Dylan said. “I’m sure what I saw was real.”
“Whatever you say, Dil,” Scarlett said, lowering herself into bed and falling asleep.
“Goodnight, Scarlett,” Dylan said, kissing his wife on the cheek before he himself went to sleep.
The following day, Scarlett and Dylan returned to the Roman Bridge.
Today they were alone, apart from other tourists. Not a Roman Centurion was in sight.
Feeling a bit despondent, Dylan agreed to venture further into the village with Scarlett.
“Perhaps it’s time to accept you imagined it.” Scarlett said.
“Yeah, I guess.” Dylan said.
And with that, Dylan and Scarlett entered the centre of Brambleton, and neither talked of the Centurion again.
*Translation: “Thank you, kind sir.”
The Robinsonverse 