The Wabbit hopped leisurely through the portico of St Paul
Outside-the-Walls and, as was his way, felt quite at ease in the imposing
structure. But as he hopped he became aware of someone or something watching
him. Now the Wabbit’s predisposition for paranoia was well known, but as time
passed, he had developed a working relationship and was on rather good terms with the phenomenon. So at first he
just twitched his ears and glanced up at the roof and looked around and about.
He knew that mosaics could play tricks with the eyes, so he clutched his fur
remedy firmly and took in the scene. The Wabbit liked to count the Basilica’s
150 columns as he hopped because he found it soothing - and he was
supposed to be on a relaxing holiday so he did exactly that. But suddenly his
fur started to prickle. He had miscounted and that never ever happened. The
Wabbit turned his head to see a flash of red and a figure vanishing behind a
pillar. "Romans!" thought the Wabbit. The Wabbit was tolerant enough
of Romans but this looked like trouble. Certainly he recalled their record with
Paul was mixed to say the least. He also knew that Roman soldiers had
weapons, which they called "throwables", and he had no intention of getting in
their way. He grasped his box closer to his chest. "They’re not getting my
fur lotion," thought the Wabbit.
