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The story of Philip and the Ethiopian (Acts 8 v26-40)  told by the driver of the chariot.
Monologue for a man, who can stand or sit as if telling a tale in a bar a few weeks after the Ethiopian arrived home.

The Charioteer’s tale, by Kit Walkham

An eventful journey? Indeed it was – though not in the way you might think. No attacks by highwaymen, no broken chariot wheels, only the usual ration of bed bugs and suspect food. But His Excellency reckons it changed his life.

You’ve noticed the effect on him, I imagine? Lightened up? Yes – that about describes it. Still very serious of course – and that’s only proper for the keeper of the Queen’s treasure – but he’s found a smile I’ve never seen before.

How? Well, there’s the tale – and it happened in the middle of nowhere.

You recall we’d been up north, to Jerusalem. Odd sort of city. No river to speak of. Been there for centuries. Not a patch on Meroe, our capital on the Nile. Romans everywhere of course – but they allow the Jews to practice their religion, which is what His Excellency went for. Pilgrimage, he called it – though I can’t see why he holds onto the tradition. A eunuch can’t enter their temple or offer sacrifices. Jews would see it as an insult to their God - a man without all his bits – no matter how clever he is.

So His Excellency was in a low mood when we set off back to Ethiopia. Not helped by the scenery – the road south of Jerusalem’s pretty bleak, and the chariot was lurching. He asked me to slow down so he could read a new scroll he’d bought – a posh copy of writing by one of the Jewish prophets.

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