Twenty-nine

Selden rose in the middle of the night to recite Vigils. He let Geoffrey sleep, a kindness he offered only so that the young man would be well rested come dawn. Perhaps with a little more sleep Geoffrey would argue less about his being sent back to the school. Selden had already made plans for the young man to accompany a merchant who was on his way to the Cities.

He lit a torch in the church. The candles, he was saving for the funeral rites. The beeswax burned slowly, but there was only the one full candle left. It would do for the altar–vigil and funeral, and some days of the octave.

“Funny how the details of living already confound the grieving,” Selden thought, for he had come to like the bishop quite a lot. “But we’ll live these days well, or try. The man’s not yet dead.”

Selden prayed until dawn. Geoffrey came into the church then and they took up Matins together, reciting the psalms of the day responsively, sharing the last when the verses were odd-numbered.

When they were finished, Geoffrey told the master, “The villagers are bringing food and wood to the bishop.”

“They’re generous people.”

“We’ll make do on our own, then?”

“They’re poor people, too.”

“Rian’s told me that his mother will cook for us,” Geoffrey shared.

“She’ll just cook for one,” Selden told him, which drew a hard look from the student.

“You can’t send me away.”

Selden chuckled, “I can command you if you like.”

“I’m needed here.” He was sincere, always puzzled that the master would not carry even a dagger.

“I would rather not argue, Geoffrey. I know you mean well, and I don’t discount the help you are to me, but someone needs to tell Primus that I’m to be here for more days.”

“Through the octave?”

“Yes. What’s a few more days?”

“That’s how I feel.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“You won’t even carry a blade. How could you ever defend yourself here?”

Selden’s ire was being stoked. “I won’t argue... And you will obey.”

These were direct words and Geoffrey was galled by them. He raised his voice, “Don’t you feel the tension here? The resentment the First People hold toward us?”

“Quiet! I told you–”

“I will not be quiet,” though he did lower his voice. “I’m entitled to my argument.”

“I’m entitled to your obedience.” Selden stared.

“I’ll cut us firewood with Rian. He’s offered. He’s the obedient one, I can tell. The good one who’ll– ”

“Geoffrey, listen, please.”

The young man was already standing, waiting for leave, breathing deeply, simmering, waiting for the boil.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn't so hard to be kind, Selden thought.

The young man's stance softened. “I can’t change your mind?”

“No... The firewood will be most appreciated. And then we can discuss our plans.”

“Yes, master.” And the young man received Selden’s blessing and headed to the village square to seek out Rian at his father’s smithy.

Selden thought, “A fierce lad. Loyal and good-hearted. As stubborn as I was, and maybe more.”