Selden's voice was surprisingly strong, Geoffrey thought. The master hardly ever sang out at Chapter, or even Mass for that matter. And why so mournful a song? It was one the boy remembered his mother singing, the tune so bittersweet and lovely.
Man mei longe him lives wene,
ac ofte him liyet the wreinch;
fair weder ofte him went to rene,
an ferliche maket is blench
thar-vore, man, thu the bithench,
al sel valui the grene,
wela-wey Nis King ne Quene
that ne sel drinke of dethis drench.
Man, er thu falle of thi bench,
thu sinne aquench.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Large-Hearted Boy. Part Seven.
Selden entered the church and was reminded of his childhood. He grew up in a village something like Cald Mere. Their church had been even simpler, with a hard mud floor instead of the large stones that were pieced together here. They, too, had a vast fireplace that would struggle to keep everyone warm in the winter. Folks wore their coats inside in the dead of winter. There was no need for the hooks that lined one wall. In fact, the coat hooks were rarely used. Perhaps in spring or autumn–but only when it was raining would people wear coats. Otherwise, they basked in whatever sun might shine. They knew too well that the winters were long, and deep, and unforgiving.
The priest approached the altar and knelt down, though his bones complained. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and recited a prayer that all knew, even children:
O Lord, turne not away thy face from him that lieth prostrate
Lamenting sore his sinneful life before thy mercies gate
Which gate thou openest wide to those that doe lament their sinne
Shut not that gate against me, Lord, but let me enter in.
Selden rose and took a place in the choir and, seated there, began to feel the tension leave his shoulders. He knew if he remained there for a time, even his headache would go away. It was the hope for Communion. His faith was not so weak that he stopped hoping. Still, it was easier when he was young.
Everything was easier. Understanding was easy because he never really considered anything deeper than common doctrine and teaching. Yes, he’d had all sorts of theology, but his real interest had always been with numbers. And numbers had their mysteries, too. His duties were easier, too, because so little was asked of him. Now, the Archmage seemed to rely on him more and more. Selden couldn’t understand why.
And of all the people to select to come to Cald Mere. His magic was so weak in comparison to the others, he could hardly defend himself. Even wolves might be hard to influence if they arrived in a pack. He and Geoffrey might never have survived an attack from the men who had followed them earlier. Geoffrey had only the sword and dagger ... and he had his weak spells. A village witch might do as well!
Outside, Geoffrey grew restless. He was thirsty and aching and anxious to meet some of the people in the village. Selden was not a man given to much talking and Geoffrey loved to talk. He rambled on about anything and loved hearing others’ stories. He’d especially like to hear more about the Bitterfolk and he reminded himself to call them by one of their proper names. He knew that they called themselves the First People. It was true, he knew. All this land was once theirs alone. His people, Selden’s people, came from far way.
Geoffrey approached the church doorway and peered inside. His eyes hadn’t adjusted yet to the darkened nave, but his ears could hear just fine and ... what a surprise. Selden was singing!
The priest approached the altar and knelt down, though his bones complained. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and recited a prayer that all knew, even children:
O Lord, turne not away thy face from him that lieth prostrate
Lamenting sore his sinneful life before thy mercies gate
Which gate thou openest wide to those that doe lament their sinne
Shut not that gate against me, Lord, but let me enter in.
Selden rose and took a place in the choir and, seated there, began to feel the tension leave his shoulders. He knew if he remained there for a time, even his headache would go away. It was the hope for Communion. His faith was not so weak that he stopped hoping. Still, it was easier when he was young.
Everything was easier. Understanding was easy because he never really considered anything deeper than common doctrine and teaching. Yes, he’d had all sorts of theology, but his real interest had always been with numbers. And numbers had their mysteries, too. His duties were easier, too, because so little was asked of him. Now, the Archmage seemed to rely on him more and more. Selden couldn’t understand why.
And of all the people to select to come to Cald Mere. His magic was so weak in comparison to the others, he could hardly defend himself. Even wolves might be hard to influence if they arrived in a pack. He and Geoffrey might never have survived an attack from the men who had followed them earlier. Geoffrey had only the sword and dagger ... and he had his weak spells. A village witch might do as well!
Outside, Geoffrey grew restless. He was thirsty and aching and anxious to meet some of the people in the village. Selden was not a man given to much talking and Geoffrey loved to talk. He rambled on about anything and loved hearing others’ stories. He’d especially like to hear more about the Bitterfolk and he reminded himself to call them by one of their proper names. He knew that they called themselves the First People. It was true, he knew. All this land was once theirs alone. His people, Selden’s people, came from far way.
Geoffrey approached the church doorway and peered inside. His eyes hadn’t adjusted yet to the darkened nave, but his ears could hear just fine and ... what a surprise. Selden was singing!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Large-Hearted Boy. Part Six.
The rest of the journey to Cald Mere was uneventful, though Selden worried that night would fall before they reached the village. He would much prefer being indoors that night ... and among people of his own kind.
It disturbed him that he could only make sense of the strangers’ simplest emotions. The gift seemed to work that way. Relations between the two peoples was tense, based on a history of misdeeds, mistrust, and open warfare. Only commerce brought them together now. Some of the more adventurous priests reached out to the strangers, even lived among them. They brought back curious stories and argued that the strangers shared beliefs that one might call religion. Selden didn’t doubt it.
Just at twilight, Selden and his companion spotted the first signs of Cald Mere. Selden blessed the children and their mothers who stared at them over fences or from the dark shadows of doorways. The menfolk would be coming soon from the fields or, more likely, the public house. They’d shared their old gossip and tired jokes.
When they reached the church, Selden dismounted with a groan. He was terribly tired and would enjoy having his day’s portion of ale. The day was far from hot, but a man–any man–built up a thirst from travel.
The village priest wasn’t anywhere to be found, though a candle was burning in the church. In the cities, candles always burned. They represented a kind of welcome and the certainty that God was present there. In the country, priests couldn’t afford to burn up all their beeswax. They had little for themselves and most wouldn’t burden the faithful more than need be.
“I’ll pray, Geoffrey. Will that be all right?”
The priest’s companion nearly smiled. “And why this unexpected courtesy?” he wanted to ask, but Geoffrey knew well enough not question anything the master said or did. Selden’s question meant: Watch the horse and donkey, boy. I’ll be a moment. Don’t wander.
It disturbed him that he could only make sense of the strangers’ simplest emotions. The gift seemed to work that way. Relations between the two peoples was tense, based on a history of misdeeds, mistrust, and open warfare. Only commerce brought them together now. Some of the more adventurous priests reached out to the strangers, even lived among them. They brought back curious stories and argued that the strangers shared beliefs that one might call religion. Selden didn’t doubt it.
Just at twilight, Selden and his companion spotted the first signs of Cald Mere. Selden blessed the children and their mothers who stared at them over fences or from the dark shadows of doorways. The menfolk would be coming soon from the fields or, more likely, the public house. They’d shared their old gossip and tired jokes.
When they reached the church, Selden dismounted with a groan. He was terribly tired and would enjoy having his day’s portion of ale. The day was far from hot, but a man–any man–built up a thirst from travel.
The village priest wasn’t anywhere to be found, though a candle was burning in the church. In the cities, candles always burned. They represented a kind of welcome and the certainty that God was present there. In the country, priests couldn’t afford to burn up all their beeswax. They had little for themselves and most wouldn’t burden the faithful more than need be.
“I’ll pray, Geoffrey. Will that be all right?”
The priest’s companion nearly smiled. “And why this unexpected courtesy?” he wanted to ask, but Geoffrey knew well enough not question anything the master said or did. Selden’s question meant: Watch the horse and donkey, boy. I’ll be a moment. Don’t wander.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Large-Hearted Boy. Part Five.
Geoffrey turned to the master. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“I’m not known for my humor,” Selden answered, his impatience clear.
“And you’re somehow ... angry with me?” The young man stood in his stirrups and drew back his cloak so that he could better reach his sword.
“Don’t be foolish,” Selden told him. “And take your seat!”
The boy sat, though he couldn’t help himself from staring right and left into the trees that lined their way.
“Calm down, boy,” the master told him, “and stop staring about in so blasted obvious a way.”
“Are we in danger?" He would draw his sword.
“If they want us dead, they’ll use arrows. Your sword’s no use here.”
“And your magic?”
Selden laughed. “I’m a mathematician.”
“Surely you can–”
“I can’t cloak us, no.” He thought. “I can blur our actions, not that it would help much, or I can perhaps confuse them.”
The trail was so quiet. No bird calls, no wind.
Selden asked, “You can’t feel them?” His expression seemed to ask for some confirmation from the boy.
“No. Truthfully, I can’t.”
Selden nodded. “It’s because they’re foreign to you.”
“Bitterfolk?”
“Whoever calls them that?”
“Young people ... I suppose. It’s how we know them.”
“It’s rude, Geoffrey. I won’t have it.”
“Yes, of course.” He wouldn’t argue about language now. “They’re following us, is that it?” He was getting anxious, even a bit desperate to know if they were being stalked.
“Granted, they are an aggrieved people. They would be justified in being bitter toward us.” He felt the stares of the three men in the shadows of the trees.
Selden continued, “They are understandably wary of us. Not you and me, mind you. They could make an end of us like that.” He snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Like that,” he repeated. His left hand massaged the neck of his old mule. Selden seemed never to reach for the reins. The animal knew the direction Selden would have him go.
Geoffrey could hardly stand listening to the master ramble, but he wouldn’t interrupt. The master would tell him if there would be trouble.
Selden spoke aloud, but his mind was distracted and his words came slowly to his lips. “They’re ... resentful.” He was reading at least one of the men. “Angry ... about some new agreement their tribe was forced to swallow. That’s the bitter part. And ... they know. That I’m a priest. And that I would be missed ... that they would be blamed ... that the fighting would break out again.”
Selden called out to the boy, who looked and understood. The men are leaving. We’ll be safe at least to Cald Mere.
“I’m not known for my humor,” Selden answered, his impatience clear.
“And you’re somehow ... angry with me?” The young man stood in his stirrups and drew back his cloak so that he could better reach his sword.
“Don’t be foolish,” Selden told him. “And take your seat!”
The boy sat, though he couldn’t help himself from staring right and left into the trees that lined their way.
“Calm down, boy,” the master told him, “and stop staring about in so blasted obvious a way.”
“Are we in danger?" He would draw his sword.
“If they want us dead, they’ll use arrows. Your sword’s no use here.”
“And your magic?”
Selden laughed. “I’m a mathematician.”
“Surely you can–”
“I can’t cloak us, no.” He thought. “I can blur our actions, not that it would help much, or I can perhaps confuse them.”
The trail was so quiet. No bird calls, no wind.
Selden asked, “You can’t feel them?” His expression seemed to ask for some confirmation from the boy.
“No. Truthfully, I can’t.”
Selden nodded. “It’s because they’re foreign to you.”
“Bitterfolk?”
“Whoever calls them that?”
“Young people ... I suppose. It’s how we know them.”
“It’s rude, Geoffrey. I won’t have it.”
“Yes, of course.” He wouldn’t argue about language now. “They’re following us, is that it?” He was getting anxious, even a bit desperate to know if they were being stalked.
“Granted, they are an aggrieved people. They would be justified in being bitter toward us.” He felt the stares of the three men in the shadows of the trees.
Selden continued, “They are understandably wary of us. Not you and me, mind you. They could make an end of us like that.” He snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Like that,” he repeated. His left hand massaged the neck of his old mule. Selden seemed never to reach for the reins. The animal knew the direction Selden would have him go.
Geoffrey could hardly stand listening to the master ramble, but he wouldn’t interrupt. The master would tell him if there would be trouble.
Selden spoke aloud, but his mind was distracted and his words came slowly to his lips. “They’re ... resentful.” He was reading at least one of the men. “Angry ... about some new agreement their tribe was forced to swallow. That’s the bitter part. And ... they know. That I’m a priest. And that I would be missed ... that they would be blamed ... that the fighting would break out again.”
Selden called out to the boy, who looked and understood. The men are leaving. We’ll be safe at least to Cald Mere.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
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