Ears

Some of you know that I write stories. Ears is a new story which I'm developing. Set in the 12-13th century in Silesia (now part of Poland) and "the Germanies". I hope you enjoy.  I'm using two medical references: one about the medicine of Avicenna; and the other the mecine of Hildegard von Bingen. Both are from this time frame. Three times are mentioned Prime = 6 am, sext = noon, and vespers = 6 pm or 18:00. This post has Chapter 1. Chapter 2 is in a new blog - you will find the link at the end. This blog was getting sluggish and slow to respond, which is why I made the change.

                                                               Breslau, Silesia 1195

“You missed it again!” Berthold sputtered attempting not to laugh.

Otto brushed against me as his arm gesticulated emphatically at my Lord's shyrt which I was trying to wash. “Yeah, can't you see? The spot is right there!”

Teeth clenched in frustration, I tried not to cry, because truthfully I saw no spot on my Lord's shyrt, and I didn't want another beating at the hands of these two fools.

“Here, you two, you done with your washing up?” Mistress Hedwig demanded harshly. Get those linens out on the lines to dry and be off with you. You've other tasks than loitering here.”

Mumbling and shuffling of baskets, then the fading whisper of their shoes on the stone floor of the laundry room told me they had gone. My shoulders sagged in relief.

“Let's have a look, Wolfram,” Mistress Hedwig's slippers scuffed across the floor to me. She took the shyrt from my hands. “You've just about made another hole in Lord Paschke's shyrt,” she sighed in exasperation and began lifting the sodden mass of the other laundry I had been doing for my Lord. “We are going to have to come to an understanding. You are not to let those two fool you about stains on your lord's linens!” One wet hand grabbed my chin and she raised my face.

I looked toward where I thought her face was. Two shadows I thought were her eyes, another I thought must be her mouth were all I could distinguish now. I blinked trying to see more clearly. Tears seeped down my cheeks.

She sighed and muttered, “Monday is laundry day, can't escape that. You've duties same as others, and no getting around those. There's order in the universe – or so I'm told – and so must be order in the household too! So how do we accomplish all things?”

The shadows I thought indicated her face moved from side to side as if she shook her head.

“Hilda!” She called to one of the girls in her charge. I heard slippers as if Hilda's feet scampered across the floor. “This time I want you to take charge of Lord Paschke's linens. I am taking Wolfram to the Duke.”

I shrank away from Mistress Hedwig's grasp, but to no avail. She marched me out of the laundry, across the sun drenched courtyard, through the dark alley, and up the cobbled ramp to the main keep.

My mind was frantic as I stumbled along under her rough guidance. Why the Duke? Why not the Duchess or surely she could have should have started with my Lord, couldn't she? Was my offense so serious? Was I to be cast off as my father had cast me off onto the mercy of Lord Odo, who had bequeathed me to his son Paschke? What was to happen to me? Would his Grace, the Duke, even be in? Would he see Mistress Hedwig on so spurious a moment? Surely we would interrupt his Grace and that could not possibly help my case.
I had short-lived hope of reprieve at the door of the great hall. The guards, shadows to my straining eyes, tried to refuse Mistress Hedwig, but she prvailed in the same calm authorotative manner she ran the laundry.
The heavy door swung open into shadows and light. We were announced.
Mistress Hedwig strode forward towing me in her wake like a puppy. My feet counted a hundred steps as shadowy blurrs of color, emphasised by mutted comments, moved before me. Somewhere to my right a minstral played a lute, his melody the cadence of my steps.
I knew more than saw not Duke Boleslaw the Tall but his son and heir Henryk the Bearded. He was a dark form capped by a light coif. His cheeks were patches of light between the dark holes of his eyes and full beard. Lighter shades were spread before him, velum and books I surmised. Other shadows flanked him, most likely guards and clerks, or perhaps his son.

"My Lord," Mistress Hedwig began, snatching my coif from my head as she sketched a courtesy, "This boy, body servant to your Page Patchke, is almost blind and cannot properly fulfill his duties."
I gulped and stared toward the shadows that must be his Grace's eyes.
"I've spoke to Page Patchke numerous times, now I bring the issue to you," Mistress Hedwig concluded.
A light objest lifted from the table to his Grace's great dark beard and wiggled as if he scratched at his chin.
"Boy, have you a name?" a voice asked.
Hoping it was his Grace, I stammered, "Wo- Wolfran, your Grace."
His hand-shape moved. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Squinting and staring at the shape, I guessed, trying to sound certain. "Three, your Grace.
Movement to his Grace's right. "How many rings on my hand?"
This head, coifed by a smear of red coif, must be Bishop Siroslaw. "Which hand, your Excellency, right or left?" I stalled for time, hoping that some glint of light would flash on a ring that I might guess.
He moved, but not so I could see his hands better. "My right," his voice growled.
Nervously I swallowed. Is it bearing false witness to guess? How many rings would a bishop wear? I squinted and guessed, "Three your Excellency," I choaked.
"Thank you Mistress Hedwig. Page Patchke, undoubtedly will attend us at meat. We will settle this then. Boy go sit over there." The blurry shape of his Grace's hand waved vaguely.
Mistress Hedwig placed my coif in my hand and then shoved me forward and to the right.
I stumbled in the direction of the minstral. A few steps  and I stifled a yelp as I sprawled on the floor, tripped by the edge of the raised dias I could not see. Miserable, I got up blinking back tears of shame and terror. I shuffled slowly, cautiously toward the sound of the lute.

The minstral was only deeper shadow in the dark corner. He stopped playing.
I froze, afraid to move forward.
"Sit," a whisper hissed at me out of the shadow.
I sat where I was.
"Not there, fool!" the voice hissed again. "Here!"
"Where?" I asked.
"Here!"
Perhaps he pointed, but I couldn't see. Hot tears betrayed my misery. A strong hand grabbed my arm, dragged me to the desired place, and deserted me.
The lutenist began another tune. He continued through the murmur of voices, the shuffling of feet and manuscripts. He played through my self-mortification that I had risked eternal hell fire by not admitting I couldn't see the bishop's hands well enough to see if he wore rings or not. The minstrel had named me for the fool I was.

The morning stretched to tedium. I was not used to sitting still. I had tasks to do for my lord. Now I sat with the edge of a tapestry brushing my head whenever the great doors opened or closed.

When does one step onto the road of one's life? Can one put a finger on one event of many and say with certainty “My path began here!”? Or is it like my life, a series of stumbles and falls altering the course of life. Is it the stars in the heavens directing us? If so, does my life star blunder about erratically like I do? Or have I sinned so evilly as to be going blind?

I should have been a hunter, like my three brothers, following Jäger's, my father, path. But though I practiced with sling and bow more diligently than any of them, I missed every target he set. In the forest, I was lost as soon as he released my hand.

“Look where you're going! Jäger repeatedly admonished.

Look I did. Blurs of color suddenly became trees that leapt up in my face, rocks or roots to tangle my feet. By my seventh year, Jäger was eager to release me to a different life, perhaps hoping it would better suit a half blind boy.

“Mind Lord Odo. Do as he says,” Jäger growled as we approached the stone keep, white against the dark shadow of trees. “For all he is a noble, he is a fair man, which is why I came with him from Walendia. So be sure you do right by him, and he will do right by you.” These were his last words to me.

Lord Odo had less use for me than Jäger, so with quick training he assigned me to his son, my Lord Paschke, as body servant when he became page at the Ducal court some five summers past. Now my Lord would have no use for me either. What path would make my feet stumble now?

Eventually Duke Henryk ended his morning court to attend Mass. The minstrel laid aside his lute after the courtiers cleared the hall. Servants came and hurried to dress the table. I saw linens flutter briefly. Boards banged onto trestles. Pewter plate clinked. This was not the place for wooden plate, bowl, and spoon I knew.

When his Grace returned, the court reassembled to eat. Against the burble of conversation, the minstrel resumed playing while I knew hunger. The aroma's were a feast in themselves. I looked for my master, but could not distinguish him from those who moved. He would be there.

At some point there was a hush in conversation we say is because an angel is present. Into that hush his Grace asked where my master was. The reply came from Depolt, whose voice I knew well, as he was master of the pages. My master was not at meat. The new silence was not that of angels, but more of surprised insult.

In that silence, I worried what new plot my master was involved in. My Lord Paschke is mettlesome. Some would say meddlesome. If I had not been sitting here, I probably would have been extracting him from whatever he was up to. Was he covered in muck from the midden, or on a rafter in the stable eavesdropping on the holsters , or more likely to have brawled with other pages?

The court lapsed into a buzz of speculation offset by a distant sound as if two smiths hammered urgently but not on metal. That relentless rhythm grew louder. AH! Leather shoes relentlessly slapping stone. A runner approached and I knew his footsteps moments before he burst into the Great Hall. My master.

The minstrel stopped playing and conversation ceased.

Though I stretched and strained to see him, my place on the floor, separated by those feasting at the tables that marched down the sides of the hall, thwarted my efforts.

In the silence I could hear my Lord Paschke drawing great breaths of air. Like me, everyone else seemed to be holding theirs! He must have halted just inside the doors, awaiting his Grace's pleasure. Time stretched until one must breathe too.

“You have a reason, Page Paschke, for your tardy attendance upon us?” His Grace asked gravely.

“I beg your Grace's pardon,” my Lord Paschke's voice was stilled ragged. “I came as fast as I could. This morning I attended to your Grace's pigeons. Just when I should leave, one arrived with this message. I was ordered to have it transcribed for your Grace.”

The court erupted into murmurs of speculation.

I had no doubt that this was truth. Though, if I had coin – and dared – I'd wager he had contrived to be dispatched. I wouldn't be surprised if he had also done the transcription himself under the scribe's close supervision. If he hadn't then surely he would have memorized whatever code and tonight he would be unraveling it.

“Come,” his Grace must have beckoned him forward.

My Lord Paschke's footsteps were soft approaching whispers, barely audible over continuous mutter of voices which silenced again when his footsteps halted.

There was a faint crack of the seal, followed by the rattle of parchment being unrolled. Then I counted four breaths before his Grace spoke.

“The Emperor has called a meeting of his nobles and prices, and his Grace, my father, Duke Boleslaw desires that I represent his Grace there.”

The outburst from the court was forestalled as his Grace continued.

“Master Depolt, see that all pages do reckon accounts on the number of my retinue, food, supplies down to the last horse shoe, days travel, all manner of possibilities we may face.”

Depolt's murmured “Very good your Grace,” was all but unheard as his Grace returned his attention to my Master.

“Page Paschke, our laundress, Mistress Hedwig, brought your body servant here today with the notification that the boy can't see. Do you know of this?”

“Yes, your Grace,” my Lord's voice was clear.

“What have you done about it.”

“There does not seem to be anything I can do.”

“Perhaps not. Have you taken him to a physician?”

My Lord paused, “No your Grace. I didn't not think of it.”

“Then you will take him to my physician before None (3pm) today.” The duke raised his voice, “This is agreeable with you good Steffan?”

“Whatever pleases your Grace,” a voice from the far side of the hall spoke.

“Page Paschke, a blind or almost blind body servant will be of no use to you. Have you plans to replace him?”

My heart sank. His Grace wanted me replaced. My worst fears were near realized. My apprenticeship was ending. No one wants blind chattel. I might become a beggar. I must have moaned at the prospect for my Lord noticed me at last.

“Ohren!” My Lord Paschke sounded surprised as he used his pet name for me. “What is he doing here your Grace? May I go to him? He won't be able to find his way here without help.”

My master was babbling, his voice anxious. A tiny thread of hope wavered in my chest.

“Yes, yes. Bring him forth. I asked him to remain so I could confront you about him,” his Grace replied.

Rapid steps, and my Master's dark form loomed over me. One of his arms slid under one of mine, guiding me to my feet. “Are you all right?” he asked in a murmur as he began leading me forth.

I nodded as my ears told me everyone attended our progress. I was ashamed. I should help my Master though he is a boy about my age, yet I could not. Instead he helped me. It was all wrong.
                  Soon we stood in front of his Grace again awaiting his pleasure. I gazed at the floor before me, waiting. “Page Paschke, what thoughts do you have regarding your body servant's future – especially if Steffan cannot physick a cure for his eyes? Your allowance covers the cost of your and his maintenance, but if he is unable to perform his duties, he is of no use to you and you are in no position to hire another, nor is it ever wise to succor useless chattel.”

“Your Grace, I have been considering this possibility since Lord Odo, my father, charged me with Ohren's care.”

If I knew my Lord Paschke at all, this meant he was doing all his thinking right now.

“Indeed my good page,” his Grace's tone was wry. “I'm sure you ponder the matter far into the night.”

I might doubt my Lord Paschke, he is my charge, or he has been. However, I didn't like his Grace doubting my Lord! I tipped my chin to my chest, lest his Grace see my scowl.

“Many a late night, but more since Ohren could no longer see the stars.”

His Grace must have heaved himself about in his chair, for I heard movement over the quiet occasional mutters that suggested the court was considering what transpired with us.

"Explain several things to me. First, why do you call him Ohren? I thought his name was Wolfgang,” his Grace began.

“Wolfram, yes your Grace,” my Lord corrected deferentially. “But he hears exceptionally well, hence Ohren.”

His Grace, or someone at the head table, grunted acknowledging the connection between my hearing, my ears, and my Lord Paschke's pet name for me.

“You mentioned seeing the stars. Explain.”

“He, Ohren, could see stars when we came to your Father's court five years since. We saw them. He can't see them now, though he still sees the inconstant moon's light.”

“How do you know this?” his Grace demanded sharply.

My Lord Paschke moved. “Your astronomer Berwicus has taught all the pages astronomy, your Grace. I wanted to learn more of them, so I went out to see them. Of course Ohren went with me.”

He didn't say how often he went out. There was no mention of the different times of night, so he could see the stars dance in their seasonal spheres. Our excursions were always on my Lord's whim, always in secret. He didn't mind the wind or cold if he could stare up at the black sky. He said he was learning the patterns of their dances so he would always know where he was. It was becoming a habit for him, especially since this past winter.

“My good Berwicus,” his Grace's voice smiled, “You seem to have a pupil here. You may wish to examine him to see how apt he is.”

“Yes, your Grace.” Berwicus spoke.

“Your Grace?” a rough voice queried.

“Lord Jost” his Grace gave the questioner name and permission to speak.

“I'd like to know – or suggest – if this boy has been soundly whipped?” Lord Jost's rough voice continued eagerly, “Often a good beating will do wonders for memory or any plaguing problem chattel have.”

Involuntarily I shivered, hoping Lord Jost would not buy me. I'd probably be whipped immediately, and often.

“My Lord Jost” my master began, “I do not think that beating will make a man see if the Lord God Himself has taken that man's sight.”

“You think this is God's doing?” I recognized Bishop Siroslaw's voice. “Pardon me your Grace, this touches firmly on my provenance.”

“You yourself spoke of this during Lent!” my master seemed surprised.

How could he remember all that the Bishop said?

“You were paying attention,” Bishop Siroslaw's voice stumbled between satisfaction and humility.

I wondered if he wore a horse hair shyrt next to his skin for self-mortification.

“Gentlemen,” his Grace's voice regained control. “We will wait upon my good physician's report to evaluate the next step. However, my good page, consider well what action you will take then, for you cannot afford a useless servant. You're dismissed.”

My Lord bowed, so I bowed too. Then his hand gripped my arm, escorting me backward over the smooth tiled floor.

Outside the sun had finally crested the roof of the Great Hall and begun warming the stones. I shook out my crumpled coif, felt the seams to tell inside from outside, and pulled it on my head.

“What happened?” my Lord began. “Were you fighting?”

I almost laughed, “No my Lord, you and I both know I can't win a fight!”

He grunted in agreement.

“Berthold and Otto were showing me places I'd missed when washing your shyrts.”

He sighed and might have shaken his head but I couldn't hear it rattle so I can't be sure. “We're going to have to find something you can do whether you see or not! Undoubtedly most trades will be closed to you if his Grace's physician can't save your sight.”

My lord was mumbling between his teeth.

“You can't become a carpenter, a tailor a shoe-maker, a saddler, a smith...” he continued down a line of trades.

“You could try to sell me,” I whispered.

He spun me towards him, “No! That I will not do! Father swore me to look after you, and I will, even if I don't know how just yet, I'll figure out something. There has to be something you can do. Besides you're not that bad at taking care of most things for me.”

Relief washed over me. I was not to be cast off.

“Come on,” my Master grabbed my arm. “Let's beg something to eat, I'm starving!”

Knowing we were heading to the kitchens, I trotted along willingly. Waiting is hungry work!

My Master drew me back just before we were at the kitchen door. “Can you look sad? Yes that's just it! Keep that face!” He pushed my shoulders down. “Come on then!”

I was used to his games.

He paused just outside the doorway. I knew he was listening, in fact it was hard not to. Over the clatter of pewter plates and crockery, Cook was demanding more details about us. One of the Pages assured his listeners that Lord Paschke would sell me.

My Lord Paschke, tugging me in his wake, moved slow step by step into the kitchen. He stopped, so that my back was to the solid oak door. I could easily get out and knew my way from here into hiding.

“Hey you! Shut you yap!” Someone bellowed. I guessed we'd been seen.

Firm steps approached us. “Now see here Page, you were supposed to serve his Grace today and you weren't here. This won't do. I hear your lad's got you into trouble, and that isn't allowed either!”

“My apologies, Cook. You know I cherish your good opinion, but my morning duties were with the messenger pigeons and a late message to his Grace delayed me. Surely you heard.”

There was a whack as if someone's head was cuffed, but no one yelped, so they must have realized it was fair punishment for omitting a prime morsel of court gossip.

“That detail seems to have skipped someone's notice!” Cook growled. “Outta here you lazy lot! You've training to get to or my lord Depolt will be here askin' questions you lot won't like answering. Go on get out!” 

Many feet scurried past, one or two of the pages jostled me, intending insult and knowing I couldn't seek reprisal.

“What message? Did his Grace speak of it?” Cook asked when the other pages had gone.

“I was ordered to deliver it to the scribe, and he commanded me to wait and deliver it to his Grace. I'm sorry Cook. I would never deliberately upset your plans.”

“Don't suppose his Grace mentioned what was in the message, did he?”

“Said his father ordered him to attend the Emperor. His Majesty has called a meeting in Würzburg.” My Master was speaking quietly now.

“Did he say when?” Cook also hushed his voice.”

My Master must have shaken his head.

“Do you know when?” Cook's insistent voice was barely audible.

“Spring.” the sibilant caught my ear. “Good Cook, “ My Master raised his voice again, “Have you any mercy for a delinquent as myself. Might I have a crust of bread to tie me over until tonight? I must take Wolfram to his Grace's physician, shortly, and Depolt will make me work harder than ever to catch up with the others.”

“And I suppose you'll want something for that good-for-nothing-lay-about you please to call your servant?”

“He does remarkably well for a blind man.”

“Man?” Cook chuckled then sobered. “Blind you say?”

“Close to it, yes. His grace's physician is to physic him and see is anything can be done, but I think this is something the Good Lord Himself has given to Wolfram – though Lord Jost is all for beating Wolfram as a cure for his poor eyes.”

“My mother went blind. Not could do a thing for it. Terrible to lose yer sight. So helpless. She spent most her time spinning. Couldn't see to sew or cook. I think it killed her, I do!” Cook was doing something while talking – or somebody was. “Here, you have those. Take 'em out and eat in the sun. It's a fair day for this time of year!”

My Master's hand closed around my wrist again and we returned to the sun filled courtyard and ensconced ourselves on stone steps by the gaping well. My Lord Paschke handed me both fair sized loaves and drew water so we could wash before eating. He washed first then held our meal while I washed.

“Lean forward and let the juices fall on the ground. The little beasties will dine like kings on our crumbs and spilled juices.”

I did as instructed. The crust of bread held savory meat and vegetables, remains of the meal served to his Grace Henryk. They'd been slopped together in the crust, but the different flavors blended tantalizingly, some sweet, some tangy with verjuice, and some morsels redolent of rare expensive spices. I savored each mouthful.

When we'd eaten we washed again. “Lets get to Steffan, and get this over with,” my Lord said determinedly, as if he was the one facing the physician!

We made our way to the physician's chamber up the wooden steps from the courtyard. I managed most on my own for they were well-made and regular.

My Lord's knock at the door, brought Physician Steffan's apprentice, one of his sons – a boy younger than either my Lord or me.

“Good day Sifret. We're to see the good doctor by order of his Grace Henryk.”

“Your boy's to see him,” Sifret's whiney treble replied. He was a dark body beside the open door. I could tell he wore a long robe that reached his feet, a mark of his status. He was standing to allow us entry to the infirmary.

“I will be with Wolfram,” my Lord Paschke replied firmly, his hand on my arm. “Mind your step Ohren.”

I felt him step up onto the threshold and then down into the infirmary chamber. I tried shuffling forward but the floor was strewn with rushes. I had to lift my feet stepping carefully. My nose told me that the rushes needed replacing. The herbs and ladies bedstraw mixed with them to freshen the air were exhausted with the effort.

“My Lord Paschke,” Steffan's voice, smooth, unctuous, “You need not stay. Surely as Page you have duties.”

My Master didn't reply immediately, but when he di his resolution was firm, “Thank you Physician Steffan, I will stay. I am too distracted with curiosity about Wolframs' sight to do justice to my Lord Depolt's instruction.”

“If you insist. Sifret, what's the first task?”

“You need to make water in the beaker over there,” Sifret responded sulkily.

Since I didn't know where I was to go and couldn't hope to see a beaker in an unfamiliar chamber without knocking over ten things, I stood still.

“Sifret...” Physician Steffan began, just as my Lord Paschke took my arm.

“This way Wolfram.”

We heard the smack of a hand against a head and Physician Steffan irritated voice, “He's blind fool.”

I dealt with my tunic and points and my Lord handed me the beaker. “Tell me when to stop,” I muttered to him.

His “stop” came very quickly and I realized I needed to relive myself as soon as possible. “What do I do with the beaker?”

“Sifret...”

The boy hurried over, “I'll take it.” He almost snatched it away from me.

“Carefully, Sifret, carefully. Bring it here to the light,” Physician Steffan advised, as I set my clothing to rights. “Hold it up to the light, and compare it to the chart. What color is it?”

“Yellow!” Sifret responded as if he hated stating the obvious.

“Ah but what color yellow Sifret? Is it straw yellow, or more tansy yellow, or...”

“It's just clear yellow!”

“Smell it. What does it smell like?”

“Like pee.”

Physician Steffan groaned in exasperation. “Siman...”

Someone moved toward Sifret. Siman was Physician Steffan's older son, almost a physician himself now. He must have taken the beaker from Sifret. “It's a good clear – translucent – yellow, not foamy, I don't see signs of sediment. The smell is strong. He needs to drink more small beer and void more often.” He paused in his description. “It tastes a bit salty.”

“Did he drink it?” I muttered to my Master in revulsion.

“No, just stuck his finger in it,” he sounded equally repulsed.

There was a the faint chink of the beaker being placed on wooden surface.

“Come here to the light,” Siman began. “Sorry.” His dark form moved toward me, and he took my arm. “This way.”
The window was a wide deep embrasure in the thick wall. Fortunately I guessed there was a step up onto it. And when Siman stepped up, his movement wasa warning. I stepped up after him.

Siman turned toward me and spent a few moments seemingly reviewing some scroll in his head. “He seems to be of phlegmatic nature.”

“Correct,” Physician Steffan replied. “Sifret, what are the aspects of a phlegmatic person?”

“Wet. They cough a lot.”

“Has our patient coughed since he's been in here?” Physician Steffan asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“I don't remember,” Sifret whined.

“Phlegmatic people tend to have an overabundance of water in them, so they should eat hot drying foods for balance.” Physician Steffan offered mild praise. “What is the nature of Lord Paschke, Sifret?”

There was a pause before Sifret replied. “Maybe sanguine.”

“Yes, very good. Now, Siman have a good look at Wolfgang's eyes.”

“Wolfram,” my Master and I said simultaneously as Physician Steffan said “Sorry, Wolfram” correcting himself as Siman grasped my chin and began studying my face.

“Sifret, what do we know about eyes?”

“They are the window to the soul and bright eyes are the sign of life.”

“Yes and what color are Wolfram's eyes?”

“Sort of green?” Sifret was unsure.

“Meaning?”

“He's got dampness from earth.”

“Siman, expound please.”

“Wolfram's eyes are green and the earthy dampness – typical for someone with a phlegmatic nature has taken hold here. It doesn't seem to be thick dampness, rather a thin one. See the color is not cloudy. Rather it seems that the green from his eye is filling the part that should be black.”

Physician Steffan stepped forward and took my head, tipping it more toward the window. “Umm, yes, you are right.” He sounded concerned. “Sifret, fetch a bowl – a clean one. Siman,” Physician Steffan let go of my chin to point, “Bring some of the grapevine drippings. They won't be as effective now, not being in season, but we can try, yes we can try...” his voice sunk to a troubling mutter. “And bring some dew.” He raised his voice again as his sons stepped into the chamber.

“How do you happen to have dew?” My Master asked.

“I see to its collection every morning. Tedious task but necessary – imperative in a case like Wolfram's. Now Siman put some dew in the bowl and help Wolfram to lav his eyes. Sifret, take a spoonful of fennel seed and grind them in the mortar. Wolfram, do your eyes pain you?”

“No, sir, not really,” I replied listening to the dew water splash quietly into the bowl.

“What do you mean 'not really'?” Physician Steffan inquired sharply.

“I think it's more that I really want to see, and I try, but the hurt is that I can't see. I don't think my eyes hurt – or at least not like they did when I get a black eyes fighting. Never win. Can't see to land a blow.”

“Hum!” He sounded thoughtful. “Did they ever hurt you – when you didn't have black eyes?”

“I don't recall. They did use to water a lot. Especially in bright sun. or if I went into sun. They don't water so much now, but I don't see so well as I used to.”

Physician Steffan sighed deeply. “Pity I didn't have the care of you when the trouble was first noticed. Yes, yes go ahead Siman.”

“Bend forward and bring your eyes down to the dew. You will need to have your eyeball in the dew and open and close it.”

I tried this. To my surprise it didn't hurt.

“Now your other eye,” Siman instructed. A few moments later he offered me a cloth to take the moisture away from my skin. “Now, sit down and tip your head back.”

My Lord's hand on my arm guided me to a seat. It was part of the window and wall.

“I'll put a drop of grapevine drippings in each eye.”

I almost laughed. It sounded as if I had many eyes.

Siman's hand opened my right lid and the drop was pleasantly cool. He did the same with my left eye. “You'll need to rest your eyes until tomorrow. Close them now. There's one more treatment.”

I heard him step away. Cool air rushed to fill the place he had occupied. He was somewhere in the chamber, I think at a table or work bench. Listening I thought he broke something small and fragile. Someone stirred something in a clay bowl, and the pestle clunked against the mortar. I wanted to look, even knowing I would not see, but my eyes felt soothed – and I had his orders to keep them closed.

A drawer was opened and closed. Whatever was in the clay bowl was stirred again.

Siman's footsteps returned. “This is just a little messy, but the crushed fennel seed will warm your eyes, drawing moisture from you, while the egg white will cool and sooth you.” Gently he close one of my eyelids and placed a damp cloth on it. He put another on the other eye. He bandaged these down with a long strip of linen. I felt helpless.

“You'll need to return tomorrow morning immediately after Prime and we'll repeat the treatment with dew and grapevine drippings,” Physician Steffan's firm voice. “We will treat you after Prime, Sext, and Vespers each day for a seven night. Sifret will come for you. Page Paschke, it would be best if Wolfram is released from his daily duties during this time. He will need a place that isn't too disturbed. Fortunately Siman is correct, the wetness of Wolfram's eyes is a thin wetness. Were it a thick one he would already be blind. We hope to arrest the corruption of his sight or at least prolong the sight he has left, but this catarrh has a firm grip and will eventually claim his sight.”

We were dismissed. I stood up and hesitated my right foot forward. Someone grasped my arm.

“This way lad,” Siman directed me.

I almost smiled except that Sifret giggled and I realized that this was my future.

“Step down:”

Even with his help I staggered at the distance to the floor.

Sifret giggled again and Siman twisted toward the sound, almost unbalancing me as he slapped his brother hard enough to draw a yelp.

“Have a care Sifret!”

“I'm sure the Falconer could sew your eyes shut for a week Sifret,” my Master drawled. “As he does the hawks. It might give you a feeling for the blind.”

Physician Steffan grunted. “Might be a useful lesson.”

“Thank you Physician Steffan and Siman. I can take Ohren now.” My Master's hand slid under my arm lifting it to put my hand on his shoulder. He led and I felt my way behind him, staggering and tripping more than usual.

The next installment of Ears is here: http://sulokale9.blogspot.fi/2015/03/ears-ii.html please save the new addess to find it easily.  See you there!