Compline in mentioned. The time is about 21:00 or 9:pm Prime is also mentioned, it is about 6 am.
2
The
quiet place my Master found for me was the court scriptorium. There
the week passed, Sifret bringing me to and from Siman's care. Siman
made worrying noises treating my eyes, avoiding questions as to why
he mumbled to himself. Sifret always managed to find some fresh dog
dung to lead me through when returning me to the scriptorium. Getting
it off my shoes was difficult when I couldn't see what I was doing.
Within
the first day and a half at the scriptorium, I managed to grind all
the oak galls they had in store. They didn't task me with making the
ink. Instead one of the scribes, Fridel, sat with me guiding my hands
over velum, patiently training my fingers to find the awl marks in
the margins. This took three days before Fridel was content that I
could locate the marks, then he began teaching me to line the page
using bone-stylus and ruler. Fridel taught me much in that week, for
he was free with his knowledge, explaining and letting me handle
different qualities of velum so I knew the feel.
In
the evenings, before we retired, there was talk of the coming Yule
and the pages who would become soon become squires. Speculation ran
as to who the Duke Boleslaw and his son Henryk would chose. My Lord
was a likely candidate, in spite of his mischievousness, he was
popular, and very apt in all his tasks. Of course, each page eligible
was eager to be squire to Henryk, because he would go to Würzburg.
What an adventure that would be! The younger pages were quite
envious. Of course Duke Henryk would take a large entourage so there
was hope that there would be several new squires going.
Two
evenings before I was liberated of the bandages, that is the eve of
Saint Adelheidis' feast, my Master was leading me towards the pages'
dormitory when the clatter of shod hooves over stone cobbles
approached at a steady jog.
“I
make that four of five horse. What do you say Ohren?” my Master
asked.
Taking
a deep breath to steady my senses, it took a moment to decide, “Five
and one is foot sore, probably a loose shoe.” This was a game we
had often played. He woudn't wager with me – for I had no coin to
bet with, but if he had I would have won.
The
riders rounded the corner and one arrested us with a shout.
“Hoy
Page, will your man tend our mounts while you direct me to my son?”
My
Master was busy reaching for reins, his shoulder shifting under my
hands, so he disregarded my grip tightening on him. “Certainly my
Lord, though Ohren lacks use of his eyes, he can tend your mounts
as...” he was cut off here, because the inquirer had dismounted –
I heard his booted feet hit the ground and two quick steps.
Fortunately
I lost purchase on my Lord Paschke's shoulder as his father, Lord
Odo, pulled him into a manly embrace and, from the scuffle of feet,
almost got dumped on his backside in thanks. Lord Odo proved the
quicker and laughingly swept my Lord Paschke's feet from under him.
There were good humored comments and laughter from those who
accompanied Lord Odo.
“Well-met
son, well met!” Lord Odo laughed. “I am pleased you've attended
to your training so well!”
“Father!
My abject apologies! My thoughts were elsewhere. I just...”
“You
just did what you are being trained to do! Yes, yes. I am well
pleased. Now, what's this about eyes and who is Ohren? What happened
to Wolfram?”
The
four men with Lord Odo dismounted while my Lord Paschke explained my
situation. I could feel Lord Odo's concern through his grip on my
shoulder and guessed, from his hold on my chin, that he tried reading
the secret of my eyes through the bandages. He made a dubious
half-chirping noise as if resigning himself to my fate and turned
back to my Lord.
“Greetings
from your mother and sisters Czyne and Czylle, and, were he old
enough to send greetings, from your brother.” He must have turned
his head toward me, “Wolfram, your family also sends greetings and
a gift, which I will give you once your eyes are unbound. Meanwhile,
point Lütold toward the stable and take me to his Grace – I assume
he is still awake...”
“He
retires after Compline. Lüthold, one of the
horses is foot sore - perhaps it has a loose shoe. Niklas the hostler
can help with that.”
It
wasn't until Lüthold was leading the horses toward the sables, and
we were making our way to the Great Hall, that Lord Odo asked how my
Lord knew one of the horses was foot sore. He was silent for several
strides after hearing that it was my suggestion.
“Ohren
is a good name for you Wolfram. Have you learned any fighting
skills?”
I
didn't realize that he was speaking to me til my Lord nudged me. “Oh!
Me? Sorry, I am useless in a fight, everyone – even the smallest
lad – has me at an advantage in” I snapped my fingers to show the
speed.
Lord
Odo hmmed. “Paschke, I think, with ears as good as Ohren has, that
a little focused training would be wise. If he can read the number of
horses in a group he can't see, and know one is footsore, I see no
reason he can't also learn to hear the moves anyone attacking him
might make. Clothes move, armor or chain clinks or squeaks, men
breathe – usually a deep breath before lunging. Shoes – even bare
feet – make a noise.” He paused. “But I think it wisest if you
do that training very privately – there is also an advantage to
having everyone think your man is helpless, and untutored.” His
voice firmed, “I'm delighted, proud you decided to keep Ohren! Well
done, son, well done. I think this decision will have unexpected
benefits.”
In
my imagination Lord Odo was nodding vigorously at his own words,
probably because I was so relieved to hear them!
At
the Great Hall, my Master told the guards and the herald to announce
Lord Odo of El Taraan and my Lord and I waited near the door while
Lord Odo paid his respects to Duke Boleslav, who had arrived from
Glogau earlier in the week, and Henryk his son and co-ruler. He
withdrew with invitations to attend their Graces on the morrow.
Even
through my bandages, with my eyes shut, I could tell when we passed
torches, for they were moments of glow in the dark.
“There
is much we must do tomorrow Paschke. You are betrothed now and I want
you to meet her. I think you know her brothers – both are pages
younger than you. Wladislav and Boleslav, named, I think ,to please
his Grace – but keep that opinion to yourself!”
My
Master chuckled. “It has been suggested by many already! Yes, I
know them well. So we are to become family!”
“That
pleases you?” his father asked.
“Yes,
on my part for they are good lads. The betrothal part, is... I'm not
sure. I mean, I knew this would happen eventually, I just wasn't
expecting eventually to arrive so soon. But that's silly because I
could have been betrothed years already!”
Lord
Odo laughed kindly and even the three men attending him, whose foot
falls kept pace behind us, chuckled. “Have you some small trinket
you could gift her? It would be appropriate. If not, then I have one
or two small items with me you can choose from.”
My
Master turned slightly toward me, “Ohren, have I anything
suitable?”
Oddly,
this made the men laugh again.
“Who
would know better than a body servant responsible for all his Lord's
possessions?” one voice asked.
I
recalled the voice, but couldn't immediately name him. He was Lord
Odo's body servant. Ah yes, Orban! “I have no idea what trinkets a
lady would like!” I explained in desperation.
"Christina
is about two years your junior." Lord
Odo continued.
“Page
Paschke!” a bellow interrupted us. “Page Paschke!” It was
Sander, his leather shoes slapping the cobbles as he approached at a
run. “Page Paschke, you are late for curfew. My abject apologies
good sirs. I hope this page has not inconvenienced you! Paschke make
haste now. Farewell these gentlemen.”
“I
believe we inveigled this page,” there was a smile in Lord Odo's
voice, “rather than he us.”
I
could imagine the change in Sander's officious stance because he
delighted in his authority over the pages.
“Lord
Odo, this is Sander, squire to Lord Depolt, Master of Pages. Sander
this is Lord Odo, my father” My Lord Paschke made the introductions
warmly – as if he never felt Sander's officiousness.
“My
Lord,” Sander now sounded confused, taken aback. “I apologize. I
had no... but of course! You've come for his elevation to squire!”
“Indeed,
among other things, such as paying homage to my lord Dukes Boleslav
and Henryk. But, Paschke, son, you must not jeopardize your elevation
by violating curfew. I judge, from what good Squire Sander said, that
there are some people who find you troublesome.”
“Yes,
a bit,” my Lord admitted, his voice abashed.
“Then
we will speak more on the morrow!” Lord Odo said.
“But
how will you know how to get on?” my Master asked.
Lord
Odo's laugh almost covered Sander's gasp. “ Remember, I have been
here before and have been making my way about the world some years
now, as it has pleased God to keep me alive. Perchance I can manage a
night here.”
I
jerked a sketchy bow in rough imitation of the undoubtedly graceful
one my Lord Paschke gave his father.
“What
should I expect?” her voice in the dark was serious.
With
my hand on my Master's shoulder I kept alert to his movements as we
strode after Sander.
In
the Page's dormitory, I felt for the two items, hidden in his pallet,
which I thought might make betrothal gifts and placed them on his
pallet. One was a small knife he used on Saints' feast days if he
attended his Grace. The other was a wooden flute he'd whittled. He'd
be loath to part with the former, and I with the latter. The flute
had been his first instrument when we came to the Dukes' court and he
could play it well, although now he was learning to play the lute,
and allowed me to play the flute. It had begun to feel like a part of
me.
“Would
either of these do as a gift?” I asked.
Frustrated
mumbles gave me understanding that he was removing his tunic and
momentarily couldn't see any better than me.
“Can
you hang this up?” he asked as though he'd forgotten I still had
his care and the care of his clothes.
I
reached open handed toward his voice to grasp his tunic as he thrust
it my way.
“Let's
see...” his voice turned toward the pallet, spread ready on the
floor as I shuffled to the wall, found the wooden bar, and arranged
his tunic. “I'm not sure about the knife. Isn't there some old
wives' tale about knives being turned on the giver? I think so.”
“Hey
Paschke! If you're giving that knife to someone, why not give it to
me? I'll even pay you a silver Haller, “ Bero importuned.
“I
haven't decided to give it to anyone,” my Master parried. “You
can't tell about old wives' tales. Sometimes there's truth in them.”
“Who's
the gift for?” Clymke queried inquisitively.
“My
betrothed.”
Various
exclamations, from ribald to moans of misery, erupted. Some of the
pages were already betrothed, others still awaited news that the
formalities had been decided.
“What
about that spoon you made?” Bero asked. “You know. The one that's
perfect for salt.”
“Or,
oh, that bead necklace you wove of bark. You know the ladies like
beads.” Kaspar teased.
I
was glad the bandages over my eyes hid my eyes rolling.
“The
spoon is a good idea, Bero. My Lady will undoubtedly be making food
and adding salt. It is a worthy suggestion.”
I
began to hope the flute might remain with us while I knelt to
withdraw the small spoon from its hiding place.
“What's
this?” Sander endeavored a bellow, but his voice cracked even as
the boys quieted. “Compline bell is ringing.”
There
was a scuffling of feet, then silence reigned, cut by the peels of
the bell, answered by the other church bells.
“Undoubted
he will gift you something.” I replied. “You must thank him
appropriately and gift him something in return. I...”
“Will
he like me?” she interrupted.
“I'm
sure he will. I suggest...”
“How
will I know if he likes me?”
I
sighed. “He will like you,” I reassured her. “Now as I was
saying...”
“And
what if I don't like him?”
“Oh
you try the patience of the saints Christine! Of course you will like
him. Do you think your father would choose someone you wouldn't
like?”
“Father
chose him because he knows his father. He knows nothing of the son.”
“Rest
assured, you will like him! Now pay attention. You have some nice
embroidery which could be sewn onto a shyrt for him. Also you have
those tablet woven bands you did which could be sewn on a tunic.
Those would be very appropriate gifts.”
I
was rewarded with the sounds of her quiet breathing. She slept. I
shook my head with a sigh and tried to find a more comfortable place
on my pallet.
One
page, Clymke from his position in the pages' dormitory and the sounds
he made, rose early, lit a touch and began dressing. He had the day's
duty serving their Graces'.
Yawning
hugely, I crept off my pallet to begin preparations for that day. I
wanted to rub my eyes but the bandages prevented that, so I scratched
my head instead as I recalled the strange dreams of last night. Still
yawning, I brought water for my Master to wash with, set out clean
body linen for him, and then tugged his foot to rouse him.
He
sat up asking thickly, “Where is my nutcracker?”
I
removed the key from my neck and leaned down to find his hand. “In
your box,” I whispered.
He
grunted incoherently as he grasped the key and began moving as the
other pages began getting up also. From the sounds he wasn't bathing
or dressing, rather moving our pallets aside and opening the wooden
chest that stored his clean linen and personal items.
I
guessed he wasn't happy with what he had to give his betrothed. It is
one thing to make small items for amusement but they were not such
fine things as a lady might crave.
“Here,
put this tunic on,” he thrust something at me.
My
hands knew it for the tunic of my office identifying me as his body
servant. I sorted out front from back and tugged it on.
Next
he handed me a satchel with a strap to wear over my shoulder. It
wasn't full, but it had a few items in it. I didn't investigate. He
would ask for them when wanted, and my hands could identify whatever
he had chosen and placed in the satchel. A smile tugged at my mouth,
would it seem clever that a man with bandaged eyes could give his
lord what he asked for?
From
the sounds my Lord was making, I knew he had finished with the box,
and was locking it. He returned the key and began washing in the cold
water. I felt for his discarded shyrt to place it with his laundry,
and found it under a fine wool robe. He intended to look his best
today. I was chagrined that I couldn't help him prepare. Had it been
almost a week since Mistress Hedwig had interrupted me with that
task, changing my life so that now my Master helped me almost more
than I helped him?
“How do I look?” he asked of his fellow pages. Few bothered to reply
coherently. I knew most of them blundered about eyes closed until
after Prime, unless they attended their Graces'. I worried that I
couldn't reassure him. From the fact that he asked, I guessed he was
anxious to make a good impression today.
This
was confirmed when he told me to stand still as he attacked my hair,
intending to make the curly red mass lie reasonably. Curly hair is
never reasonable. Bandages and being overdue to have it cut probably
made my head look like a runaway red sheep in need of sheering.
Dressed,
we lined up with the other pages and attendants while Sander
inspected us, pulling a robe or tunic, remarking on whose hair needed
attention, before we marched to Prime.
May
perhaps tried to catch nap there, I listened to the cadences of the
monks chanting, letting their voices carry me toward salvation and
redemption. The cold stone floor seemed to warm under my feet.
Will
he notice me?
More
important that he does not notice you or you will have been doing
something wrong. Modest maids keep their eyes down and...
Never
respond to men, for to do so is allow the devil to play. Yes aunt, I
know.
Impertinent
imp!
I
shook myself. Waking dreams? The voices so feminine. Why was I
hearing them? I managed to stop myself from looking about attempting
to see through the bandages. Was I losing my mind? I sighed. I
didn't have much mind to lose.
Berthold
elbowed me to shut up.
I
wondered if I should mention the voices to someone and decided
against it. No sense in going blind and being branded crazy. If I
kept quiet, perhaps the voices would leave me alone.
Prime
over, Sifret came to fetch me. On his heels came Lord Odo and his
men. He deemed it wise to attend upon Physician Steffan.
Siman
unbandaged, washed and examined my eyes yet again.
“Is
there chance of improvement between today and tomorrow, if treatment
continues?” Lord Odo inquired as I looked about the familiar room
wondering if my sight was better, worse, or the same.
Physician
Steffan heaved a thoughtful sigh. “Short of a miracle, we do not
have much hope of saving his sight, merely of prolonging it. How is
it Ohren? Is it any better...?” his voice trailed off, leaving me
with options.
“I
am not sure. I have been blindfolded for most of a week, so just now
it seems as if I see very well.”
“Can
we hope for better?” Lord Odo asked.
“Ohren,
describe the table,” Physician Steffan requested.
I
looked into the room. I could see the table. My recollection of it
was vague. “It is a trestle table, with cross-legs,” I looked to
decide if I could determine other features. “The feet have a shape,
like a ball or a hand.” I was thrilled. I hadn't noticed details
like this in long memory. I began explaining what I saw on the table.
Physician
Steffan seemed perplexed, doubtful, and stepped up into the window
embrasure to examine my eyes himself.“Is
it better to keep his eyes bandaged?” Siman asked.
Physician
Steffan frowned – I could see his brow wrinkle. “Ultimately it
won't matter. At some time, when it pleases God, Ohren will go blind”
I was fascinated to see Physician Steffan shrug, “Unless He pleases
to grant a miracle.”
Siman
shifted his feet. Glancing at him I noticed how his mouth creased,a
s if he were frustrated with physician Steffan's answer. “Do you
think that one more day of treatment is needed?” There was a slight
edge to Siman's voice.
I
glanced back at Physician Steffan in time to see him shrug again. “We
should try. Yes. If God is choosing to us us as the means of
delivering a miracle, then we will do all in our power to assist
Him."
Siman
nodded and began redressing my eyes.
I
heard Physician Steffan step down onto the wood floor of the chamber.
Someone, from the origin of the sound I think it was Lord Odo, placed
a coin on the table.
Released
from Siman's care, we made our way to the Great Hall still with time
to eat – though being late we were at the lowest table. My Lord
insisted I be seated too, though normally I would serve him. It was
Orband. Lord Odo's body servant, who brought the remains of the
porridge and bread and we gave our attention to breaking our fast.
It
being the Sabbath we were free from our most of our usual duties. So
while the sun was still climbing to the heavens, the mire of the
streets still frozen in shadows long and cold, we made our way into
the town.
“Lord
Olbrecht and I agree that Christine and you shall have a residence
here in Breslau. He has some land here already and a modest home.
What did your bring as gifts?” Lord Odo changed the subject.
On
on Sunny corner we paused briefly while I showed what my lord had put
in the satchel I carried: the horse-headed nutcracker, the flute, the
carved spoon, and the beads.
“Add
these to that,” Lord Odo requested.
I
heard him fiddle with his belt pouch, untying the tong that closed
it.
My
Lord drew breath. “All these?” he asked, wonder in his voice.
“Surely these are ivory, but what stone is this? I do not recognize
it?”
“I
am not sure.” Lord Odo's voice hesitated. “It, I, it's from
Iconium.” Something growled in his voice as if a sour memory
plagued him.
My
Lord was quiet, perhaps recalling hearing of the great battle of
Iconium when Emperor Frederick Barbarossa took the city from the
Turks. We had been lads then, barely away from our mother's care, not
yet matched like a pair of hounds. Lord Odo had joined Duke Boleslav
for that great Crusade, the one that should have won back Jerusalem.In
another moment the first one item, a necklace, and then the other, a
bracelet, were placed in my hand. The necklace had smooth and
pointed beads, the pointed ones felt as if they might be teeth. The
bracelet was cool stone carved into shaped beads. In the brief
interval that I held it, I could not determine what the shapes were
meant to be.
“Christine
is your bride, son. You may chose to gift all to her at once or
perhaps you will please her better if you offer fresh amusement with
each visit.” He sighed, “It can be difficult to please women. You
need bobbles to keep them constant. Don't be too lavish, or you will
beggar yourself, but if you withhold gifts and attentions too much,
they can prove withholding in ways you will regret.”
There
was a pause then someone muffled a chuckle, and suddenly we were all
laughing.
“Come,
we are keeping your lady waiting!” Lord Odo continued.
We were met at the gate and escorted within. I can say with certainty was that the house we entered was behind a gate, for I had to step over the threshold of the door in the gate. We entered the house, cold in shadow, and passed through a dark drafty chamber redolent with smoke before coming to what must be the solar. It smelled of new wood and amonia. This must be a new addition with a gardrobe for the ladies.
As introductions were made, and we tossed aside our cloaks, I knew there were no women present, because none were introduced. When were were sitting on benches I heard footsteps overhead. Two sets of feet descended what seemed a narrow stair, barely more than a ladder. We stood.
I wished Physician Steffan hadn't insisted on bandaging my eyes this day. I wanted to see my Lord's bride enter, see – however imperfectly – their reactions to each other. Would he like her? Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I might see better for a while longer because of the bandages, but it only increased my frustration that I could not see right now. My nose told me she wore lavender.
“Lord Paschke, I present my daughter Lady Christine,” that was Lord Olbrecht's gravelly voice.
I strained my ears to know whether she curtsied and catch the first whisper of her voice, so I missed the other introductions. Had they clasped hands? Had that rite of betrothal taken place? How was my Lord doing under this formal situation?
“We hope you will sup with us this day,” Her voice was quiet, hesitant, maybe shy. I though she might be looking at a place on the floor, as a modest maid should never look men in the face. “Please be seated.”
She must have sat down perhaps on a chair – maybe the room had a chair, if so it might have been reserved for her on this occasion, rather than for her father's lordly haunches. Over rumbling murmured acceptance of her invitation, we fumbled to reseat ourselves on the benches behind us. I decided she must be beautiful if everyone was having such difficulty finding the benches again. Why wasn't my Lord speaking? Should he be speaking? Was his mouth dry? Was this pause normal?
“My Lady, I have brought a few gifts, perhaps you would accept them?” My Lord's voice was awkward. Perhaps she was ugly rather than beautiful. “Ohren,” he prompted me to my feet.
I hesitated to the right where his voice emanated.
“The ivory necklace and the nutcracker, please,” he requested.
I held the flap of the satchel open with my left elbow and felt for the beads of the necklace, reassured that she must be beautiful, or he would not have asked for this. I regretted that I couldn't hold it up with a dramatic flourish such as minnesingers tell in their romances. My lord's hand found mine and I passed the necklace to him with a smile. It would be better if he presented it dramatically.
I found the horse-head nutcracker too. My Lord had carved it last winter. There were always little things to be making during the winter, and pages were encouraged to make such items for their own use and to give as gifts.
“For your generous invitation to sup with you this day, I accept on behalf of all of us and offer you this nutcracker in hope you may never want for food.”
Oh he was almost as clever as a minnesinger! I stepped back, paused, considered my steps and moved to my left before stepping back again. Fortunately strong hands caught me from both sides and guided me to my place on the bench.
“Lord Paschke what chances with your man?” Lord Olbrecht inquired.
Embarrassed I felt my face flush with agony. Not a pretty sight as it makes my face look diseased! I told myself to get used to this for surely as I am going blind I will face this many times as long as I live. As my Lord told my short tale, I prayed silently, in despair, that all the saints and the blessed Virgin would grant me a miracle and save my sight.
The man on my left sifted, nudging me. “You able to fight?” he murmured close to my ear.
Cold fear gripped me as I didn't recognize his voice. I hesitated to shake my head.
“My Lord, pardon my interruption,” the man spoke up.
“Samael?” Lord Olbrecht queried.
“If Lord Paschke's man can't fight, how's he to defend this family at need?”
This brought the other men into the discussion. Somewhere I felt this was all wrong. The newly betrothed should be the center of attention. And if anyone cared they might at least have spoken as if I existed as a person rather than as an object to be discussed.
Suddenly everyone was silent, then all stood. I staggered to my feet, surely the lady must have stood up.
“Perhaps you would join me outside for a game of boules,” Lady Christina's voice was mild, carrying no hint of feeling ignored.
“My Lady,” my Lord spoke.
People began moving, though I guessed that my Lord was leading his betrothed and we just followed behind them.
We were met at the gate and escorted within. I can say with certainty was that the house we entered was behind a gate, for I had to step over the threshold of the door in the gate. We entered the house, cold in shadow, and passed through a dark drafty chamber redolent with smoke before coming to what must be the solar. It smelled of new wood and amonia. This must be a new addition with a gardrobe for the ladies.
As introductions were made, and we tossed aside our cloaks, I knew there were no women present, because none were introduced. When were were sitting on benches I heard footsteps overhead. Two sets of feet descended what seemed a narrow stair, barely more than a ladder. We stood.
I wished Physician Steffan hadn't insisted on bandaging my eyes this day. I wanted to see my Lord's bride enter, see – however imperfectly – their reactions to each other. Would he like her? Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I might see better for a while longer because of the bandages, but it only increased my frustration that I could not see right now. My nose told me she wore lavender.
“Lord Paschke, I present my daughter Lady Christine,” that was Lord Olbrecht's gravelly voice.
I strained my ears to know whether she curtsied and catch the first whisper of her voice, so I missed the other introductions. Had they clasped hands? Had that rite of betrothal taken place? How was my Lord doing under this formal situation?
“We hope you will sup with us this day,” Her voice was quiet, hesitant, maybe shy. I though she might be looking at a place on the floor, as a modest maid should never look men in the face. “Please be seated.”
She must have sat down perhaps on a chair – maybe the room had a chair, if so it might have been reserved for her on this occasion, rather than for her father's lordly haunches. Over rumbling murmured acceptance of her invitation, we fumbled to reseat ourselves on the benches behind us. I decided she must be beautiful if everyone was having such difficulty finding the benches again. Why wasn't my Lord speaking? Should he be speaking? Was his mouth dry? Was this pause normal?
“My Lady, I have brought a few gifts, perhaps you would accept them?” My Lord's voice was awkward. Perhaps she was ugly rather than beautiful. “Ohren,” he prompted me to my feet.
I hesitated to the right where his voice emanated.
“The ivory necklace and the nutcracker, please,” he requested.
I held the flap of the satchel open with my left elbow and felt for the beads of the necklace, reassured that she must be beautiful, or he would not have asked for this. I regretted that I couldn't hold it up with a dramatic flourish such as minnesingers tell in their romances. My lord's hand found mine and I passed the necklace to him with a smile. It would be better if he presented it dramatically.
I found the horse-head nutcracker too. My Lord had carved it last winter. There were always little things to be making during the winter, and pages were encouraged to make such items for their own use and to give as gifts.
“For your generous invitation to sup with you this day, I accept on behalf of all of us and offer you this nutcracker in hope you may never want for food.”
Oh he was almost as clever as a minnesinger! I stepped back, paused, considered my steps and moved to my left before stepping back again. Fortunately strong hands caught me from both sides and guided me to my place on the bench.
“Lord Paschke what chances with your man?” Lord Olbrecht inquired.
Embarrassed I felt my face flush with agony. Not a pretty sight as it makes my face look diseased! I told myself to get used to this for surely as I am going blind I will face this many times as long as I live. As my Lord told my short tale, I prayed silently, in despair, that all the saints and the blessed Virgin would grant me a miracle and save my sight.
The man on my left sifted, nudging me. “You able to fight?” he murmured close to my ear.
Cold fear gripped me as I didn't recognize his voice. I hesitated to shake my head.
“My Lord, pardon my interruption,” the man spoke up.
“Samael?” Lord Olbrecht queried.
“If Lord Paschke's man can't fight, how's he to defend this family at need?”
This brought the other men into the discussion. Somewhere I felt this was all wrong. The newly betrothed should be the center of attention. And if anyone cared they might at least have spoken as if I existed as a person rather than as an object to be discussed.
Suddenly everyone was silent, then all stood. I staggered to my feet, surely the lady must have stood up.
“Perhaps you would join me outside for a game of boules,” Lady Christina's voice was mild, carrying no hint of feeling ignored.
“My Lady,” my Lord spoke.
People began moving, though I guessed that my Lord was leading his betrothed and we just followed behind them.
There's a new blog post with chapter 3. Its address is: http://sulokale9.blogspot.fi/2015/04/ears-iii.html See you there!
