Ears III

This post is the third part of Ears story. If you are just starting to follow the story you may like to go read the first two chapters. The first part is located here sulokale9.blogspot.com/2015/01/ears.html and the second part is here http://sulokale9.blogspot.fi/2015/03/ears-ii.html.
Special notes or comments will be posted here in blue.

Ears 3

        A hand gripped my forearm like a hawk's claw.
       “We will talk.” Samael said, and directed me away from the voices that must have gone to play boules. Clicking his tongue repeatedly, Samael directed my stumbling steps with a few words. I guessed we were behind the house in shadow. “Reach out and grab the ladder in front of you,” he directed when we came to a stop.
       “What ladder?” I asked, my voice cracking in fear and frustration.
       “The one in front of you. Just reach out and you will touch it.”
       Hesitantly I reached and indeed found a ladder. I was under it.
       “Up you go!” Samael ordered.
       With the ladder at hand I stepped  out to go to the other side, but he pulled me back.
       “Not like that! Up this side.”
       “But I can't see!”
       “You do not need to see. And you don't need your feet for this. Up you go, use only your arms.”
       I moved my hands up, got a splinter in my left hand, and managed to wiggle it out with my teeth.
       Samael was impatient, “You do not have time for splinters, just go!”
       I managed to swing up three rungs before I missed the fourth rung and dropped to the ground in a heap.
       “Get up and do it again,” Samael ordered sounding as if he delighted in my struggles.
       Not once, but ten times, I did what I could to climb the wrong side of the ladder hanging by my hands. When I dropped the tenth time, arms shaking from the unfamiliar task Samael said, “Come.”
        I stood, dusting off my clothes, “Where?” I asked.
       “Here,” Samael's voice came from further away.
       Turning toward his voice, I heard his foot scuff the dirt. It came from my left, but his voice had come from my right. “Who is with you?” I asked.
       “Only you,” came his reply, but it was from behind me.
        I barely avoided turning towards his voice. Instead I settled into myself to listen.
        Something moved to my left.
       “Hurry up!” he demanded.
       There was a patter of sound in front of me. Considering it, I decided it must be gravel he had thrown. I waited.
       “What is taking you so long? Have your feet become lead?” Samael sneered.
       His voice seemed to jump from place to place, near, far, right, left, in front of me, or behind me. Though I clenched my teeth in frustration, I had too much experience with the uselessness of venting my fury. I pushed my wrath into a focus point, ignoring his voice and listening for any sound he made.  In those moments I became aware of my own breathing and then the thud of my heart.”
       “Have you gone to sleep?” Samael's question made me smile. He had moved, probably moving a hand from his belt to gesture.
       That faint brush was close, though his voice came from my left. I waited. Another faint sound also close, probably within two strides.
       Another patter of sound to my right.
       Raising my arms, I stepped toward him, not in the direction of the pebbles he had thrown. Two steps had me clutching him by the arms. His reaction was laughter and clasping mine.
      “Well done! You are well named Ohren. Now we must train you.” He half pushed me away and  stepped out, pulling me along in a half-embrace. “There are many things you can do, things you can learn, and,” he paused, his voice smiling, “things no one will expect a blind man capable of. We must build up your strength and speed, further train your ears. You've neglected your body. You must learn to land on your feet.” He stopped, holding me back. “Where are the others?”
       “You're asking me?”
       “Of course! You have to train your ears, why delay?”
       I sighed resentful agreement at that logic and set myself to listen to voices I had been ignoring, to find the tap of the ball against a boule-pin. Instead I heard the unmistakeable thunk of arrows on a wood target, and someone playing lute over the continual murmur of men's voices. Worriedly I chewed the corner of my lip, I hoped my Master wasn't ignoring his lady. The lute player was too practiced to be my Master. “This way,” I said stepping forward in the general direction of the voices.
       With a click of annoyance, he pulled me back, or rather prevented me going forward. “We go around the tree,” his voice smiled.
       Confused, I gave way, “Lead on. I can't see – as you know!”
       He tisked several times. “Choler is useless,”  he said, stepping away. “Surrender to it and your life will be bitter indeed!”
        I stifled a snort as I followed him. Of course, he would be phlegmatic, he wasn't the one going blind.
        He tisked again, and nudged me almost off-balance. “Another tree. You know a choleric person is always bitter, always seeing slights where perhaps none are intended.” He tisked isapprovingly.     
       “They presuppose the world is set against them.”
       “Are you a philosopher or a priest?” I dared ask.
       I heard him snort in quiet laughter. “No I'm just one of my Lord Olbrecht's arms-men now, once I was training master to his Grace, Duke Boleslav, when he rode attendance on Frederick Barbarossa's tail.”
       Awe devoured my ire. “Grandfather,” I gave him as respectful a title as I could. He was much older than I'd imagined. “Why take notice of me? Shouldn't you be easing your bones?”
       Samael chuckled, “My bones'll get all the ease they need after the Grim Reaper finally catches me, but I'll try not to let him till you're a proper man, truly able to serve your Lord.”
       His quiet voice vibrated as if he were taking oath.
       “Good aim!” my Master said. “Well done. That was close.”
       “Thank you,” the quiet voice could only be his betrothed. I had still to get the sound of her voice firmly in my ear. “I'm sorry yours went wide.”
        As clearly as if I had seen it myself, I knew he had deliberately tossed the ball wide.  He practiced things until he seldom misjudged his game. It left me in awe of him yet emphasized the difference between us. For him everything seemed easy, while for me most tasks seemed almost beyond my skill.
       Samael cleared his throat. Not an attention getting, distracting throat clearing, rather a servant's quiet sound allowing the nobles to inquire if they deigned.
      “Samael?” the lady inquired laconically.
      “With your permission, Lady Christine, I'd like to ask Lord Paschke if he would permit me to train his man? I believe I can do you both much good if permitted.”
       The silence which followed was broken by Lady Christine, “Samael was training master to Duke Boleslav before he joined father after...”
       Under my bandages my eyebrows drew together in a frown. After? After what? What was there about Samael that I couldn't see? I knew he must be a venerable age, but his voice and step were as firm and sure as Lord Odo's.
      “What would you do for him?” my Master asked.
      “My Lord, he needs training. His balance is poor, his hasn't as much strength as your Lady does, He says he has no skill with a bow or pike, how can he serve you without these and other skills?”
      My Lord was quiet for a seeming eternity, before inquiring, “Can you train him?”
       I could almost see Samael plant his feet solidly, thumbs hooked in his belt, settling into himself. “I can.”
      Under my bandages my eye brows rose. Samael was assurance itself speaking.
      “What needs be done?” My Master asked.
      “With your permission, I will bring him here every day – there is no need for others to see him train, for any to carry news of what skills he masters, and he will master them. People will notice a difference, but they need not know the extent of it.”
       After another pause my Master replied, “Alright. I see the wisdom of that. How will you find him?”
      “Leave that to me my Lord. I can find him.”
      “Good, now that that is settled, Samael, would you kindly play some music while we return to boules?” The lady's voice sounded as if she wished Samael had never interrupted their game.
      “Certainly my Lady.” from somewhere about his person he found a flute and began to play. It was a common tune, jaunty and gay. Without asking I took out the flute in the bag my Lord Paschke had given to my safekeeping and joined Samael.
      Behind our melody, a jaunty dance tune, the pair struggled with polite conversation as their throws of the balls hitting the ground or tapping each other created an irregular rhythm.
      The game closed when the bells in the twin towers of the Dom1 rang Sext. As everyone else, we trooped to the call.

*

      Next morning after Prime, Siffret led me once more to Physician Steffan's lair. During Siman's examination of my eyes footsteps on the stairs distracted him from warnings of many quack remedies I should avoid.
      We looked to the door. A man was framed there as the early morning lighted the steel grey of his thatch of hair. I could see his red woolen tunic reached his knees, and his brown braies ended in ankle high boots.
      “God give you a good morning Physicians.” The newcomer's voice identified him as Samael. “I've come for Ohren.”
      “Good morning Samael” Physician Steffan spoke. “How are you keeping?”
      I saw a faint flash of Samael's teeth as he smiled. “Busy, as ever. And you?”
      I gathered that they knew each other, perhaps had known each other well at some time. I looked to Siman. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
      “Not really Ohren. I want you to return tonight, we'll bandage your eyes for the nights.”
       I nodded, “Saints preserve me, I shall come.” I looked at the edge of the window embrasure before stepping down into the room. How wonderful to be able to see again! I could see things, step around things in my way, move unhindered. I felt like a falcon unhooded and released to fly. I never wanted to be hooded again.
       “Physician Steffan, I've a question about Ohren here. I understand he is going blind. Is it alright if he's blindfolded for training?”
        I halted, mouth open, staring at Samael, then looking desperately at Physician Steffan. My mouth formed the word “No”, even as my head moved in a slow negative.
        Physician Steffan turned to Siman for a wordless conversation. Siman replied cautiously, “For this sevenday it will be better if Ohren's eyes are unbandaged.” He looked at me once more, “Keep them clean, and keep your hands away from your eyes, do you hear me?”
       “Yes sir,” I replied, relief washing over me again. I saw Siman's mouth twist into a kindly crooked smile, and decided he understood how much this meant to me. “Thank you.” I turned back to Samael, “I'm ready.”
        He grunted but didn't look at me. “Come on then, I'll teach you the way.”
I followed him onto the walkway, and was delighted that I could distinguish the individual steps leading to the courtyard.
       As he stepped onto the cobbles of the courtyard Samael turned to me and I froze on the last step in shock. Samael was blind. “I won't be able to do as much for you, until they give me permission to blindfold you, but that is no reason to delay what you can learn. Come on.” He pulled his hood up over his head to ward of December's chill and set off with as good a stride as my Lord Odo or any other man.
       Ignoring my own hood, I trotted to keep pace with him, ignoring the way the day's early sun cast shadows. How could he see, know, where he was going? His eyes were completely clouded over.
       “Understand Ohren, to the people we pass, I seem a man like them. My hood helps. There is no reason to give anyone the idea that you are an easy target. You need the skills I am uniquely qualified to impart to you, and you will struggle the more to learn them as long as you can see. Right now, while you can see, learn the road we take, because I will not play page to fetch you to my Lord Olbrecht's after this. I will, as soon as you can bear the blindfold, teach you how to negotiate the way yourself. You need to know the city as well as your own body. You don't need your eyes to touch your nose or your knees. You know where they are.”
       I was catching my breath in my effort to keep pace with him. “Can you see at all?” I dared ask.
       He halted suddenly, turned toward me. “Not any more. Come, you are in dreadful condition.”
      Amidst women making their way to the river with the weeks wash, bakers and fishmongers reminding householders to buy, I was trying to take in details of where we went, houses we passed, so I could find my way to Lord Olbrecht's town home again. When Samael stepped through the gate, I realized I would have to take better note on my home bound journey or I would never learn the way.  Breslau is big, some say it has almost five thousand souls, but most of my time had been at the ducal home.
      “You do know how to dance, don't you?” Samael asked.
      “Well, yes, a little,” I replied, in confusion. “I've never been good at things like that.”
      Samael's eyebrows rose and his mouth thinned to a line.
      “Come over here then and we'll start on cross bows.” He set off across the yard to shelter of a roofed pavilion.  I was amazed at how well he knew his way around. He reached down a small crossbow, depending from the beam that braced the roof. “Do you know how to cock this?”
      “Yes,” I replied uneasily.
      He handed the bow to me. “Close your eyes and feel the bow, examine it carefully with your fingers. You must know whether a weapon is in good condition or not before you use it. Feel the sinews. Are they in good condition, smooth, not frayed?”
       I did as he ordered.
      “Don't hurry. Take your time. Get to know this weapon.”
      “It's quite small,” I said. “It feels like a ladies hunting crossbow.”
      “Very good. It is. It is also a perfect size for you. People can think you hunt rabbits. However, it is also defensive.”
       My fingers kept exploring the bow.  I'd had the care of the crossbow my Master used, but never really given it as much thought, or as careful an examination.
      “Keep your eyes closed and span the bow,” Samael ordered.
      Because the bow was small, I had no trouble drawing the strung to the nut. From somewhere the thought came, wondering what my father would say to see me do this.
      “Here's a bolt, without looking, point the crossbow to your left and place the bolt in.”
      Except for looking up to take the bolt, I did as he said. I was surprised at how natural it felt to have my eyes closed. It was unexpected that my fingers seemed more skilled than I remember them being before. How my father, Jäger, would have delighted had I had the gift. Lost in futile reverie, I was slow to respond to Samael's command to point the crossbow in front of me and shoot, eyes closed.
      The thwack of the bolt splintering into the wood target, caused my eyes to open. I was jubilant to have hit it, even if it was only four strides from me.
       “Take another, do it again. Keep your eyes closed.”
       Each time a bolt hit as we repeated this, I had shivers of elation. I was using a crossbow, albeit only a small bow for hunting rabbit. When all the bolts were spent, I retrieved them. They were ranged over the large boards set for this practice.
       “You have two goals now. One is to load and fire faster. The other is to improve your aim.”
       “How can I do that with my eyes closed?”
       “Ha! Learn to use your ears. Hear where the bolt strikes. Seek to place your next bolt close to that same place,” Samael replied.
       So I continued to shoot and retrieve the bolts – which were still scattered over the target. I learned to dismiss the noises of town, the comings and goings of traders such as the eel monger and the baker. Eventually I became aware my rhythm had picked up. Draw, place, lift, fire, draw, place, lift, fire. Somewhere I became aware that Samael had his flute and was piping a tune to the thud of bolts into the target. I tried to outpace his tune. Then disaster, I missed the target!
       Samael stopped piping. “Stay focused, keep your rhythm, continue.”
       I steadied my rhythm and stopped trying to outpace Samael. I knew how easy it was  to pick up the pace of the melody. Now I listened for the thud of bolts into the wood.
       Eventually, Samael called a halt to this practice and inspected my last volley while I retrieved to lost bolt. It wasn't easy to find. I searched the ground for a long way, both right and left of the target, scuffing my feet back and forth hoping to make the bolt  move. I finally found it by a tree.
       Samael led me back to the ladder of yesterday's torment, and had me repeat the task. He also demanded that I hoist my chin to one of the higher rungs, my head between the rungs. His only explanation was, “You will need strong arms.”
       Some time after mid morning he began to teach me lunges, equipping me with a wooden sword. “You will not normally use a sword. It isn't your calling, but, in a crisis you need to know how to use one if it is at hand even though you won't have your own. If your Master is downed, and his is within reach, and you are the only one between him and someone bent on killing him, you need to know what to do.” Samael delivered all this while  lunging continuously in rhythm beside me.
       “ My master has learned ever so many strokes. I've seen him practice. How will I know what to do?”
       Samael stopped. "You will learn to dance, and dance well.”
       I stared at him, than glanced away as a maid carrying a basket of fresh washed laundry crossed the yard.
       “Don't stop. Keep moving. Lunge right, back, lunge left, back, right, back, left, back,” his litany soon became a fast paced dance on the flute. Was it my imagination that the laundry maid pinned up the laundry in time to the tune too?
       When we stopped this, I was breaking a sweat in spite of the chill of the bright winter day and the laundry maid, ignoring us, had disappeared into the house again.
       “Today I only want you to know that your hand is faster than your leg. It always will be. So think of the meaning of this.”
       I tried to think but could not imagine a reason, why Samael thought this important. I tried to recall if my Lord Paschke had ever made a comment about hands being faster than legs. Nothing came to mind. “I don't know.”
       Samael smiled slightly. “Ask your Master, see if he knows. If he doesn't, or if you can't figure it out, then I will tell you tomorrow.”
       “Are we finished for today, then?” I asked hopefully.
       Samael laughed as if I had told an hilarious jest.
       My heart fell, knowing there was more to come.
       “No, now you begin your own weapon. It's slightly smaller than a quarter staff but just as effective.”
       So we crossed the yard again stopping by a cracked butter churn continuing service holding quarter staves.  Samael measured my height and rummaged among the ones available, measured me again and selected a smooth staff.
       “You want it about chin high, good solid yew wood. “ Samael smiled as he handed the staff to me. “It also does handy work as a prop for a,” his smile spread into an anticipatory grin, “blind man,” he finished. “But in the hands of a blind man who dances and knows how to wield it, it can bring down any with a shorter weapon, and the greater the skill of the staff wielder, the more useful it is.”
       Wonderingly, I examined the staff with hands and eyes, noting the knots which had been smoothed over. It felt damp under my hands, as if the bark had been fresh-pealed. Peasants, shepherds, even beggars are allowed a staff. “If it is so good, why do knights use sword and lance?”
       “A lance is an over-long staff, useful primarily for knocking someone out of the saddle. A sword is better for those who need to stab quickly.  You will learn to use a pike, but this will be the weapon you automatically reach for.” Samael reached up and took down a staff that wasn't among those in the old butter churn. It immediately seemed to be a natural extension of himself, as if it belonged with him. “Close your eyes and find the center point, where you can balance it on one finger,” Samael instructed, “Then pull it toward you so the center point is at your navel, and place your hands shoulder width apart.”
       Samael examined my hold, his own staff resting easily in the crook of his arm,  looking like any piece of wood, while his fingers closed around mind, checking their grip and finally gave my staff a hard pull.
       “Remember, how to lunge, and that your hands will always be quicker than your feet.” Samael swung his staff to life as he stepped away and began lunging, thrusting, moving his staff with ease of long prctice. When he stopped, I shut my gaping mouth.
       “We begin. Hand your staff to me, I hand mine to you.” With that we began, then picked up speed, then he demanded I shut my eyes and he began to call changes such as for right to left hand and from right to right hand whenever we settled into a routine and speed. I began to smile. Getting this stupid exercise right wasn't difficult. Working with Samael was better than having a hot posset on a cold night. He upped the demands, standing further from me so that now we tossed and caught the staves. It wasn't a very big distance, hardly more than our arms' length apart, but he demanded our tosses keep their rhythm and speed.
       “Stop!” he called at last. “We have one more task before we eat.” He handed me my staff, for he had both in hand, paused with his face skyward, as if he were squinting at the sun, then turned to the shed. “Come, haul this up.”
       Dutifully I stumbled over to see a sack such as grain is kept in. It couldn't possibly be grain, because no one would be so stupid to leave a sack of grain outside on the ground.
       “Here's the rope. Haul it up and keep hauling until it's at the tree,” he ordered.
       As I began, and hauling is the right word for this task, I could see the rope and pulley wheels that let the sack be hoisted up and across the yard to the tree. “What's in the sack?” I grunted the words between hauls.
       “Sand.”
       As the sack of sand slowly made its way toward the tree, I realized it reminded me of a quintain except that it was not a stationary pivot. If I released the rope, the sack would start back toward me. I gripped the coarse rope more firmly, dreading whatever trick Samael had up his sleeve this time. 
When the sliding quintain finally reached the tree, Samael had me tie off the rope on a hitch on the up-right that supported one corner of the roof and had the other pulley.
       “Stand braced like a lunge. Keep your weight forward, flex your knees – very important that – because when that sack of sand finally reaches you it will have much the impact of a galloping knight or a wild boar. You have to keep your feet, understand?”
       I nodded, then remembered the couldn't see my head bob, “Yes, sir.”
       He snorted. “Are you braced?”
       I shifted into what I hoped was a braced position. “Yes sir.”
       Unexpectedly Samael lunged at me, palms open, shoving at my chest. I staggered back and fell, feet and legs swinging high in the air.
       “Hold steady, fool! Get up and brace yourself again.”
       Frustrated, I got up, determination locking my jaw. “I'm ready,” I did my best to growl though my voice sounded like a toad croaking.
       This time I expected Samael's sudden lunge. He tested me several times until he deemed me steady enough. Then he handed me a pike, showed me how to brace it and myself, and then unhitched the quintain.
       Slowly, wobbling, it eased forward coming back toward me.”
       “Flex your knees, lean into it, keep your grip on the pike.” Samael's voice droned on as the formidable bag of sand accelerated. “Stand firm!” He shouted.
       My eyes squeezed closed as the last moments closed on me, leaning forward, felt the horrible impact of that dead weight catch on the pike point, wobble, fighting to overwhelm me, and then it surrendered. To me. My eyes flew open and my mouth dropped open too as the gutted bag spilled its entrails of sand. “I skewered it!” though my head was shouting, my voice only managed a whispered echo.

*

    
Thus began my training. Samael used every opportunity and every method he could think of to expand my understanding of what happened around me. He expected me to excel at everything he introduced. When Physician Steffan permitted, I was blindfolded for my lessons. As days passed, Samael intensified everything.
      Samael also taught me to hear, or rather to listen. If I had thought my ears well-trained before, now I was trained to hear the sound of a mouse creeping across the floor, the silent tread of a hunting cat, the subtle change in the air presaging the soundless flight of the owl. Samael also insisted I had to identify people by their voices and manner of their tread as they walked. We spent time on the training field as my Lord and others practiced so I  learned where a heavily breathing person, whose clothes move, or whose armaments shifted, stood, and how he moved. Samael demanded I know exactly where that person was, and which weapon I might use to defend my Master.
     These were not the only things Samael instructed me in. He taught me to play harp, lute and flute, saw to it that I could tend a fire and cook simple provisions, and mend clothes while blindfolded for he believed I would go blind yet. Unfortunately, even with the best teacher, I did not learn everything over night. My training took about three years, and often I wished to be free of my unrelenting taskmaster.
     However, at the end of my first week I was still very much a beginner, fumbling at most tasks Samael set. I attended my Lord's elevation from page to squire. In that ceremony, Lord Olbrecht took my Lord as squire and Lord Odo took Lord Olbrect's two sons, Boleslav and Wladislav. My lord and I. We also moved into Lord Olbrecht's house into the wing above the laundry and dairy, not the part where Lady Christine resided with her father. Then the days of Christmas were upon us. On the first we marked the ties between my Lord and Lady Christine. That season was spent much in prayer, hearing Mass – where I payed more attention to the movement of the people around me than to the words of the Bishop. Who moved? Was it restlessness or a potential attack? Was it the right foot tapping or the left hand scratching an itch? How close was the person, were they in striking distance?
      Afterward prayers, the tradesmen provided daily pageants showing us each phase of these twelve days, beginning with Joseph's dream of the angel telling him his betrothed was pregnant with the son of God and that he should marry her, on to the Holy family's arrival in Bethlehem, to Herod's search for baby King Jesus as they killed many infants in effigy and all the while the Holy Family fled before unto Egypt, which was the Ducal castle. It seemed the whole town and anyone living nearby came to see these plays, a different one each day, and always performed by different tradesmen. Each day our expanded household group stood close together. There seemed little chance of any footpad or pickpocket closing with us, nevertheless Samael persisted in distracting me from the pageantry to remind me to attend to those around us, those who potentially could be a threat.

After the pageants, we ate. The food also was seemingly endless! The lean times lay ahead of course. Now we had goose, swan, duck, as well as pork, beef, and venison. Dishes of mushrooms, onions, and all manner of little leaves were served. We visited and were visited constantly. Our combined household took a special dish to the ducal palace to present to their Graces in celebration of this holy season. Always people in and out, much coming and going with Samael always seemingly by my ear having me to attend to sounds, smells,  movement.
      As the days drew to dusk, out came our instruments, and many a song was shared. Instruments passed from hand to hand. We learned new songs slowly and sang old ones enthusiastically, or held our breath listening to tales of valiant feats.

Thus passed the season of feasting celebration and joy. It closed upon some fouls stormy weather, a driving sleety rain that chilled the bones whether indoors or out. Under these conditions, we made provision to travel, for both Lord Olbrecht and Lord Odo were among those knights accompanying Duke Henryk to attend upon the Emperor. We would attend them, my Lord as Squire and me as my Lord's body servant. Samael was a pace behind me of course.

We had woven and felted cloaks to help stave off wet and cold. These were emblazoned with Lord Olbrecht's arms, and fell to our knees. We could swagger indeed with these. I felt half lordly myself! We also had wool tabards similarly emblazoned. Boots were stuffed with straw to keep our feet warm as long as they remained dry. Horses, thick with winter coats of their own, were reshod, and smiths kept busy making spare shoes, for surely winter's mud would pull off more than one and a forge might not be at hand. Food was more problematic. We had to carry enough provisions for ourselves and our horses. We would move from village to village, and as long as we were in the Silesian Duchy, the villagers would provide for the Duke and his closest retinue, but although we were in their company, adding to their consequence, we would have to make our own food – or at least provide provisions for it.

I received my Lords old gambeson, as Lady Christine had made him a new one. The long sleeved garment was thickly padded with wool. Samael tied me into it.

“It will keep you warm, and with everything else you wear, should protect you from everything except an arrow, a crossbow bolt, or a lance. Try not to get stuck!”

My Lord also received chain to wear atop his new gambeson. He quipped about the weight as I laced him into the chain. He would be much harder to pierce than I would. Not that we were expecting trouble!

Lord Olbrecht pointed out, “If we dress appropriately, then there is no need to fear attack. We go in peace and pray to return in peace, but we take reasonable precautions to ensure our return.”

Our tabards fitted above these other clothes, and our cloaks finished our attire. I felt quite proud, and noted that my Master also walked, or turned, to show Lord Olbrecht's blazon more clearly. How could I not emulate him?

We set out in early February, the land still sere and drab, the weather still changeable. Our trip would take weeks. His Grace, Duke Henryk, led. We, following Lord Odo and Lord Olbrecht, rode. At first this seemed a luxury I had not expected, but Samael insisted I ride each morning behind my Lord. Behind us came others, each household less significant. And at the rear came the great wagons hauling supplies. Before long we were helping haul them out of potholes and muddy wallows. My finery became muddy, my shoes leaked and chaffed my cold feet. Unaccustomed to riding, I got saddle galls in places that hurt! Samael had some salve to treat the galls, but every movement hurt! Seeing me walk made people laugh, and for a while I was the brunt of rough jokes and ribaldry.

Please see Ears 4/Ears IV for a continuation.