NUTS - for fabric

I went nuts at the fabric shop - after making certain that ALL my bills were paid.

First I selected some cotton fabric, a vivid deep yellow, and a  summer leaf green. These will become a "summer" dress - medieval of course! I will be trying out  new - to me - patterns from Medieval tailor's Assistant. I will also use the same patterns on the WOOL that I bought...

I've been keeping my eye on the available wool fabrics for the past few months.  They went from a meager selection to a much better (much, MUCH better) selection at the beginning of December. Colors are still somewhat limited, but... and I am frustrated by a general 20% polyester content, but...

I selected black (2.5 m) for a sleeveless gown (full length, flared.... Then a pretty muted coral (2.5m) which I envisioned as another sleeveless gown but am currently wondering if - and how - sleeves might also be possible. I also got a "powder" blue (2.5 m) which is a color often seen in nature here in Finland, when the sun is hidden behind a thinnish wall of clouds and a light mizzle slides over the lakes an cloaks the world in magic. This was planned to be a sleeveless gown also, but is now hopefully going to be a gown with sleeves! Then I got a red/light-grey herringbone (3.5m) definitely to be a sleeved dress. Finally I selected a 90% wool 10% cashmere in "grey". It has a mid grey side and a dark grey/grey herringbone side. This will become a sleeved surcoat for outdoor winter use. I wanted 3.5 m, but when I saw that there was just a "little bit" left over, I decided to take that too so I have 4.1 m which will certainly allow enough for a hood to match. This I plan to sew so that it is completely reversible and so that the contrasting other side also can show. All these fabrics have a lovely hand (soft to touch).

Four of my five new wools (and an old pillow). these have the washed samples on them as well as the washing instructions and purchase details

I began by cutting a small sample from each and subjecting them to a wool wash (in my new washing machine! :-) ) to test for shrinkage. The samples returned in excellent condition, so I washed the "powder blue" fabric, however, it seems the wash water didn't get the entire fabric wet, because it has large patches which are completely dry. Therefore I am wondering if it will be best to cut without washing the others, and to hope they stay clean!  in any event, I was NOT planning to wash the wool cashmere because it should develop it's own character

I also have - waiting to be cut - a beautiful yellow wool (100%), to be a sleeved gown. It has been washed and is about 3.5 m - or maybe 4.

The new powder blue, the muted coral, the red and light grey herringbone and the black, will need to serve double duty - for me, and as potential wear for family members who are thinner than myself. The cottons which I bought also need to serve double function in the same way.

The washed "powder blue" showing huge dry spots just moments out of the washing machine. Hope they do not leave "marks".

Medieval Feast

I invited friends for a Medieval "feast". Among the friends who came were six others who are involved in the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) and three friends who have been somewhat interested in the SCA.The feast was on Sunday December 16, 2018.

I started by selecting recipes from The Medieval Kitchen: Recipes from France and Italy (1993) by O. Redon, F. Sabban, and S.Serventi.As the book numbers the recipes, I include the numbers and titles here: #3 Winter Squash or Pumpkin Soup; #19 Little Leaves /Hashed chard and spinach, #21 Sautéed Mushrooms and spices, #61 Innkeeper's Escabéche, #62Sweet and Sour Fish, #133 Rice Pudding with Almond Milk, #142 Spiced Plum Mousse with Honey, #143 Poached Pears in Spiced Syrup. The only thing I did not make for this feast was the Plum Mousse: I had left-over Plum Mousse from a test feast (see below), but I have made it in the past and my student (see below) followed my suggestion of only making half the recipe.

In addition to the above was an Apple Onion Pie.

Before the feast I actually "tested" all the recipes by having a group of students make them and we ate them together. The only recipe I made at that "pre-taste", was the onion apple pie - and I had pre-pretested it on family and friends two weeks before! I deliberately planned which dishes to prepare on which days prior to the Feast, so that I would not be too overwhelmed with just intensive cooking on the day of the feast. I also considered how to make do within the limits of my pots, pans and serving dishes.

I did my shopping on the Thursday before the feast and prepared both fish recipes (#61 and #62) immediately upon returning home with the fresh fish. For recipe 61 I used pike (because that's what my student had used the week before and I had really enjoyed it (and I do NOT normally like fish). I chose salmon for recipe #62 which calls for a firmly fleshed fish. I discovered the salmon was not as firmly fleshed as I'd thought when I began frying it.  According to Redon et. al. both fish recipes should "gel" upon cooling. Neither did, either for me or my students. After preparation, and cooling, both dishes went into the refrigerator as both could be served either cold or at room temperature.

On the Friday, I prepared the Onion Apple Pie. I prepared the dough first and put it to cool in the Refrigerator while I chopped the onions and then peeled, cored, and chopped the apples. I prepared the spice mix which called for sugar, salt, cinnamon and cardamom, having decided from my first testing that a tablespoon of sugar, a half tea spoon of salt and a teaspoon on cardamom and two teaspoons of cinnamon had appealed to people. I also mixed the heavy cream and eggs. All the dairy products were labeled "lactose free" just in case someone had a lactose problem (One person informed me the day before the feast that they have a lactose intolerance, so I was relieved that I had, because the pie was already made!) When the onions had fried - or softened I added the apples and cooked them a bit before removing from the heat and adding the spices. Then I could roll out the dough, by which time the onions and apples had cooled so I could assemble the pie add the egg and cream and top the mix with sharp cheese and then the top pie crust. After baking and cooling it also went into the refrigerator.

On the Saturday, I prepared the mushrooms - except for giving them their last frying to make them "golden" and to be able to serve them warm. Recipe 21 asks for the mushrooms to be boiled before frying. I have done this recipe with and without boiling the mushrooms, but this time I boiled them and think that it helps keep the mushrooms from whithering to almost nothing when frying. When that was done and cooled it went into the refrigerator. I was using Kale in place of the Chard and Spinach which recipe 19 calls for, I cut off the stems and chopped it then rebagged it and returned it to the refrigerator to cook on Sunday. Then I began the Squash Soup. The recipe asks for seeded and peeled squash to be boiled in chunks until just tender. I cut the squash in half and seeded it, but decided to peel it after it had boiled. I sliced it into large pieces and boiled it until done. I allowed it to cool before removing the skins, which were much easier to remove after cooking.  I made a decision to reuse the cooking water for the almond milk. I am not sure if this was a poor decision, perhaps some bitterness from the skins effected the resulting soup. I mashed the squash with a potato masher and mixed it with the almond milk. When it was cool, it went into the refrigerator. I washed, quartered and cored the pears, but did not peel them. I prepared the spiced syrup and let the pears soak in that overnight.

On the Sunday the Pumpkin Soup was the first thing out of the refrigerator and as it neared room temperature it went into my crock pot to cook until an hour before the feast. I had nothing more to think about it until I served it! Around mid morning I cooked the kale until it was just tender and a little wilted. then I uncovered it, and had it off the heat to cool. I wanted the bright green color to remain and that meant cooking just until tender and then getting it off the heat and not keeping a lid on.  While the kale got underway, I began the Rice Pudding. First I made the almond milk and rinsed the rice. I read the recipe, and read the rice cooking directions on the bag of pearl rice I was using, and decided to cook the rice in the almond milk (bag of rice), versus adding a bit of almond milk a little at a time as the rice cooks (recipe). I stirred the rice almost constantly as it cooked to ensure it wasn't burning. I took the rice off the heat when it was done, covered it and left it to wait for the feast. I cooked the spiced pears. One pear had obviously been too ripe as it turned to mush, which didn't look very nice. At noon I took the two fish dishes, the pie, and the mushrooms out of the refrigerator to allow them to reach room temperature. About a quarter of an hour before guests were to arrive, I finished frying the mushrooms. Then I fried the onions for the chard, added the spices and mixed in the chard and placed it in a serving bowl. Everything was ready and set out to be served.

The soup and the pie were the starters.  The two fish dishes the mushrooms and the chard were the second course. The third course began with the rice pudding and plum mousse and ended with the Spiced Pears. Water and "mulled wine" (Glöggi) was served as beverages. The meal was bright and colorful with a varied selection of textures and flavours.

Pumpkin Soup. It may be worth trying this again using fresh hot water to make the almond milk. It may also be worth peeling the squash prior to cooking. I cannot say where the - to me - slightly unpleasant or bitter taste came from.

Onion Apple Pie. To me this is a success. I think in the future I will not put decorations on the top crust. they do look cute and I have done it with the two test pies in the past, but if one needs to cut more pieces of pie, it is easier without them.

Innkeeper's Escabéche. Looking at the translation of the original recipe I do not see anything to suggest that this is to gel, and neither mine nor my student's rendition of the recipe gelled. I really like this dish.

Sweet and Sour Fish. This seems to have been everyone elses' favorite. I'm glad. I didn't really like it, perhaps with a different fish. The recipe also suggests this will gel. Mine didn't. Neither did my test student's version.

Hashed Chard. This seems to have been a fairly popular dish. I love it and make it frequently just for me.

Sautéed Mushrooms. I noticed I'd only purchased half the mushrooms the recipe calls for, oops! and my own notes from first making this says "double this recipe, there can never be too many mushrooms". It worked well and was popular but we needed more mushrooms to really have it be a hit.

Rice Pudding. This was an outstanding success. They fell on it as if it were chocolate. I had to remind everyone to try it with the Plum Mousse. It seemed even more popular then.

Spiced Pears. I make this regularly. I leave the pear skins on so the color of the syrup doesn't fully penetrate the pear slices and gives an interesting color spectrum to the pears as well as adding textural nuances.

The Pumpkin Soup cooking, Onions for the chard and bowl for the Musshrooms

Cooking the Rice Pudding while the Kale begins to steam

Kale has steamed and cooked down is still a bright green, time to remove it from the heat.

The Sweet and Sour Fish in the white bowl, the Pumpkin Soup to the right, and the cooked kale to the left.

The Onion Apple pie and the Innkeeper's Escabéche find a place to wait in the cold oven (I have a small kitchen)

The chopped herbs (dill and parsley) onion, and spices for the Chard (Kale in this case)

Book cover and all that is left of the Pumpkin Soup

Busy Summer 2017 Projects

My home has projects everywhere. I can’t really turn around without seeing a project.
 

On my right is one of my looms with two scarves part way finished. Also my guitar, and my bag of knitting, and some sewing, and some mending, and some material to consider when writing…

Almost in front of me is more knitting and spinning...

In front of me is my computer and I should be writing (novels or a libretto or something, but I’m doing this blog…). 

Across the room high on a bookshelf is more knitting (a pair of socks I started oh maybe four years ago…), and some calligraphy that I want to do.  And my recorders reside there too.

On the table (the one I am supposed to eat at) is a miniature project, a maxi project, music… and crowded round my table (same one) is my harp and lute (the latter is on a chair – but protected from being “sat” on), while two other chairs are occupied with “gardening projects”, and two more sewing projects. 

  My table

My bedroom houses my large loom which is still partly warped – meaning I haven’t finished putting the warp through the heddles and… that project has been waiting for almost 18 months).

My closets are packed with wool (some silk, cotton and linen too) WAITING to be spun, And a few more sewing projects are also lurking in the closets.

My two spinning wheels are hiding on my left, horrified that I haven’t been spinning in – far too long.

Last week I finished sewing a dress, and the week before a skirt. This week my sewing is a top, a shoe (the second of two - first visible on my table, above), and a “book cover” (which is cut out and ready to be sewn - also on my table).

skirt 

dress

 

top which may become a dress    

This week I began a new knitting project – only because I wanted to understand the directions! I think I have them working to MY satisfaction though not precisely “as written”. I also began another “mini-book” like I did for my Illuminated Manuscripts of Medieval Europe course, which I took last winter. I’ve got a couple of projects like that either planned or “in progress”. One is my “maxi project”. It is to reproduce several pages of choral music in four acapella voices such as were used by church choirs in the Middle Ages. Another is a romanticized biography of my Society for Creative Anachronism persona Yrmegard. The latter is NOT to be confused with my novel by the same name.

My “mini” project is taking up most of my table and part of my kitchen. Sounds pretty big to be a mini project! I’ve been following a few YouTube channels on miniatures such as those used for fantasy role playing games or model railroads. Some of those are amazing. But I would like to be more authentic. So I began with making a wattle wall. My plan was to make a miniature three sided “booth” such as a merchant might use, and to lean about wattle and daub (haven’t gotten to the daub yet… haven’t finished with the wattle!). Anyhow the more I did the more I learned. Lesson #1: it helps to have a firm base. Lesson #2: use the finest (thinnest) twigs for miniature wattle fill, because it is what holds the daub in place. Lesson #3: I’d better build a proper frame to hold my projects in if I am going to extend this experiment! Lesson #4: it is a good thing I didn’t use Styrofoam as a base for my mini project – the stresses of the wattling process would have destroyed the foam! Concrete “might” work, but probably best will be holes drilled into a sturdy board (a 4 x 4 or its equivalent).  Now the table has various sized sticks and twigs, and there are two potential types of “roofing” material drying (grass for a proper thatched roof, and something else which can pass as wooden shingles). I know I know. One can do mimis the easy way, pre-made plastic forms, or cut your own imaginative forms from foam, but REALLY!!! Why not try doing it the old-fashioned way (ok, yeah they made things full-sized. But what if I ever actually HAD to make a home using the “real stuff”… which will be better preparation? Yeah, the tedious hard real way!)some of my mini project

close-up of my wattling 

 A different mini project:
 preparing paper for a mini book, staining one side of the paper with a diluted coffee vinegar mix to resemble real parchment (sort of, but not really).

 after the paper is stained and dry, I cut off the "ends" and then do the mise en page... on the right is a MAXI project. Below the pricking and lining a text has been writen, and below that  I am experimenting with capitals and initial letters before adding them to my mini book.

 

 

Maxi Project: Measure and divide in half

and below the successful division. These will form the covers of my maxi book

 

 

Spindle embroidery

The above is the first spindle I did. Learning process was huge!

The above is the second spindle I did. A slightly different look. I was feeling more comfortble. I have tried to "even up" this spindle, and its cop.

This last one isn't quite finished. Like the others, it too is different. I meant for this one to look like spinning has just begun, Waiting to hear what suggestions the owner of this wishes...

Another old house

If you know me at all you know by now that I have a thing for old houses. So here is my latest investigation (actually "in town").

This is a two story house built in 1942, From the decore, I'd guess that it was last remodeled in the 1970's. I started taking pictures on the second floor, which has four bedrooms off a tiny hall at the top of the stairs: Bedroom two on the right

Below is bedroom 2 on the left (from the top of the stairs):

 

 

And below is left bedroom one (from the top of the stairs) This one has no closet, but there is a place on the floor (and ceiling) where one obviously used to be.

 

 Below is bedroom one on the right (from the top of the sairs) and it has a mostly intact old loom (this item alone could make me make an offer)!

 

Below is from the top of the stairs looking down. I like these stairs. However, I would want some sort of curtain inn the window, just to ease the sunlight. Very nice wood finials on the stair post ends.

Below is the main floor "bed" room. Nice and sunny at ninish in the morning. It doesn't actally have a door, and two walls are partly open to the main entry (which is to the left in the photo).

Below is from the entry looking into the living room. Part of the arched opening is seen. The downstairs "bed"room sorts similar arches, and is now on my right.

Below is looking from the livingroom into the kitchen. All the cabinets are in working order, though one is missing a glass panel. Appliances would need replacing.

Below is the kitchen as seen from the "eating" area (the living room is on the left). This is the baking oven and main heat source, plus a second oven.

And below you get one exterior shot of the house, which is on a corner lot, with a "mostly" fenced yard (fence would need attention, and a real driveway would need to be added, as there really isn't one. It's impossible to tell from this that the place actually needs a new front door although everything looks fine and dandy until you're really up close!

And finally a tiny bit of the yard is shown below. I was enthralled by all the irom pots (another selling point in my book of "useless selling points that really work on me").

So what has this house got going for it? It is livable though it would need some serious work, it is in town, it has a nice lot that until recent years has been lovingly tended. It has fruit trees and berry bushes. it also is in a lovely location.
And what are the drawbacks? The most serious one (in my book of "important reasons NOT to buy a house) is: I'd have to have a car. The bus service is a bit too hefty a walk over varied terrain to make catching a bus in bad weather (icy, or minus 20, or...) something I'd even consider doing. It's close to a kilometer to the bus stop (a nice little walk I admit, but NOT when carrying groceries, or getting to work).
Then there is the matter of the indoor washroom (wc, shower and sauna). That part of the house would have to be ripped back to the bare wood, I expect new floor joists would have to be sistered in, floor relaid, walls completely redone.... (insulation etc).
The roof seems intact - no visble evidence of water damage, no evidence of rodents.
Someone with the knowledge and skill would have to investigate whether the second floor floor-joists have enough support from the lower level (all those main floor arches are pretty, but they may not give enough support).
It would need to be replumbed and rewired and it needs new floor covering throughout.

Busy Writing - or: WHY I'm not writing Ears!

Currently in my free time I am busy writing, and editing, and rewriting, and yanking bits of text out, or moving it somewhere else, or... 

I've "several" novel manuscripts in various stages of readiness. Each one needs certain things done before being ready. Generally my biggest problem is number of words: I usually have too many!

Eight Feet series:
These include Inside a Love Song and Behind the Drum. Both have been edited down, checked and edited some more, and both still are too long. So I need to go in and ruthlessly yank scenes out, while making sure that the overall narratives lose nothing vital by these gut-wrenching changes. I could break both into two shorter novels, but that interfers more with the overall continuity. I hope to revamp them during the Christmas holidays. Meanwhile the third book in the series: Singer of a Songless Land is getting initial very rough draft updates once a week as "the guys" discuss new material. Most of my summer went on these two.

Yrmegard series(?):
Yrmegard, like Ears, is histocial fiction. I've had so much fun learning about medieval Germany at the rise of HR Emperor Frederick II. The more I learn, the more complications arise for me as a writer! The biggest challenge is finding relevant material in English. Will Yrmegard become a series or a mere duo? I'm not certain yet. With it crrently divided into two, Yrmegard, the Magdeburg Years (Y1) and Yrmegard: the Breslau Years (Y2) these will make two managable novels that won't be too long for consideration. Ears is a character who gets "honorable mention" in Yrmegard. He appears briefly, and in company with his master - though that connection is not presented in Yrmegard. Anyhow I am currently boggled in Y1 at deciding which of three ways to take Yrmegard: a) into a brutal marriage; b) into an engagement; or c) just let her be. Originally the story presented the first scenario (a), however, once I learned what the divorce laws in 1212 would have implied, that seemed the most difficult to resolve with good narrative and historically accuracy. Nevertheless I will have to "try on" all three - which involves writing out all three scenarios - before I'll know which one works best so that Y2 can go on as it is. Oh I KNOW the first one works best, it's just all the legalities which make it such a challange!

Jack:
Jack in somehat autobiograpical yet is firmly fiction. I'm not sure if Jack is going to turn into a series. Version one, which I'm supposedly editing as I write this blog (and no, I can't do two things at once), is - suprise - too long! And I haven't even finished the first part of the story! So I need to find a nice convenient place to tie it up and still have the possibility to continue. That's what I'm supposed to be working on currently - and was doing last week! But this week I've been looking ahead and creating three years beyond the initial story - which certaily hints of a possible series. Certain vistas opened and I've been working every free moment to get those down before they were forgotten!

Taken!
Taken! is my scifi story. Much to my surprise it is NOT too long! It does have the possibility to turn into a series. There are a few science things I'll need to edit, (they promise to be quick fixes which I can get done in a day or so. Basically it is ready! Hurrah... so this means trying to query agents, and that takes research which takes time away from writing.

And these are the reasons Ears is not currently being updated. I AM sorry!

Ears 4

This continues my story of Ears. Normally I continue it each Monday by about 19:00 GMT (7 pm GMT). By scrolling down this blog you will find the opening Ears preceded by Ears 2 and Ears 3. When I update or add new material it will be in blue. There will be more as soon as I can turn my attention to it again!

Ears Part 4

     This changed my routine for a while as I could not ride until the sores healed. So I sat with the baggage, and we asked in each village if there leather braies or leather hose that would fit me. It took several days to find a pair but they were new and I spent several days rubbing oil into them to soften them enough to make them comfortable. By the time my saddle sores healed, my new leather hose were supple and soft, and protected my limbs from the saddle. Then my riding instruction continued apace as we rode.
     Whenever we stopped for the night, his Grace and the highest lords in his retinue had the best housing. The outer precincts and guest house of an abbey if we were in a town large enough to have one, or the best house in the hamlet if there was no abbey. My Lord, the other squires, lesser men, and myself frequently made do in hay barns. Though they provided a sound roof to keep off the rain, these had no walls to keep out the wind, nor heat to keep us warm. We bundled close to each other, wrapped in our cloaks and used the dwindling supplies of hay for softness and warmth.
     Knowing they could burn easily, we set no fires close to these barns. Our fires frequently brought a few villagers out to hear news. Some came to be sure we didn't disturb the local peace. Others came in hope of finding excitement. We made our food, played instruments and sang, or tried various games of chance if the night was fair. And through it all Samael was there.
     Ostensibly he kept Lord Olbrecht's men in line, and out of trouble. But most of them were accustomed to his way. So his focus was me. I listened.
     I listened for nuances in words.
     Samael would lean toward me as if to reach for bread and murmur, “Listen to the rough voiced one, Yarl. He aims to pick a fight. Listen.” Or he'd ask for ale,  and while I poured, he'd advise, “Beware the quiet one, he fingers a pig-sticker.”
     I still used my eyes, looking, but as time went on and I saw again and again that Samael knew, knew through his ears. I began to try to use mine more, dared to close my eyes and focus on the minute sounds that told the underlying stories.
     “Listen how Alard's voice changes.”
     I listened. Alard spoke well, told a good tale. Men enjoyed his tales.
     “Look to his eyes. What do they say? Look to his hands. His right stays close, does it not?”
     Alard's eyes moved constantly. I pondered this and decided perhaps they moved as if to see everyman there, but most often they darted to Samael then quickly away.
     “Listen well to his voice,” Samael scratched an itch and settled back, a slight smile on his mouth. Next day he advised me to pay attention to Alard for much of what he said were half-truths, but each half-truth was hinted at with a change in the timbre of his voice. “You need to know the voice of truth from the voice of falsehood.
     So I spent evenings listening to Alard, and Samael scratched his nose or his ear, or his ankle when he heard a lie, until I began to scratch before he could. Then he took me further field to test my skills as we bargained for fodder for Lord Olbrecht's mounts or a barrel of ale for the men.
     “Most men rely on their eyes for information. Hopefully you will have greater skill. Sift truth from false. Listen and be able to repeat the truth, and to explain the false.”
     I enjoyed this new skill and discovering more.
     “They say we should not bear false witness, but most men try to hide some of their truth. Consider if that is also not false witness.” And then he advised that I keep ears open for  Kiczold or Thiemo. One tended to drift near others' possessions. The other liked to pick fights.
     Practicing my skills with sword or cross bow were hampered. Instead, while I rode in the wagon, I tried a less noble weapon, a sling-shot. Samael had a priest tell the tale of David and Goliath to inspire me to take this simple weapon seriously. Jostling along in the wagon, taking aim was a challenge. It was also difficult to have a steady target. I couldn't aim at the dray horses pulling the wagon behind ours, or at the man who walked at their side. Aiming at the butts of ale we carried, was a bad idea, least I damage them and they leak. I needed a target that was distant enough, yet not so distant that I could only guess whether or not I hit it. Mostly I aimed for trees. There was precious little game to be seen. No surprise that. By the time the wagons rumbled, creaked, and groaned along the road, any animal had long since fled  the passage of his Grace's column. Duke Henryk and his closest nobles had first shot on any game surprised by our passage. Their kill were sent back to the wagons and were skinned and gutted even as we traveled.
     If food was scarce in the villages, the lords would take out hunting parties. When we did this, Samael armed my Lord with crossbow and pike and me with just a crossbow and we stood on the edges of the line receiving the game those thrashing the bushes drove toward us. The beaters usually surprised more than one animal.
     I waited tensely, looking toward the thinning forest, unable to see clearly. Samael must have guessed this. He demanded I shut my eyes and see. I felt my Master twitch at this injunction. My breath came raggedly as I listened to the sounds approaching. I feared to hit one of the beaters with a crossbow bolt.
     “Get down,” Samael growled, “Kneel, aim low. Can you hear it?”
     I listened and nodded. “Yes,” I hissed, recalling he might not distinguish my nod from other sounds I made. I  threw myself on the damp plowed field, bracing my elbows and tried to gauge distance. It sounded small, perhaps a hare. But not too far behind came a beater. If the hare broke the cover of the forest, I would lose its sound on the soft plowed ground. No beater would thank me if I hit them instead. And anyone would be grateful for some stewed hare to thicken the onion broth we had eaten the last two days.
     I steadied myself, my breathing, my aim, eased my grip, prayed silently, wished my hands weren't sweaty, and that I could live up to my Father's original hopes for me as I tried to be sure the beater wasn't directly behind my unseen target. I swallowed, my mouth dry.
     I had just cocked my bow ready to shoot, when a shrill squeal, loud crashing and a shout went up.
My eyes snapped open, my bolt loosened, as a huge wild boar broke cover to my right.
     “BRACE!” Samael and my voices rose as I spun around to see my Master armed with his crossbow. Surprised, he loosened at the beast's head as I lurched half upright to help Samael set and  brace the pike. My master threw himself to our aid, bracing the ash pole firmly against the charging boars full weight.
     Roaring protest, the boar impaled himself on our pike point, driving toward us, our feet slipping in the mud with the force of his charge. His small eyes seemed riveted to mine as he just kept coming.  The pike had no cross-brace to prevent him spitting himself on the pike. His charge ended as others threw themselves to our aid. But his snout was less than a hand-span from my shaking hands, his razor sharp yellow tusks snapping in death. Blood spurted from his neck.
     We heaved a collective sigh. My shaking hands and the boar's passing weren't the only reason the pike pole shivered. No one had expected the beaters to flush a boar. Lord Olbrecht stood up, chest heaving, his knife dripping blood. He had slit the boar's throat. He cleaned it in the dirt at his feet.
     “Get that thing strung up, bleed it out.” He yanked my Master to his feet, as Samael scrambled upright. Then I stood, separating myself from field, mud, blood and close proximity to the boar.
      We had the boar strung up by the time his Grace Duke Henryk galloped toward us. The beaters had flushed other animals, and he had taken down a deer.

Currently I am not udating Ears as planned. The reason being other writing projects which I'm (hopefully) preparing for publication! I will resume Ears' story as soon as I can think.

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.