Swallowed Sun

The two of us had survived another night. Not that there was much in the way of immediate danger, but another night was spent with me as protector. Again, sleep evaded me, and spent a few hours napping in the early hours. My time was not spent fretting, but rather preparing lessons for young Felix. Trying to remember how I was taught to read proved difficult, but what could be remembered was the constant copying of letters. Those letters then became words, then sentences, then paragraphs. I wondered if there was a better way, but a teacher I fear I am not. I would have to rely on copying and the dreaded pronunciation lessons. I, however, would not cane the child over the hands when mistakes were made.

Too many times can I recall being wrapped over the knuckles. My tutor would hit so hard that skin broke. I would bleed over the paper, over the letters I had tried to copy exactly, over the hard work I had put in. This would anger the sour man further, and I would be wrapped over my palms. I knew that my father would approve of this method of education. I did not complain. Complaints would have more pain associated with them. 

On the training fields I experienced similar punishments, whippings when not fast enough. Clouts on the hand that broke bone when my sword hand was found wanting. Carrying steel mail in rain or snow to become stronger, then having to remove the rust till fingers bled and calloused. Wooden swords were wielded until hands bled and calloused. All while still being considered a child. Other nobles had it easier, but my father took his duty, and thus mine, as the only virtue.

I was determined not to put Felix through the same ordeal. I saw very little need to do so if fate was to direct him to a monastery. They would be harder on him there, I imagined, not as hard as on one destined for the battlefield, but those of the monastic orders did tend to lead a disciplined life. Far more disciplined than soldiers or mercenaries, who would be as disciplined as required. As soon as bounty, drink, and women came into the picture, discipline all but disappeared, to be replaced but something more monstrous.

As soon as I realized that a deeper sleep was not my fate, I might as well get some kahveh on the boil and prepare something to break our fasts. The act of preparing the black but aromatic drink was fast becoming a tradition the two of us could share. I heard the creaky stair alert me to Felix’s presence.

‘There is a bucket down here, and a well out back.’ I say, knowing by now the lad would need to wash. ‘Once you’ve collected some water, washed up, and we’ve eaten, we best get started on your studies.’

Just as soon as I had finished setting out our morning, there was a knock at the front door. Opening the door reminded me I needed to still get some more sturdy locks, as per Karl’s wishes. It was the carpenter with the bed. We made quick work hauling it up the stairs with Felix’s eager eyes watching our movements while still struggling with a full bucket of water. 

‘No need to haul the bucket upstairs, just wash down here, then you can come see your new bed.’ I say, while the carpenter simply grunted. I had not asked to help haul but seemed to resign himself to his immediate fate.

As soon as we were halfway up the stairs, one of Lina’s ‘subjects’ appeared with the now dry linen. ‘You can leave that on the table in the kitchen, thank you.’ I did not expect to see this much activity in my humble abode at any time, be it past or future. The present, however, was a different matter entirely. The wooden frame that made up Felix’s bed was relatively light, mostly owing to its size, and it was soon in place in the room I used for storage. I would have to make more space for the lad, but not right now. I thanked the carpenter, who I had effectively press-ganged into some labor. I was already planning where to move the musty books and parchment that served merely to flesh out my inventory when Felix arrived by my side.

‘Is this for me, sir?’ I looked down at Felix’s face, ‘Truly?’

‘Yes, lad. I certainly will not be able to fit in it, and if you keep eating like you do, I imagine I’ll have to visit that grumpy carpenter again.’ With that, Felix burst out laughing. It was a weak jest, though seemingly tickling Felix. I was never a great storyteller, being able to make the child laugh so made me feel a better storyteller than I had any right to be. ‘Come on, let’s eat something and begin your lessons. We’ll stop by Lina this afternoon to get some more straw and see where is the best place to get some bedding made up for you.’

‘You weren’t lying when you said you’d teach me to read, sir?’

This struck me as odd. Not that the child had any reason to explicitly trust me. How could he? He had been deposited in my care, so swiftly, I was still shocked he managed to maintain such an even keeled temperament. ‘I was being earnest. Why did you think I might have lied to you?’

‘My ma always said that strangers were out to do us no good, sir. I did not mean to cause offense, but we did everything for ourselves. Karl would sometimes visit to provide us with money, but for the most part I wasn’t really allowed to play with the other children. My ma would say that we had each other and that was enough for anybody.’

Clearly, Felix’s mother knew of the harm a loose tongue could cause in the affairs of bastards, either wanted or unwanted. ‘Your mother’s words and actions were wise. No offense was caused. While strangers can do us harm, sometimes they can be an ally. And, Felix, we cannot be considered strangers, you and I. True, I think both of us were unprepared for our meeting, but Karl was right when he said I’d protect you.’

Now I sensed it was Felix who struggled to find the right words as he first looked down then up at me. I could see thoughts racing behind his eyes like cogs in a mill. Then he simply nodded. ‘Good,’ he said simply but meaning every facet of that agreement.

That was all he needed to say, with that ‘good’ both of us seemed content to move on together. There was earnestness in that simple ‘good’ the vast majority of my conversations to this point could not match. I had made my mind up two days ago I take care of the lad, it sounded as if Felix had made his mind up to allow me to do so.

Once more, we ate the scraps of the evening's simple feast. This time there was enough to satiate both our demands. More bread would need to be bought, but that was done easily enough. We ate in silence, not the pained silence of those with nothing to share. I felt a comfort in that silence, though I would need to break it at some point. The second pot of kahveh was finished, signaling time to begin.

‘Let’s get started then,’ I began, now willing to break that comfortable silence. ‘At my desk over there you will find some parchment, a freshly cut pen, and some ink. Please go and fetch it, while I clean up here.’ The lad did as instructed, first bring the stack of parchment. It was of a far higher quality than I would have chosen to use had I more time to prepare. All in good time. For now, we would make do with the expensive stuff. Once the parchment had been placed neatly, little feet scampered off for the pen and ink. ‘Take a seat, and we’ll begin.’

I moved my chair perpendicular to my student. Took the pen and ink, then drew the first letter of our alphabet then pronounced it out loud. I could feel Felix’s eyes watch my every action intently, then mimicked my pronunciation. ‘Good attempt,’ I hopefully encouraged. ‘Not quite right, but enough was right. Here, take the pen and try to copy what I have written on the paper.’

It was my turn to watch intently. Felix grabbed the pen, as one would an axe handle, not as one would an instrument for conveying knowledge. He then proceeded to scratch the pen across the page in a vague and all together ugly attempt to mimic my penmanship. He looked up at me, I could not help but smile and laugh. ‘It’s not quite right,’ I say through my laughter.

‘No, a bit ugly,’ Felix contended. ‘You made it look so easy.’

‘Years of practice,’

‘Can I try again?’

I nod and extend my hands, welcoming a further attempt. Again, his grip on the pen made him scratch the page. This time, with little to no ink, the page tore. ‘Not to worry, let's work on how you hold the pen.’ I took up one of the spare pens I cut last night when sleep evaded me once more. I slowly wrapped my fingers round the once goose feather, as I had been taught many years ago. The lad’s eyes focussed, perhaps in the vain attempt that just by looking he would be able to do. ‘You try, without ink this time’ I instructed with it being my turn to focus to see what errors the little fingers were prone to make. Slowly, he tied to grip the pen just above the nib between thumb and index finger. ‘See if you can copy the letter,’ I knew it would fail as his middle finger was providing no support. There was a part of me that expected a miracle and his unorthodox method would work. A miracle was not to happen, reality imposed its will on little Felix like it had done to me my entire existence.

As soon as the nib touched the paper, then the pen left his little hand in a hurry that surprised him enough for him to let out a little exclamation. ‘Sir, writing is hard.’

‘It is. It took me some time before I could write, but this is how I started to learn, and I do not know of a better way. You almost got it, pass your hand,’ Felix does as is instructed and gives me his hand. Gently, not wanting to hurt the fingers that looked impossibly small, I press the pen with thumb and index finger, then adding his middle finger to the side of the pen not supported. ‘That was what you got wrong, the pen needs to be supported on all sides, and it's best to use these three fingers to do so. Practice picking up the pen and holding it like I showed you a few times.’ 

Without much more prompting, Felix picked up and held the pen as instructed some fifteen or so times. Once done, he looked up at me. I smiled and nodded my approval. This was followed by a few more attempts and saying out loud the first letter of the alphabet and the first steps in Felix’s journey to becoming literate. ‘Keep practicing, and try to draw the letter again, still without ink. I’ll show you how to use the inkwell tomorrow. While you are doing that, I’ll put another pot of kahveh on the boil.’

I complete my ritual, bringing the dark liquid in its elaborate vessel to the table, seeing the lad hard at work dropping the pen, picking it up and attempting to imitate what I had drawn, drew a smile. The last two nights had brought in more joy than I had experienced in some time. Part of me, warned me not to get to complacent, not to revel in these feelings that I dared say were somewhat patriarchal.

With the ritual complete, I can see Felix has gained in skill and confidence. ‘Here, take a break and have this. You are definitely holding the pen better.’ That big smile greets me, reinforcing those patriarchal feelings more. Quickly drinking the hot liquid, I could see Felix must have suffered some pain to the tongue and throat. My assumption was proven right by the sudden exasperation from the lad. ‘Maybe waiting a bit longer would have been wise.’

‘Yes sir,’ he says once he gained his breath back. ‘It’s not too sore, though. My hand hurts a little as well.’

‘You are not used to using your hand in this way. It is to be expected, you will gain strength in your hand the more you practice. Practice you shall, you still have the entire alphabet to learn.’

‘The alphabet?’ a quizzical look dominating his face.

‘The system of symbols we use to make words, that then make sentences, then paragraphs, and books like the ones you see behind you. The letter you’ve been practicing is the first of the alphabet. Each letter has a sound, like you practiced earlier.’ The quizzical look lessened, but did not disappear. ‘Perhaps it's better to give you an example.’ 

I got up and went to fetch one of the books that I pointed out. Looking at the bound tomes, one stood out. The works of the brothers Grimwald would be perfect. A collection of folk tales, some rather brutal and intended to scare children, others rather funny, all intended to teach a life lesson of sorts. It was one of the first books I read as a child. I can remember laughing and feeling the fear the more macabre tales were intended to invoke. ‘This one will hopefully get my point across.’

Placing the book on the table, I indicate Felix to open the leather-bound collection of human experience. Felix reached over to lift the book, well-worn with the leather binding showing some age but in generally good condition. The book was perennially popular, but the majority of my clients wanted the editions with illumination and illustrations in the best inks. ‘It’s heavier than I thought,’ he chirped while getting to terms with the weight. It wasn’t quite heavy enough to cause the lad discomfort, but I guess he had never touched a book. Opening the front cover, he was immediately greeted by the black and white illustration, hand drawn as it was copied a few years before the invention of the press. ‘It has pictures,’ Felix laughed.

‘It does, more importantly it has letters, that make words, that hen make sentences that in turn make paragraphs, then books,’ I hoped my explanation did not sound too pompous. Perhaps, spending more time looking at the pictures will help inspire. I decided it was better to let him enjoy what he can. Eventually he turned the page to be coning was still highly fronted by the first barrage of words. Titles in larger writing versus the smaller ones. The lettering was still highly visible against the browning of the paper used. Not the best quality but still very good. If treated correctly, those words will remain on the page for generations to come. I lent over a little closer and used my finger to point out the first word, ‘The,’ saying the word, ‘These three letters make “the”’.

Automatically, he repeated what I had said. Not once, but a few times. I could feel the effort he was putting into each sound. His eyes fixed upon those three letters used to make one of the simplest words in our common tongue. He was taking in the sounds and each curve of the word.

‘The book is yours now,’ I said, not entirely sure where the thought to give Felix the book came from. It felt right, though.

‘Really?’ a look of both wonder, confusion, and earnestness contorted his features. I did not know such a look could be achieved by a mere mortal.

‘Yes, it will also help you in your studies. It was the first book I learned how to read.’

‘This one?’

‘No, not this exact one,’ I laughed. ‘An older edition. The book you have before you was written some 250 years ago.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ I could see hi struggling to find more words to say. 

‘It is my pleasure young Felix,’ I stop him from having to struggle, ‘We best pack up and run some errands. Over there you will see a shelf, you are to put your paper, pens, and book there.’ I pointed at the empty one shelf next to where I kept supplies. I had never managed to fill it. It some sense, it was ordained that my little companion use it.

 

*****

 

From the bakery, and a few sweet treats for the two of us, then to the butcher, then to Lina’s in the hope she had some bedding for the lad. Lina was out, but one of her overseers was more than willing to help while Felix went off and played. I spent the time watching the children play the same games I and I imagine the majority of children played. It typically involved plenty of running around, laughing, and followed by arguments of whose turn it was.  After what I imagined was a few hours Lina’s overseer carried some bedding and sheeting had been cut down to size. I was asked for a small fee, far smaller of a fee than if I had expected and one I knew would be far smaller than if I had gone to a seamstress in town.

Money exchanged, goodbyes were made, and the load shared between the two of us at Felix’s insistence we made our way back behind the outer walls. Clouds were building over head, light gray turning to dark grey in the period it took for us to get back to the city walls. We made it home just as the downpour began. A typical winter storm, it would get much colder shortly. At least Felix would have somewhere comfortable to bed down he could call his own. ‘We had better make your bed,’

‘Can you help me sir?’ he asked rather sheepishly, ‘I have never had a bed of my own. We just slept on straw and blankets.”

‘Of course,’ I again felt I should say more. I couldn’t find the words. So we quickly made the bed. I was suddenly starving. ‘I could do with a hot meal for a change. What say you, young Felix?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘We’ll go to one of my favourite Inns. They always have a good, hearty stew. In this weather it will go down a treat. We will give it a moment for the rain to stop bucketing.’

Felix nodded, and looked down at his made bed. I noticed something rather important was missing. Blankets. Cursing to myself on how I could forget.

‘Wait here,’ I quickly popped into my room looked in the cupboard to find the extra thick woolen blankets I kept as spares. Rushing back, I place the folded blankets, ‘Here we go.’ There was still something missing. Pillows. One more curse to myself I repeat the procedure but this time get one of the pillows on my bed. I never used two during the times I slept up here. ‘Now, I think we are ready for you to have a comfortable night in your own bed.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ from looking down then suddenly, lad met my eyes. ‘I have never had my own bed or my own book, or my own blankets. I am not sure what to say.’

‘You needn’t say anything, lad,’ I was touched by his sincerity. ‘Let's wait downstairs for the rain to pass, or at least ease. You can fetch your book and look at all the pictures. I need to do some reading myself.’

The next passage of time we spent sitting quietly in each other's company. Felix paging through his book and staring intently at the images that would introduce a new tale. Me, reading a critique on the dual nature of man, thinking to myself that I have seen too much that confirmed our duality. What good were philosophical discussions on matters I had experienced to be untrue or merely the whimsy of a privileged academic? Why was I reading such a weighty tome? Possibly merely distraction. Looking down at Felix while he skipped the pages and stared at any picture that came up with such intensity, I was reminded I should read what I enjoy. That book before Felix was one I had enjoyed. ‘Would you like me to read you a story?’

Felix’s eyes lit up brighter than any candles in the room, ‘Yes, please!’ He all but shouted. I marvelled at how much excitement was contained in a little frame. As I asked so I did. The first tale was of a princess who never did what she was instructed to do. Inevitably, this turned into tragedy when she wandered off into the woods and was taken by elves. The tale, like most folk tales, attempted to scare children into submission. I am not sure Felix took that lesson and giggled when the princess mistreated serving folk. I had to admit the pranks would still make me laugh if I saw them. The tale done, Felix looked earnestly at me, ‘The princess shouldn’t have done the things she did. The elves also shouldn’t have taken her.’

‘Why do you think that?’ I asked, not in the mocking tone of an adult to child, I was genuinely struck by his response. ‘You did laugh when the Princess used a cat to scare her serving maid.’

‘I did, but it is a cruel thing to do. I don’t think she deserved to be taken away, though. Maybe she should have just got a whipping.’

‘Maybe,’ still stunned by his response, I try to get my wits about me. ‘I don’t think the writer cared for what she deserved. Rather, he wanted to scare children into always doing what their parents told them to do.’

‘Oh, so do elves actually take children away?’

‘Elves, don’t exist,’ as soon as I said that I instantly felt some regret. I hoped I had not destroyed a child’s imagination and propensity to wonder. Quickly, ‘Well at least one has not been seen here for thousands of years.’ The old myths told of all kinds of mystical races and beasts. Whether they existed and were hunted out of existence, or never existed at all, was still a mater of much scholarly debate.

‘Maybe, one day, I’ll find one.’

‘You might just,’ some part of me, dismissed his lofty ambition as childish. Another part wanted it to be true.  The downpour eased without me noticing to what was the typical level of rain for this region. ‘Let’s go get something to eat.’ Felix rose to the table, prepared for whatever I decided to bring. ‘Come, we’ll get a meal from the Inn.’

‘I never went to the Inn in town before. My mother didn’t seem to like it much.’

“Inns can be dangerous places, but the one we are going to has a big fire, excellent stew, and pleasant enough patrons. Get your coat, it still seems to be raining outside. Luckily, it is a short enough walk to the Lyre and Boar.”

“Do they keep boars?” Felix asked. I thought the question odd at first, I had never considered an Inn’s name to be the literal definition of what they did.

“No, it is probably just a name the owner chose,” I say through a small chuckle. “They do serve boar, though, so in a way you are correct.”

“Pity, I would have liked to see one.”

Again, I could not help but chuckle, more to myself than outright. “Come, coat on, I would still like to get there before it gets too busy.” It was a vain hope, the Boar and Lyre was always busy, whether local tradesman, craftsman, and off duty soldiers, to out of town traders looking to make a contact to secure more business. In general, a better class of patron then many other Inns I had frequented.

The walk was surprisingly pleasant. The cold damp air invigorating. The gentle rain on the slate roofs and cobblestones, comforting. I was beginning to enjoy walking places with Felix. The lad felt no need to chatter away idly. On approach to the Inn, I could hear the unmistaken chatter and laughter of those enjoying more ale than they should. It would seem that the Lyre part of the Inn’s name was also true. I could hear a bard, though muffled, plying their trade for whatever coin their talents deserved.

The bards tale and accompany plucking of strings grew louder as we approached. The song, a popular ribald one for sure, was about a serving boy and a princess. I sincerely hoped I would not have to explain it to Felix as I moved to open the thick wooden doors, painted a deep shade of red that appeared a maroon closer to black in the dim light. I could already smell the burning fire. Likewise, I could also smell the unique smell of wet straw, stale tobacco, and spilled ale. Only inns, taverns, and public houses, could produce that smell through the combination of humans and drink.

The door moves easily on well-worn and well oiled hinges. I was greeted by the door man, as tall as he was wide. He was taller than I by a good six inches. Face pock marked, scarred, and a nose that had been flattened by repeated blows. He was no soldier, that was easy to tell. He was certainly a brawler, and to be on the wrong side of him meant his big meaty hands would grip and beat sense into one. 

I looked back at Felix, the light from inside suddenly lit up his doubts on seeing the doorman. Looking at me, I nodded. This seemed to embolden him, and he took steps forward. I suddenly had my doubts if bringing him here was the wisest idea. Such doubts were meaningless, we had come this far. I nodded to the doorman, and received a nod back. Then I proceeded to open the door for my little companion and I.

‘Oi, close the door!’ the big man grumbled. I think his name was Piotr from conversions I had overheard previously. ‘You’re letting all the warm air out!’

Now nodding my apology to Piotr, I saw Felix was well in the common area soaking in all the varied sights I had become too jaded to recognize. I did as I was told and began taking off my coat while Felix had fixed his eyes on the bard. ‘Felix, your coat,’ forcing him into action.

I tried to look on the scene as Felix would have, while I take his coat and mine, then pass them to one of the serving maids. To me, it was the same large tables, the central fire pit where meat was cooked and stews kept warm. There, the Inn's owner would oversee the cooking done by his wife and helpers. In the colder months, he never really strayed too far from that fire unless absolutely necessary.

Around the fire was the scattering of tables. Worn by years of hard use, but incredibly well-made to take the battering they have received. Other than being scarred, they were full of stains from years of ale, mead, and occasionally wine being spilled on them. The establishments that catered more to nobles and incredibly wealthy merchants generally served wine exclusively; I preferred the more humble surrounds of here, but not quite as humble as establishments near the docks. River sailors could be an unpredictable lot at the best of times. They were predictable in terms of their penchant to solve problems with violence.

‘Over there,’ I point to inform my young companion of a free table, not too close to the fire but also away from tables where the patrons had already been awhile. The corner I direct Felix too was relatively empty and by that measure perfect. ‘Walk in front of me rather, lad.’

As instructed, he does, my hand on his shoulder guides him along my preferred path. I still doubted that this was a good idea. At the very least, it will be a learning experience, possibly for both of us. Upon getting to our seats, one of the servers approached. My heart sank. We knew each other on a more intimate level than I would want Felix to know about. We tended to find each other on nights where we both felt alone and needed some company. It was never more than that. Though I had no idea how she would react to seeing the lad. Did she think he was mine own? Other questions quickly arose, and no answers were forthcoming.

‘Who is this fine young gentleman?’ she asked while near enough to be in earshot over the noise of a lute and people. When we made eye contact, she quickly winked to me, maybe sensing my distress. It did instantly make me feel better.

‘This if Felix,’ I don’t think I could hide the relief in my voice even if I tried. ‘He has fallen into my care. His mother died recently, and I am the only family he has left.’ Suddenly, Hilda moved to being in eye shot with the seated lad and grasped his hands.

‘Felix, I am Hilda,’ the sudden outpouring of human compassion hit me like a wave, ‘If you need anything come and find me. Your gentleman friend tends to not do much speaking, but  he is a good man. Sometimes men, are not the best at dealing with certain things, for that you come to me?’

‘Yes, ma'am.’ A tear rolled down Felix’s cheek and was quickly wiped away by Hilda’s thumb. This was the first real display of sadness I had seen from Felix. Only when I mentioned his mother was dead, was when I remembered that the child had lost his mother. 

‘Now onto more pleasant things,’ Hilda rose and again winked at me, ‘What can I get both of you this evening?’

‘I’ll have some ale, whatever you can give Felix, and two helpings of stew.’

‘Right away, I’ll bring some honeyed tea for Felix.’

‘Oh, and Hilda?’

‘Yes?’ She looked at me and smiled.

‘Thank you.’

‘See what I mean about not speaking much, Felix. No, how are you? How has your day been?’ That brought a smile out of Felix. With that I bet she felt she was not leaving the child to wallow, even if he by rights all the reason in the world to, she left. Over the shoulder and louder than before, she said, ‘One day, Konrad, you’ll find the right words.’ 

‘Hilda seems like a good woman.’ Felix said while trying to take in all that was displayed before him. His gaze seemed to settle on the bard and his lute.

‘She is,’ I too look at the bard, not with the eyes of a child. ‘More than I ever could have believed.’ Two pints, two honeyed teas, an excellent stew, and watching Felix listen and laugh with the patrons at the bard’s display, seemed to be the limit of both Felix and I’s nighttime activities. I could see Felix’s eyes drupe followed by a massive yawn. ‘Looks like you are as tied as I feel.’

‘Yes, sir.’ That was all the invitation I needed to settle our bill and head home.