Chapter 7
The afternoon physiology lesson was with Mr Butler – a tall lean fellow who wore glasses and spoke in a quiet, raspy voice. He constantly asked the children to stop murmuring and pay attention but his soft whispers often got lost in the big echoing stone room they sat in.
Around them were skeletons hanging in display cases; on great shelves sat jars of specimens and vials of liquid. At the front Mr Butler was going through all the bones in the human hand using a chalkboard. Once again, Matthias was grouped with the younger children and he felt a little foolish as he answered some of the easier questions. That is, until they had to take a written test. To his embarrassment and the sniggers of others he repeated his answer to Mr Butler.
“I cannot write, sir,” he said, looking down at the blank paper in front of him and the pen sat next to the jar of ink.
The teacher came to a halt in front of his wooden desk. As he spoke his soft face looked saddened. “My dear boy, have you ever been schooled at all?”
“No sir,” said Matthias. “Only Bible lessons at the abbey.”
Mr Butler’s jet black eyes glistened with sadness. His slender features dropped slightly and he took Matthias gently by the arm.
“Come with me. We shall speak to Mr Hardy at once.” Matthias got up and allowed himself to be led to the door. When they reached it Mr Butler turned to the class and said, “The rest of you may begin.” As they left the room the last thing Matthias heard was the turning of papers and the furious scribbling of pens.
They made their way to Mr Hardy's office and Mr Butler wasted no time at all in knocking on the door and letting himself in. Mr Hardy was lost in papers at his desk but he looked up and raised an eyebrow after Mr Butler let loose an audible cough.
“Mr Butler. Matthias. How can I help you?”
“Mr Hardy, were you aware Matthias cannot read or write?”
Mr Hardy straightened in his chair, “Is this true?”
Matthias felt the need to correct, “I can read a little, sir. But… I cannot write.”
Now Mr Butler turned to Matthias. “You can read, but not write?”
“Yes, sir. Father James taught us to read for Bible classes, but the abbey never had writing lessons.”
The physiology master turned to Mr Hardy with a look of concern on his face. “Matthias will need to learn to write.”
“Yes, but maybe this is something best handled by Lady Taylor? Matthias needs to be instructed in the ways of society much quicker than the other children.”
Mr Butler raised an eyebrow and moved closer to the desk. “I don’t follow.”
Mr Hardy waved him away, “Never mind. We can discuss it later. For now we must ensure he is schooled in writing, literature, dance, conversation and etiquette.” At the mention of the word ‘dance’ Matthias visibly stiffened.
The master stood up and closed the great book he had been writing in. “Mr Butler, I will arrange for Matthias to have writing lessons and will take up the other gaps in his knowledge with Lady Taylor. For now, can he take part in your lessons and perhaps carry out some sort of oral test?”
Mr Butler looked flustered - he was clearly not used to making exceptions. He played with his silk neck tie and looked at Matthias with disregard. “This is most irregular. What I teach cannot be learned by word of mouth alone. The Latin, the drawings…”
“I can take care of this. For now, please do the best you can with him. I will place him immediately into private tuition for his writing.”
“Very well,” said Mr Butler, “if you are sure you can find someone to undertake this task outside of academy hours?”
“I have just the fellow. Mr Butler, please return to your class and continue. I shall be in contact. Matthias, follow me.” The master reached for his black velvet coat and escorted out Mr Butler who left looking perplexed. Mr Hardy turned and walked off in the opposite direction. After several paces he bellowed, “Do hurry up!”
For the second time Matthias was led out into the maze-like corridors. They walked for a short time to a part of the castle he had not yet been to - the chapel. It was instantly recognisable by the pews and candles, not to mention the giant crucifix hanging above the ornate stone altar.
It was strange to enter a church within a castle but when they passed through the rather humble doors they were instantly engulfed in a solemn quiet and the wind could be heard whispering around them. Mr Hardy’s voice, however, cut through the calmness when he called out, “Father James!”
Matthias looked around the building which was enormous and was much bigger than the small chapel there had been at the abbey. Gold leaf decorated the vast walls and oil paintings depicted scenes from the Bible, not all of them pleasant. Wooden columns went all the way along to the altar at the front supporting a great arched ceiling; too high for Matthias to see the details of the coats of arms and crests that adorned it.
But dust and cobwebs obscured the grand furnishings and even the floor itself had a fine coating.
A shuffling behind them announced Father James arriving from a door at the back. He extended his arm out to Matthias and held his hand firmly with both of his. “My boy,” he said, “how are you?”
“I am well, uncle. My first day has been interesting.” Father James gave Mr Hardy a quizzical look but the Master of the Sandstone Castle simply raised an eyebrow.
“Matthias has never learnt to write. Is this correct?”
Father James scratched his white beard. “Why yes. But he can read, although it was never one of his great strengths.”
“Did any of the children at the abbey learn to read or write?”
At the mention of the children Father James’s face immediately darkened and looked distant. His eyes fell to the floor and he took hold of Matthias by the arm. “The children were raised in the countryside. They were to leave one day and work as farmers, labourers or, if they were lucky, artisans. They picked a craft, learnt basic reading and arithmetic if required and then they found work when they were old enough.”
“I don’t understand. Surely your father would have made some provision…”
Father James lifted his head slowly. “My father disagreed with my methods and with my faith.”
Mr Hardy shook his head solemnly. “My apologies. I misspoke.”
Father James nodded his head in forgiveness. Mr Hardy looked at Matthias and said, “James, it would be of a great service to us all, now that he has entered the academy, if he could be taught to read and write to a higher level. His opportunities and needs have changed.”
“This can be done. It would please me to spend time with my nephew. The chapel here is filling the rest of my time. It has fallen into quite a state.”
Mr Hardy turned to look around him. “It has been empty several years. But it is very kind of you to offer to maintain it on our behalf.”
“Maintain it?” said Father James. “My dear sir, this is a house of God. I serve this place. I shall endeavour to bring it back to its former glory.”
Mr Hardy tilted his face. “The wind of faith in the castle is an idle one and these children have no time for preparing to meet their maker. They leave it to the old.” He started to walk away.
Father James spoke as he reached the door, “Some of these children won’t get a chance to become old Mr Hardy.”
The master paused and looking down he sighed. His head turned and Matthias thought he was about to speak, but instead he walked out through the dark archway in silence.
Father James waited a moment before gathering himself and turning to Matthias. “Come, let us begin your studies.”
The old monk opened the wooden door at the back of the chapel through which he had emerged, his brown robes flapping as he walked, and they made their way down a dark and dingy corridor to a little room lit by a solitary candle.
It was a small and simple chamber with books in great piles on the shelves, floor and a table. A window was high on the far wall but the shadows on this side of
the castle ensured very little sunlight got through.
A movement caught Matthias’s eye and he realised they weren’t alone. On the floor, scrubbing the stone, was Alexander. He immediately sat up, “Hello Matthias.” The eyes shined in the dimness and he put down his scrubbing brush and dried his hands on his tabard.
“Alexander,” said Father James. “What are you doing here?”
“Cleaning the floor. I spilt some ink and didn’t want it trodden around.”
The monk pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, watching Alexander. “I see you’ve met my nephew, Matthias. He’s here to study so I’ll need some time alone with him.”
Alexander looked shocked. “Nephew?”
“Yes. I’ll need some time alone with him. ” His uncle did it subtly but Matthias noticed him signal toward the door. For a moment Alexander did nothing but stare and Matthias thought Father James was about to lose his temper.
Alexander finally nodded his understanding, but kept looking at Matthias with curious glances. Was it fear?
“I beg your pardon. I’ll be out of your way now.” He picked up his bucket and brush and darted away.
Father James started shuffling piles of papers and moved a stack of tomes to reveal two chairs and pulled them over. He moved a pile of dusty manuscripts and placed them carefully on the floor next to a desk under yet more shelves.
“A nice boy, but quite odd. Very pious though, which can only be a good thing. Apparently he’s been looking after this place all by himself.” His uncle smiled and gestured to a seat.
“What is all this?” asked Matthias.
“The previous occupant,” said his uncle, “Father Morant, so Alexander tells me. This was his life’s work. Histories, notes, works of literature; some of them hundreds of years old. All left here and forgotten about. I’ve been looking through them, attempting to bring some order to the chaos. He was a fascinating man.”
Matthias picked up a well-worn book next to him whose title was A Historie of the Founteyn. On the front carved in leather was the now familiar duke’s emblem. “What happened to him?” he asked.
Father James lifted his head up from behind a box of papers. “I’ve made some enquiries but nobody seems to know. They say he left many years ago. Though quite why is unknown. In any case he left all this here. It’s interesting what I’ve read so far. Maybe we could use some in your studies? Bring your reading up to scratch?”
“I would like that,” said Matthias, returning the tome to the table.
They spent the rest of the afternoon practising reading and he was surprised at how much he could remember. The alphabet all fell into place and he managed to read a whole chapter from a book of Bible stories although he did need some help with the odd word and some of the longer place names. The lack of sunlight didn’t help but his uncle seemed so happy in his little room surrounded by books that he thought it would be unfair to ask could they move. Besides, it felt good to be around a familiar face and he could recognised the feeling in his uncle too.
As the sunlight all but disappeared somewhere in the castle a bell struck seven. Father James looked up from the volume they had been reading together. “I believe a meal will be served now. Come, I’ll take you to the mustering hall.”
“You know the way?” said Matthias, stretching as he got up; the old wooden stool he had been sat on was far from comfortable.
“Of course,” said Father James, “I spent four years here myself.”
Matthias halted, “What?”
His uncle frowned. “I trained here for four years at my father’s wishes. A long, long time ago.” He sighed. “It didn’t suit me. I chose to follow the path of our Lord.”
They started to walk back out to the chapel. In the corridor it was near total blackness and Matthias had to hold his hand out to the walls to make sure he didn’t lose his way.
“It was a dark time for me,” continued the monk. “I was lost in this place. These walls were my prison. I didn’t belong here.”
They entered the chapel and Father James turned to him. “I chose a different life than your father. But it was a choice Matthias, nevertheless. You have that choice too. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I have chosen.”
His uncle rested his arms on his shoulders. “You will learn in time it becomes very hard to change the mould of your life. The choices you make here, the actions you carry out beyond these walls; doubt me not, will touch your very soul.”
They continued in silence to the hall and Matthias sat down next to Harry who was on his own. Father James went off to another table to sit with some teachers.
Harry turned to him and said, “How was physiology then?”
Matthias looked down at his plate. “It went well,” he lied.
Harry started to eat his supper of soup, cold meat and bread. “Not what I heard,” he said, “rumour is that you can’t read.” He turned to look at Matthias with a hint of a smile on his face. Matthias exhaled and took a piece of bread. It seemed that gossip at the castle moved quicker than horses.
All around children talked and ate. The air was bursting with the sounds of people filling their stomachs. But to Matthias there was only his own very heavy silence.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry, “I can help.” He gave him a friendly pat on the arm. “You’ll need some help with drawing too I would imagine. Mr Butler makes you copy out pictures of organs and limbs.”
Matthias, his face red, looked at Harry with a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“Oh how sweet,” said a new voice. The two boys turned to look at its owner. Sitting opposite them, where seconds ago there had been an empty space, was Sophie. She smirked and her eyes drooped in mock sadness. “You two boys must be the 'bestest' of friends now?”
“Very funny, Sophie,” said Harry and as he brought his spoon of soup up to his mouth he flicked it straight at her. The murky brown liquid splashed onto her black tunic but it was quickly absorbed.
“How juvenile!” Sophie looked at Harry with disdain and dabbed at her clothing. She turned to Matthias and he had his first chance to look at her properly. She was pretty with pale white skin, a round face and deep brown eyes. Her shiny, jet black hair framed her features before falling smartly to her shoulders . She spoke with breeding but then, she was the daughter of a lord, Matthias recalled. Or was it a baron? Matthias couldn’t remember exactly but felt sure she would see herself as his better.
“I heard you excelled at hand to hand combat. You boys are always so rough.” She began eating and studying some notes at the same time.
“Do you learn combat?” Matthias asked.
Sophie looked up from her notes in something approaching disgust. “Combat?” she choked, “Heavens no. I’m preparing to specialise my skills and become a Journeyman.”
“In what?” said Matthias, mopping up the last of his supper with a piece of crusty bread.
“Poisoning,” said Sophie, and with a delicious smile she stared at the piece of bread half way towards Matthias’s mouth. He stopped an inch short, his mouth wide open. His gaze fell to the soggy bread in his fingers and then back to Sophie’s dark brown eyes as they stared at it.
She chuckled and then both her and Harry started to laugh. Harry spoke first, “Don’t worry, your supper is quite safe.”
“You really don’t understand how this place works, do you?” said Sophie.
“I’m getting the hang of it,” said Matthias, placing the bread back on his plate. “So how long before you’re a Journeyman?”
“Next spring. I’ll finish advanced training and complete a thesis on poisoning. They say within a year I’ll be ready for my first assignment.”
“And what do you say?” said Matthias.
“I say you can never truly learn anything. I’m only just scratching the surface. There are so many wonderful plants and creatures in this world that the number of toxins documented barely constitutes a fraction. One day, I�
��d like to travel far away and bring back something new. Something special.”
“How long does training take? When will I get to pick something?”
“It’s different with each person,” said Harry. “For Sophie here it’ll be two years in spring. Most are usually more than that.”
Matthias felt himself deflate a little. Two years? He had a long road ahead. Still, he could learn. He could become strong and he could avenge his sister. At this thought he once more felt a surge through his body and his mind clear. There was an energy inside him now, a punishment ready to be delivered. It felt good and he knew he could draw on it when he needed. He wouldn’t let her down.
They finished their meals and headed back to their rooms. Matthias and Harry lit a candle and talked away briefly before sleep. Matthias learnt that Harry had been brought up in a village in Hampshire. After being found abandoned, a local couple had taken him onto their farm. When his stepmother had died and his stepfather became ill Harry had taken to poaching from the local lord’s estate. The only trouble was that with his skill at staying hidden and blending in with his surroundings he became too good at it.
Stories started to circulate the village about a strange beast that was slaying the local deer and rabbits. Of course, Harry knew better, but the villagers had reacted one night and sent out a party to search the woods. They’d caught Harry red-handed with a stag and half a dozen rabbits in a makeshift smoker he’d built. Threatened with being sent away to the navy he had taken the offer to come to the castle from the mysterious Spanish mystic Alonso who had turned up shortly after his misadventure.
Matthias felt glad there was someone here who was also an outsider like him. He shared some of his own story but left out the part about the attack on the abbey. He wasn’t yet ready to relive those events for anyone. He had kept his feelings hidden inside and they would remain there until he was ready to unleash his anger on the man who had killed Rebecca.
Chapter 8
The next day Matthias awoke early. The mustering hall was just coming to life and a few children were sitting down at the tables. Bleary eyed as they were, there was little chatter to be heard and Matthias found himself wondering how tough his day was going to be. He felt more confident now he had his reading and writing arranged with his uncle but today still held some trepidation for him. He was to begin ballistics lessons with Major Wilson.
Children of the Fountain Page 6