Joseph looked at the king’s face for a moment.
“Sire, how do you know of my father?” he asked, without thinking. He bit his lip, hoping the king would not be insulted by the question. Instead, the King turned to him.
“I have eyes and ears in every corner of my kingdom,” he said, “as Tyrus told you, in every trade, in the highest aristocracy, in the army and even in other lands. The army protects the Kingdom from invaders, but my Shamar--here--protect the just and righteous before Almighty God.” The king reached out and touched the carved mantelpiece. “This battle your father was involved in was predicted by one of my men. This message, that John Asher carried away was of great significance to the enemies of the King.”
“We are at war?” asked Joseph.
The king smiled.
“Yes, always... but not always from the outside.”
At that moment the servant re-entered the throne room. Bowing, he approached and spoke quietly to his liege. The matter appeared of some great importance; the King straightened up and his face grew serious once again.
“I must attend to official matters, young Joseph.” He looked down on the boy and patted him on the shoulder. “Be studious; learn all you can... even from those who are less desirable company. Remember that even a scoffer can teach if one knows how to learn. Speak to no one of what you have seen and heard here. We shall meet again someday.” With this, he turned and walked away, out of the room again, leaving his servant behind.
“Come,” said the man. “This way.” Walking towards the wall and opened a small, side door. Joseph stepped through, immediately enveloped by the scents and sights of the King’s garden. Not much time was there to enjoy it, however; the servant walked briskly ahead and Joseph scrambled to follow him.
Trees and shrubs stood of every shape and size, trimmed meticulously. In front of these stood rows of ruse bushes, lining the path. Around the bases of the roses sat masses of black, shining stones, each the size of a gold coin. Joseph had never seen stones of such a nature. Stooping down, he picked up one that had strayed from its place on the path.
“I have never seen rocks like these,” Joseph said as he followed the servant.
“They are not of Earth,” the servant replied, still walking ahead. “A large rock fell from the sky a hundred years ago. It shattered into these smaller pieces you see here. They are found no other place. Keep that one, if you like.”
“Thank you, sir,” Joseph said, putting the stone into his pocket.
The servant led him through several more gates, corridors. They walked through an immensely long stable filled with tall, fine horses and a few donkeys. Working stable-hands stared after the boy as he followed the King’s servant. The man ushered him quickly to another door. As he walked through, Joseph wondered if most of everyone’s time in the palace was spent opening and closing doors.
Finally, they stepped out into a shaded, cobbled courtyard surrounded by short turrets and thick walls. A large, bubbling fountain sat in its center, and by it a carriage waited. It looked just like the ones Joseph had seen rich men riding in. The windows of the carriage were covered with drawn curtains. A footman opened the carriage door and stood, waiting for him to enter.
Inside, the dim light could not hide the fineness of the carriage; the seats were cushioned with some soft, furry material that Joseph had not felt before. Brushing his hands over it admiringly, he felt the carriage start to move. Moving over to one window, Joseph lifted one corner of the curtains. They swiftly left the courtyard, passed through two gates and in no time jostled down the road to the castle wall’s gate, to go back down the mountain. Settling back against the seat, he shook his head a little in disbelief, comparing the way he had come up the mountain to how he was going down it. He wondered how his father would have viewed him riding in the King’s carriage, going to a school that rich boys went to, in fine clothes and speaking to the King himself.
Letting the curtain fall, he sat back. He did not look out again until the feel of the road beneath changed; the stones felt rougher. Peering out the curtain, Joseph saw tall stone buildings all around. Joseph scooted across the seat, looking first out one window and then the other. There were not as many people here as the gate by which he’d entered the city, only a few carts here and there.
The carriage slowed and stopped as they passed through the south gate of the city. The mountains loomed high on the left as they drove through the gates. Sparkling blue water of the bay spread out to the right, as far as the eye could see. As the carriage rolled onward, Joseph felt excitement well within him. He wondered what the school would be like and what his mother would say when the king’s servants told her the good news. Despite his whirling thoughts the constant sway of the carriage and the sound of the horse’s hooves on the flagstones began to lull Joseph to sleep. For a few moments he struggled against it--wanting to stay awake and watch--but eventually the boy fell fast asleep, considerably more comfortable than in his last slumber.
Twilight graced the carriage as Joseph awoke. Rubbing his eyes the boy sat up; he still felt the sway of the carriage and heard th muted clopping of horse hooves upon flagstone. Peering out the curtained window, Joseph could barely make out the bay in the gathering dark; the waters lapped the dark shore a stone’s throw away from the road. A small market basket sat on the seat opposite him, its lid closed. Scooting forward, Joseph opened the lid. The scent of fresh bread rose to greet him. Inside lay baked bread rolls tucked into a clean cloth; small pink apples and a flask of water rounded out the contents.
Closing the lid again, Joseph spied a small door above the basket, where one could communicate with the driver. Sliding the door over he saw the driver, looking forward; now and then he flecked at the horses with a long, thin stick. A gray-cloaked man sat next to him, his back to Joseph.
“Please, sir”, Joseph began. “Is this your dinner, here on the seat?” The driver shook his head and the cloaked man did not move.
“Eat, young man,” came a voice. Joseph guessed the gray-cloaked man had spoken. “It will be a long while before we arrive at the monastery.” Settling back again, Joseph ate of the rolls and meat; he looked out the windows almost constantly. A small foothill rose in the distance--next to the bay; at its crest twinkled lights, far across the water.
The last colors of sunset fades as the first star glowed brightly in the darkening sky. The lights on the far hill continued to shine a little brighter, each minute that passed. The horses pace slowed as they began to canter uphill. The road was no longer felt cobbled; the carriage bumped and jostled about. A small town’s lamp lights grew near and then surrounded them. Still onward and higher they went, until the carriage drove under a large, stone gate and jolted to a halt.
Looking out the carriage window Joseph saw a massive monastery. A broad staircase descended from the gray stone entrance; a tall tower stood to one side. Torches lit the courtyard; monks walked in pairs up the staircase, acting as if they saw fine carriages every day. Quiet voices and the sounds of shuffling feet reached Joseph’s ears, though the distant sound of gentle waves breaking along the shore could be heard.
In spite of the fine clothes Joseph felt inadequate to step out into this other world. The door opened, however. A gray-cloaked man stood without, beckoning to him. A monk drifted close as Joseph stepped out; he eyed the pale boy and glanced at the Shamar beside him. Without a word, the gray-cloaked man handed the monk a parchment, bearing the seal of the King. The monk read it quickly, in the torchlight, then nodded to the King’s guard.
“You can stable the horses with ours tonight,” the monk told the Shamar. “I’ll show the boy to his room.” The gray-cloaked man left Joseph with the monk as he directed the driver.
Silently the monk led him up the front stair into the large portcullis. They passed doors that opened to the nave of a chapel. The monk led Joseph through an open door and up a long, circular flight of stairs. They climbed a long time, and Joseph realized they were going up the
tower. They passed door after door before the monk finally stopped at the last one, the end of the stairs.
“Here is your room,” he told the boy as he opened the door.
The small, circular room beyond harbored a single window, a bed on one side and a study desk, with a single candle on it. There were three shelves cut out of the stone wall above the desk with a few stacked books. A tiny fireplace held lit, glowing embers consuming the last of a slender oak knot. Stepping past the monk, Joseph glanced at every surface, lingering by the window. He turned to ask the monk a question, but the man was gone. Going to the open door Joseph saw a shadow descending the stair, disappearing from sight a moment later.
Taking a deep breath Joseph shut the door. He sat on the bed, pleased to find it comfortable. The quietness of the room was disturbed only by a small draft that blew in from some small crack where. The fire crackled and popped; Joseph felt comforted by the sound of it. He closed his eyes, imagining--for just a moment--that he sat near his father’s chair by their own hearth. Letting out a long breath, Joseph blew out the candle and put himself to bed. He drifted off to sleep wondering if his mother had received word of him, yet.
FOUR
Birdsong woke Joseph in the tower room. A few moments went by before the boy realized where he was.
Getting out of bed, he walked over to the window. Lifting the small iron latch Joseph pushed the cased glass outward. The mountains caught his eyes first--off to the right--their tops colored gold by the rising sun. Stretched out before him lay the great, blue bay. Far in the distance he saw the royal citadel, its castle looking like a miniature version of the vast place he had walked through just yesterday.
Joseph closed the window against the early morning chill. The small, barren room seemed better for the spectacular view available outside the little window. Joseph looked for the gray suit that Tyrus had given him. It had been replaced--sometime in the night or morning--with a fresh change of linen clothes, dyed a deep blue.
Soon after he’d dressed himself, a knock came at the door. Joseph it and found the monk who’d shown him the room standing on the stair.
“Good morning to you, young Joseph,” he said, smiling. “I see you are almost ready for the day. There is much to learn, but first washing and the morning meal.” Turning, he led the way back down the staircase. Joseph followed him, uncertain if he was supposed to reply.
The other tower rooms apparently weren’t occupied, for Joseph heard no sound as they passed the doors. At the bottom of the staircase he saw a narrow wooden door in a shadowy part of the passage.
“Washroom,” the monk said, pointing. A large room lay beyond the door; a small stone pool sat against one wall, with water running into it from a tiled spout. Out one side of the pool ran a kind of trough along the wall--under two arched windows--to a shallow place for washing clothes. A washboard leaned against the wall nearby. Looking at this, Joseph wondered if he was going to wash his own clothes from now on.
Breakfast consisted of simple hot porridge, eaten with haste. The monk seemed eager to begin the lessons.
“I am Brother Bernard,” he said, after showing his pupil to small, sunlit room with a neat row of wooden benches along one wall. “I’ll be your schoolmaster. We will get to know one another well, I imagine, but let me now explain your purpose in being here. These studies are to broaden your mind... to teach you to think more sharply. There will be chores for you to do here, to help strengthen your body and allow you to be in the best of health. I see you are accustomed to rising early; this is good. Later, after you learn the basic things, other brothers will help teach you things I cannot.”
Nodding his understanding Joseph looked around at the empty desks in the room.
“Are there other children going to school here?” The monk tilted his head a little to one side as he looked at Joseph.
“No. You are alone in that regard, but we have been instructed to teach you all that we know. And since there are many brothers here, you will come to a wisdom that is beyond your years... one, I imagine, is not available to many other children. Your mother will arrive this evening; she will be nearby through all your studies; there is a women’s annex in the shire--not far from here--where she will be able to live and work in her trade. If you wish you can meet her at the midday meal each day.” Joseph felt comforted at this and sat down on a bench.
Bernard seemed to have finished his explanations. He walked over to a shelf--filled with stacks of leather-bound books--and selected one.
“Our studies first include basic subjects,” he began. “Mathematics, scientific principles and a firm understanding of writing. There are languages to learn--Latin, Greek and Hebrew--which are the languages of the Holy Book. We will teach you everything there is to know about society and all the subjects we know of. We will teach you a trade, and then when you come of age you will enter Palmadore military Academy, to learn the art of weaponry and battle. You will learn the lands outside our island nation, as well as the proclivities of those cultures... but first, we will begin with our society.”
Bernard opened the book and cleared his throat. “There are five classes of people who work in the ten provinces of our kingdom: the farmer, the tradesman, the government official, the soldier and the priest.”
Seeing the boy raise his hand, the monk paused in his speech.
“You have a question?”
“You said farmers, soldiers, tradesmen, officials and priests,” Joseph recited. “Are monks priests?”
Bernard smiled.
“A good question, Joseph,” he said, sitting on the bench next to Joseph’s. “Priests and monks attend the same school, but pursue different learning. Monks are taught all manner of theology. Priests study historical writings and are trained as well in official, or government business. Priests, in general, reside and govern with the province governors and senators, under the power of the King. Monks reside and work under the rule of God and are loyal to the King.”
Joseph thought in silence for a moment.
“Who are the rhune readers?” he asked. The monk did not seemed surprised by the question, as the boy expected. Instead, Bernard furrowed his brow and put his hand to his chin.
“Now that is an interesting question,” he returned. “It has been many years since I have heard their name mentioned.” He looked at Joseph intently. The boy sat in silent expectation, his serenity gone. “I wonder where you heard of them,” the monk mused out loud, studying his pupil. Joseph was silent. Bernard did not press him.
“There are those of the priest’s governing sector,” he continued, “that have--in times past--moved beyond good theology to ancient, barbaric writings, supposedly for insight. These writings are the Rhunes, as they are called; they are about ideas that are opposed to the King and his rule. So, by seeking after understanding of these writings, they often align themselves with the enemies of the King.” The monk paused for a moment and shut the book in his hand. “Remember this, Joseph... seek God and the sweetness of His theology and you will find favor with the King, and you will bring justice to the land.” Soberly, Joseph nodded.
The young boy’s life fell into a routine form that day forward. Mornings and afternoons were devoted to study and outside chores in the large monastery garden; in the evenings he did work in the kitchens and ate supper with his mother. As promised--when he turned thirteen years of age--Bernard introduced Joseph to Brother Adrian, a monk who ran a black-smithing shop in the nearby township. Apprenticed to the blacksmith, Joseph found the work far harder than the simple chores of the monk’s garden. Each day he toiled by the heated furnaces, painstakingly learning the art of hammering blades and other weaponry. Despite the ardent labor, Joseph was determined to learn the trade his father had envision for him. Eventually he began to see the wisdom of learning metalwork; the demand for weaponry, repairs of tools, wagon wheels and farming equipment never lessened in the years he was apprenticed to Brother Adrian.
Not all his hours were devoted
to work. Into the young man’s sphere came monks and travelers that, surprisingly, had extensive battle experience. Bernard was quick to seize these opportunities and allowed Joseph to sit among them, with the warning not to speak... just listen. Around the eating hall fireplace rose debates and discussions; there colorful lectures of history and war tactics and the behaviors of the known enemies of the King.
Each night, Joseph lay down his head often replying in his thoughts the battles that he’ heard of, sometimes even repeating in his sleep the military lessons:
“Minor officers are Sergeant, Lieutenant and Captain. Major Officers are Major, Colonel, Knight, General and Marshal.” Bernard’s voice gave a steady rhythm to almost any string of words, making them easy to memorize.
Once his basic education was completed--according to the monks--at sixteen years of age Joseph was sent--during the day--to attend the nearby Palmadore Military Academy. His first day set the tone for the next three years; sons of the nation’s wealthy men and governing officials found out that his father was merely a lieutenant, and none of name. Alienated by his social rank Joseph felt intensely lonely during those years at Palmadore. Comfort came in the simple form of dining with his mother in the afternoon and discussing matters of theology and battles with the Brothers at night, who found in him an apt pupil. He studied by the fireplace, listening to the spirited debates that the monks often fell into... mostly on the degenerated matters of state and religion.
The day before Joseph graduated from Palmadore, Bernard accompanied the young man to the weekly market to sell harvested goods from the monastery gardens. As they laid out the vegetables, Bernard turned to look at Joseph. Silently he studied the intent young man. The boy he’d first met on the stairs of the monastery was grown tall and strong with the smithing work, but he remained as quiet as ever--his serious brown eyes never at rest. Always did he watch the faces of the market crowd.
The Road To The King (Book 1) Page 5