The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (130 page)

Prosper laughed. He found it easy to do so these days; the lesson time with Orel had lifted his spirits to a degree that he could not have imagined earlier in the summer. Turning his gaze back to the military yard where the man and boy were continuing to clash swords against each other, Prosper said, "There was a time when I would have thrown scorn upon you for spending your energy in temporal activities, but the truth is, Huard, it now seems a shame to me that temporal boys such as Orel do not normally receive the benefits of scribe-learning to the extent that priest-pupils do. If I had been aware of this fact in past years, I would have encouraged more temporal boys to spend time at the training school."
Huard shook his head. "I fear that would be like sending a hunting-boy to learn spear-throwing from a soldier. The hunting-boy is likely to learn much about how to kill an enemy on the field, but he will be left with no notion of how to kill a mountain cat. . . . I agree with you about the need to offer more learning to temporal boys, and I am sorry that I do not have the time to give such training myself. I suspect, though, that it is just as well. I think that such a task should be left to a temporal man, who knows from his own experience what aspects of scribe-learning are needful for a temporal life."
"Perhaps Orel will become such a man," Prosper murmured, his gaze still focussed upon the boy. "As for disciplines that suit one's spirit, I find that my present discipline fits me very well. I trust that you agree."
The priest was slow in replying. He took several sips of water before saying, "It was a risk, you know, for me to give you permission to resume teaching."
"Yes, I realize that, and I am grateful," said Prosper, his gaze still upon Orel and his father. "My demon of judgment had centered its destruction upon the priest-pupils whom I taught. I had fears myself that it might gain stronger hold over me when I began teaching Orel. As it is . . . It is hard to describe the difference, Huard. In the old days, if a priest-pupil took half the time that I would in memorizing a vocabulary list, I would say to myself, 'This boy lacks discipline of mind; therefore it is likely that he lacks spiritual discipline.' And I would go searching for flaws in his spiritual state so that I could chastise him for them. I can see quite clearly now how my native demon worked. Yet when Orel was slow this week in memorizing his vocabulary, I thought only to myself, 'This boy lacks discipline of mind. Perhaps it would be best to start him on the verb forms.' And I set aside all concerns as to whether Orel was drawing closer to the God through his work. I didn't even try to compare Orel's progress with my own when I was his age."
"I am glad to hear that," said Huard. "I had hoped that it might be that way for you. Some men who are tempted toward demonic judgment in spiritual matters find it far easier to resist such temptation in temporal matters."
"Oh, I will have to rid myself of my demon of judgment as far as spiritual matters are concerned as well, of course. That is necessary before I reapply for the priesthood." Prosper's mind was only half on what he was saying. He was waiting in suspense as Orel's father turned his sword in such a manner that Prosper was convinced – in one heart-clenching moment – that the boy's sword-arm would be severed. Instead, Orel's father neatly disarmed the boy. Orel, with that look of eager curiosity which Prosper had begun to know well, began to pour out what Prosper guessed were questions about how his father had achieved the disarming.
Beside him, Huard said, "You are certainly focussing a great deal of attention on your lessons with Orel."
"Yes," said Prosper with a smile. Then something about Huard's voice reached him, and he turned to look at the priest. Huard was not looking his way, but he was sipping from his cup as though his life depended on it.
"Huard," Prosper said, "do you have any advice to give me concerning my lessons with Orel?"
The priest lowered his cup. He said, "I remember clearly the speech you once gave to all of us priest-pupils in my time. It was when we were discussing the law on marriage. You said that even a man entering into purified love with his wife must never forget the God. If he did, his lovemaking would become demonic."
Prosper said slowly, "I have a faint memory of that lecture, but I'm not sure how it's applicable here."
"You went on to say that it was even more important for those of us whose work required us to care for a number of people – priests and chieftains and commanders – never to become too absorbed in one person, for dire consequences could result."
"Too much time?" Prosper frowned. "Huard, I only spend two hours of the day with Orel—"
"—and spend much of the remainder of the day preparing for his lessons or wandering over to this yard to watch him at his duties."
Prosper found that he was having to turn aside a prickly desire to become angry. "Huard, you've taught catechism classes; you know how much work it takes to prepare for them. As for unfortunate consequences—"
"'Dire' is the word you used when you taught me. You cited the example of a priest who, spending all of his time taking the confessions of one woman under his care, found himself unable to resist the demon of impure love when it came in temptation. You said that such a man had to be burned. . . . You are shaking your head."
"Not at your advice," Prosper said quickly. "I am simply saddened that other priests have been burdened with temptations that I have been spared. In all my years as priest, I've never been troubled by lustful desires. I suppose I owe that fact to the good fortune of having taken my vows of service to the God at an early age, before desires normally arise. Still," he added thoughtfully, "I see what you are saying: you are concerned that I am spending time with Orel as a way to become intimate with his mother. Huard, I assure you, I've had no contact with either of Orel's parents since the teaching began. Indeed, I have been feeling guilt over that fact. I really ought to have visited them before now, to let them know how their son is progressing."
Huard sighed. He still had not looked Prosper's way. "Prosper, I truly do not know which demon will decide to take advantage of your new duties to attack you in a way that you do not expect. I do remember, though, that you once told me that the surest way to know of a change in a person's spiritual condition is to note any changes in his regular routine."
"Yes?" said Prosper and waited, but the priest did not speak further. After a moment, Prosper realized that, under the God's Law, Huard was not permitted to speak further.
Hearing the first faint fanfare of fear, Prosper put his mind to the task of discerning what warning Huard was giving him. It did not take him long. "I have broken my discipline of silence," he said slowly. "Huard, I am sorry. There were times when, as a priest, I cut back on my worship discipline in order to devote more time to my lessons with my priest-pupils. I should have realized that it would be dangerous to my spirit if I did so during my year of exile. The truth is, though," he added, his mouth taking on a rueful smile, "that it is easier to listen to someone who speaks to you."
Huard did not smile in return. "Do not forget that the God is speaking to you continuously, Prosper, even during your exile; you have simply closed yourself to his voice. You will be able to hear him if you listen carefully."
"Our fellow living spirits are voices for the God as well," Prosper reminded him.
"Certainly, and I have been pleased by how far your discipline has carried you in enabling you to listen carefully to Orel's needs. Do not forget the God's needs, though. Remember the husband and his demonic lovemaking."
Prosper shook his head. "I understand now what you're telling me, Huard. I should never have allowed my discipline of reaching out to Orel in his need to interfere with my worship discipline. I will return to my discipline of silence immediately. As for the time I spend with Orel—"
He stopped abruptly; out of the corner of his eye, he had seen a flash of light, accompanied by a cry. He turned in time to see the sword that Orel's father had been wielding spin to the ground, blown aside by Orel's successful completion of the maneuver that his father had just taught him. For a moment, father and son alike looked stunned. Then Orel gave a whoop of delight and dropped his sword, rushing into his father's awaiting arms.
Huard's voice said, "I am going now to Iolo's hut. He wounded his arm while hunting yesterday. Will you come with me and help me apply the healing herbs?"
"Yes, certainly," said Prosper. He was smiling, watching the boy joyfully embrace his father, and he was thinking that this would mean he must change his lesson plans again. When discipline was rewarded by the acquisition of new skills, that was the right time in which to undertake harder disciplines which might daunt the pupil if introduced at times of discouragement. Tonight, he thought, he would set Orel to the difficult task of beginning to learn the ancient pronunciation, a task that had caused more than one of Prosper's pupils to beg to be released from his training as a priest. Somehow, Prosper doubted that Orel would seek to be released from his temporal lessons. Prosper's smile deepened.
He did not hear the priest leave. Nor did he see Huard's frown.
 
CHAPTER FOUR
"Again," said Prosper.
He and Orel were seated in the corner of Huard's inner chamber, settled upon seat cushions with the scroll unrolled on a low table before them. It was a position that Prosper would once have thought far too indulgent for proper discipline in scribe-training, but with his newly heightened awareness of what his pupil needed, he had realized that the boy associated seat-cushions with the years he had spent sitting on the ground, watching his father demonstrate proper battle maneuvers. Thus Orel was far more alert while sitting upon cushions than he was when seated at the table.
"I don't understand why it matters whether I pronounce it correctly," complained the boy. "Nobody speaks the ancient tongue any more."
"It matters because, if you are to do a task, you should do it as well as you can, rather than willfully adopt errors. At sword-play, would you teach yourself to disarm an opponent, but neglect to teach yourself to kill him, just because killing him was more difficult?"
"But I can't
say
it!"
"You can. Try again."
Orel leaned forward over the scroll, his hair touching the soft fuzz beginning to appear on his cheek, which was otherwise as smooth as a maiden's. He bit his lip, which was the color of winter berries, and then said aloud, "'The ancient lands were destroyed by the demons, but the Mercy above all mercies will assist us to destroy our demons before they destroy us. In order to receive the God's assistance, we must kiet our minds—"
"No. Try again."
Orel sighed and leaned back against the wall, his shoulder brushing against his tutor's shoulder. "Sir, it's so late – I'm already missing the evening meal, and Father will wonder why I'm late tonight. He may come looking for me."
"Let him come. I will tell him that he had best give up training you in swordplay, because you do not have the strength to hold a sword when you are weary."
Orel groaned and leaned forward again. "'In order to receive the God's assistance, you must kiet—"
"No. You are not listening. 'Quiet,' not kiet."
"I'm trying!" The boy's voice was strained. "I hear what you say, and I try to say it, but my mouth won't speak the word properly."
"That is because you are trying to speak the word through your own effort. Listen to the meaning of the passage, not just the letters. 'You must quiet your mind and receive the God's training in silence.' Quiet your mind; do not attempt to think about what you are doing. Simply listen to the word I say, and repeat it. Quiet."
"Kiet."
"Quiet."
"Kiet."
"Listen. Quiet."
"K-kwiet."
"Very close. Now try it in the sentence. Do not think; merely still your mind. 'To receive the God's assistance—'"
"'You must kiet your—' Oh, Prosper, I can't
do
it."
"Very well." Prosper's voice turned cold. "If you cannot do it, then there is no need for me to train you further. We have reached your limits. Leave now."
Orel had been sagging back against the wall, his eyes closed. Now he jerked upright and stared at Prosper with wide eyes. "You can't send me away," he whispered. "I'm making such progress. You said so yourself."
"You are not here to learn a language; you are here to learn discipline. If you have no discipline – if you are unwilling to strain beyond the limits you believe that you have, are unwilling to hold that sword for a minute longer than your body bids you to hold it – then you are of no use on the field of battle against demons. What sort of soldier, when battle-weary and torn with wounds, drops his sword and tells the comrades he was defending, 'I'm too tired. I've missed my supper. I can't do this, so I must leave you to die'?"
The boy's face was white. In the silence that followed, Prosper entered into his own silence, listening, as Huard had trained him to do, for the warning he would receive that he was being too harsh on the boy.
The warning came. Proper slid his arm over the boy's shoulders and said gently, "You are a very fine pupil indeed – I would not press you so hard if I did not believe that you are able to go beyond the limits that most boys would have reached by this time. There is a reason that I am pressing you now, when you are so tired. You must trust me in this matter."
Some of the color returned to Orel's face, and Prosper had a moment to reflect that Huard, quite unintentionally, had given training to his exiled guest which was enabling Prosper to be a better teacher than he had been for many years. Then the boy closed his eyes, let out his breath slowly, and said, with a voice clear and bright, like that of a sword moving in a beautiful arc, "'The ancient lands were destroyed by the demons, but the Mercy above all mercies will assist us to destroy our demons before they destroy us. In order to receive the God's assistance, we must quiet our minds—' Prosper, I did it!" His face alight, Orel flung his arms around his teacher.
Prosper smiled as he enfolded the boy's warm body into his embrace. "It happens that way sometimes, when the body and mind are weary. We have no strength then for any thoughts or fears, and so the God is able to enter into us at such moments and take us beyond what we can normally achieve."
"And that's why you wanted me to stay late. I'm sorry; I should have trusted you." The boy pulled back just enough to lean his head against Prosper's shoulder. Prosper kept his arm around the boy as he smiled in the dim light of the autumn evening. He had often thought that men not trained as priests, who received their chief pleasures from the body, must feel this way when they lay in love with their wives: the exultation at the end of an act of love, driving out all thoughts except for that of the beloved. Or so Prosper had been told by men who spoke to him in confession, seeking reassurance that it was normal at such times to lose thought even of the God. For truly, Prosper thought, training a pupil is an act of love, and as much a service to the God as a married man's act of purified love with his wife.