Set thine house in order.
Isiah 38:1
“Signore Johannes, Signora Elisabeth, please permit me to present Sebastiano da Napoli, Danti’s new apprentice.” Araciel stepped aside, extinguishing his lamp and setting it on a small table beside the door. A large fire burned in the hearth, lighting and warming the dining room, and tallow candles were placed down the length of the heavy oak table.
Basti bowed deeply.
“Welcome to Gestern Keep,” Lady Elisabeth said kindly. She must have been born in the southern half of Domagno, Basti thought. She could have been Neopolitan, with dark curling hair and warm brown eyes set off by her amber and gold skirt and bodice. “We’re delighted to see that Danti has decided to pass his skills to new hands.”
“Thank you, signora,” he said, relieved that she was speaking in Tuscan. “I’ll do my best to be worthy of his instruction.”
Lord Johannes, at her side, nodded sharply to Basti. He was a tall, lanky man in his fifties with the blond hair and beard typical of Domagno. Basti was surprised to see that the lord of the keep wore a simple yoked and pleated scholar’s gown in plain chestnut wool over a crimson shirt. In Firenze, sumptuary laws governing dress and comportment were regularly broken, and the scofflaws gladly paid their fines in order to keep their jewels and velvets.
The youngest son, Dietrich, had his father’s fair hair and his mother’s dark eyes, but he seemed to have adopted Araciel’s taste for fine clothes. His sleeveless velvet coat was trimmed with rich sable and lined with emerald silk. Basti guessed that Dietrich was several years older than he — maybe twenty.
“I hear you were attacked outside of Gestern,” Lord Johannes said abruptly.
“Yes, my lord. By a wolf, sir.”
“How did this come about?”
Basti shifted uncomfortably as everyone’s eyes fell on him. He was suddenly, miserably aware of the worn state of his clothes and his lack of courtly graces. He licked his lips and took a deep breath.
“I was on the north road, I guess about half an hour away from Gestern, when the wolf came out of the woods ahead of me and started snarling. I — I couldn’t do anything. I froze. I’d never seen a wolf that close before. For a moment I thought it would go away, but then it attacked me.”
“Did you do anything to provoke it?” asked Dietrich.
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Was it an old wolf, then?” the young man pressed.
“I don’t know, sir,” Basti said, feeling ridiculous. “It was huge, and mostly black.”
“How big?” interrupted Johannes.
“I think … about this big?” Basti held a hand up to his own mid-chest. The lord lifted an eyebrow.
“Go on.”
“Well, my lord, it jumped on me, and suddenly I could move again. I shouted for help and held up my arms to keep it away. It knocked me backwards, into the path, and bit my arm. Then someone shouted back, and the wolf jumped away and ran off when the hunters came. Jakob and his son.”
“You’re a very lucky young man,” Signora Elisabeth said, shaking her head.
“Yes, signora. They took me to Gestern, where Father Völker bandaged me up. I stayed there overnight to rest, and then this morning Jakob walked me up here.”
“Jakob traps for pelts. Maybe your wolf will line a cloak soon.” Dietrich glanced at his father. “I could go down tomorrow and talk to him. If this beast is attacking people….”
“Yes, you should do that.” Signore Johannes gave Basti a speculative look. “It isn’t common for our wolves to attack humans, especially in the fall when there’s no scarcity of food. The animal must be injured, or mad. We will try to hunt it down before it does any more damage.”
“Thank you, signore,” Basti said, awkwardly.
“You must be very tired,” Elisabeth said, giving Basti a sympathetic look. “Sit and eat, and then retire early tonight. Araciel, would you please show him to his seat?”
Basti bowed again, expecting to be led back out of the room to the kitchen. To his surprise, Araciel led him to a seat at the lower end of the long table, below his master, Danti Altelune. As the older apprentice pulled out his chair, Basti gave him a covert, questioning glance. Araciel’s small nod was reassuring. As Araciel returned to his own chair at Signore Johannes’s right hand, Basti looked around, remembering what Araciel had said about the keep’s “humble rustic ways.”
The lord and lady did things very different from the way he’d seen them done in Firenze.
As soon as they were seated, the cook and his assistants began to serve. Sebastiano’s stomach growled. For the past few weeks he’d been living on dried figs and stale bread, and the sausage he’d had for breakfast hadn’t even started to make up for all his lost meals.
“You are late of Firenze, aren’t you?” Danti asked as the plates were set in front of them. “That’s where you wrote to me?”
“Yes, sir. I spent a year studying with a cousin there.”
“And you worked in Roma before that?”
“Yes sir, for two years.”
“Did you ever see the pope?” Danti asked. “What did people think about Dr. Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses there?”
“I never heard much about them while I was in Roma, I’m afraid, Master. But I’ve heard more recently that the pope intends to excommunicate him.” He had heard debates about the matter on the road. In Firenze, a number of good Christians had called the monk a monster. But in Domagno, he’d been surprised to learn that a number of his fellow travelers were heading to Wittenburg to hear the renegade monk lecture.
“That is old news,” Alrune said, his dark eyes sharp. “Leo has already sent the bull, and our good dottore burned it.”
“Idiot.” Danti shook his head.
“Luther is becoming very popular here,” Signore Johannes said, turning to the conversation. “Just this summer he published a list of reforms. Alfons sent us a copy. It’s rather inflammatory, but he says it’s drawn many sympathizers.”
“Including our own Father Völker,” Signora Elisabeth murmured, “or at least that’s been my impression.”
“Well, if that’s true, I hope he sympathizes quietly.” Johannes returned to his meal. “If this animosity between Luther and the Pope continues much longer, the monk and all his followers will be cast out, and Gestern will be left without a priest.”
“That would be unfortunate,” Elisabeth agreed.
The conversation moved on to the death of Emperor Maximilian and successor Charles V, a man not much loved by either the King of France or the Medici pope. Basti contributed what news he could. He had heard many similar discussions over the last two years of travel, and he didn’t want his scholarly hosts to think he was ignorant. But truthfully, he was more interested in the boiled kid, onions, peas and carrots that comprised the next course. For the first time in ages, he finally felt like his stomach was full. He felt a surge of affection for the keep’s cook.
As he was finishing a dessert of rice cooked in milk of almonds and sprinkled with sugar — almost, but not quite, more food than his newly bulging stomach could stand — Sebastiano felt someone’s eyes on him. He looked over his shoulder, half-expecting a wolf.
Instead, it was a slender, graying man dressed in black who stood in the doorway to the dining room, quietly watching him. Sebastiano felt a prickle of familiarity. He’d seen the man before, but where? Roma? Firenze? Milano?
The stranger met his eyes, then slowly inclined his head and turned, leaving. Frowning, Sebastiano turned back to scrape up the last remnants of his dessert, still trying to pin down where he’d met the man before.
Across the table, Alrune laughed.
At last Signore Johannes and Signora Elisabeth retired with their son, and the cook’s two assistants began to pick up dishes.
“Well, Danti,” Araciel said, turning toward the sculptor, “doth thou wish to try thy hand again at chess this evening?”
“I’d rather play cards,” Danti said, picking up a mostly full jar of wine and two glasses. “At least I have some chance of winning in cards.”
“I feared thou would choose so,” Araciel sighed, with a trace of disappointment. He glanced at Basti. “What of thee, Basti – be thee familiar with the game of chess?”
“Well –”
“Don’t answer,” Danti cut in. “If you say yes, Araciel will have you up all night playing against him, and if you say no, he’ll have you up all night learning how to play. His fascination with the game is positively unwholesome.”
Basti was amused, and relieved that the two men seemed to be on good terms. That was a good sign for the mood of the household, he thought.
“I can play,” he confessed. “but not very well.” He looked at his master. “However, Master, I wondered if I might retire early tonight, if it’s not an inconvenience.”
“Huh? Oh, of course; you’re probably worn out. We’ll talk after breakfast tomorrow.” Danti turned to follow Alrune out of the dining room. At the last minute he looked over his shoulder, crystal ringing in his large hands. “Don’t forget to learn your way around the keep. It can get confusing, all these hallways and empty rooms.”
“I’ll learn,” Sebastiano promised. “Good night, master.”
“A good night to you, Basti,” Araciel murmured as Sebastiano passed him on the way upstairs. “May God watch over thee and protect thee in thy sleep.”
The stairs were dark and shadow-filled. As he climbed, Sebastiano wished he’d brought a lamp with him. Instead, he felt his way up the small stair-tower by running his good hand along the cold stone wall. Small windows opened to the night, but the slivered moon did little to alleviate the darkness. With an absurd sense of relief he felt his fingers finally brush against the second door up. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway.
This hall, too, was unlit, but he remembered that his room was almost directly across from the northeast stairs. He groped forward until his fingers touched the opposite wall, then ran them over the stone until they felt the door’s wooden frame. He pulled the handle and entered the room.
Light from the lambent moon spilled like molten silver through the window glass, illuminating tall shelves of books surrounding a circle of large chairs. Sebastiano winced. The wrong room, after all — this was a library of some sort, although he didn’t remember seeing a library during his quick tour with Araciel.
“Am I on the wrong floor?” he muttered to himself.
A shadow moved; someone turning in one of the chairs. Sebastiano recoiled. For one frightened moment he envisioned the shadows moving under the Gestern forest canopy, materializing into a snarling wolf.
“Excuse me!” he gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
The dark figure leaned forward. He was a sinewy man with narrow features and long, unbound hair. The moonlight picked out riding clothes under a slit, fur-lined coat. His leather boots shined with a dull gleam.
“Hello, boy,” the stranger said in German. “Are you lost?”
Encouraged by the fact that the man didn’t seem annoyed, Sebastiano edged closer, struggling to remember the vocabulary he needed to introduce himself.
“I am Sebastiano da Napoli,” he said, using the smattering of German he’d picked up over the last week. He bowed, certain that the stranger outranked him in the household. “I am … to work with Maestro Altelune. This – this room is not my room?”
The stranger cocked his head. “How long will you be staying with us in Gestern Keep, Sebastiano?”
Sebastiano understood the question, but he didn’t know enough vocabulary to give a complete answer.
“Winter, sir.” He hoped.
The stranger steepled his hands in front of his mouth and leaned back in his chair.
“Well,” the man said, “it seems as though this could be a very interesting winter.” He looked up, his eyes flashing amber a moment in the bright moonlight. “Your room is the next door to the right.”
“Oh, er, danke schön,” Sebastiano stammered. Making another quick bow, he left, shutting the door and running his hands along the wall. As the stranger had said, the next door opened into his own room. He stood in the doorway for a long minute, trying to figure out what was wrong.
The room was dark. Because the moon outside was new.
“I …” he turned and stared out into the cold, lightless length of the hall. His better sense screamed at him to lock the door and hide under the covers and pretend nothing had happened.
He’d fallen asleep on his feet; nothing more than that.
But … no. If he cowered in bed with the covers around his ears, he’d be no better than a superstitious peasant. I may be young and poor, he thought, swallowing hard, but I’m educated. I’ve dined with some of the most notable scientists and philosophers in Roma and Firenze.
I do not hide from the truth.
Taking a deep breath, he laid a hand on the cold stone wall and forced one foot in front of the other, slowly walking back to the room he’d just left. His hand shook as he knocked at the door. Nobody answered.
He pulled the door open.
Darkness filled the dusty guest chamber. Of course – now he remembered it having been there during his tour with Araciel. Another empty bedroom. No tall shelves of books like towering trees, no shifting shadows beneath them like pacing wolves, no strange men speaking German, and above all, no full moon.
He slammed the door shut. The wound in his arm throbbed.
See? He told himself. It was just a dream. A nightmare, or some kind of delusion brought on by pain and weariness. That’s all.
Nevertheless, when he finally blew out the candle by his bed and fell asleep, his dreams were filled with rustling leaves and dark figures moving in the shadows.