“You must keep your cowls on, pulled low, at all times while our guests are here,” said Father Thaddeus.
He walked slowly along the line of the monks by the right side of the gate, then turned to face those on the left. There were whispers amongst the men. Now that everyone knew who was coming for the visit—within the next half an hour at most, for the procession had already been glimpsed from the observation tower, reaching the foot of the mountain—the excitement was palpable. No kings had visited in more than two decades, and it was hard to behave like nothing unusual was happening.
“Especially the young ones among you,” Thaddeus continued. “Never let them see your faces.” His eyes found Nico and paused on him.
“Why not?” Nico blurted out before he could stop himself.
“Because,” Thaddeus said, coming closer, “our guests come from a very different world. Their values are unlike ours. I’m not one to judge their ways, no!” He raised a finger, turning around, looking at the others. “That judgement will be done by someone higher than us or them. Yet it is my job to make sure they don’t corrupt you.”
He looked at Nico again. After a pause, Nico realized what was expected of him and pulled his hood up. Thaddeus nodded approvingly.
“Don’t speak to them unless directly addressed,” he continued, moving further down the line, thankfully leaving Nico behind. “Don’t make eye contact. Keep your cowls on, as I said. Those from the royal court have wicked ways. They might corrupt you just by looking at you. Keep your faces hidden, your heads down, and remember who you are.”
“Yes, Father,” said a few voices as others followed Nico in pulling their hoods up.
As Thaddeus continued talking, Nico glanced at the open gates. His hood was now limiting his vision, but he could see the bridge over the moat, which was still empty. Would a royal procession really appear on it soon? What would they look like? What kind of horses would they have? Lord Cyrus, who had hosted the delegation before, had sent Thaddeus a pigeon notifying that, apart from the king and his son, about thirty guards and members of the court were coming. That would be the biggest crowd Nico had ever seen visiting. The rooms were ready; the corridors, inner and the outer yards had been swept and cleaned; meanwhile Felix, with his assistants, hadn’t left the kitchens since the previous night, preparing to feed the newcomers.
Nico’s throat tightened with anticipation each time he glanced at the gates. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He and the other Brothers were above those who were about to arrive. They lived a life of truth and modesty and prayer, while those at the royal court bathed in luxury provided by the hard labor of others. Vincenzo wasn’t even a particularly good king. The tales of his wastefulness and reckless political decisions had reached them regularly. The kingdom had been better off under Arrius, or so the rumors said.
No wonder Vincenzo didn’t like to see Arrius’s portraits.
Nico had only recently celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday, and he remembered nothing of the life under the old king. The memories of his childhood before the monastery were hazy, and even his real birth date was unknown. He celebrated his birthday on the date he had first entered these walls, at about five years of age––just a homeless orphan brought to be raised by the monks.
“They’re coming,” someone said, but even without that warning, he could hear the growing noise of hooves hitting the dirt road. The monks stood straighter, lowering their hood-covered heads, and only occasionally stealing glances at the gates.
As the first horses reached the wooden drawbridge, Nico lowered his face. The hem of Thaddeus’s dark robe flickered in his field of vision as the abbot strode past him towards the entrance. Then, the usually quiet and sleepy main yard was suddenly loud, filled with the sounds of hooves and the snorting of horses. The change felt almost intimidating, as if they were under attack. The noise gradually lessened as the riders slowed down, eventually stopping in front of Thaddeus who stood between the two rows of the monks, waiting.
“Hail and welcome, your majesty,” Nico heard him say.
His eyes still on his feet, Nico expected for someone to dismount, as other guests usually did at this stage, coming to greet the abbot and receive his blessing. That didn’t happen. It was quiet for a few moments, save for the sounds of the horses, and then a pleasant voice said, “It’s been a while, Thaddeus.”
“Indeed it has, your majesty,” Thaddeus said in a measured tone.
“I’ve forgotten how much you resemble your brother.”
“I hope your majesty left him in good health.”
“Yes, he was fine, as I’m sure you know. You two have been exchanging letters like two lovebirds.”
“No bond is like that between brothers.”
“Indeed.”
The curiosity was too much to bear, and Nico glanced at the man who was speaking—King Vincenzo.
Towering over Thaddeus on his white horse, was a man in bright garments and a black cape. His doublet was adorned with glittering red stones. Tulio had referred to him as an ‘old fox’, but he didn’t seem old to Nico. He could be in his forties, his youthful appearance further enhanced by his slim frame and his head full of black hair that showed no signs of either graying or receding. There was no particular similarity to a fox either, save for perhaps his sharp nose, and his chin, further sharpened by a short, pointy beard. The way he held himself, his back straight and his manner commanding, left no doubts as to who he was.
“How about you continue the exchange of pleasantries inside?” said another voice. “I can’t wait to get out of this saddle.”
Nico looked at the speaker, startled that someone had dared to interrupt the king’s conversation.
The man was younger than the king, possibly even younger than Nico. Sitting straight in the saddle of another white horse, he was so like the king in clothing and posture, the sharp features of his clean-shaven face, and the black of his shoulder-length hair, that there could be no doubt as to the relation between the two. His eyes, large and long lashed, were his only feature that didn’t resemble his father. There had been a mother, Nico knew, one that had died shortly after the childbirth—conveniently so, as old Tulio had once remarked, refusing to elaborate further.
Nico couldn’t take his eyes off the young prince. He’d been curious to see the king, but the prince proved even more fascinating. Here was someone close to Nico in age, and yet an untraversable chasm lay between them, separating this well-dressed, smooth-skinned, arrogant youth from Nico in his gray tunic, its hood covering his face which had been hardened by the sun and the wind. He had never given much thought to his clothes, but was now suddenly aware of how rough and simple his outfit looked in comparison to those of the visitors. Even the guards and the servants he glimpsed behind the royal father and son were dressed better.
He blinked. It was wrong to think about that. It was wrong to think about human attractiveness. Facial features were given at birth and meant nothing. The prettiest face could hide the ugliest personality. It was wrong to care about clothes, too. Those were only meant to keep you decent and keep your body warm. The glittering stones and the fine materials were luxury that spoiled men and women by taking their attention away from the things that mattered.
He shook his head under his hood, forcing his eyes down. If just one look at the visitors had gotten him thinking sinful thoughts, Thaddeus had been right in telling them to avoid them.
“Prince Emery,” said Thaddeus, addressing the young man. “We are privileged to welcome you as well. Please dismount, and the Brothers will take you to your chambers.”
********************************************
*** If you enjoy the story, please click 'like' or comment! It will really make my day! ***
Comments (2)
See all