Chapter 18: A Misunderstanding

“And so all of the giants saw the wrongs that they had done and they were ashamed, and to make amends to the Goddess, to whom they also owed their birth, they built this shrine in Her honor, carving its halls and passages and stairways out of the pinnacle of rock where they had first declared their defiance, cutting out the stone blocks to make its outer walls and its three high towers, and putting the seven great stones in a circle in the Sacred Grove before retreating into the higher mountains to become stone themselves.”

Herrwn had closed the shutters to the classroom window against the pelting rain that day, and Caelym’s dark eyes were wide and luminous in the light of the hearth flames as he clapped his hands, exclaiming, “And the Goddess gave it to us!”

Herrwn nodded. “That is so—and why did She give it to us, of all her mortal children?”

“Because we fought the giants and made them say they were sorry!”

Nodding again, Herrwn took his lesson another step forward. “And what was it that the giants did of which they were rightly ashamed?”

“They were greedy and selfish.”

“And?”

“They didn’t honor the Goddess.”

“And did they show kindness and respect to those who did them service?”

“No! They ate them!”

“But we are not like those giants were. We are not greedy and selfish. We do honor the Goddess, and we are kind and respectful to those who serve us.” It was not enough, in Herrwn’s mind, to memorize and recite the great sagas. Even in his earliest lesson he made certain his pupils applied the wisdom contained in those tales to their daily lives. Locking eyes with Caelym, he waited for a count of three before continuing, “And that means that when we ask Benyon to do something for us, we will say …?”

Looking contrite, Caelym lowered his eyes and poked a finger into a crack in the stone floor as he murmured, “‘Please,’ and ‘Thank you,’ and ‘We won’t eat you!’”

There was no question in Herrwn’s mind that the newly appointed chief servant for the priests’ chambers had his work cut out for him, and, at a minimum, he should be spoken to courteously—especially since the duties he’d inherited from his predecessor had expanded to include the care and feeding of the assorted wildlife Olyrrwd and Caelym brought home from their explorations of the valley’s woods and marshes.

Twenty years later, Herrwn could still hear his cousin’s gravelly voice insisting, “They are a part the lad’s learning about life!”—by which he clearly meant literal life, in all of its varied wriggling, creeping, hopping, flapping, hissing, croaking, and squawking variations—leaving, as he always did, the figurative, metaphorical meanings of the word, as well as the contemplation of how one might live a good life, to Herrwn.

Looking back from a cold and lonely perch above an alien landscape, Herrwn pondered—not for the first time—how it was that Olyrrwd, who paid so little attention to great precepts of philosophical thinking, had still lived the best of lives—if the value of a life was to be judged by its contribution to the welfare of others.

That day, however, he’d been preoccupied with keeping some sort of peace and order in his classroom, and that was difficult enough without the blithe attitude of entitlement Caelym had somehow acquired in the shrine’s nursery.

The little boy’s bossiness was a problem, but a lesser one than the challenge of protecting their beleaguered servant from being caught in the crossfire between Ossiam and Olyrrwd. Indeed, at that moment he had only to look over Caelym’s bowed head to see Benyon wringing his hands as he agonized over how to obey both Ossiam, who’d ordered him to clean the mess off the classroom table, and Olyrrwd, who’d warned him not, under any circumstances, to touch the collection of birds’ nests that he and Caelym were studying.

Recalling his father’s words that achieving peace required sacrifice, Herrwn got to his feet and counted the separate piles of mud and twigs. He emptied the same number of engraved boxes in which he kept his precious quills, ink, and parchments, and—in order to assure that Benyon could truthfully say to Olyrrwd that he had not touched the nests—he himself lifted each of the mucky heaps into a box before handing them to Caelym to lay out along the windowsill while the anxious servant set to work scrubbing the table.

Whether it was out of frustration with the clutter in the classroom or a need to devote himself to his oracular duties without the distraction of Olyrrwd’s growing menagerie, Ossiam rarely entered the classroom and took no part in Caelym’s lessons.

Herrwn himself would have preferred a quieter, tidier space to do his instruction, but he could see the joy Olyrrwd took in showing Caelym the secrets of the natural world and the excitement in Caelym’s eyes at each new revelation—besides which he would not venture to tell Olyrrwd how to teach his field any more than he’d expect Olyrrwd to tell him how to train a pupil in reciting odes or tuning a harp.

And, as Herrwn had tried to reassure Ossiam on more than one occasion, there was less risk of stepping in anything unfortunate before they’d had a chance to put on their sandals in the morning or of being startled by a snake slithering across the breakfast table now than there had been when they were growing up, since most of the varied creatures Olyrrwd and Caelym brought back to study were confined to their crates, baskets, and bowls.

“Most?” had been Ossiam’s chilly response.

“All but Caelym’s hare, and it’s really no bother.” Herrwn had found himself defending the animal as if it were his own pet.

Ossiam had humphed dismissively—but it was true. It really wasn’t any bother at all to have the hare hopping around the classroom.

The little hare had taken the place of Caelym’s toy horse. He carried it with him everywhere until it was big enough to hop along after him, and by then it could leap in and out of its crate at will.

As it got older and Caelym got busier with other things, the hare had made itself at home in the priests’ inner courtyard, though it still came in to sleep with him at night and to sit quietly next to him during his lessons in recitation—looking inquisitively back and forth between Herrwn and Caelym as though it was following what was being said. By the end of the summer, when Herrwn was pleading its case with Ossiam, Hwppiddan had grown to be a strikingly handsome creature with such fastidious habits that it never left so much as a single dropping when it came inside.

Herrwn told his cousin all this, and while Ossiam did not appear convinced at the time, Herrwn noticed when he passed through the classroom a few days later, he paused to look at the now sleek and elegant hare with what for him was an appreciative expression.

Hoping to reduce the hostilities between his cousins, Herrwn made a point of mentioning that to Olyrrwd, only to have him bristle and growl, “He’d better not even think—”

Just what it was Ossiam had better not think was lost in the thunder of Labhruinn and Caelym returning from the herb garden, where Labhruinn was supposedly helping Caelym learn the names of plants—something he volunteered to do at the times when it was most likely that Annwr would be there nursing her now five-month-old daughter.

Before Caelym’s arrival, Herrwn had wondered whether Labhruinn would resent the boy who was so certain to outshine him. Instead, perhaps because he had no other outlet for his overflowing paternal instincts, he’d become something between a loving brother and a doting uncle to the younger boy—which was, of course, a good thing and to be commended, as Herrwn told himself repeatedly whenever the exuberance of their friendship threatened to knock over the classroom chairs.

While disappointed by his failure to soften Olyrrwd’s attitude toward Ossiam, Herrwn did not mean to give up trying—especially as the increasingly snippy exchanges between the two were adding unnecessary divisiveness to the most contentious issue currently before the shrine’s High Council: the complaints by the farmers and herders that Rhedwyn’s horse races and war games were ruining their fields and frightening their flocks.

Returning to the classroom following a particularly strife-ridden debate—notable for Rhedwyn declaring that they needed to have an army “to be prepared for war” and the head of the village contingent retorting caustically, “I see, so now we have an army, it seems that next we will need a war!”—Herrwn opened the classroom door to hear the usually soft-spoken Benyon crying out, “Stop—ouch! Young Master, you must—ouch!—put that down! I’m—ouch!—only doing my job and following Master Ossiam’s order to bring him this—ouch!—hare for his important sacrifice!” followed by Caelym’s pure if shrill soprano, “YOU put HIM down, or I’ll tell Olyrrwd and he will make a potion that will turn YOU into a hare, and Ossiam will sacrifice YOU!”

The door to the courtyard was open. Standing with his back to the classroom, Caelym was barring the way, wielding Herrwn’s ceremonial staff like a war club. Beyond him, Benyon was holding up one hand to fend off the blows and clutching the struggling hare by the scruff of its neck with the other.

For a moment, Herrwn stood in the entryway, equally shocked that any pupil of his would hit a servant—moreover, hit him with Herrwn’s own staff, the emblem of his order—and that, if what Benyon said was true, Ossiam would claim the hare without first getting consent from Olyrrwd, who must rightfully be considered to have prior title to it.

It must have been a misunderstanding, and one to be corrected as soon as possible. But first, he had to retrieve his staff—so he caught it as Caelym drew it back to strike another blow, saying sternly as he did, “You will return my staff to me, and you will say to our loyal servant Benyon that you are sorry and that you will never ever again raise your hand against him!”

Ignoring Caelym’s heated protests, Herrwn planted his reclaimed staff on the ground with a resounding thump, blocking the doorway as effectively as the boy had.

“And you, Benyon, you will give young Master Caelym the hare that you hold in your hand, and you will go to the village and find a hare being raised there for food, and you will take that hare to Master Ossiam for his sacrifice!”

“But Master Ossiam said he wants this hare—”

“I am sure you have misunderstood, for Master Ossiam has said nothing to me or to Master Olyrrwd of this. I will go to him myself and will assure him that you meant no harm and have gone to do as I bid you and will bring the proper hare as quickly as you can!”

Unable to disobey Herrwn’s direct command, Benyon handed Hwppiddan to Caelym, who hugged the hare to his chest and, ducking his head, darted out of the classroom before Herrwn could repeat his directive to apologize.

Benyon stood where he was, pointedly rubbing his bruised forearm.

Herrwn’s experience in his all-too-short union with his beloved Lothwen had taught him many things, not the least important of which was that it never hurt to call a dispute a misunderstanding and to apologize, regardless of whether he actually believed himself to be in the wrong. Putting that wisdom into practice, he bowed and said, “It is I, the teacher, who must ask forgiveness for my ill-trained pupil, and for any part I may have had in this misunderstanding.”

Having done what he could to soothe Benyon, Herrwn dismissed the aggrieved servant to find another hare and made his own way to the healing chamber—where, he assumed, Caelym would have gone to enlist Olyrrwd in Hwppiddan’s defense.

Neither Olyrrwd nor Caelym was anywhere to be seen, but Moelwyn was there, crumbling something Herrwn hoped wasn’t an owl pellet into a simmering vat.

“They’ve gone to the upper meadows to set the hare loose.”

Moelwyn’s answer came before Herrwn could ask where Olyrrwd and Caelym were—and gave no hint of what Moelwyn might think about whatever account Caelym had given.

“When they return, ask Caelym to come to speak with me and tell Master Olyrrwd that I’m sure this has been a misunderstanding! You will say that, please? That it was a misunderstanding?”

After receiving Moelwyn’s assurances, Herrwn kept his promise to Benyon and went to find Ossiam, where he repeated his assertion that this was a misunderstanding.

He’d hoped Ossiam would agree and explain, but had to be satisfied with getting a single, sullen nod before Ossiam turned his back and began to mutter incantations in a voice that was more irritated than apologetic.