Historical Setting, 631 C.E. Dorestad
At this forge, we watch a master smithy and several apprentices at work. No one speaks — neither the smiths nor Greg and Gaillard. And I know better than to speak also. The silence doesn’t mention the king’s gold that is hidden with oats on our pack mule. Silence doesn’t mention the one bird remaining with the blue-dyed feather that will tell the king if the tribes in the north are preparing for war. Silence doesn’t tell us if the master artist and his assistants know of the powerful kingdom of the Franks, rising. And it doesn’t tell us if these artisans know who we are.
Greg takes a blade in hand, the one here for market that has the simple hilt of a warrior. He feels the weight of it and tests the blade on a leather strap, then returns it to the display. Gaillard studies the charcoal sketches, diagrams of hilts with jewels set into them.
We leave and go on our way but no more in silence. As we ride along an open roadway following the river with no places for hiding any other army’s spies, Greg and Gaillard are imersed in their rapturous chatter over nothing more than the simple artistry of the smithy. How can they be so enamored by a piece of metal?
“Let’s just go back now and take him some gold so they can start right away on the king’s swords.”
Gaillard is always the adult voice of the two of them. “I plan to draw up a design for the jewels on the hilt. And you know, as soon as we open that oat bag and retrieve any of the king’s gold, the watchers, spies and robbers all around us will know we were assigned by the king. I say we go on now to the armor-smiths and buy nothing until we know all we need to know and only after the last bird has been released will we use the gold.”
“Very well, I will try to wait. Maybe I was smitten by the balance and the heft of that simple warrior’s sword. Maybe you share my whimsy. And I doubt you can wait either.”
“It’s not like they can’t make another fine sword at that place if that one should be sold. It is the work of that artist that appeals to you, not just that one sword.”
“But I’m pretty sure I really liked that one sword.”
Greg has to wait despite his childish impatience.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 