Chapter 8: In which Cosma grows stronger
“And that’s when you knew you wanted to be Dux,” Filippo said. He sounded reverent.
“Oh, goodness no!” Cosma laughed. “No, no,” he patted away his son’s sudden frown. “No, I felt ambition, my son, for the first time. The taste was seductive but I never believed I was to rule Venice. No…no, it was never meant to be that way.”
His father’s voice tailed off, as did his gaze. Filippo always thought his father could look so sad sometimes. He wondered when they would get to that part of the story. If they ever would.
Speaking of which…
“Where’s Mama?” Filippo asked. “You’ve not mentioned her much.”
“Ah, yes. Well, there’s many a story I can tell about her. Many you will here much later on of course but a story for now…hmm. Well I suppose I could tell you about our rides together.”
“Like you do now?”
“Yes, only back then we were not affixed to the City and didn’t have anywhere we had to be going to. It was wonderfully liberating. But no…first there is one more story from that year you must hear.”
14th July 761AD
Cosma was coming to grips with his riding, or at least he showed more enthusiasm lately, as he had more friends to ride with. Leone, now into his tenth year and livelier than before, was beside him, as were the daughters of Mario. Elisa was much as she always was, aloof and proud of it, but the younger sister was coming into herself. Clotilde suffered from a weakness of body that in no way dampened her spirit. Of the four of them, she was the brightest and gayest, and there was not a person within the valley whom did not love her dearly. Cosma was greatly put out that she was coming along so well on her horse, given her withered legs, but at least she was willing to speak. Elisa rarely did, and when she did, it was rarely a good sign.
Of course, they were never alone. The Master saw to that, although again, more recently that was changing. The village priest, whom Leone clung to like a fly, was escorting them more and more. Cosma had found he didn’t half mind the old man as much as he used to. It was difficult to hate someone who kept the Master out of his hair for a few hours a day.
“Hold up there, young lady!” Padre called out. Elisa halted, but Cosma could well imagine the scowl on her face. It was always the way for her to lead, so naturally becoming to her that he doubted even she realised she did it sometimes. That was not to say her impudence was unwelcome, for she was a magnificent creature of womanhood, or so many in the town said. Her fiery locks matched her strength and gaze quite well, and few could deny her beauty, or her temper.
“Hold!” cried the Padre again. He was looking off into the distance and frowning. Cosma broke off his aimless wonderings and looked as well. There was a small scuffle going on ahead between a few vagabonds. It appeared to be a three on one fight but that was hardly the full story. As Cosma watched in growing fascination, the lone figure lifted one of his assailants fully over his shoulders, cracked another across his skull and roared defiantly at the third. This man, checking his surroundings, quickly ran off without his associates, and the figure relaxed. Spotting the onlookers, he waved from his postion and kicked one of the downed figures over.
“Remain here my dears,” the Padre said before gently prodding his mare onwards to meet the mysterious man. The spoke at length, and the children began to grow restless.
“Who is he, do you think?” Leone asked, seeming quite apprehensive.
“Who cares,” Elisa said, “the worry is who those villains were to come to the valley and make trouble.”
Cosma nodded. Yes, that made sense. It was quite unusual for the place to see much in the way of travellers at all, bar the odd trader coming from the other road south. “He looks as though he’s walked across the entire Alps,” Cosma murmered, peering closer at the man.
“Perhaps he has, oh poor man!” Clotilde said, clutching at her steed’s hair. He knickered gently, and she relented, patting him in apology.
“No worry sister,” Elisa said, more gently, “Padre will see him right. He is not compeltly without his uses.”
Leone bristled but he was not quite so brave as to take on the woman at the best of times. Shaking his head, he looked at Cosma.
“Hmm. I’m going forward,” Cosma decided, and was rewarded with a small smile from Elisa before she moved to follow. Somewhat flustered and inordinately pleased with himself, Cosma nearly overbalanced himself on the horse as he trotted down the track. Blocking out Leone and Clotilde’s snickers, he made to clear his face of red before the Padre saw him.
“Ah, children. This is Hol, a man from the north.” Padre raised an eyebrow at Cosma for moving without instruction but said nothing. The Master would have beat him in front of everyone. Cosma decided that he was going to be friends with Padre there and then.
“Be greeted,” Hol said roughly. He was a large man, not too shorter in size to Mario. He bore several layers of thick woollen cloth, and bands of leather from which hung many weapons of shapes and sizes. Cosma’s jape at him climbing the Alps alone seemed far less impossible as one looked at this man and took in the determined brow and great strength of character.
…
Hol, as it turned out, was a traveller from the distant High North. He was a man of ice and snow but carried within great fire and heart. Within a few minutes walking alongside Cosma, he began to correct the boy’s stance and gait, which to everyone’s surprise aided the boy’s riding immensely. In town, for he had been journeying to the place for some time, he enquired at Mario’s place before being disappointed to learn that the ‘Company’ had disbanded some time ago. Deflated, he asked where he might find work of that nature, and Mario, along with the Padre, sent him to the Master. After a great deal of argument, Hol was brought on to teach the two young boys how to fight and hold their own as hunters, riders and swordsmen.
As the weeks and months went on, Cosma was surprised at how well he took to the dagger and bow, though naturally such things as swords, spears and ground combat in general were beyond him. Hol didn’t seem to mind such limitations however, and quickly moved on to that which the boy excelled. Cosma was within months an excellent shooter and rider, and had learnt to trap victuals such as rabbit and deer with some effort. Never in his life had Cosma felt alive in such a way, even within the greatest texts and readings in the Master’s study. His body, long since disregarded by himself as rather useless, was suddenly alive and well. He could feed himself, move himself, and all with an ease and daring that reminded him of his Uncle in mid-gallop. Cosma was proud.
Leone was disturbed. As was, if they did not show it so well, the Master and Padre.
“It is only to be expected,” the former said, late one night when Cosma was meant to be asleep. “I suppose…but it is a problem nonetheless.”
“You can’t blame him,” the Padre said gently, “what a gift that journeyman has given him, rough though he his. Strength, confidence, acceptance. Really,” the Padre drew quieter, “my greatest disquiet is truly with myself and you, how we could have failed the child so readily that a barbarian could do better.”
“Better?” the Master drew back sharply. “He has the boy chasing around the countryside after vermin and calls it victory! I…understand that it is to the child’s benefit,” he said, breathing more deeply, “but the fact remains that we have to do something. You now what it is that boy will one day do. A man cannot live a life with his head on the hunt and his hands always on a sword.”
“When you said that to Filippo, did he listen?”
Cosma couldn’t help releasing a breath at that. Fortunately, he was mirrored by the Master, who drew out his next words like a flaming whip.
“How
dare you speak of it. You know nothing of what I lost. What I sacrificed for that family. For
him. All for nought.”
“No. You have the child. You have Cosma. And you will not fail him as you pretend you did before. But I share your misgiving. Leone is a gentle and loving child, and did you see what Cosma did to him yesterday?”
The boy in question recoiled. Yes…he remembered. And he doubted if his friend would ever quite forgive him for the humiliation he had dished out. But the rush! The blood of war! To pound and tear and destroy flesh so weak before you. It was power that Cosma held, and wanted to hold again. But he had done a great wrong and disservice to Leone. And in truth, it was why he was up so late wandering the villa like a wraith thrown out of Paradise.
“I did. You know what Hol said afterwards? After he threw the two boys apart anyway. ‘He has the blood. How you say? The wolf. The roman wolf.’ That boy has the killer instinct his…Bastian had. That Filippo lacks.”
“Man is a wolf to man,” the Padre mused. “I must go to him, I think. I must try to reach that which lies inside his wounded heart, sick still from what that monster did to him. Hol has brought out his spirit. But we must reach his heart, his compassion now. Man cannot live by bread alone.”
The Master was quiet for a while. Then he relinquished control. “Go.”
Cosma did just that.
…
“Cosma? Cosma, I must speak with you, my son.”
The boy trudged somewhat reluctantly into the room, knowing what was coming. A lecture. Perhaps a beating. A lesson on the divine and a forced promise from him to behave. So it always was.
“Cosma…what is this?”
The boy looked up, confused. “A crucifix, sir.”
“Indeed. In days long past, the Romans used these devices to inflict a most painful death on anyone whom they wished to make an example of. It was a mark, a symbol of their power, their authority. In Judea, it was a symbol of horror, and pain and injustice. But wherever you went in the world, you knew what it was. You understood its purpose all too well. Such was its power. But that changed quite suddenly didn’t it?”
“I suppose so, yes sir.” Cosma did not understand.
“You suppose. I see. Well, what do we see now when we look at a crucifix? Through one man’s sacrifice, the power of Rome’s greatest weapon was broken forever. The whole empire converted, and this torture device was reclaimed as the ultimate symbol of love and compassion. For Christ made it so.”
Cosma nodded, “Yes, Christ made it so. But Padre, why do you say all this?”
“To show you the relative power of fear and truth, hate and love. They are incomparably different. One is the mark of a tyrant, a man so afraid of his own followers and fellow men that he cannot deal in any way other than violence. He stands alone. Though great things might be done in his name, so are many terrors. But the compassionate man, beloved of his family and friends? He lives forever, not simply in the Kingdom of God but in their hearts and minds. Perhaps it is true then, that by a ruler’s great deeds his is measure. But through his kind heart, he is treasured. Think on this, would you? That which you think is power to be seized by your own hands, that is
nothing compared to the power given to you willingly by people who believe in you. God is many things, my dear. Almighty. All-knowing. But above all, God is Love. And there is no power greater in Heaven or on Earth than Love, for it lasts forever and triumphs over all, even Death. “
Cosma was quiet, sat half kneeling on the floor, before the kind old man in front of him. He was quite right, he thought. Or at least, he fervently believed and prayed he was. For what was all that land in the valley that he had desired so many moons ago without the people within it? What was a palace without a hearth and family? What was, he supposed, a crucifix without Jesus? Far lesser.
“One more thing,” the Padre said, before chuckling. “Ah, but I remember what it was like to be lecturer and scolded by people far older and wiser than you. It passes, like everything, my son. I fear I have not been the wisest however, in my handling of you. Nor has the Master. In our efforts to educate, we have forgotten the person beneath that magnificent mind of yours. Hol is, in his own way, filled with a wisdom as well. He knows the nature of Man much as I, but in a different way. He has and will teach many important lessons to you. Help you grow beyond what you believe yourself to be capable. But, and this I think is most important, you must remember that all men, all people, are the children of God. They love deeply, and deserve to be loved. They feel other things too, hatred and anger and sadness, things which give them strength sometimes and thro them down also. But we must always return to that which rules all, which lies at the heart of our very nature. We must love one another, and love ourselves true.” The Padre knelt down beside the pale child and placed his hands upon his shoulders. “It will take you many years more to find it within yourself to move beyond what has come before, but if I might give you one final piece of advice? Forgive your father for his trespasses. Forgive
yourself.”
Cosma stumbled out into the cool night air. His cheeks were red and his tears hot upon them. From a little way down from his left, he heard a small voice call out.
“Cosma? Are you alright?”
He turned and stared into the face of Clotilde, struggling with a box of something unimportant. Her eyes were bright and marred only with concern for him. Suddenly, and from some place inside of him that had never quite been opened before, he spoke.
“Yes Clotilde. I am fine.”
Her smile was brighter than any star in the sky.