Read Online Children of the Fountain by Richard Murphy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Murphy
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through the calmness when he called out, “Father James!”
Matthias looked around the building which was enormous and was much bigger than the small chapel there had been at the abbey. Gold leaf decorated the vast walls and oil paintings depicted scenes from the Bible, not all of them pleasant. Wooden columns went all the way along to the altar at the front supporting a great arched ceiling; too high for Matthias to see the details of the coats of arms and crests that adorned it.
But dust and cobwebs obscured the grand furnishings and even the floor itself had a fine coating.
A shuffling behind them announced Father James arriving from a door at the back. He extended his arm out to Matthias and held his hand firmly with both of his. “My boy,” he said, “how are you?”
“I am well, uncle. My first day has been interesting.” Father James gave Mr Hardy a quizzical look but the Master of the Sandstone Castle simply raised an eyebrow.
“Matthias has never learnt to write. Is this correct?”
Father James scratched his white beard. “Why yes. But he can read, although it was never one of his great strengths.”
“Did any of the children at the abbey learn to read or write?”
At the mention of the children Father James’s face immediately darkened and looked distant. His eyes fell to the floor and he took hold of Matthias by the arm. “The children were raised in the countryside. They were to leave one day and work as farmers, labourers or, if they were lucky, artisans. They picked a craft, learnt basic reading and arithmetic if required and then they found work when they were old enough.”
“I don’t understand. Surely your father would have made some provision…”
Father James lifted his head slowly. “My father disagreed with my methods and with my faith.”
Mr Hardy shook his head solemnly. “My apologies. I misspoke.”
Father James nodded his head in forgiveness. Mr Hardy looked at Matthias and said, “James, it would be of a great service to us all, now that he has entered the academy, if he could be taught to read and write to a higher level. His opportunities and needs have changed.”
“This can be done. It would please me to spend time with my nephew. The chapel here is filling the rest of my time. It has fallen into quite a state.”
Mr Hardy turned to look around him. “It has been empty several years. But it is very kind of you to offer to maintain it on our behalf.”
“Maintain it?” said Father James. “My dear sir, this is a house of God. I serve this place. I shall endeavour to bring it back to its former glory.”
Mr Hardy tilted his face. “The wind of faith in the castle is an idle one and these children have no time for preparing to meet their maker. They leave it to the old.” He started to walk away.
Father James spoke as he reached the door, “Some of these children won’t get a chance to become old Mr Hardy.”
The master paused and looking down he sighed. His head turned and Matthias thought he was about to speak, but instead he walked out through the dark archway in silence.
Father James waited a moment before gathering himself and turning to Matthias. “Come, let us begin your studies.”
The old monk opened the wooden door at the back of the chapel through which he had emerged, his brown robes flapping as he walked, and they made their way down a dark and dingy corridor to a little room lit by a solitary candle.
It was a small and simple chamber with books in great piles on the shelves, floor and a table. A window was high on the far wall but the shadows on this side of the castle ensured very little sunlight got through.
A movement caught Matthias’s eye and he realised they weren’t alone. On the floor, scrubbing the stone, was Alexander. He immediately sat up, “Hello Matthias.” The eyes shined in the dimness and he put down his scrubbing brush and dried his hands on his tabard.
“Alexander,” said Father James. “What are you doing
Matthias looked around the building which was enormous and was much bigger than the small chapel there had been at the abbey. Gold leaf decorated the vast walls and oil paintings depicted scenes from the Bible, not all of them pleasant. Wooden columns went all the way along to the altar at the front supporting a great arched ceiling; too high for Matthias to see the details of the coats of arms and crests that adorned it.
But dust and cobwebs obscured the grand furnishings and even the floor itself had a fine coating.
A shuffling behind them announced Father James arriving from a door at the back. He extended his arm out to Matthias and held his hand firmly with both of his. “My boy,” he said, “how are you?”
“I am well, uncle. My first day has been interesting.” Father James gave Mr Hardy a quizzical look but the Master of the Sandstone Castle simply raised an eyebrow.
“Matthias has never learnt to write. Is this correct?”
Father James scratched his white beard. “Why yes. But he can read, although it was never one of his great strengths.”
“Did any of the children at the abbey learn to read or write?”
At the mention of the children Father James’s face immediately darkened and looked distant. His eyes fell to the floor and he took hold of Matthias by the arm. “The children were raised in the countryside. They were to leave one day and work as farmers, labourers or, if they were lucky, artisans. They picked a craft, learnt basic reading and arithmetic if required and then they found work when they were old enough.”
“I don’t understand. Surely your father would have made some provision…”
Father James lifted his head slowly. “My father disagreed with my methods and with my faith.”
Mr Hardy shook his head solemnly. “My apologies. I misspoke.”
Father James nodded his head in forgiveness. Mr Hardy looked at Matthias and said, “James, it would be of a great service to us all, now that he has entered the academy, if he could be taught to read and write to a higher level. His opportunities and needs have changed.”
“This can be done. It would please me to spend time with my nephew. The chapel here is filling the rest of my time. It has fallen into quite a state.”
Mr Hardy turned to look around him. “It has been empty several years. But it is very kind of you to offer to maintain it on our behalf.”
“Maintain it?” said Father James. “My dear sir, this is a house of God. I serve this place. I shall endeavour to bring it back to its former glory.”
Mr Hardy tilted his face. “The wind of faith in the castle is an idle one and these children have no time for preparing to meet their maker. They leave it to the old.” He started to walk away.
Father James spoke as he reached the door, “Some of these children won’t get a chance to become old Mr Hardy.”
The master paused and looking down he sighed. His head turned and Matthias thought he was about to speak, but instead he walked out through the dark archway in silence.
Father James waited a moment before gathering himself and turning to Matthias. “Come, let us begin your studies.”
The old monk opened the wooden door at the back of the chapel through which he had emerged, his brown robes flapping as he walked, and they made their way down a dark and dingy corridor to a little room lit by a solitary candle.
It was a small and simple chamber with books in great piles on the shelves, floor and a table. A window was high on the far wall but the shadows on this side of the castle ensured very little sunlight got through.
A movement caught Matthias’s eye and he realised they weren’t alone. On the floor, scrubbing the stone, was Alexander. He immediately sat up, “Hello Matthias.” The eyes shined in the dimness and he put down his scrubbing brush and dried his hands on his tabard.
“Alexander,” said Father James. “What are you doing
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