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Sinric comes into the sheltered courtyard, seeking somewhere to sit and think a while. It has been a strange few days. He meant to come quietly into to city, make a place for himself at one of the taverns singing for his supper and board.

But drawn in by the intellectual debate of the young men and the flourishing palace school, he’s caught out by his old tutor who recognises him - Alcuin, the new emperor’s favourite.

And now he finds himself lodging at the palace school, the centre of attention he never wanted here.

But the courtyard is cool and quiet and he sits down, letting himself have a moment to rest. Not noticing the young boy at first.

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"Somebody who's not here any more?"

This is one area where he's not so innocent.

"He died, many years ago." He confirms. "I miss him very much."

He forces a smile. "Something more cheerful, then?"

"Yes", Athelstan agrees. "Whatever you want."

He chooses a song of his own childhood - a repeating rhyme to learn the gates of Constantinople. It forms a clapping game, which Sinric is more than happy to teach Athelstan.

The contact of Athelstan's hands sends little sparks of brightness down Sinric's nerves, little splashes of colour over the tapestry behind his eyelids.

Athelstan watches him even as the game continues, not entirely understanding but knowing there's something more going on.

Sinric breaks off, blinking away a flash of gold around his eyes. "Forgive me, young one."

He ignores the feeling and explains the song, drawing a map of walls and gates, showing Athelstan how the song helps children form getting lost in the sprawling city.

The fascination of this new learning quickly makes him forget the oddness.

"All the children of Constantinople learn this?"

"Just so. And add verses to recite the streets or sites nearest their home. There's are other versions that counts the churches."

Just as the Bells of Saint Clement will one day trace London.

"How many churches are there, in the city?"

"Eighteen in my time. But I'm told more have been built since. But all of them are shadowed by the Basilica of Hargia Sophia. It's the most beautiful church every built."

"I'd like to see it", he says earnestly. "One day."

"I hope you do, sweet one. I truly hope you do." It saddens him to know Athelstan will never make it to Constantinople. "But you are here. And it seems a beautiful city."

"It does", he agrees, brightening. "I only go where the brothers go, but I've seen a bit."

"What have you liked best so far?"

"The cathedral. And the library."

"The library is what lured me here too." Sinric confides with a soft smile. "It is rather magnificent. This new emperor seems very keen for people to learn and grow." It's said with an almost grudging respect.

"Good. People should be allowed, if they want to."

He's a peasant's son. He knows.

"I agree." Sinric smiles. "I've been very privileged in my education. Very fortunate. It has allowed me to travel very far."

"Where have you been to?"

"An inn on the outskirts of the city. The Saint-Étienne cathedral, the Roman amphitheatre. But then I saw a group of young men debating Virgil, which is where Alcuin found me. It foolish of me to linger."

"Had it been long since you saw him?"

"Fifteen years perhaps? A long time. I've been many places since then. I'm surprised anyone would recognise me after all that time."

"He must have known you very well, before."

"He was my tutor for many years. He taught me rhetoric and the works for the great Greek and Roman philosophers." He smiles softly. "He also rapped me over the knuckles every time I go something wrong. I was learning the flute at the time so I had to be very careful not to get rapped too often, lest my flute teacher rap me too."

"Did it make it harder to play the flute, with bruised knuckles?"