(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

[from here}

Sinric comes down from his room, still dressed his furs and heavily embroiled tunic but looking fresh and scrubbed.

He smiles brightly to see Hannibal.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

The sermons are long and expectedly condescending. However they are broken by chanting and music. Like most of it's time, the monastic hymns are repetitive, but are sung with passion and devotion. And truly, and deeply held love of God.

The Abbot begrudgingly allows Father Tétartos to give a sermon. Niketas had his father's look - not overly tall but broad of shoulder and with a strong round face framed by dark Greek curls. His eyes, not lost but closed and puckered are the only thing marring an otherwise very handsome face.

Unlike the Abbot's droning speech, Niketas is passionate, expressive, eloquent. He speaks of joy and hope renewed, of wonder and beginnings. The celebration of new life.

[cook_the_rude]

It is a breath of fresh air amid the Benedictine stuffiness, something that !takes even Hannibal perk up and listen.

[thewidewideworld]

For a priest, Niketas managed to expound the virtues of the season and the goodness of man to his fellow man, without mentioning God all that often.

He does however, introduce Sinric as Oriens, a guest from the court of Charlemagne and a singer of great skill. His praise and his affection are honest, unfeigned.

He may not have eyes left to see, but he turns to Sinric as Sinric moves past him and onto the dais, one hand outstretched to brush Sinric's robe.

Sinric is careful not to return the touch but Hannibal knows him well - knows the warmth in his half hidden smile, the way Sinric half turns as he steps. The way Sinric is so aware of Niketas' presence, even at his back.

Even as he sings. The song is more soaring than the flat chanted hymns, his voice as high and clear as a boy's. But trained and experienced, lacking that naivety.

The hymn is an old one, not popular for some hundreds of years. But one Constantine loved. Niketas steps back into the shadows as Sinric sings, his tears tinged with blood.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal watches those tears run down Niketas' handsome cheeks as he listens to the song, utterly absorbed.

[thewidewideworld]

There are tears in Sinric's eyes too. But they are tears of joy, of celebration.

There are more than a few sniffs from the congregation, even those who don't know the meaning behind it.

The Abbot scowls as he takes back his place and the sermon returns to grim control and shame.

But soon enough, the last blessings are made and the crowd are sent onward into the world. Mostly, they don't leave, but mill about, chatting. Many are quick to praise Sinric's singing and Father Tétartos sermon.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal lingers at the edge of the crowd, ready to be accidentally run into.

[thewidewideworld]

It's Father Tétartos who finds Hannibal first, a long cane in his hand and a young monk at his elbow. "Il dottore Fell?" He calls, his voice rich and warm. "Oriens mentioned seeing you amongst the congregation. Welcome, sir." He gesture away from the crowd. "Would you walk with me?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Of course, gladly," Hannibal says. "I would be honoured."

There is a deference in his voice beyond the mere politeness owed to a priest.

[thewidewideworld]

Niketas gently shoos away the young monk, assuring him he'll be quite alright. He holds a hand out to Hannibal, asking for an elbow to guide and be guided by.

He heads out of the chapel and into the quiet of the naive, deeper into the enclave proper. He waits till they're private before speaking. "Thank you. For coming and for speaking with me. I can't imagine how strange this must be. To walk in a time not your own."

[cook_the_rude]

"I have ventured out with Sinric before," Hannibal says, providing a steady elbow. "But still, it never fails to deeply awe me."

[thewidewideworld]

"He is such a generous soul. I wish- I regret not knowing him better, before he and Father left us." He lowers blind eyes. "And I am glad God had guided us back together. The last words I sent to him were unkind. And I have regretted them since."

He offers Hannibal a soft smile. "I feel perhaps you are a man who appreciates his kind heart too?"

[cook_the_rude]

"His kind heart, and his hidden steel and fire," Hannibal says. "I try to appreciate all his many facets."

[thewidewideworld]

"His hidden steel and fire." Niketas echoes, a smile curling full lip. "Yes. That's... very true. No-one within those could have survived everything he's been through and still be- well, alive. Let alone come out as strong as he has."

He huffs ruefully, "Heaven knows I have not."

"But enough of me, what of you? What can I show you of this little community before Sinric realises I've stolen you away?"

[cook_the_rude]

"As it's not the season for the herb garden," Hannibal says, "I think the library would be best. I wonder if they still have some of Cassiodorus' original hundred books."

[thewidewideworld]

"It's a beautiful library." Niketas chuckles. "Even if too few of the monks here can read even half of it." He gently steers Hannibal towards the library with sure, ease strides. The way there he knows without hesitating.

"And Sinric will know to find us there. He often does." He sighs, "If only I was worthy to keep him at at my side."

[cook_the_rude]

"He has seen different things on his path," Hannibal says, "and yours. It has nothing to do with worth. Look for the Normans coming to Sicily; that's probably where you can find each other again, after another half a lifetime, when you are old. That's all I can think of."

[thewidewideworld]

Niketas cocks his head, looking at Hannibal with damaged eyes, as much from habit as anything else. "Is it you who sees the future, or Sinric?" He asks it almost lightly but there's weight behind his words.

The library is dim this time of night but a lay-brother rushes to light the lanterns as they come in. It it an impressive library, much of it rescued from earlier ages. With quite an extensive medical collection.

[cook_the_rude]

"I don't see the future," Hannibal says. "I read history books, and calculate the antler-shaped vagaries of human life building on my professional experience, and given all the givens, that sounds like the best bet to me."

[thewidewideworld]

Niketas leans against a bookshelf, resting his chin on his cane and smiles. "My father would have liked you." And Niketas notices that Hannibal only answers half the question.

He nods slowly. "When he's gone from my life once more, I'll look to Sicily. And watch for him." He touches the corner of his ruined eye with his sleeve, brushing away a bloody tear.

[cook_the_rude]

"The Norman Chapel of Palermo, as it stands to my day, means a lot to me," Hannibal says. "It is from beyond your day, but I could well imagine the two of you being somewhere at its foundation."

[thewidewideworld]

"When we are nothing but dust, look for us there." It's Sinric, standing by the door with a soft smile.

He brushed a hand over Hannibal's arm as he crossed to Niketas, "Your eyes are causing you pain again."

[cook_the_rude]

"How thoughtless of me," Hannibal says. "I came to help with that, after all."

[thewidewideworld]

"You did?" Niketas asks surprised.

"Somewhere more private, perhaps?" Sinric suggests, taking Niketas' arm and guiding him. "Master Alcuin will not mind us using his quarters. He's asleep in the monk's dormitory already."

[cook_the_rude]

"Better for what any passing scribe might well consider magic," Hannibal says.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leads them to a surprisingly well appointed rooms, the walls covered with thick tapestries, the floors with thick rugs and kept warm two charcoal braziers.

Alcuin is an important man after all, and he has the ear of the next defender of the throne of Christ.

Sinric guides Niketas to a chair and moves to light all the lanterns and candles he can find.

In Niketas' presence, he moves with the quiet grace of a servant, melting into the background.