Steading

  2nd Day of Harvest

  757 Karloman’s Peace

  “Alright, take them in!” Aldedramnus bellowed from atop his horse. His voice carried down the grassy hill, echoing across the grazing fields.

  A few hundred metres away, Audomar directed a team of mounted farmhands, their shouts and the lowing of two hundred cattle blending with the rhythmic thud of hooves as the herd moved to a new pasture. With harvest dawning, the estate buzzed with activity, every hand focused on ensuring the herds were well-fed.

  Harvest was not the cattle farmer’s season. As crop prices plummeted, people turned away from meat products, opting for the cheaper alternative. For the cattle farmer, however, this was a time of fattening. When winter brought scarcity, the demand for meat and animal fats would surge, and the Reubkes’ fortunes would hinge on their preparations now. The family’s prosperity depended on how well the farm was managed during harvest, and all laboured under Audomar’s firm direction.

  From atop the hill, Ekkehard waited alongside his brothers, Evroul and Aldedramnus, a cool, refreshing breeze carrying over him, offsetting the thrum of the harvest sun. Aldedramnus, the most experienced farmer among the three, guided Audomar and the workers below, keeping a watchful eye for straying cattle. Evroul assisted and learned from Aldedramnus.

  Ekkehard, however, lingered like a shadow, a silent spectator on the hill, his presence marked only by his solitude.

  He possessed neither the talent nor the interest for rearing animals; despite having grown up on the farm, it had not been part of his education. That was Audomar’s domain. As the firstborn, and with the war over, the farm estate was now his, as it was always meant to be, and he had returned to his calling. Ekkehard, by contrast, had been raised in robes, destined for the priesthood—a future that was no longer tenable, and he found himself lingering without purpose in a place where he was never meant to remain.

  To make matters worse, his family held little sympathy for his decision to break his oaths of faith and doctrine. For two seasons, Ekkehard had struggled to find his place and often wondered if he should leave the estate to search for a new beginning.

  “Argh, see that?” Aldedramnus exclaimed, leaning over to slap Evroul’s arm, his face alight with energy. Aldedramnus’ exclamation jolted Ekkehard from his reverie, pulling his gaze back to the bustling activity below. Aldedramnus pointed to a side of the herd where a group of cattle was starting to veer off. “They need to keep their spacing tighter; they’re leaving too much room for a break-off.”

  “It’s fine,” Evroul said, nodding toward the head of the herd. “Audomar’s already handling it.”

  Although the words were lost in the wind, Audomar’s authoritative bark carried up the hillside. The eldest Reubke commanded the farmhands and his siblings to redirect the dividing herd back into a single unit. Ekkehard watched as two riders spurred their horses into action, cutting ahead of the wandering stem to skilfully guide it back into the main herd.

  “That’s better,” Aldedramnus said, exhaling with relief as he lowered his shoulders. “Once they’ve got them in the pen, we’ll be done for the morning. But you see, that’s why having a spotter is so important. From up here, we can see what the herd is up to sooner than if we were down there.”

  Evroul nodded eagerly in agreement with his brother.

  ‘I understand the benefit of a vantage point, Aldedramnus,’ Ekkehard muttered in a snide tone. His younger brothers often spoke as if they knew better than he, and Ekkehard found it harder each day to bite his tongue. After all, he was their elder, the best educated of them all and a veteran. He wasn’t some clueless peasant who needed to be taught the basics of agriculture.

  Still, Aldedramnus’ exasperated look was enough to twist guilt into Ekkehard’s chest. As usual, he regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He was making a habit of letting barbs slip, and he knew he needed to stop. For a second, he considered apologising, but ultimately decided against it, doubting his ability to sound sincere.

  “Well,” Aldedramnus said after an awkward pause, directing his words to Evroul, “you might as well head back and help Mother prepare for our guest.”

  Evroul’s gratitude was palpable. He wasted no time pulling the reins and trotting his horse down the hill toward the Reubke manor. The young boy was somewhat socially awkward at the best of times, and Ekkehard’s brooding did nothing to make his brother more comfortable.

  Ekkehard chewed on the inside of his cheek as he and Aldedramnus waited for their younger brother to be out of earshot. Ekkehard knew the only reason Aldedramnus had sent Evroul away was so he could attempt another heart-to-heart talk. It had become a habit of Aldedramnus, who, for reasons Ekkehard couldn’t fathom, seemed to think it was his duty to mend his older brother’s spirits. This annoyed Ekkehard. After all, he had spent his life studying holy scripture and philosophy, while Aldedramnus had spent his with cows. What sage wisdom did Aldedramnus think he had that Ekkehard wouldn’t already know?

  “So,” Aldedramnus began, his tone dismissive as he leaned on his saddle, “what’s bothering you today, brother?”

  Everything about the way he spoke those words irked Ekkehard. “You know exactly what’s bothering me,” Ekkehard said after a tense pause, his voice low and tight, his spite barely restrained.

  “Yes, I do,” Aldedramnus replied with a knowing shrug. Of course, he did. All of Ekkehard’s family knew why he was angry, but none of them ever seemed to appreciate that fact. “Mother has invited Abbot Ren to supper again,” Aldedramnus added, his tone casual.

  “It seems the Teacher graces our dinner table more often than his temples,” Ekkehard said with a bitter grunt.

  “And what if he does?” Aldedramnus shot back, his tone hardening.

  Ekkehard bristled at that question.

  “Is it really so terrible for our family to receive spiritual guidance?” Aldedramnus asked, his tone even but insistent. “Can you blame our widowed mother for seeking solace in the scripts?”

  “She isn’t seeking solace in anything!” Ekkehard snapped, his hands tightening on the reins. “She’s just trying to push me into taking vows.”

  “And is that so bad?” Aldedramnus retorted, unshaken by Ekkehard’s tone. “Breaking oaths isn’t something people do lightly, and it has caused our mother no end of grief—grief she doesn’t need right now.”

  Ekkehard grunted, knowing it was pointless to argue. Aldedramnus wouldn’t understand—he couldn’t.

  Only Audomar truly understood why Ekkehard had forsaken his oaths, having been the only one to witness the horrors Ekkehard endured. Yet Audomar clung to the war as if it were a grand adventure, spinning tall tales instead of confronting the nightmare it had truly been. Ekkehard couldn’t understand how his brother could do that. While it pained him to admit it, Ekkehard feared he was simply weaker than his elder. Like the rest of their siblings, Aldedramnus had been too young when the war began, shielded from its brutality, leaving no one on the estate with whom Ekkehard could speak honestly.

  When Ekkehard didn’t respond, Aldedramnus shook his head.

  “Brother,” Aldedramnus began in a tone meant to be sympathetic, but Ekkehard found it patronising. “You need to see it from Mother’s point of view.

  “Before the war, you loved scripture, you loved the gods. You and Father would stay up into the early hours having moral debates and competitions in theological analysis. You loved nothing more than discussing those dusty pages until everyone, but Father, had left the room. You were a boy with wide eyes and boundless wonder, full of excitement for everything life offered. A boy who cared deeply for others, speaking passionately of his future in service to the gods. A caring lad with a broad smile and an open heart.”

  Aldedramnus paused to see if the words resonated with Ekkehard. Ekkehard simply turned his gaze from his brother.

  “That’s the son our mother said goodbye to all those years ago,” Aldedramnus continued, “not this grim young man with no passion and no joy. She hopes the Abbot might remind you of the boy you were and help her find the son she fears she lost alongside her husband.”

  Ekkehard tutted, dismissing his brother’s melodramatic hypothesis, though it gnawed faintly at the edges of his mind. It was a na?ve argument, and for a second, Ekkehard thought that it might have even been enjoyable to burst his brother’s bubble. Yet, things were challenging enough, and he needed no more bad blood between him and his family.

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  “I still love the gods,” Ekkehard said softly, his voice heavy with bitterness. “I just doubt they love me anymore.”

  Before Aldedramnus could respond, Ekkehard urged his horse forward, beginning the slow descent down the hillside.

  “Come,” he called back to Aldedramnus, “looks like Audomar and the others are done for the day.”

  As afternoon turned to evening, all the Reubke family hosted Abbot Ren for supper in one of the estate’s grander receiving rooms—all the Reubke family, but Ekkehard, that is.

  Ekkehard remained upstairs in his room, deciding it was better to spare his family—and himself—another painfully silent meal. He stayed there until the sky darkened, waiting for the house to quiet before venturing down to the kitchens in search of leftovers.

  As Ekkehard descended the stairs, a side door in the blue-and-white vestibule creaked open, catching him off guard. To his dismay, he saw his mother leading the Abbot to his guest room. Ekkehard’s heart seized, and he instinctively turned to retreat, but he was already halfway down, and it was too late to escape the encounter that would surely follow.

  “Young master Ekkehard,” came the Abbot’s smooth, practised voice as Ekkehard hesitated. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  Ekkehard sighed, reluctantly turning to face the two figures below. An awkward tension hung in the air, freezing them in an unspoken standoff.

  The Abbot stood resplendent in his formal harvest robes—amber fabric richly embroidered with apricot thread, cinched with a luxurious saffron sash. The back of the robes, incongruously, depicted naked women frolicking in a wood, feasting on an abundance of wine and fruit. His mother, draped in a fine yellow dress with white-trimmed cuffs, wore an expression of quiet desperation that belied the elegance of her attire.

  “Your mother was just sharing,” the priest began in his haughty drawl, “your struggles with finding a place here on the farm.”

  The Abbot had barely spoken before diving into Ekkehard’s private affairs, his lack of tact and subtlety setting Ekkehard’s teeth on edge. Priests were meant to approach their flock with comfort and empathy, helping them open up without feeling pressured. They were not meant to clumsily push their charges further away. To Ekkehard, Ren was an embarrassment to the Faith—a clumsy, shallow student of the Doctrine.

  Ekkehard gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. He raised his chin and looked down at the priest as the old fool continued to speak, oblivious to his own failings.

  “I recall you enjoyed your apprenticeship at the temples in your youth,” the priest continued with an oily smile. “We were discussing whether it might benefit you to winter in the city, working again in the scriptorium. You could assist with copying the holy texts and perhaps rediscover comfort in their lessons. What do you say to that?”

  Ekkehard glanced from the priest to his mother, whose pleading eyes bore the weight of her unspoken expectations. Does she think that pathetic expression is enough to guilt me into doing this? He wondered.

  Bile rose in Ekkehard’s throat, his chest tightening as he fought to contain his anger. He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to steady his emotions. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, Ekkehard descended the stairs with clenched fists at his sides.

  “As I’ve told you before, Teacher,” Ekkehard said, his voice edged with venom, “I have no intention of joining you at the temple. Not this winter, not the next, and not any that follow. I would, however, appreciate it if you’d remember that fact the next time you come to drink us out of house and home.”

  Ekkehard smirked, savouring the flash of offence on their faces. His mother turned quickly, rushing to apologise, but the priest raised a hand, silencing her with a dismissive gesture.

  “Young man,” Ren began, his tone dripping with condescension, “I know the war was difficult for you, as it was for many others. But that is no excuse for the dereliction of duty and the breaking of sacred oaths. Your absence from the House of Karloman will be noted.” Ren pouted his lips and nodded as if he had made some impenetrable intellectual point.

  “Funny,” Ekkehard shot back, “the only absence worth noting I can recall is yours—from the front lines these past ten years.”

  “Boy!” the Abbot bellowed, his voice trembling with indignation. “I am an Abbot of the Faith, a Teacher for the Saved, a Student of the House of Karloman! I am a man of peace, as you well know. I will not stand here and be called a coward.”

  “Our Lady Summer,” Ekkehard intoned, quoting scripture he knew far better than the Abbot, “grants men the power for immeasurable violence so that we may learn not to use it.” Ekkehard let the holy words hang heavy in the air before stepping forward, his broad frame dwarfing the priest. “Karloman’s own words,” Ekkehard continued. “When his descendants called, I took up the sword. When the war was done, I put it away. You, however, feared the sword. I am a peaceful man, but you? You are merely a harmless one.”

  Abbot Ren’s eyes dropped, and his timid nature finally rose to the surface as he shrank away from Ekkehard.

  “Ekkehard!” his mother shouted, stepping forward to push him back, her voice cutting through the tension like a whip. “How dare you speak to a guest like that under my roof!”

  She slapped him hard across the face, and all of Ekkehard’s bluster drained away in an instant. His cheek stung as if struck by a barbed bludgeon, and his mouth hung agape. For a fleeting moment, he was a little boy again, wilting under his mother’s anger. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and Ekkehard quickly darted toward the vestibule’s side door, heading for the kitchen.

  As he fled, his mother’s profuse apologies to the Abbot echoed behind him, each word driving him further into the shadows.

  Ekkehard stormed through the estate’s dimly lit hallways, his footsteps echoing sharply until he shoved open the kitchen door.

  He made straight for the back corner, where shelves of fruits, vegetables, and bread were neatly arranged. He didn’t take any. Instead, he gripped the countertop, his fingertips digging into the worn wood. He drew deep, ragged breaths, trying to calm his racing heart as the sting of his mother’s slap still burned on his cheek.

  “Do you feel clever?” came his mother’s sharp voice as the door closed softly behind her.

  Ekkehard didn’t turn. He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the inevitable onslaught of vocal cuts and spoken barbs he knew was coming.

  “I bet you do,” she continued, her voice sharp yet tinged with a bittersweetness. “You’ve always been clever. Your father saw it in you, even as a boy. That’s why he picked you for this life. He knew it would be good for you to put that mind to use in helping others understand this world.

  “What do you think he’d say, seeing you use that sharp mind of yours to belittle a guest under his roof? Hmm?” She let the question hang in the air as though she expected an answer. When Ekkehard remained silent, she pressed on, her tone biting. “I’ll tell you what he’d say. He’d say you were the coward—not the Abbot. He’d think you a little boy playing at being a man. Letting down his family and making his mother, who broke her back raising him, a pariah among her peers.”

  Can she not let this go? Ekkehard thought, his desperate frustration bubbling. He clenched his fists, his knuckles pressing into the wooden countertop. Does she not see what I have become? A killer, a soldier who had slaughtered so many—how could she still imagine me as the gentle boy she once knew? Does she not understand what I am?

  “That is what we’ve become,” she pressed, her words relentless. “Pariahs. People look at us and know that our family’s oath is broken. That you’ve turned your back on the Faith and Doctrine. They think us godless. In the city, old friends cross the street to avoid me. They whisper behind my back like I’m a leper. As if I carry some disease that they must warn one another of. Don’t get too close lest you catch it.

  “Well, I’ve had enough of it, and it’s time you took some responsibility.”

  “I have taken my share of responsibility, Mother!” Ekkehard shouted, spinning to face her, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’ve carried more responsibility than any man should! There’s blood on my hands, Mother—enough to drown this house.”

  “You think that makes you important?” his mother snapped; her voice sharp as a whip.

  Her words struck him like a physical blow. Does she think I’m boasting?

  “Just because you’ve killed doesn’t mean you’re above reproach. It doesn’t give you free rein to do whatever you want. It’s not impressive, Ekkehard. And it’s certainly nothing to be proud of.”

  “I am proud of nothing, Mother!” Ekkehard bellowed, his voice booming through the room. His mother flinched, her resolve wavering momentarily before she squared her shoulders again. “I killed people,” Ekkehard continued, his voice cracking as his eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet his mother’s gaze. “Not just soldiers, but…” His voice faltered, his shame too heavy to put into words.

  At last, his mother seemed to recognise the weight of his hardship and stayed quiet, letting him speak.

  “I endured all of that,” Ekkehard said, his voice raw, “and so much more. The only thing that kept me alive was dreaming of home—of coming back and forgetting all the things we’d done. And what did I find the day I returned, Mother? Ren—you had the abbot waiting in the kitchen to take me away again.” Tears streamed freely down his face now. “When I had finally escaped, finally reached the place I felt safe, you were ready to cart me off without a moment’s hesitation.’

  “I…” his mother began, her voice hesitant as she searched for the right words. “I didn’t realise that was how it seemed to you, Ekkehard,” she said softly. “I thought you’d be excited, that… that it was what you would have wanted. The war delayed your induction. I thought you’d be happy that you didn’t need to wait any longer. If you needed time…”

  “It’s not time I need, Mother,” Ekkehard said, his voice cutting through hers. “I just can’t do that. I can’t be that man anymore. Not after what I have done.”

  Silence fell between them, thick and heavy.

  “Ekkehard,” his mother said at last, her tone gentler now, “we are required, as all families are. Your father, as head of this house, promised you to the Faith…”

  “But Father is no longer head of this house,” a new, steely voice interrupted.

  Both Ekkehard and his mother turned toward the kitchen door. There stood Audomar, his expression equal parts dour and warm. “I’m sorry, Mother,” Audomar said, raising a hand to silence her before she could protest, “but that is the truth. Father is dead, and the headship of this family falls to me.” Ekkehard wiped the wetness from his eyes and looked at his older brother. Audomar nodded at him in response.

  “That might be true,” their mother argued, “but that doesn’t change the fact that Ekkehard has vows to uphold on behalf of this family.”

  “No, Mother,” Audomar replied, shaking his head, “I understand what Ekkehard is trying to tell you. You were not there. I was. I know why he cannot do what you ask.

  “I’ve struggled with it too, just as much as Ekkehard has. I try to hide it, but my wife fears sharing a bed with me—afraid I might hurt her in my sleep again. What we went through changed everything.”

  Fresh tears welled in Ekkehard’s eyes as the tension in his shoulders melted away, a wave of relief washing over him. For the first time, he realised he wasn’t alone in his suffering. Ekkehard gasped, breathing lungfuls of air as if for the first time in years.

  Audomar’s voice softened slightly as he turned to their mother. “Another will have to do. Florentin can be educated in the scripts. He’s clever and a suitable candidate to safeguard our family’s honour.”

  “But Florentin is still so young,” their mother protested weakly.

  “Then the Abbot will have to be patient,” Audomar said, his tone firm. “This is my decision, and it is final.”