Fallen Eagle

2nd Week of June, 1460

“H-Hello e-everyone, I am your new teacher, T-T-Theophylact.” The lines came out as hard as he ever remembered them. No, harder still. “A-And I w-will instruct you o-on the p-p-proper way to c-conduct your duties as s-scribes and n-notaries.”

The polished surface of the bronze mirror before him had never been especially kind, but this morning it seemed almost hurtful. A haggard, round-faced man stared back, eyes puffy from weeks of broken sleep, robe creased where his nervous hands had twisted the fabric.

Theophylact swallowed, throat already dry.

“T-The first s-subject we s-shall a-approach is a-arithmetic,” he read, squinting down at the small script he and Theodorus had prepared together, “t-to understand i-if y-you k-know your n-numbers.”

His thumb worried the edge of the parchment until it bent. Theodorus had explained the reasoning well enough behind the appointment. Theophylact was the most knowledgeable learned man in Suyren when it came to the North’s finances, tribute registers, and arrears. The new learned noble sons arriving to bolster the administration needed to know how to redact proper reports, calculate tithes, and track expenditure, and that was all true. But it still didn’t mean it was absurd.

“T-Then we s-shall move on t-to common l-letters,” he continued, forcing his eyes back to the parchment. “R-Reading and w-writing.”

He had learned all those things, yes. He had done the ungrateful tasks, the tasks no one praised unless they went wrong. But that still didn’t grant him any sort of ability in public speaking. In teaching adolescents and young men.

The reflection inspired no confidence whatsoever. Theophylact attempted a smile, thinking perhaps a gentle expression might make him look wise, or at least approachable. The result was a crooked, frightened grimace that made him look as though he had just been caught stealing.

How could he do this? He was a stuttering buffoon, someone who dreaded the sound of his own voice. And he was meant to instruct an entire classroom? Nobles would be there. Learned, young men who had been raised to look at men like him as tools with ink-stained fingers.

“T-Those a-at a m-more advanced l-level m-may p-proceed to more a-advanced classes a-and b-be p-put t-to work i-in the c-c-castle i-i-immediately.”

The last word nearly strangled him. He dragged it out in pieces, breath catching, heart battering against his ribs as though trying to flee the room without him. Heat gathered beneath his collar. His hands felt damp enough to ruin the parchment.

This was a mistake.

A dreadful, obvious, humiliating mistake.

He had to speak to Theodorus at once. He would explain, calmly if possible and pitifully if necessary, that he could not go through with it. There was no way such a thing could work out in the end. Perhaps Theodorus should teach the classroom himself.

Oh, yes! That was the proper solution. Theodorus was clever, composed, knowledgeable, and, most importantly, the Lord of the castle. Men listened when he spoke despite his age. Theophylact, by comparison, was a sweating clerk in a strained robe.

The thought steadied him.

Theophylact gathered himself, or as much of himself as he could, and strode toward the door, chest puffed out with unexpected courage. Courage to tell Theodorus that this was foolish, and that everyone would be better served if he did not teach at all.

By the time his hand reached the latch, his panic had settled into that familiar base layer of uncertainty that passed for calm in him.

The path ahead was clear once more.

If he did not have to teach, everything would work out just fine.

…

“No, Theophylact. It has to be you,” Theodorus said.

Theophylact felt his carefully assembled courage collapse in on itself like rotten scaffolding.

“B-But w-why? Surely it would make more s-sense-”

“Because I know you will make a great teacher,” Theodorus answered, wearing a smile filled with all the confidence Theophylact lacked.

“I r-really do not think I c-can speak in front of so m-many pupils, my Lord.” Theophylact’s gaze fell to the floorboards, where some old scratch in the wood became suddenly fascinating. He hated how weak he sounded, hated the damned stutter in his voice. “And you w-will have t-to handle the finances and day-to-day matters of the c-castle. Something I c-could handle i-if I did n-not have to teach.”

A steady hand fell upon his shoulder.

“Theophylact, I can handle that for a few months,” Theodorus said. “I will not be doing it alone. It will be difficult at first, yes, but that is exactly why we need more scribes trained as quickly as possible.”

Theophylact tried to look away, but Theodorus’s grip held him there.

“I know you can do this,” Theodorus said with gentle insistence, forcing him to meet his eyes. “We have drafted the curriculum together. You have your notes, the class plan, the order of lessons, even the exercises for the first few weeks. It will take getting used to, but you can manage it. And I will make certain the fact that some of them are noble does not become a problem.”

“W-What do you mean b-by that?” Theophylact asked, but Theodorus was already moving toward the door, prompting Theophylact to hurry after him, alarmed.

“T-Theodorus,” he said, fingers catching the young lord’s sleeve.

Theodorus turned and the coldness in his eyes struck Theophylact harder than a slap. It was the look of a lord reminding him that kindness was not the same as leniency.

“Theophylact,” Theodorus said quietly, “I know you do not want to do this, but I am commanding you as your lord.” His gaze dipped to the hand still clutching his sleeve.

Theophylact’s eyes widened as he released Lord Theodorus, shame flooding hot into his cheeks, knowing he had forgotten his place. Theodorus was kind, yes, and a friend, but that did not make him less of a Lord, or Theophylact any less of a subordinate.

He followed after Theodorus with his head lowered, his earlier panic compressed into a tight, miserable knot beneath his ribs.

“At ease,” Theodorus said as he entered the classroom, where the pupils were struggling to bow in unison after the Lord’s unexpected arrival.

Theophylact stopped just inside the doorway and felt the eyes turn toward him. There were so many young faces, most of them near the Captain’s age.

He did not know what selection process Theodorus had used, only that petitions had come in steadily and noble households had sent younger sons to Suyren in hopes of snagging some important clerical appointment, and more than half had been turned away. The thought did not comfort him. It only meant that the ones before him were likely cleverer and more ambitious.

“I wanted to share a few words before you begin your first lesson,” Theodorus said. “The first is this: you have been accepted into this school, but you have not yet earned the right to be appointed to anything. That will depend upon this man here.”

He gestured to Theophylact, who felt obliged to step forward as every eye suddenly converged on him.

“Theophylact has been Steward of Suyren for many years,” Theodorus continued, “He will be your teacher, and you will know from the beginning that he has my full confidence in the management of this classroom.”

The room itself had once been a Nomikos family bedroom, but now small wooden desks had been arranged in careful rows across the floor, and wax tablets waited upon them beside narrow styli, each set placed with almost military regularity.

“Within these four walls,” Theodorus said, fixing the pupils with a stern gaze, “his word is absolute, and his authority over you is as high as my own.”

Theophylact’s eyes widened at the trust and authority Theodorus was placing in his hands. Lords did not grant men like him power over noble sons.

“You should also know that he will be the one to decide if you pass or fail,”

Theodorus turned just enough to catch Theophylact’s eye and winked.

“He will evaluate you on your performance, dedication, and demeanour,” Theodorus continued, facing the pupils again. “Not on what you already know, nor on what your family name happens to be, but on your willingness to learn, to work hard, and to conduct yourselves with proper politeness. If I hear anything from him to the contrary, you will be sent back to your families, and the reason for your dismissal will be detailed in full.”

Several throats bobbed across the room. Most of these boys were second and third sons of merchants and minor nobles, young men sent here because their families saw a chance for advancement. To be sent home with a written account of failure would be more than an embarrassment. It would follow them like a stain.

Theophylact understood that this was Theodorus’s way of ensuring that the nobles would stay on their good behaviour and on Theophylact’s side.

“Well, I will leave you to it,” Theodorus said, wrapping up the announcement while Theophylact found himself envying the ease with which he spoke and people listened.

Theodorus gave Theophylact one last reassuring nod, then left.

The silence that followed felt enormous. A mass of waiting faces looked up at him from behind their little desks. Theophylact felt the urge to rub his wrist, and had to resist it.

Theodorus had trusted him with this task. He could do this.

“I-I am T-Theophylact,” he began, “the a-acting Steward o-of Suyren.”

One of the boy’s brows rose while others glanced quickly at one another. Theophylact felt each tiny movement like a pinprick, but he forced himself onward.

“W-Why don’t w-we begin with s-some introductions,” he said, following the script in his hands as though it were a plank laid across deep water. “O-Our names and w-where we are f-from, please.”

“I am Julius Joakimides,” a thin, elegant-looking boy proclaimed, rising with easy confidence. “Second son of the lord of Skoteini Gi, east of Suyren.”

Theophylact nodded, making a small mark beside the name.

“I am Meliton Kakouli,” said a broad-shouldered teenager whose expression suggested he had been sentenced rather than accepted. He gave no further detail, and sat back down with a stiffness that made his bench creak.

One by one, the boys introduced themselves, while Theophylact looked down at his notes.

“L-Let’s see,” he murmured, tracing the next line with his thumb. “N-Next up is the n-numbers from one to t-ten.”

He bent closer over the page, trying to memorize the words before saying them aloud. If he could hold the sentence in his head first, perhaps it would come out smoother.

“Uh, Didaskalos?” a smaller, shy-looking boy asked.

Theophylact’s head snapped up from the parchment. His heart gave a stupid little leap. His first question? Already?

“Y-Yes?” he asked.

“We have finished our introductions…” the boy said, trailing off gently.

Only then did Theophylact realize every student was looking at him, waiting for the lesson to actually begin.

“O-Of course!” he exclaimed, heat rushing into his cheeks. “O-Of course, n-now t-that we have all g-gotten to know e-each other, w-we can begin.”

A few boys lowered their eyes politely.

“T-The first subject w-we shall approach is a-arithmetic,” Theophylact continued, drawing the memorized line out from the wreckage of his nerves, “t-to understand i-if you know y-your n-numbers.”

In the beginning, his tongue was stiff, but something strange happened - he started to ease into the lesson

Not perfectly, perhaps. But the boys did not interrupt him or laugh. In fact, after the first moment of surprise at his stutter, they stopped staring at it quite so openly. No one sighed in the theatrical manner his old lord had favored, as though each broken word were a personal injury inflicted upon him.

Theophylact felt something loosen in his chest.

Perhaps he was not entirely ruined. Perhaps he was not some invalid who could never speak before others without inviting embarrassment. Perhaps, with enough notes, enough structure, he could manage this.

“Didaskalos?” the shy boy asked again.

“Y-Yes!” Theophylact answered, more cheerfully this time.

The shy boy hesitated, fingers resting on the edge of his wax tablet. He had a narrow face, large dark eyes, and the cautious manner of someone accustomed to thinking twice before speaking once.

“D-Didaskalos,” the boy asked, “why do large numbers use the symbol for nothing?”

Theophylact blinked.

“N-Nothing?” he repeated.

The boy nodded, gathering courage now that the room had not laughed at him. “I saw it once in a merchant’s tally from Caffa. A small circle the man said it meant nothing by itself, but when he placed it beside another number, it changed the number. If it is nothing, how can it change anything?”

Theophylact stared at the boy.

He did not know the answer.

“W-Well,” he began, trying to search for some explanation. He himself had used the roman numeral system for most of his life, but Theodorus had insisted on using numbers from arabic countries. And they indeed had the concept of nothing, which Theophylact found puzzling, but as to why they used it in large numbers…“T-That is t-to say, n-nothing is… is…”

His thoughts scattered like startled birds.

How could he not know? They had asked him because he was the teacher. The teacher was meant to answer. He was not meant to gape like a fish dragged onto a dock.

“I-it d-depends on the c-context,” he forced out. “A-and on the, ah, the m-method o-of…”

His breath came shallow and quick, as though he were trying to suck air through a pinhole. The edges of the classroom softened and darkened. The desks, the wax tablets, the rows of young faces all seemed to lean closer. Sweat slid down his temples and into the folds of his neck, making his collar cling.

“Are you alright, Didaskalos?” one of the boys asked.

Theophylact saw how they were looking at him, like he was a fraud. A stuttering buffoon. An idiot!

“Ah, y-yes,” Theophylact managed through the blur gathering in his vision. “I j-j-just need t-to e-exc-cuse my-my-myse-” He could not even finish the sentence.

Theophylact turned and fled the classroom, bounding down the corridor with no dignity. He moved half blind through the passages, but even if he was terrible at everything else, he at least knew the path to his own room.

The only place where fewer eyes waited.

He opened the door, slipped inside, and shut it behind him with trembling hands. His chest heaved as his fingers fumbled toward the drawer that held the only thing that quieted him when all else failed.

The little knife lay where he had left it.

It had a cruel, mean edge, thin and bright in the dimness. He took it in a shaking hand and dragged in a hard breath. There was only one way to cleanse the sins that had cursed his tongue, only one way to pay for the shame that clung to him.

Pain enough to his body that it might drown out the one in his mind.

Theodorus walked through the corridors of a castle refurbished, feeling very pleased with himself.

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After formally taking over Suyren, he had made a point of stripping away the gaudy, arrogant reminders of the Nomikos household wherever he could.

The transition had been abrupt, made worse by the fact that they had inherited a castle empty of servants after the Nomikos exile. That he had to shift off as many of the old servants as could be plausible in order to hide Cassandra’s identity further complicated matters.

That meant that things had been beyond hectic these first two weeks.

“I told you that you have to beat the rushes properly before placing them on the floor!” Theodorus heard a woman snap from the corridor ahead. “How much of a simpleton can you be to not understand even that?”

He rounded the corner to see an iron-backed older maid looming over a pair of younger servants who looked nearly identical. Both girls clutched bundles of rushes and looked close to tears, their resemblance made uncanny by the matching misery on their faces.

“Miss Dina,” Theodorus called softly.

“My Lord!” Miss Dina twisted around, genuinely startled, one hand rising to her chest. “You scared me! Do you not know how rude that is?”

The old housekeeper had served House Makris before Philemon’s takeover, and had been among the few select imports Zeno and Theodorus had called to Suyren to act as senior servants. She was competent, tireless, and apparently incapable of being cowed by hierarchy when sufficiently irritated.

Theodorus raised an eyebrow.

“T-These two were placing down rushes that looked fresh out of the barn,” Miss Dina said, pushing forward before the beet-red flush on her cheeks could deepen any further. She seemed to realize that she had spoken out of turn to her lord and chose to redirect his attention to the nearest culprits she could find. “Look at all this dirt!”

She stooped and plucked at the rushes with sharp, offended fingers, drawing out small clumps of soil caught between the reeds as though presenting evidence in a murder trial.

“Is this true?” Theodorus asked the twins, and both girls looked thoroughly alarmed by that point. “Why did you make the mistake?”

The two sisters glanced at one another, each silently urging the other to answer first. When it became clear neither would save the other, both tried to speak at once.

“My Lord, we can explain-”

“Lord Theodorus, the rushes-”

They stopped together, mortified, then bowed so low they looked as if they meant to sink straight through the floorboards and escape into the cellars. The two other young servants standing further back pressed their lips, clearly fighting a hard battle against laughter.

“Disgraceful,” Dina said, closing her eyes with an exasperated sigh and pressing two fingers against her forehead. “I cannot force these fools to learn, my Lord.”

She gestured at the small cluster of young servants saddled to her care as though they were a personal punishment God had devised for her.

Theodorus let his gaze move over them. They were all young, painfully so, with hands roughened by poverty rather than proper household work, clothes plain but newly mended. None of them had been born to service in a noble household.

But that was why he and Zeno had devised the apprenticeship system. Each group of new servants would shadow a head servant for two weeks, executing only a narrow set of tasks - cleaning floors, hauling water, laundry, kitchen errands, and so on - before being moved elsewhere, learning all the skills piecemeal to a base level.

In theory, it was efficient and allowed Theodorus and Zeno to assess their suitability for each task. In practice, it meant Miss Dina and the other head servants had been given frightened village children and told to turn them into proper servants before they ruined the floors, stained the linens, or poisoned someone by accident.

Theodorus and Zeno had agreed early that the bulk of the new household should be hired from the local populace from the castle town. There had been no shortage of applicants as most families, even those beneath Suyren, lived in what could best be described as abject poverty.

They had been specific in their criteria, though not in any conventional way. Experience could not be expected from any of the townspeople, so they had looked for signs of potential - younger adolescents who could be molded and taught with proper training.

The interviews they had conducted had been as much for the families as for the children themselves. They did not have the time or staff for a proper multi-stage process, so they had spread a rumour through the town about the types of questions that would be asked, and used the most professional of the levies still stationed in Suyren to conduct them.

If a child arrived with prepared answers and managed to recite them under the eye of stern soldiers inside the castle, away from the comfort of their parents, then that told Theodorus several things at once. It showed memory, effort, and some measure of composure under pressure. It also revealed which families had cared enough, or been clever enough, to prepare them properly. Intelligent parents did not guarantee intelligent children, certainly, but in a place where every scrap of information mattered, it was a clue worth gathering.

The questioning itself had gone beyond the children’s rehearsed answers. They asked how the family lived, who worked, who drank, and who beat whom. The dispatched soldiers looked over the homes, ostensibly to comb through the environment the child grew up in.

Unostensibly, it used the temporary manpower Zeno and Theodorus had at their disposal to conduct a rough survey of the castle town.

This way, they did not have to issue any proclamation that might have stirred resentment or panic; the information came folded inside a hiring effort everyone already wanted access to. Family conditions, household sizes, poverty levels, trades, injuries, tools, livestock, and debts were all noted down as best they could afterward, though dependent on the illiterate soldiers' memories.

Theodorus understood perfectly well that many factors shaped a child’s development. Cruelty at home could warp a clever mind, while a stable household might make even a slower child more dependable and honest. So they had tried to account for all of it as best they could.

Even so, Theodorus was well aware some bad apples would slip through. Those who showed signs of change would be given a chance to stay; those who didn’t would be dismissed once Theodorus and Zeno evaluated the reports from the senior servants.

People could be molded, especially adolescents, but only if the proper household culture was put in place.

“Miss Dina,” Theodorus said, turning back to her. “No overt chastisement or punishment for honest mistakes. Is that not what we agreed?”

He kept his tone mild, carefully shaving the barb from the words. Although he could order her, making Miss Dina defensive would accomplish nothing good. More importantly, Theodorus needed the younger servants to see that authority in Suyren did not have to arrive by shouting.

“Ah, yes, my lord, but-”

“It is their first few days,” he said, gesturing toward the trembling sisters. “Do you believe they are intentionally sabotaging you?”

The twins went even paler, which was almost impressive.

“But we cannot allow these sorts of mistakes,” Miss Dina said, her mouth fixing into a severe line. “The castle has been plagued with too many.”

She was right, and the size of the levy being housed and fed made them even more common as they were overworked. Theodorus had tried to house most of the men in the Dung Quarter, where his militia had once been quartered, with additional tents pitched around the town, but it was a poor, temporary arrangement that strained everyone.

Every other day, either the food was burnt, the rushes were rotting, or the chamber pot hadn’t been thrown out, but they had to push through it.

“And we will not lower our standards,” Theodorus assured her. “That is exactly why we brought in your vaunted expertise.”

Miss Dina’s expression softened almost comically as she preened at the compliment.

“But I want you to correct, not berate, Miss Dina,” he continued, turning his attention toward the young servants as well. “I do not want anyone here afraid of making mistakes. Mistakes are how we learn, provided they are honest ones. If you make an error, you report it. If you do not understand a task, you ask. So long as you work hard, so long as you are truthful, and so long as you try to improve, you will be given room to learn.”

The servant girls glanced at one another, then nodded shyly. They looked young enough that the castle itself must still have seemed half a monster to them.

Theodorus was aware, with some private discomfort, that his appearance and newly elevated status made most young girls painfully embarrassed around him. If that awe could be turned toward diligence and loyalty, he would use it nonetheless.

“Yes, I will keep an eye on them, my lord,” Dina said with a sigh.

“That is all I ask,” Theodorus replied, offering her a small smile.

Theodorus continued down the corridors, leaving Dina to resume instruction in what he hoped would be a less terrifying fashion.

As he walked, he contemplated the importance of medieval households to a Lord, and how poorly managed quite a few were in spite of it. He intended to do things right. And he had to say he was slightly surprised that Zeno shared many of his thoughts on the matter.

Most nobles would have opposed such a meritocratic approach, but he supposed Zeno’s background lent itself to particularly despising nepotism.

“Strategos.”

Speaking of the devil.

Zeno called to him from near the portcullis of Suyren, precisely where Theodorus had been heading. Beyond him, men and horses crowded the approach, the air filled with the creak of leather and the jangle of harnesses.

“There you are,” Zeno said.

“Hypostrategos,” Theodorus greeted in return.

The captains at the head of the waiting force saluted as he approached. Theodorus returned the gesture before turning to the man leading them.

“Is everything ready for your departure?” he asked.

“Yes, the men are eager to head out,” Nikos answered with a small smile.

The half-Tatar captain had risen from one of the men-at-arms at Probatoufrorio into a fully fledged captain now charged with taking over the very fortress where their story had begun. His expression was controlled, but there was an unmistakable brightness in his eyes as he glanced back at the men behind him. “Eager to return home.”

The levy had been raised for thirty days, near the maximum allowed for an offensive campaign, and that was no small amount of time for men to be away from their families and fields. The Prince had granted them this contingent to conquer and hold the fortress, so now they could finally return, either to their own villages, or to other postings out on the frontier - places like Probatoufrorio.

They would not return empty-handed, however.

Each man had been granted a piece of armor from the heaps looted off the various armies they had fought and defeated, provided it was not sold, remained within the family, and could be presented in good condition at future musters. A little coin had also been distributed, but not enough to matter to peasants who had marched away from their harvests and flocks. Theodorus would have preferred if the Crown had issued tax exemptions or minor privileges contingent on maintaining the equipment that would actually matter for the levies.

But that decision sat well beyond his hands. In some ways, now that the rebellion had ended, he was farther from true decision-making power than he had been during the crisis itself.

He could only guide his impoverished, barren territory as best he could.

“I will see you at the tribal assembly,” Theodorus said, saluting Nikos and granting him some face in the process. “Begin breaking ground with them regarding our northern line.”

Nikos nodded, then looked toward Stathis and Christos, who stood at Theodorus’s side. A smile passed between the three men, brief but warm.

And with that, the order to move out was given. The men formed up before the portcullis in long, ordered files, shields and spears held with a discipline that had been beaten into them by weeks of drill, exhaustion, fear, and victory. Their armor was mismatched, their boots worn, their faces still unmistakably those of peasants pulled from the soil rather than bred for war, but when the drums began and the column started forward, they moved as one body. The rhythm of their march struck the road in a steady pulse.

They were no true professional army, but in marching, at least, they gave a convincing imitation of one.

The people of Suyren gathered along the road and beneath windows to watch them go, staring in awe and fear, understanding that the Crown had not only crushed the rebellion, but also fought Genoa to a standstill using these men. The sight of them departing in good order pressed that truth into everyone watching.

“What a sight,” Zeno murmured beside him, his voice low enough that only Theodorus could hear. “One could almost not tell they are peasants.”

Theodorus watched the last ranks pass beneath the gate, their spears bobbing like a field of winter reeds, and allowed himself the faintest smile.

…

Theodorus made his way back through the castle to check on his newest pet project.

The small bureaucratic corps he meant to build in Suyren was not eye-catching, but it would grant him a weapon in the long run that might matter more than any army.

Placing Theophylact at the head of the classroom had been an inspired decision. It would allow Theodorus to examine the way administration had been done in Suyren and alter it without constantly running into Theophylact’s nervous objections.

It was also a test of the pupils themselves, a measure of whether young men raised on rank and lineage could endure being taught by a stuttering commoner and still keep their manners.

And, more importantly, it would cement the steward’s authority with the noble sons and develop him immensely.

Theodorus knew from experience how rewarding teaching could be. A person did not truly understand a subject until he had to explain it to someone else, and nothing exposed the gaps in one’s knowledge more brutally than being questioned by students. Theophylact had many faults, but he was diligent, experienced, and more capable than he believed. Theodorus needed a competent steward by his side, and he had no better one available. Besides all of this, some professorial corner of him found the whole endeavor satisfying.

He was no psychologist, but repeated exposure to speaking, decision-making, and authority in a controlled environment could only help Theophylact. A small classroom, with Theophylact as the most knowledgeable person present and with Theodorus’s backing firmly behind him, was about as friendly an arena as one could design for building confidence while challenging the steward.

Yes, Theodorus thought as he approached the door to the classroom, this had the potential of something great.

Then he peeked into the classroom and saw the students sitting alone.

“Ah, Lord Theodorus,” one of the students said, noticing him first.

The others rose quickly from their desks and bowed, the wooden legs scraping across the floor in a ragged chorus. Wax tablets lay open before them. A few boys looked relieved. Others looked embarrassed, as though they had been caught witnessing something they were not supposed to see.

“Where is Steward Theophylact?” Theodorus asked, a pit forming in his stomach.

“He left the classroom, saying that he felt indisposed,” one of the students confessed, and the boys exchanged awkward glances.

“It was some time ago, my lord,” another added. “He has not returned.”

For a moment, Theodorus simply stared. Theophylact had actually abandoned the classroom. He had known the steward was shy, painfully so, but this was something else entirely. This was a problem.

“Class is dismissed for now,” he said, his voice turning curt. “Return after lunch.”

The students bowed again, quieter this time, and began gathering their tablets with the subdued haste of boys eager to escape the scene before blame could find them.

Theodorus turned from the doorway and caught the first servant he saw, a girl crouched in a corner and struggling mightily to clean a stain from the stone.

“Do you know where the Steward is?” he snapped.

“I think I saw him going to his room, my lord,” she answered, flustered enough to nearly drop her cloth. She attempted a hasty bow, but Theodorus was already moving past her.

Theodorus reached Theophylact’s door ready to chew into Theophylact, knocking on the door harder than he had to.

No answer came at first, and Theoodrus thought he heard a faint scrape, then the muffled sound of something shifting against wood.

“Theophylact?” Theodorus called, trying to keep his voice controlled. Was the steward trying to hide from him now? This was getting to be ridiculous. “Is everything all right?”

A pause followed, too long to be ordinary.

“Y-Yes, my lord,” Theophylact answered at last, however the words were strained thin.

Theodorus’s hand stilled on the door, and the anger that had carried him here thinned, replaced by a cold thread of unease.

“Can we talk?”

Another silence came. This time Theodorus heard the breathing behind it, shallow and laboured, as if Theophylact were trying very hard not to be heard breathing at all.

“N-Now is n-not a g-good t-time, my lord,” Theophylact said. “P-Perhaps l-later.”

Theodorus went very still. Theophylact sounded like he was in pain.

“Are you indisposed?” he asked, very worried now.

“N-No, n-no, it is n-nothing. I-I merely need a m-moment.”

The voice was wrong. Not merely frightened or ashamed, but almost faintly woozy.

Theodorus decided he had had enough, Theophylact sounded like he was close to fainting or something of the sort. “Theophylact, I am coming in.”

“My lord, d-don’t-”

Theodorus opened the door, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The small room was cramped enough to be almost a cupboard, with barely enough space for a man to turn around without striking his elbow. The stale smell of candle smoke and old parchment had been swallowed by the thick metallic reek of blood.

Theophylact sat on the floor beside the bed, his back pressed against the frame. A small knife rested in one trembling hand. His other wrist was marked with crossing cuts, blood running sluggishly down into a bowl set beneath it, each drop sounding far too loud in the suffocating little room.

Theophylact looked up at him with dawning horror and tried to hide his arm, the movement slow wobbly.

“It is n-not what it l-looks like, my lord,” he said, voice pitching high with panic.

“By God, Theophylact,” Theodorus breathed, moving to him as fast as he could.

He dropped beside Theophylact, eyes searching the room for anything resembling clean cloth and finding nothing.

With a sharp motion he tore a strip from his own clothing and pressed it firmly against the bleeding wrist, forcing his hands to remain steady though his own pulse had begun to hammer.

Theophylact made a weak, miserable sound and tried to pull away.

“N-No, p-please, my lord. P-Please, d-don’t.”

“Please, Theophylact,” Theodorus pleaded, unsure of what to do, only knowing he had to do something. And quick. “Let me help.”

Theophylact’s resistance faltered as his face crumpled at the fact his Lord of all people had found him in this state. Tears slipped down his cheeks while he leaned his head back against the bed, breathing unevenly through clenched teeth.

“What happened?” Theodorus asked softly, keeping pressure on the wound.

Theophylact shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I c-couldn’t. It was t-too much. I s-stuttered so b-badly, and one o-of the boys a-asked me a q-question.” His breath hitched. “I d-didn’t know what t-to say. I-I stood there l-like a fool, l-like a s-simpleton, l-like my f-father always s-said I was.”

Theodorus said nothing, stunned as the pieces fell into place.

He had thought Theophylact timid, damaged by years of mockery, perhaps caught in some vicious loop of shame and avoidance. He had not understood how deep the wound ran within him.

“You are none of those things,” Theodorus breathed, disbelieving.

Theophylact gave a small, pained shake of the head. “Y-You d-do not have t-to be k-kind, my lord.”

“I am not being kind. Listen to me, Theophylact.” Theodorus forced Theophylact to face him, to hear him. “You believe those things about yourself, and because you believe them, you act as though they are true.”

Theophylact’s eyes shook, wet and disbelieving. “I-I am a f-failure.”

“No,” Theodorus denied, grimacing. “You are wounded, not in the body, but in the heart.” Theodorus took one hand off the wrist wound and brought it to his chest. “You only need to heal.” He pressed down again on the cut, harder this time.

“I-I am a c-coward,” Theophylact let out a bitter little sound. “I l-left them. I l-left the c-classroom.”

“Yes,” Theodorus said, because there was no use lying about that. “And we will deal with that. But leaving a classroom does not make you a simpleton or a coward.”

“I d-didn’t even know the a-answer.”

“Good,” Theodorus said.

Theophylact blinked at him, confusion breaking through the misery.

“G-Good?”

“Yes. Good.” Theodorus held his gaze. “That is what teaching does. It exposes what you know and what you do not know. And from there you improve.”

Theophylact did not look very convinced, so Theodorus changed tactics.

“Do you remember when we updated the garrison rota?” he asked

Theophylact swallowed, unsure why he would bring such an old thing up. “T-That was all y-you, my lord.”

“Nonsense. I gave the idea and interviewed the men, but you compiled everything, cross-checked the names, and corrected half the mistakes in the old rolls. Without you, it would have remained a clever thought trapped in my head and died there.”

Theophylact looked away, but some tiny part of him seemed to have heard it.

“You didn’t manage to get the forms down at first then, and this classroom will be the same now,” Theodorus continued, using the same soft speech he had used for diffident students back when he taught. “You will not know every answer on the first day. No teacher does. When you do not know, you say you will look into it, and then you do. That is not weakness. That is how learning works.”

Theophylact’s lips trembled. “I d-don’t know h-how t-to be that m-man.”

“You start small.” Theodorus answered, trying to force confidence and belief into Theophylact, who just shook his head, the motion weak but stubborn.

Theodorus thought on the situation. How could he make Theophylact see what he did?

“You saved my life, Theophylact.”

The words landed heavily in the cramped little room.

There was no ornament to them, no softness added for comfort. Only truth.

Theophylact had risked himself then, despite all his trembling, all his terror.

“You are my friend,” Pain colored Theodorus’s voice despite his efforts to master it. It hurt him to see Theophylact like this, “and you are far braver than you realize.”

Theophylact’s fingers twitched around the knife, as if only now remembering it was still there. Theodorus took it from him gently and placed it far out of reach.

“So you do not need this,” he said. “And you can teach. I know you can.”

“P-Please d-do not make me g-go b-back there, Theodorus,” Theophylact whispered, desperate.

“I will not force you,” Theodorus assured him, knowing forcing the issue would help no one. “But I want you to. Not for the classroom, and not because I need another clerk trained. I want you to return because of what it could mean for you.”

Theophylact stared at him through wet, exhausted eyes.

“You have spent half your life learning to fear your own voice,” Theodorus said. “Teaching will not cure that in a day, but it will give you a place where you can stand, stumble, recover, and try again. That is how people change. Not by waiting until they are no longer afraid, but by learning they can survive fear.”

He gripped Theophylact’s uninjured hand, lending what strength he could.

“B-But what i-if they ask q-questions I d-do not know?”

“Then you admit as much,” Theodorus said. “There is no shame in that. You do not have to have every answer ready in your head.”

“T-Truly?” Theophylact asked, sounding as though the idea itself was almost impossible.

“Yes. And you should never invent what you do not know. A teacher who lies to protect his pride does more harm than one who admits ignorance and learns.”

Theophylact still looked unconvinced, though on the brink, a single push away.

“Do it for me,” Theodorus said, voice heavy. “If you cannot yet do it for yourself.”

Theophylact’s expression crumpled. He cried with the helpless exhaustion of a man who had run out of excuses to run from his fear.

“T-Thank you, my Lord,” he whispered. “T-Thank you. I-I am w-worthless, m-making you w-worry l-like this.”

“No, Theophylact,” Theodorus said, shifting closer and drawing him carefully into an embrace, keeping pressure on the wound between them. “You are my friend. Nothing will ever change that.”

Theophylact trembled against him, then slowly, awkwardly, leaned into the embrace.

In that cramped, dark room, the stale tang of copper still coursed through open wounds.

But maybe, just maybe, a scabbed-over heart had just begun to heal.