The Seer and the Scribe Read Online Free PDF

lentil soup and endless slices of thick horse bread, dark and heavily seeded with whole grains.
    â€œThis is so much better than rye bread,” she said between mouthfuls. “I can’t stand the taste of rye, it’s too sour.” Obviously Sophie had not had any food for days. She ate nearly half of the five-pound loaf before slowing down.
    Volmar’s thoughts drifted as he watched her eat. With a bit of washing up, Volmar mused to himself, Sophie would probably look something like Anya would have had she lived. It wasn’t often he would indulge in such memories, and he let his mind leisurely wander back into the past. Anya and Sophie would be about the same age now and, he reflected, would probably possess the same resilient temperament.
    Volmar was jarred from his thoughts as a small commotion started to erupt near the entrance. Two high-born men in navy velvet tunics, black silk tights, and high leather riding boots had stormed into the kitchen’s open-air dining area, reeking of ale. They were darker-skinned, tanned, Volmar guessed, by a stronger Middle Eastern sun. The men were dressed as gentlemen, possessing all the signs of returning Crusaders 20 .
    The young monk watched as the two men glared out across the dining hall, walking purposefully up and down the rows of tables, clearly looking for someone in particular. One by one their stares silenced the room. By the time they reached Volmar’s table, the young monk could clearly see their disappointment. One of the men, the older and more muscular one with a short wiry gray beard, reached down and plucked the slice of bread from Sophie’s hand and took a bite.
    â€œNot bad, my friend, though I think the village food and its company might be more to our liking.” Reaching down with a smirk on his rough features, the man took hold of Sophie’s chin and pulled it up, tracing her scar with his finger. “Look here, it seems someone wanted to shut this little girl’s mouth, didn’t they?”
    â€œHow dare you!” Volmar shouted angrily. He rose to his full height and glared at the man across the table. “Get your filthy hands off of her! She was eating that piece of bread!”
    The stranger locked eyes with young Volmar. His sneering eyes took in the boy’s simple black wool robe, leather pouch, and blackened fingertips. “So she was, Scribe, so she was.” He then wiped his hands clean on the hem of Sophie’s tattered cape before tracing the slight curve of the girl’s neck with his finger, adding hoarsely, “A few years older and rest assured, I would have taken more than just her bread. Think on that, my dear brother, and burn.”
    The other man coughed loudly, clearly embarrassed by his friend’s show of coarse humor.
    Volmar planted his hands firmly on the table, icily glaring across at the stranger with righteous indignation. “How dare you speak to a child in such a manner!”
    The older man gave out a snort of laughter, taking little notice of Volmar’s outrage. In mocked complicity, he reached for Sophie’s fist, pried it open and put the half-eaten bread back. “See? There. Forgive my rude behavior, my lady, I’ve been duly chastened by God’s holy scribbler.” The stranger then gave a comical bow and straightened up, laughing harshly and bitterly as he did so. As his wild voice rang out over the dining area, the two men made their way back to the entrance and left.
    Volmar hung his head. The stranger’s laugh had a ring of familiarity, stirring a deep-seated emotion of fear and helplessness that Volmar couldn’t put reason to. Outwardly, he fumed over the man’s arrogance towards Sophie and murmured a curse under his breath. Volmar hoped God would understand why it wasn’t a prayer.
    Sophie rose and walked silently over to him. “I don’t mind, Volmar. He gave it back and only took a small bite from it. See . .