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Firstly, he didn’t have the time. Secondly, he didn’t have the patience. And thirdly, he probably wouldn’t live very long, given his “profession.” Why bother.
Tristan took his non-sequitur in stride and answered him anyway.
“I learned as a boy. My uncle commissioned a dedicated tutor, a monk from a border village who excelled in history and literature. He was a rare find. So few learned men remained after the Romans left. Perhaps I started when I was five summers and it took me a year or more. I don’t recall now.”
Tristan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“I wasn’t the best student. I preferred to spend my time outdoors getting into mischief.”
Wolfe took away a different conclusion from Tristan’s words. The young warrior was naught but a babe when he could read!
Wolfe was so astounded by the fact that he paused in his work.
What had he been doing at that age? Begging for work in the village so he could help his Ma scrape by. Fighting older boys who bullied him. It was the way of the world when resources were scarce. Only the fittest, strongest, meanest survived.
His Ma was an exception. She was a kind-hearted woman who shared freely whatever she had. As a boy, Wolfe imagined her to be a woodland fairy or an angel come down to earth.
There was something ethereal about her. Her fragile beauty, poise and refinement didn’t belong in such a neglected village on the outskirts of Arthur’s lands. Even in drab, ill-fitting tunics, she was beautiful. Her wavy chestnut hair like a living waterfall that cascaded past her waist.
Many a village man, soldier and passerby desired and coveted her. As Wolfe grew older, he wondered how she was able to maintain her solitude. He knew well how some men simply took what they wanted by force.
But alone she remained. And safe. They both were, as if some unseen magic protected them.
She was a healer who didn’t charge coin to people who sought her advice and remedies for their ills. She received food and homely things in return for her kindness. But it was hardly enough to feed two mouths and keep the straw roof over their head.
The only times they had extra was always right after the “man” visited her. He would leave a small pouch of silver. Never gold, jewels, or gems. Once, Wolfe asked his Ma why the man gave them so little.
“Because anything more would attract thieves,” she said. “Besides, we don’t need that much. We do well together, don’t we, Wolfie?”
He wondered whether his mother had known how to read. Few women had the skill. Certainly, no village maid would ever be taught.
But…Wolfe’s mother was different.
“Do you wish to learn?”
Tristan’s question brought Wolfe back to the present.
Aye, his Ma and him did well together. They hadn’t needed much. Occasionally, he envied other boys in the village who had strapping papas who looked after the family. But he also knew boys whose fathers were mean, who beat them, drank, and swived other women.
Wolfe and his mother didn’t need anyone else. Only now, looking back, did he realize how wrong he was. How lonely she’d been.
How lonely and closed off he’d become after she left him too.
“Tell me what it says,” he finally relented, addressing Tristan’s first words.
“I’ll paraphrase, shall I?”
The boy caught on by now that Wolfe did not desire these notes, nor their sender.
“Your…summoner requests your presence at the festivities this night. She reminds you of your bargain. You will not obtain what you seek if you do not give her what she wants in return.”
“We shall see,” Wolfe muttered.
“She notes that your opponent will also be present. She advises you to attend…” Tristan frowned as he scanned the letter.
“…for Geralt the Younger’s sake.”
Wolfe abruptly finished with his horse and strode from the stables. Fully armed.
