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The night was beautiful. Kesil1 and Agalah2 cast down their watchful gaze from above, their starry eyes blinking and twinkling. It had rained throughout the day, a constant pitter patter on the roofs, bringing the fresh smell of grass and earth into the air. But the clouds have since dispersed, having exhausted all their strength, and made way for the clear night sky.
Crickets sang their never-ending song. A hoot of an owl looking for its next prey could be heard. A meow of a cat calling out to her kittens. A laugh behind one of the windows, still lit by a candle.
The night was beautiful, and Samuel was dreaming of heat.
There was no fire, this time, no smoke or the smell of burnt flesh. Only the unbearable, unfeeling sun high above his head. The ground was hot to the touch. The light heated up roofs, making it hard to stay inside the houses. It reflected off the walls outside, offering no escape. The air was dancing above the heated-up surfaces, warning against any touch like a dangerous snake.
People were lying on the street, trying to cover up their faces against the light, shielding their eyes and fanning themselves with their hands. Their breathing sounded raspy. The smell of sweat was all permeating, sour and unpleasant. No one was trying to get away. No one had the strength to.
And Samuel was standing there, in the middle of it all, in the middle of all those people, all these bodies, holding a wooden bowl of water. His lips and mouth were so dry. His eyes stung and he blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of the unpleasant sensation. His head pounded, and he wanted nothing more than to take a sip.
He had known hunger and thirst before, of course. He fasted during the six fasting days, and sometimes, unfortunately, the coin was tight, and he’d rather give his portion to someone who needed it more. But he’d never felt thirst like this. It made his thoughts hazy, his limbs weigh more than a bucket of rocks, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Every instinct was screaming at him to drink it all.
But this was the only water in the whole quarter, the only water for miles around. If Samuel took a sip, there would be less for his mame and zayde, for the little children, for the almost deaf old man living a few houses down the street. He couldn’t do that. Everyone’s fate rested on his shoulders alone.
There wasn't enough water for everyone. Not by far. But how was Samuel supposed to choose? Why couldn't he dig a hole in the ground and find a spring? Why wasn't he skilled enough? Strong enough? Why didn’t he think of the coming heat?
Oh, it was his fault. If only he could make another well, if only he could have foreseen this. He should have stocked up on beer in the tavern, on water, on wine, on milk, anything. He would have made sure everyone is safely inside, in the basements and cellars under the houses, not exposed to the beating sun. He would have told everyone to stretch cloth between windows above the narrower streets, offering more shade.
But he didn’t. And now, people were thirsty, and weak, and it was his fault.
He found his mame lying a few paces away and lifted her head to give her a little sip. She did so gratefully, her breathing laboured and scratchy. Next, tried looking for his zayde. He had to wander around for a little while, before he spotted his red clothes. Giving him a drink, he looked around, how many were still left.
And only half of a bowl remained.
Who next? A man lying down pressed to the wall of a nearby house stretched a hand weakly towards Samuel, and Samuel went over give him a drink. Then, another woman, seeing Samuel, called out to him, but just as he was walking towards her, his shoe caught on a rock jutting out from the ground.
“No!” he exclaimed as he watched the bowl fly from his hands down, all the water spilling. Its’ movement seemed sluggish, almost as if time itself was mocking Samuel by slowing itself down.
He managed to regain his footing, but it was for naught. The water was gone.
He had doomed them all.
He tried looking around for some way to help, tried helping some people stand so they could take cover under some shade, but it didn’t change anything. There wasn’t any more water. There wasn’t anything he could do.
So he simply lay on the ground, next to that damned bowl, and, resigned to his fate, closed his eyes and cried without tears. The sun above continued shining, merciless.
***
Samuel woke up with a short gasp, cold sweat sticking unpleasantly to his skin. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, trying to calm himself down and slow the wild beating of his heart. He took deep breaths, but it didn’t seem to work.
He was so thirsty.
Pulling the blanket off himself and slowly sitting up in the bed, he tried to shake off the stiffness in his limbs, stretching his arms. He rested his head against the wall. It was always easier to breathe when he wasn’t lying down.
He counted down in his head, from twenty to zero, and matched his breathing to the numbers. At zero, he felt settled enough in his skin to get up without falling over and get himself something to drink and wash his face. The cool water on his skin always helped. A purification, a salvation, a necessity. One didn’t realize how much they needed it until it was gone. Still, his legs felt a little wobbly as he slowly opened the door, making sure not to make any noise as not to wake up-
There were steps down the hall, where the kitchen and main living area was. Light, like the person first stepped on the balls of their feet. Making sure not to create any sound, not to attract any unwanted attention. Those were not the sure and deliberate steps of his zayde, nor were they the slow and careful steps of his mame, making sure a floorboard won’t creak under her weight, listening whether she hadn’t woken someone up.
They weren’t even the heavy, confident steps of Henry, though Samuel doubted he would try and lockpick his way in again. Not if he didn’t want his mame to almost bash his head in with a bit of firewood, like it happened during his last, and so far only, attempt.
He came to Kolín after midnight, and not wanting to wake someone up, he simply deduced the best course of action would be to let himself in, even if he didn’t necessarily have a key. As luck would have it, his mame couldn’t sleep that night, so she was mending in the kitchen. Hearing the lock clicking, she grabbed a piece of wood and stood next to the door, and when Henry entered, she swung with all her might. Only Henry’s fast reflexes, making him cross his arms in front of his face, saved him that night. He did sport a mighty bruise on his forearm when the morning came, though.
Samuel had woken up hearing the commotion, and witnessed one of the most confusing situations in his life; his mame intermittently yelling at Henry for breaking in and apologizing for almost injuring him, wood still in her hand.
Though an intruder Henry was, he was fortunately an intruder with good intentions. Probably the only such in the whole of Bohemia. Of course only kind, reliable, thick-headed Henry would get the idea of forcing his way into a house to give someone a present.
And what a present it was. A dagger Henry made himself in a forge Capon had recently given him, because of course Capon did. It was made of quality steel, not too long and not too short, with leather strips wrapped around the pommel for better grip. He even took the pains to engrave it with an “S”.
“I know you don’t have name days,” Henry explained, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, since it was not ten minutes ago everyone was yelling at him, “and you wouldn’t have accepted if I gave it to you on a random day.”
A smile bloomed on Henry’s face, proud of himself for figuring out the mystery of how to force the dagger onto Samuel without significant protests on his part. “So! A gift for your birthday it is!”
And seeing his brother looking at him so expectantly, with those big puppy eyes, telling him: “You won’t say no to Henry? Right? You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t want to make Henry sad,” Samuel couldn’t do anything but accept. He took the dagger, testing its weight, before throwing it into the air and letting it spin once before catching it again.
Then he gave Henry a half-hug, patting him on his back. Henry reciprocated in kind, the force of his slap on Samuel’s back almost knocking the wind out of him. That man should really mind his strength.
As he took the dagger into his hand now, its weight was a comfort. He didn’t need a candle to see, since the dawn was breaking, and slowly crept along the wall, making sure to keep his steps light.
The table slowly came into view, and then the first chair, and then the second, and over its back, a black coat with matching buttons was thrown-
John’s coat.
And John’s pale hand next to it, braced on the table, as he was looking for something in his satchel.
Of course. He had given John a spare key, so he could get inside, should he come at night. For carefulness’ sake. But was it really so long that they saw each other? That he failed to recognize the beat of John’s steps? Quick and light-footed, like a doe in the foliage. Of course. Who else could it be?
All the nervous energy leaving his body, the dagger clattered onto the floor. Samuel came fully into the kitchen, holding onto the wall for support, since his body suddenly felt lighter by half. John shook a little and his head snapped up, the sound of the dagger probably giving him a fright. Seeing Samuel, he breathed an excited “Sam!” into the pale light of the not yet rising sun and strode towards him, purposefully. Samuel wrapped his arms around John’s neck, and leaned his weight into him, knowing John would hold him.
How much he needed this, on this night in particular.
He pressed his cheek into John’s hair, and John laughed quietly, his grip on Samuel’s waist tightening. He hummed at the back of his throat before drawing back and taking Samuel’s face between his palms, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, then his brow, his cheeks and finally, his nose, making Samuel chuckle.
They simply looked at each other, for a moment, twin expressions of happiness.
John broke the comfortable silence, his hands settling on Samuel’s shoulders. “I missed you.”
“And I you,” Samuel replied, then took one of John’s hands and pulled it towards his lips, kissing his knuckles. John looked towards the floor, and embarrassed flush dusting his cheeks.
Trying to dispel his fluster, he asked, “Maybe we could go to bed? I think it’s still an hour or so before you have to get up and I wouldn’t say no to some rest.” He put his hands on his lower back and stretched a little, letting out a blissful sigh when something popped. “I have to say, my back and hips are killing me a little after all that horse-riding.”
Samuel shook his head. “You can go, but I don’t think I can fall asleep again.”
John smirked at him, self-satisfied. “Oh? Do I make you so excited, my dear Sam?”
Samuel smiled at him, but it probably didn’t reach his eyes, since John’s expression turned concerned, a little crease between his eyebrows, lips a tight line. He tilted his head to the side, putting his palm on the side of Samuel’s neck and stroking lightly the skin there.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
Closing his eyes, Samuel nodded and put his hand over John’s. He then remembered how thirsty he was, now that there was no imagined thief or worse to occupy his attention. He walked past John and poured himself some water from the pitcher that was left on one of the counters, grateful he didn’t have to walk all the way to the well at this hour.
When he finished drinking his second cup, he finally felt a little more human, little more comfortable in his skin. John watched him with hands on his hips, not looking pleased. “I still think you should at least lie down. I could tell you about my travels if you want?” he suggested.
Samuel closed his eyes, debating with himself. He probably won’t fall asleep, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t want to unnecessarily wake up his mame and zayde by puttering around the house before he went to the tavern. And John would probably appreciate the rest too.
“Alright. But I’m not going to fall asleep, I think.”
John smiled at him, a little sadly, but smiled nonetheless. “That’s fine, Sam.”
And he intertwined their fingers, John’s soft skin against Samuel’s calloused, creating a nice distraction, and led Samuel towards their bedroom. John took off his shoes and pourpoint, but otherwise remained clothed. He sat up against the headboard, kicked the blanket to the foot of the bed and motioned for Samuel to lay his head down in his lap.
Samuel did so, a little sigh of contentment escaping him when John threaded his fingers through his hair and started massaging lightly at his neck. He didn’t try to reach for the blanket, knowing Samuel didn’t like being warm after a nightmare. The coolness of the room and John’s fingertips, not yet warmed up from the outside morning chill, were like balm on his soul.
“Was it the usual?” John asked after some time had passed. The fingers in his hair didn’t stop their gentle path, but they were not as frigid as before. A shame.
It was not the usual, but the lingering feeling, the shame… “Almost,” Samuel answered, turning his head so his cheek was pressed against John’s thigh. The sun might as well have been the fire, condemning them all. He hoped the day would be cloudy and he wouldn’t have to hide inside from its blinding rays.
“There was no water,” Samuel started, hesitantly, “and everyone was thirsty. Only I had a small bowl.” His eyes were stinging, and Samuel didn’t know if it was because of incoming tears or because they were dry. Maybe both, though it didn’t make sense. But so many things didn’t. He blinked it away as best as he could, but his voice still ended up sounding a bit choked up. “I spilled it on the ground.”
He swallowed, his throat still feeling a bit dry, and closed his eyes.
“Oh, Sam,” John whispered above him, and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You know it’s not your fault.”
Samuel turned again so he could look at John, and their eyes met. “I try,” Samuel admitted, “but sometimes it doesn't feel like it.”
John sighed, and splayed his fingers across Samuel’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart. His stare was far off as he looked outside the window, at the sour cherry tree. “Whether you feel like it is or isn’t doesn’t matter. It doesn’t rest on your shoulders- no questions.”
If only convincing his thoughts was that simple. “Will you tell me what you were doing before you came here?” Samuel took John’s hand from his chest and placed it again in his hair, making John laugh quietly. He didn’t want to dwell on his dream any longer, and John’s escapades were always a welcome distraction.
“Of course,” John agreed, his breath scattering the dust particles illuminated by the early morning light.
“I planned on arriving yesterday in the evening rather than early today, since I came here from Český Brod and wanted to leave it in the early morning. It usually takes some sixteen hours on horseback to get here. I was there on some family business, nothing all that interesting. You know how it is, some investments in this or that, some bribes, the usual.”
John’s voice started getting a bit louder, as it always did when he told his tales. Samuel motioned at him with his finger in front of his lips to mind his volume, and John raised his arm which was not preoccupied by Samuel’s hair, apologizing silently.
They listened for a few seconds, but it seemed nobody else woke up, so John cautiously continued.
“But just as I was about to leave, the innkeeper from the inn where I was staying suddenly caught up to me, which was no easy feat since he had to run through the whole town, and it was a bit muddy too, it was raining the whole day yesterday, and started yelling after me to wait. It must have rained here too, right? Awful weather, awful. But the weather was not actually why I came later, a bit of annoying rain wouldn’t stop me from seeing you earlier, I hope you know.”
As he listened to John ramble, the tight fist squeezing Samuel’s heart opened a bit, stopped being so cruel. He still hoped the sun would be gracious enough and stay hidden by the clouds today, but if he had to endure it with John, then that would make it manageable. He knew John would offer shade.
He hoped the gentle rain would come again, bringing calm and peace.