He'd torn himself away from the windows, and now he's quite content to wander about the bar, being nosy. Curiosity was always one of his faults -- or at least, he was supposed to think of it as a fault, but it never quite worked out that way.
Regardless, Cadfael draws to a half as he passes the young man working busily at some kind of drawing or diagram...particularly because the diagram looks vaguely nautical in nature.
Rather like a ship with too many sails, no rudder, and a hull that would not work well for water, but water is not what it is planned for. Tapping the pencil against the sketch for a moment, Wellard studies a conversion chart on another piece of paper- then blinks, and glances up to Cadfael.
Cadfael at least has the good grace to look a little embarrassed at being caught staring, but his smile hasn't diminished all that much.
'Good evening, young master,' he replies. 'Do forgive me for disturbing you...it was merely that your drawing caught my interest. Is it -- would I be right in thinking that it was some kind of sailing vessel?'
"Somewhat of a sailing vessel, yes." Wellard smiles faintly, standing.
"Though I am hardly a master of anything. Wellard, Henry Wellard, formerly of His Majesty's ship the Renown, sir." A moment for him to recall, and he adds, a bit wryly- "Um, 1802, last in the West Indies. The last has gotten to be rather proper, given this place."
'I am Cadfael, of the Abbey of St Peter and St Paul in Shrewsbury...you are from eighteen-oh-two, did you say?' He blinks a bit. 'Good heavens. Then you are quite a ways ahead of me, for I come from the year of our Lord 1140.'
It takes a moment to process the knowledge, but he recovers quickly. 'I was a sailing man once -- oh, a good many years ago. So perhaps that explains my inordinate interest in your work.'
"1140, sir?" Wellard blinks at that, before motioning to the free chair at the table in invitation. "... That is still quite amazing. I've met other people here from other times, usually much farther than my own, and then other worlds. This is the sort of place for it, I've seen."
He glances to the papers on the table, and smiles faintly. "This is something I've been working on, with a friend here. He was a sailor as well, but both of us have heard about some of the ships from later times, so we have been trying to figure them out."
The monk sits, setting his basket on his lap. 'This is indeed the place for meeting all kinds of people, from all kinds of times. And finding little things in common with them along the way.'
He peers carefully at the papers, curiosity piqued further. 'Ships from later times? Is this meant to be one such ship? It looks rather different to those of my time, though it may more closely resemble those of yours.'
"Such as being from England, sir?" Wellard smiles faintly, then sorts through a stack of papers. Finding the object of his search, he sets it down in front of Cadfael. It is a sketch of the Renown, a ship of the line in the start of the 19th century. Three masts, 36 canons, and a crew of nearly 800, if the mun recalls correctly.
"The ship I was on last." There are indeed, some comparisons, though the sketches are for something much smaller.
He looks up back to Cadfael. "... the Crusades, Mister Cadfael?"
Cadfael takes the sketch, studying it intently...and the lines of his face soften in admiration and appreciation.
'A beauty,' he says at last, setting the paper down. 'She looks as if she would serve the king well. And any man, perhaps even one who knew nothing about ships and sailing, would be proud to serve on her.'
He looks up at Wellard's question? 'Are they known in your time, Master Wellard? I did fight, a simple man-at-arms under Godfrey de Bouillon. And later on the sea, against the robbers and pirates who plagued the waters of the Mediterranean.'
"... Thank you, sir." A blink, and Wellard smiles faintly, looking to the sketch. "She is a beautiful ship, no matter what happened around her." That much, he can certainly say truefully. The ship had never been the problem. He looks back up to Cadfael, thinking.
"One of my tutors when I was young, was quite enamored of the Crusades. He spoke of them often, making the events sound heroic and valient." He looks down at the sketches, frowning faintly. "Later, I came to the conclusion that they were, in a few ways, just another war. Fighting and dying, far away from home. Nothing anymore glorious than the war we were in the middle of, despite what we were told."
Cadfael looks very thoughtful for a long moment, turning the young man's words over in his mind.
'When I took up arms and left England for the first time, I told the young lady to whom I was betrothed that I would be gone no longer than three years. Three became five, five became ten, ten became twenty. I was well into my later life before I set foot on English soil again. But I was one of the fortunate ones who did return. So many men, good and true and honest men who thought only of fighting to reclaim the Holy Land for Christendom, did not live to see the fields they had left. And there were bad and cruel and dishonourable men who went to the Holy Land, seeking glory or fame or riches under the Lord's banner -- and some returned, and some did not. God will judge our hearts in the end, no matter how we died or what we died for. It is the only certainty we have
( ... )
He nods slowly, and finally gives Cadfael a faint, humorless smile. "Certainly well intentioned and well meaning, but... I do not think he ever left England, and certainly never to fight in a war. The methods for that may have changed in all of those years, but men haven't changed. ... At least if I am allowed to dare draw that conclusion on my own."
Wellard frowns faintly, looking down at his hands. "Good or bad or dead... The reason for the wars change, is all."
'He would not be the first man, nor the last, to look to the past in search of a time of glory,' Cadfael muses. 'And I know that more than a few of my brethren do not think much of man's fallen state in my own time. But the world is not so wicked for there to be no hope for us yet. Our Lord would not have suffered and died for a world that was not worth saving.'
'Of course,' he says. 'Just because I have seen the evil of war does not mean that I have not seen the good that mankind can do. There may be a good sound apple tree in an orchard harmed by blight -- shall we not go looking for it, just in case?'
Regardless, Cadfael draws to a half as he passes the young man working busily at some kind of drawing or diagram...particularly because the diagram looks vaguely nautical in nature.
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"-Oh. Good evening?"
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'Good evening, young master,' he replies. 'Do forgive me for disturbing you...it was merely that your drawing caught my interest. Is it -- would I be right in thinking that it was some kind of sailing vessel?'
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"Though I am hardly a master of anything. Wellard, Henry Wellard, formerly of His Majesty's ship the Renown, sir." A moment for him to recall, and he adds, a bit wryly- "Um, 1802, last in the West Indies. The last has gotten to be rather proper, given this place."
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It takes a moment to process the knowledge, but he recovers quickly. 'I was a sailing man once -- oh, a good many years ago. So perhaps that explains my inordinate interest in your work.'
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He glances to the papers on the table, and smiles faintly. "This is something I've been working on, with a friend here. He was a sailor as well, but both of us have heard about some of the ships from later times, so we have been trying to figure them out."
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He peers carefully at the papers, curiosity piqued further. 'Ships from later times? Is this meant to be one such ship? It looks rather different to those of my time, though it may more closely resemble those of yours.'
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"The ship I was on last." There are indeed, some comparisons, though the sketches are for something much smaller.
He looks up back to Cadfael. "... the Crusades, Mister Cadfael?"
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'A beauty,' he says at last, setting the paper down. 'She looks as if she would serve the king well. And any man, perhaps even one who knew nothing about ships and sailing, would be proud to serve on her.'
He looks up at Wellard's question? 'Are they known in your time, Master Wellard? I did fight, a simple man-at-arms under Godfrey de Bouillon. And later on the sea, against the robbers and pirates who plagued the waters of the Mediterranean.'
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"One of my tutors when I was young, was quite enamored of the Crusades. He spoke of them often, making the events sound heroic and valient." He looks down at the sketches, frowning faintly. "Later, I came to the conclusion that they were, in a few ways, just another war. Fighting and dying, far away from home. Nothing anymore glorious than the war we were in the middle of, despite what we were told."
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'When I took up arms and left England for the first time, I told the young lady to whom I was betrothed that I would be gone no longer than three years. Three became five, five became ten, ten became twenty. I was well into my later life before I set foot on English soil again. But I was one of the fortunate ones who did return. So many men, good and true and honest men who thought only of fighting to reclaim the Holy Land for Christendom, did not live to see the fields they had left. And there were bad and cruel and dishonourable men who went to the Holy Land, seeking glory or fame or riches under the Lord's banner -- and some returned, and some did not. God will judge our hearts in the end, no matter how we died or what we died for. It is the only certainty we have ( ... )
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Wellard frowns faintly, looking down at his hands. "Good or bad or dead... The reason for the wars change, is all."
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He studies his hands for a moment, then looks up to Cadfael. "You do think that then, even with everything you've seen, all those years?"
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'Of course,' he says. 'Just because I have seen the evil of war does not mean that I have not seen the good that mankind can do. There may be a good sound apple tree in an orchard harmed by blight -- shall we not go looking for it, just in case?'
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