Post by Martin lePower on Sept 22, 2010 21:39:33 GMT -6
Letters from England
First day of Autumn 1333
Peviously, after the indcident at Canabury, Martin the architect and his wife Aurilla settled into their normal work routines, with her serving as both his assistant and a second pair of hands to get all the intital plans drawn up. From their office pages went out to the other hired architects, stone masters and their construction organizations. His mind touched every building yet his hands rarely were occupied with more than a pen.
"Today I want to get out the royal residences, the one along the Thames intrigues me. It must have a gate to the water, for shipping and.." Here he gave Aurilla one of his sly impish old man smiles, "for sneaking in and out without being seen. Secure but not totally closed, if you are a castle resident."
"Sneaking out? Mart! Would a royal do such, think you?" His much younger wife snickered at the very idea. "Here you are, page for the next item." She removed the drawing for the water gate base and upbuilding and placed it upon the table next, for the ink to dry completely before rolling it into a scroll for Jenks to take out to Compton. Sir Albert Compton was one of Martin's trainees, back at Castle Carafernon and a like spirit in their way of viewing a building from the ground it would rise from.
"A man...or a woman is human, no matter what rank, eh?" He reached out with his long arm, hand from the edge of his dark blue merchant's robe so white and clean, age spots spatttered his blue veined skin but the way he drew was ageless, young and mind inspite of the years his body had been alive. "What ehe heck is this?" He held up a sheet of parchement one eighth the size of all the other drawing scroll. "What am I supposed to design on this scrap? A water closet? Tis not enough paper to wipe me bum!" He slapped the page onto his desk, irked and impatient for an explanation. "Aurilla!"
"Oh I meant that for your next inking, dear." Rilla kept a few steps back as she had been swatted for such unexpected service in the past, like a young fostered workman. "Tis for your letter. You know how long it has been since your wrote your daugher?" Their daughter Aegaine had been expected to leave home and husband and rush to Martin's side when he decided she needed a few years of extra instruction on the job sites of his marvelous English Architure Style Renovation. She had not arrived, with her child to come taking presidence at the moment.
"Did I say I would write her?" The room was silent, so still that one might hear the coals crackle in the hearth across the room. "I meant to write, I did, but I am so busy; my work is all.." his voice trailed off to nothing.
"Write her and I will massage your shoulders as you take pen to page." His wife was not above a bribe, one she knew Martin was likely to enjoy.
"Well, if you put it like that, I best get started. I am sending Jenks off to Turas Lan for some time away, maybe a hunt or a joust with old friends. He can take this with the other post."
Martin le Power began to write and sent this letter to his only daughter;
Dear Aegraine, Autumn, 1333
I wish you were here. We are in the midst of a thing that will transcend the ages. Imagine the columns of ancient days, domes of magestic proportions and stately Roman styled walls blending, cut from English stone. We cart coal from Wales to burn the limestone, for the best mortar there be, But I jump ahead. Pardon the blot. Your Mother is making a pest of herself, as you know she often does. I have been into the digs of foundations, into the river clay and where they need to sink pilings in. I wish you could see this first hand, where it all is begining. It is a community of diverse workers come together in harmony, like the community of Stone Masons is universal. We employ as many locals as we can to spread good will and the feeling that this new style is theirs, from inside the ground up. I need you to help, to work with us as it was in the old days. But the old days are that, eh? Done and over. You have gone another direction and I am proud of you, no matter what you choose in life. Raising a child can be a full time occupation, of course. Do not forget to recite your building plans and teach your young ones, if they have interest, all about constructions. Mind that they will likely show talent of some kind. Tis a parent's task to see they are educated in a manner to be a credit to the family name. We all make our marks in one way or other in this world. Mine is cut in stone.
Your devoted loving Father
The letter was folded up when sand dried and tied into a packet of English Lavendar, then sent off to Aegraine in Skye, in the hand of Rhupert Jenks.
"I should have told Jenks to give our daughter a kiss from me." Martin chuckled as he took up another plan sheet up to start a new design presentation. "Just to see if Dmitrii punches the 'messenger' in the nose." At that they both laughed merrily and the work day went swiftly and smoothly.
First day of Autumn 1333
Peviously, after the indcident at Canabury, Martin the architect and his wife Aurilla settled into their normal work routines, with her serving as both his assistant and a second pair of hands to get all the intital plans drawn up. From their office pages went out to the other hired architects, stone masters and their construction organizations. His mind touched every building yet his hands rarely were occupied with more than a pen.
"Today I want to get out the royal residences, the one along the Thames intrigues me. It must have a gate to the water, for shipping and.." Here he gave Aurilla one of his sly impish old man smiles, "for sneaking in and out without being seen. Secure but not totally closed, if you are a castle resident."
"Sneaking out? Mart! Would a royal do such, think you?" His much younger wife snickered at the very idea. "Here you are, page for the next item." She removed the drawing for the water gate base and upbuilding and placed it upon the table next, for the ink to dry completely before rolling it into a scroll for Jenks to take out to Compton. Sir Albert Compton was one of Martin's trainees, back at Castle Carafernon and a like spirit in their way of viewing a building from the ground it would rise from.
"A man...or a woman is human, no matter what rank, eh?" He reached out with his long arm, hand from the edge of his dark blue merchant's robe so white and clean, age spots spatttered his blue veined skin but the way he drew was ageless, young and mind inspite of the years his body had been alive. "What ehe heck is this?" He held up a sheet of parchement one eighth the size of all the other drawing scroll. "What am I supposed to design on this scrap? A water closet? Tis not enough paper to wipe me bum!" He slapped the page onto his desk, irked and impatient for an explanation. "Aurilla!"
"Oh I meant that for your next inking, dear." Rilla kept a few steps back as she had been swatted for such unexpected service in the past, like a young fostered workman. "Tis for your letter. You know how long it has been since your wrote your daugher?" Their daughter Aegaine had been expected to leave home and husband and rush to Martin's side when he decided she needed a few years of extra instruction on the job sites of his marvelous English Architure Style Renovation. She had not arrived, with her child to come taking presidence at the moment.
"Did I say I would write her?" The room was silent, so still that one might hear the coals crackle in the hearth across the room. "I meant to write, I did, but I am so busy; my work is all.." his voice trailed off to nothing.
"Write her and I will massage your shoulders as you take pen to page." His wife was not above a bribe, one she knew Martin was likely to enjoy.
"Well, if you put it like that, I best get started. I am sending Jenks off to Turas Lan for some time away, maybe a hunt or a joust with old friends. He can take this with the other post."
Martin le Power began to write and sent this letter to his only daughter;
Dear Aegraine, Autumn, 1333
I wish you were here. We are in the midst of a thing that will transcend the ages. Imagine the columns of ancient days, domes of magestic proportions and stately Roman styled walls blending, cut from English stone. We cart coal from Wales to burn the limestone, for the best mortar there be, But I jump ahead. Pardon the blot. Your Mother is making a pest of herself, as you know she often does. I have been into the digs of foundations, into the river clay and where they need to sink pilings in. I wish you could see this first hand, where it all is begining. It is a community of diverse workers come together in harmony, like the community of Stone Masons is universal. We employ as many locals as we can to spread good will and the feeling that this new style is theirs, from inside the ground up. I need you to help, to work with us as it was in the old days. But the old days are that, eh? Done and over. You have gone another direction and I am proud of you, no matter what you choose in life. Raising a child can be a full time occupation, of course. Do not forget to recite your building plans and teach your young ones, if they have interest, all about constructions. Mind that they will likely show talent of some kind. Tis a parent's task to see they are educated in a manner to be a credit to the family name. We all make our marks in one way or other in this world. Mine is cut in stone.
Your devoted loving Father
The letter was folded up when sand dried and tied into a packet of English Lavendar, then sent off to Aegraine in Skye, in the hand of Rhupert Jenks.
"I should have told Jenks to give our daughter a kiss from me." Martin chuckled as he took up another plan sheet up to start a new design presentation. "Just to see if Dmitrii punches the 'messenger' in the nose." At that they both laughed merrily and the work day went swiftly and smoothly.