Claudius’s family, the Calherns, already have a reputation as the more generous of the noble families in Rubifeld, but Claudius wants an even stronger legacy. He finds his opportunity begging in one of the properties the Calherns own: Simon, a young disabled artist. Claudius is immediately taken with the talent Simon displays drawing on simple scraps of paper, ad so he offers Simon a position at the Calhern estate as their live-in artist, which not only gets the poor lad off the street but also provides a glowing example of the household’s support for arts and culture.
As Claudius learns more about Simon, his affection for the artist grows. He doesn’t simply want Simon around to boost his family’s reputation anymore; he wants to see Simon happy and taken care of, whether that involves treating him to a day of shopping or simply providing him with ample paint and pencils and sketchbooks. Then one day Claudius finds something unexpected drawn in one of Simon’s sketchbooks, and he fears it could put Simon’s new position in jeopardy. Does he dare question Simon about the drawings, or will he forget it all for the sake of keeping Simon around?
A tedious time later, Simon sat back in his chair. He smiled at the canvas. “It’s a good start,” he said either to Claudius or to himself, Claudius wasn’t certain.
“May I see?” Claudius asked.
Simon answered by turning the easel around. Claudius was stunned. Even with the simple linework, it was a magnificent likeness. Simon had captured the jovial roundness in Claudius’s cheeks, the strong angle of his nose, and -- bless the lad -- he had sketched a bit more hair above his forehead where it was starting to thin. He had even done a bit of shading around the neckline and the folds of Claudius’s coat. Simon looked from Claudius to the canvas and back. “Is this alright? We could do another pose, if you prefer. Or I could try again.”
Claudius raises his eyebrows incredulously. “‘Try again?’ What is there to try again when you’ve already achieved perfection? I wouldn’t mind hanging this as is!” That was untrue. Claudius wanted a painting, not a pencil sketch, regardless of how good the sketch was. He did want to encourage Simon though, and it was worth it to watch Simon’s face light up with joy.
“You’re too kind, your lordship,” Simon said. “I will add color to it though. I’ve just always started with the sketch.”
With Simon’s focus away from his work, Claudius saw an opportunity to slake some of his previous curiosity. “Were you self-taught or did you study under a master who taught you to do it that way?” he asked.
Simon shrugged. He spoke more fluidly this time, rather than with clipped dismissal. “I started on my own. I was born with the lame leg, you see, so I couldn’t always help with the goats -- my family raises goats, by the way -- aside from milking them or brushing them or things that involved sitting down. When they didn’t need me for that, I would take charcoal from the fire and use it to draw pictures for my family. We didn’t have much in the way of paper, so I would draw on flat stones or tree bark or even the walls of our house. Eventually my father found me a teacher who could at least show me how to draw with proper materials.”
“And, if you don’t mind my asking, how -- how did you end up uhm, begging?”
“Same way any lame man does: I couldn’t find work. Couldn’t be a soldier like my father wanted, couldn’t contribute much around the house, and the artist I trained under already had a few other pupils from more wealthy families who paid him to give their children more attention than he gave me. So I set out to seek my fortune and ... never found it.”
Claudius beamed. “But you have! Here you are! Yes, it took you a while to get here and I am certain your journey has been harsh at times, but seems it was all worth it, hm?”
Simon gripped one wheel of his chair and rubbed it with his thumb. “Seems that way, I suppose,” he said, smiling faintly to himself.
