Chapter 2

"But did Aristotle really mean to say that? What about the translation? Can we be sure we've got it right? The texts were lost for so long, how can we know they weren't changed?" William Baker said, rising to his feet in a fit of exasperation at the long dead philosopher, over whom he had been debating with his tutor, Professor Murray, for the past half an hour.

Professor Murray smiled and shook his head.

"You've come up against the great problem with philosophy, William – did any philosopher ever really mean what they said? And what was the meaning of it to them, anyway? You're right, of course. Aristotle's text was lost to the western intellect for centuries, and only preserved by Islamic scholars, but as for their meaning in translation…well, how would you translate the passage we've been studying?" he asked.

William turned to the professor and pondered for a moment.

"Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom," he said, and Professor Murray nodded.

"And do you believe it?" he asked.

William smiled and nodded. To know oneself was surely necessary before a person could be said to know anything else at all. He thought about his own life for a moment, and the things he knew about himself.

"I think so, yes. I know who I am, at least, and that means I can know about others," he replied.

"But do we really know ourselves? Are we honest with ourselves about who we are? Or do we hide from ourselves at times?" Professor Murray asked.

William smiled and shook his head.

"I don't hide from myself. I know who I am, and I'm proud of it," he said.

Professor Murray returned his smile and closed the volume of Aristotle in front of him.

"And for one so young, I'm glad to hear it. But that's enough for today, William. We've grappled with the works of Aristotle, rehearsed both our French and German conversation, and explored the entire history of the Peloponnesian war – we'll resume tomorrow. Hurry home, I'm sure your mother's waiting for you," the professor said.

William liked Professor Murray. His tutor had taught at Oxford for many years, before retiring to his native Lancashire, where he lived in a small house in the village near Burnley Abbey. The house was a veritable library, and every conceivable surface was stacked with books. Their lessons took place in an upper room overlooking the churchyard, and on sunny days, the professor and William would sit beneath the shade of a large oak tree in the garden, reciting poetry to one another, or reading philosophy.

"I will do, Professor, and thank you. I'll see you tomorrow – I'll bring you the chapter of the novel I'm working on. Perhaps we could discuss it," William said, taking up his hat and coat from the cloak stand.

Professor Murray smiled.

"I'll be delighted to read it, William. Good day to you, and give your mother my fondest regards," he said.

William hurried out of the professor's house, his mind filled with thought of Aristotle and all he had learned that day.

"Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom," he repeated to himself, imagining the ancient philosopher at work.

William was certain he knew himself, or rather, he knew a great deal about himself. He was the son of Teresa Baker, a seamstress, and the two of them lived together in a cottage in Bluebell Woods. His father had been a soldier – a brave and courageous man – who had gone to fight the French in Corsica and had never returned. William had a benefactor – the Duke of Lancaster, his godfather, and whilst William had always been curious as to why the duke should pay any attention to a commoner like him, he was glad of the duke's kindness to him over the years. It was the duke who paid Professor Murray to be William's tutor, and who gave him a small allowance to enable him to pursue his studies, when other young men of his age were forced to work as laborers or bell boys.

I owe him everything, William thought to himself, waving to several young ladies, who were congregating around the window of the village bakery, where fresh batches of cakes had been placed appetizingly on display.

"Oh, look, it's William. Good day, William," one of them called out, and William smiled.

He was treated as something of an oddity by the young ladies of the district. His mother was a seamstress, and yet William lived the life of a gentleman, albeit at the duke's expense. He was a handsome young man, dark-haired like his mother, and with amber eyes, he was told were those of his father. But William's mind was too filled with learning to be much interested in courtship and romance, and whilst the young ladies congregating outside the bakery were charming and pretty, they did little to interest him.

"Good day to you," William called out, tipping his hat, as he hurried by on the opposite side of the road.

His mother's cottage lay in Bluebell Woods, a mile or so from the village, and William crossed three stiles, skirting the edges of the wildflower meadows, and enjoying the pleasant spring weather. The sun was warm on his face, and the sky was blue and bright. Standing on the last stile, William could see Burnley Abbey in the distance, the sun reflecting on the sandstone walls, and the standard of the Duke of Lancaster fluttering in the breeze. It was a fine sight, and one William often stood to look at. He thought of the duke's son, Maximilian, for he knew he, too, was under Professor Murray's tutelage, though with less than impressive results.

Maximilian just doesn't apply himself to his studies, William thought to himself, repeating Professor Murray's words – for his tutor had often spoken of his exasperation at the efforts of the young heir.

On his part, William could not understand why Maximilian did not apply himself to his studies. He had every opportunity to do so, and a library unrivaled by any in the county at his disposal. William was allowed to use the library at Burnley Abbey, too. He often went there, though did not always see his godfather. He liked to sit amidst the shelves of books, with their comforting ancient scent, and imagine himself in possession of all they contained and all there was to know.

"Is it possible for a man to know everything there is to know?" William had once asked Professor Murray.

The professor had smiled and shook his head.

"There're those who've professed to know everything there is to know – in their time, at least. Aristotle was one such, or others spoke of him in such terms. But as for knowing everything there is to know – I don't think so. Wouldn't life be terribly boring if we really did know everything? No, William – that's the wonder of life. There's always something new to discover," he had replied.

William was now making his way along the path through the trees leading to his mother's cottage. Bluebell Woods was living up to its name, and it was the time of year when the woods were carpeted with the purple flowers of its namesake. William paused to pick a bunch for his mother, and hurried on. His stomach was rumbling, and he was eager for something to eat.

"I hope she bought some currant buns," William thought to himself, as now the cottage came in sight.

William was looking forward to telling his mother everything he had learned that day. His mind was filled with thoughts of the next chapter of his novel – the story of a man who sets out to fight the French in Corsica and falls in love with a woman on the side of the enemy. William often thought about his father, and the story was based loosely on how he thought his father might have been. He wanted to sit down and write immediately, but as he opened the door, William was surprised – and pleased – to find his godparents sitting at the tea table.

"Oh, William, I thought you were never coming back," his mother exclaimed, as the duke stepped forward to greet him.

"It's good to see you, William. How are you? I'm sorry I missed you at Burnley Abbey last week. Did you find the books you wanted?" the duke said, offering William his hand.

"Yes, thank you, sir. I'm in excellent spirits," William said, smiling at the duchess, who was sitting by the hearth.

"Good day, William. How glad we are to see you," she said, as William's mother cut him a large slice of cake, and handed him the plate of bread and butter.

"Here you are, William. Sit down and eat. You'll be hungry, I'm sure," she said, and William grinned.

"Ravenous, Mother," he replied, sitting down at the tea table to eat.

William was glad to see his godparents, they had always taken a keen interest in him, even as he remained somewhat unsure how the son of a seamstress had come to be the godchild of a duke and duchess. His mother had always been friends with them, and William's earliest memory was of playing with Maximilian on the lawn at Burnley Abbey.

"Tell me, William, what have you learned today with Professor Murray? I trust he's making you work hard," the duke said, and William nodded.

"Then the Megarians, being all half-starved, desired the Spartans to desire of us just to repeal those laws: the laws I mentioned, Occasioned by the stealing of those strumpets. And so they begged and prayed us several times; and we refused: and so they went to war," William replied, repeating the ending of a poem by Aristophanes on the origins of the Peloponnesian war, and which he and Professor Murray had studied that day.

The duke appeared impressed.

"Aristophanes?" he asked, and William nodded.

"That's right – on the origins of the Peloponnesian war. It's fascinating. I've learned so much already. We talked of Aristotle today, too – knowing thyself," William continued, and he went on to explain the debate he and Professor Murray had shared on the beginnings of wisdom.

"I must say, William, you're quite remarkable in your intellect," the duchess said, and William blushed.

He was not arrogant in his learning, nor did he boast of it. There was still so much he did not know about the world, even as he was determined to learn all he could.

"I… I just remember things, and I find it so interesting to learn from the professor," William replied.

The duke and duchess exchanged glances.

"If only Maximilian would follow your example," the duke replied, sighing and shaking his head.

"But doesn't he want to learn?" William asked.

"I think he sees little point in doing so. He knows he'll inherit my title, and it makes him lazy to the point of lethargy. He simply doesn't want to, and no amount of threats or cajoling can change his mind. I don't know…perhaps Professor Murray can inspire something in him. Anyway, it's not Maximilian we've come to talk about, it's you, William," the duke said, rolling his eyes, as though he felt an exasperation towards his son.

But there was a sense of sadness, too, and William had always wondered if his godfather felt he had failed his son in some way, and was trying to make up for the fact in his treatment of William. William was surprised... The duke had always taken a keen interest in his education, and now William wondered what he was about to say... Would his godfather now tell him the time had come for other pursuits? William knew he could not remain forever without occupation, even as he feared what such an occupation might entail. He was no gentleman, and despite his ambitions, William had always feared they would go unrealized.

"Are you displeased with me, sir? I've worked exceedingly hard. I hope I've not disappointed you," William said, glancing at anxiously at his mother.

But the duke only laughed.

"Disappointed? No, William, I couldn't ever be disappointed with you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm exceedingly proud of you, and I want you to know I've always had your best interests at heart. But you're growing up now, and you can't expect to remain forever under the tutelage of Professor Murray. I want to send you to London, William, along with a letter of recommendation and introduction. You can use it to open doors for yourself, and pursue a career worthy of a gentleman – law, perhaps. I'll pay for your lodgings, and ensure you have the best possible start with an allowance, too – to continue until you find your feet. What do you say?" the duke asked.

William's eyes grew wide with astonishment. He could hardly believe what his Godfather was offering him. This was what he had always dreamed of – a chance to pursue a career and make something of himself and use all he had learned for the furtherance of good. A smile spread over his face, and rose to his feet, holding out his hand to the duke, who took it, and smiled.

"Your Grace, I can't thank you enough. It's everything I've ever dreamed of. But is it true? Will you really send me to London?" William exclaimed.

In his mind, London was a city paved with gold, a land of opportunity, in which anything was possible. William had never left Lancashire, but he had heard so much about London and the empire from his reading and the professor's instruction.

"I will, William. I know it's what you want, and I've always sought to help you. It's the least I can do. We'll make the arrangements in the coming weeks, and then you can leave for London at your convenience. I'll speak to Professor Murray about the matter, but for now, we'll leave you and your mother to talk," the duke said, as the duchess rose to her feet.

William was still grinning from ear to ear, and he thanked them both profusely, his hands trembling with excitement. After his godparents had left, William turned to his mother in astonishment.

"Can you believe it, Mother?" he said, throwing his arms around her.

She kissed him on both cheeks and smiled.

"You deserve this happiness, William. You can truly make something of yourself," she said, and William nodded.

"But London? Can you imagine it, Mother? I…but what about you?" he said, imagining for a moment the sorrow of his mother at their parting.

William had no siblings, and his mother was a widow. He would be leaving her behind, and a sudden sense of sadness overcame him.

"I'll be quite all right, William. You'll write to me, and I'll write to you, and when you're established, I'll visit you. You must pursue your dreams, William. Your godfather's given you a wonderful opportunity. Seize it and make it your own," she replied, her eyes filled with tears of joy.

William could still not entirely believe his luck – he was the poor son of a seamstress, and now he had the chance of a very different life.

"I'll make you proud, Mother, I promise," William said, his thoughts now turned to everything he had to look forward to.