The longship had ridden in fast on thewind.Hefting his sword, Cai took deep breaths of salt air.Bycloudy, scudding moonlight, he saw Benedict at the top of the path,the narrow gully through which the invaders must come.Ben had kepthis longstaff in preference to a sword, and was crouched like anavenging troll in readiness, Wilfrid opposite to him.For Ben’ssake, Cai had tried to assign Oslaf a safer place away from thefront line, but Oslaf, bewildered by Ben’s new coldness, hadrefused to let him far out of his sight, and was stationed on theclifftop.He looked up at Cai’s approach.“I can’t see them yet,Caius.”
“Don’t worry.They’ll behere.”
“Perhaps they sailed byafter all.”
“No.I saw from theinfirmary—the longship is drawn up right under the cliffs.Be atthe ready.”
Oslaf nodded staunchly, and Cai feltsudden pity for him.“Listen.Aelfric’s given Benedict one of hishellfire-and-damnation talks.”
“About… Aboutme?”
“That’s right.Ben’s tryingto look after you by backing off, that’s all.So be a good lad andplay the game.You understand?”
Oslaf looked up at him, anger andrelief in his eyes.“Thank you.Oh, I wish Theo was stillhere.”
“So do I, believe me.So doI.”
There wasn’t time for more.The airbeyond the cliff’s edge glowed bronze and resounded with shouts.Confused movement filled the gully, and Ben leapt off the rockwhere he’d been perched, straight into the path of the oncomingraiders.
“No!”Cai yelled.He’d toldBen to wait, wait till he’d picked out the leader and could drop onhim from behind, get that stick across his throat.By red Vikingtorchlight he saw Ben tackle the first huge pirate head-on, as ifall he wanted was to kill someone or die trying.Oslaf, instead ofholding position to defend the main buildings with Cai, dashedstraight into the fray, howling his lover’s name like abattle-cry—and Cai, before he could think or reflect, found himselftearing off in Oslaf’s wake.
Cai’s strategy went to the devil.Heshould have known.He could wield a sword, more or less, and showothers how to do it, but he had no more idea than his father of howto coordinate men.He’d been their doctor, their friend, not theirleader.He crashed to a halt face-to-face with a young man whosesurpassing beauty was visible even behind the nose guard of hisiron helmet.The noble face registered—what—surprise?A strangerecognition?Red-bronze hair streamed in the wind.Golden wolf’seyes flickered wide.The moment passed.A lean arm arced up, swordblade flashing, and he and Cai were nothing but beast meetingbeast, both rigid with the will to stay alive.The Viking failed tolift his shield.Cai drove forwards into the gap, the burnishedflesh for an instant revealed between a leather jerkin and a belt.His sword tip sank deep.He hauled back, ready for his nextman—God, another beauty, so like the first they had to be brothers.This time his arm was knocked aside by a vast, roaring mountain ofmuscle and hide, the leader, who’d emerged from his tussle with Benin a bloodstained fury.
A pitched fight broke out on thecliffs.Men who’d been ordered to stand guard at the infirmary,storehouses and crypt came racing down, yelling like theblue-painted savages Broc’s Roman ancestors had driven from thehills, and joined hand-to-hand in the fray.They were beyond Cai’scontrol, wild with anguished recall of the last raid—of how it hadfelt to be sheep in the path of these wolves.Most had never lifteda weapon in anger in their lives.They hacked and jabbedindiscriminately, their training thrown to the winds.Cai yelledout orders unheard.The Vikings would slaughter them wholesale,surely.He was too occupied with his own battle to look, to try tosave them.
His sword descended through air.Thrown off balance, he staggered.His man—a snarling weasel who’dbeen doing his best to disembowel him with an axe—was gone.Allalong the clifftop was unfolding a sight he could never havedreamed of.He sat down hard on the turf, hand going slack roundthe hilt of his sword.The Vikings were running away.
He leaned back, laughter shakinghim.They wouldn’t have expected resistance at all, let alone asuicide-dash by madmen.No strategy Cai could have planned for themwould have worked so well.He didn’t understand the cry going upamong the last of the raiders rushing back down the cliff path, buthe could guess.Retreat!Retreat!
A warm weight hit his shoulder, and healmost turned and ran Brother Oslaf through on raw-nerved reflex.Oslaf skidded to his knees, throwing his arms around Cai.“We didit!They’re going!”
“All right.No need tostrangle me.”
“I killed one myself.Ilifted my shield, and I lowered it, and…” Oslaf demonstrated, Caiwriggling out of the way.Then Oslaf’s eyes went wide and dark.“I…Oh, God.I slew a man.”
Cai took the boy’s sword from him.Hetucked it back into its sheath.“You helped save yourbrothers.”
Oslaf nodded.But Cai knew forsome men that answer could never be enough.It wouldn’t havesatisfied Leof.Cai dismissed the thought.For himself, he lookedat the fallen shapes on the turf with unmixed satisfaction.None ofthem wore a cassock.Not only had they repelled this raid, butthevikingrwould think better of it next time.Oslaf would have towork out his own salvation.He was trying now, his gentle facefrowning and lost beneath its bloodstains.
Cai put a hand on his shoulder.“Youdid well.”
But Oslaf wasn’t listening.A bigshape was emerging from the smoke, chilling Cai’s marrow until itresolved itself into Benedict’s familiar form.Cai hadn’t seen himsince the beginning of the fight.He hadn’t yet had time to fearthe worst, but he grinned in relief and waved.
Oslaf’s joy burst like a leapingsalmon.He shot away from Cai and ran full pelt for Ben, who openedhis arms wide to catch him.Cai looked away.So much for playingthe game…
And that reminded him.He got to hisfeet and made his way through the crowd of his laughing, shoutingbrethren, dodging their embraces and slaps to his back.Once out onthe open hillside he began to run.The church was deserted andterribly quiet, though the new construction work was still inplace, the door to the crypt intact.Cai raised his hand to knock,then saw candlelight all the way around its edges.That meant thebolts were undone, the wooden bar out of its catch.
He let himself in.Aelfric waskneeling in the candlelight, at the centre of a tight-packed circleof monks.All were on their knees, their faces in their hands.Cai’s entrance, the creak of the great door, did not interrupt thelow, thrumming chant of Latin prayer, although from the outerperiphery—Fara monks, Cai noted angrily, not the Canterburyclerics—a few terrified moans broke loose.
“Aelfric,” he demanded,letting his sword drop with a clatter onto the cover of a tomb.“What is happening here?”
Aelfric snapped upright.Thebrethren jerked their heads up, smiles cracking their pale masks asthey saw Cai.Aelfric spread his arms.“Deo gratias,” he cried.His hair was standing uplike spines around the edge of his tonsure.A light of keen, puremadness filled his eyes.“Praise be to God, we are saved.Did I notsay it would be so?Saved, by the power of our prayers.”
By the edge of my sword,Cai thought, butdidn’t say it.There was no point now.Aelfric was lost amidstdemons and angels.He turned to the first sane face he saw—Martin,the ancient monk who made up the mead and heather ale.“The Vikingsare gone.You can come out now.Why didn’t you lock the damndoor?”
“He told us not to.He toldus to put our faith in God and pray.”Martin lowered his voice.“I’d rather have been out splitting Viking skulls with you, Cai.Did you get a lot of them?”
Cai found a smile for the old man’sinnocent bloodlust.“A nice lot.I’m glad you were here.We can’tspare our brewer.”He raised his voice.“Come on, all of you.It’ssafe.And we need help clearing up.”
