“Well, I’m alive.His hairlooks the most living thing about him now.”
It was true.The tangled curls seemedto have a vigorous existence of their own, glowing rich russet inthe delicate early light filling the cell.“All right.It might beworth a try.I’ll go and find some shears.Will you stay with himtill I get back?”
Cai made his way quickly down to thebarn where Brother Petros had kept his shears and shepherd’scrooks.He tried not to look about him.The barn was silent now,cobwebs already drifting from its timbers.The Fara flocks were outat emergency pasture under the care of any brother who could bespared to tend them.Aristocratic Petros, so disgusted at first atthe task allotted him, had developed a fierce pride in hisshepherding skills.His shears were hanging where he’d left them,gleaming and sharp.He’d branched out into barbering too, standinggrimly smiling in the courtyard as his brethren had filed up fortheir monthly haircut.A sense of unreality washed through Caistill when he thought of that night, the first raid, the holes ithad torn in the world.He took the shears and hurried back out ofthe barn.
The infirmary was quiet when he gotback.Too quiet—nobody propped on an elbow to gossip with hisneighbour in the next bunk, none of the usual demands for hisattention.The door to the quarantine cell was shut.Oslaf was inthe main ward, eyes downcast, washing bottles with ferociousconcentration.
Cai didn’t bother to question him.Heswept through the ward.Thrusting the door wide, he saw just whathe had expected—Abbot Aelfric, crouching over the Viking’s bunk,beaklike face avid.Cai drew breath to yell and lost it as a gripclosed on him from behind.“Ben,” he gasped, trying to twist round.“What is he doing?Let me go.”
Benedict shook his head.“Be silent.The abbot must talk to his prisoner.”
“His… Ben, for God’ssake.”
“He isn’t harming him.Bestill.”
Cai twisted like a wildcat, but therewas no shifting Benedict’s grasp once it had closed.Involuntarilyhe began to listen to the abbot’s voice.It was low, almosttender—a litany of soft-voiced Latin.“What do you want?What doyou want, boy?”
He was using therespectfulvultis, notvis.And the Viking was awake again, his eyes wide and lucid.Aelfric’shands were on him.Their movement was caressing.For a moment Caiwondered if he’d been wrong about the carrion bird from the south.Was Aelfric offering help to the injured man—soothing him with thattouch?
“Quid vultis,puer?”
Cai shook himself.Aelfric had beenhalf out of his wits before the raid, and now—now he was quiteinsane.He had brought his madness here into Cai’s domain, for Godalone knew what vile purpose.His grasp on the Viking wasn’tkindly.He was putting pressure on his wounds.And the boy waslying silent in his effort not to weep.
Cai had a pair of freshly sharpenedshears in his hand.He tossed them aside before he could use them.Fists were better than blades, and an elbow to Benedict’s gut bestof all.Ben doubled up with a grunt, and Cai sprang forwards,seizing Aelfric by the hood.“Let him be, you savage bloodybuzzard.Leave him alone!”
Aelfric snapped upright.He wasthin but powerful and his backhanded slap made Cai’s nose sting.“How dare you?”he snarled.“Brother Benedict, restrain him.I willhave the secret of Fara from this demon if I have to tear it outalong with his teeth.”He rounded on the Viking again.“What do youwant?What are you and your legion of infidels raiding for?Quidvultis?”
Not the polite form.The plural.Caibroke into bitter laughter.“You fool, Aelfric.There is no secret.That was poor Theo’s dying dream.Who told you aboutit?”
Benedict hung his head.“I won’t haveanything more to do with this,” he muttered.“Not for either ofyou.I can’t.”He turned away.Aelfric shrieked his name, but heignored it, blundering out through the ward.
The outer door banged shut behind him.Once more Cai hauled Aelfric away from the Viking’s bunk.Aelfricstruggled, and Cai, sickened, drew back a fist and knocked hisabbot down with a punch straight out of Broc’s muddybarnyard.
Aelfric sprawled on the flagstones.His mouth opened and closed like that of a fresh-landed cod.Beforeany sound could come out of it, Cai interrupted, so low and softthat Aelfric blanched still further.“Leave my friends alone,scarecrow.My enemies too, for that matter.If there’s any tortureto be done around here…” He paused, glancing at the helpless manstrapped to the bunk.“I’ll do it myself.For a start, I knowbetter than to interrogate a prisoner in a language he doesn’tunderstand.Now get out of my ward.”
Aelfric almost choked.“Yours?”Hestaggered to his feet.“This place—the whole of Fara—is mine now,by God’s decree.I can have you banished with a word.”
“Say it, then.”Cai brusheddust off his cassock.He didn’t care anymore about this monster, orthe one on the bed.He was tired and lonely, and wanted only to beback in Leof’s arms among the sun-warmed grasses of the dunes.“Sayyour word, and defend Fara yourself next time the raiders come.Otherwise leave me alone.”
A silence fell in the little room.Caididn’t look, but he heard the retreating slither of the abbot’srobes on the flags.Aelfric didn’t slam the outer door as Ben haddone.He left it contemptuously wide, as if to let all the winds ofheaven come and chill the sick men behind him.
Cai went and closed it.He glancedaround the ward to check that no one had taken harm from thedraught or needed his immediate help.He waited briefly, meetingeach pair of wide eyes in turn, to see if anyone had anything tosay for himself on the subject of wolves in the fold.Then hereturned to the quarantine cell.
The Viking was sobbing.He would havedone anything to prevent it, Cai saw—had already bitten his lipraw.His eyes were tight shut, his face a bone-white mask.Hischest jerked in helpless spasms.Tears had carved tracks across hischeekbones, pale in the blood and dirt.
He was trying to curl up around hisinjury.Quickly Cai unfastened the straps round his left wrist andankle to allow it.The Viking struggled onto his side.He turnedhis face to the bare timbers of the bunk, his heavy sheaf of hairfalling to shield him.Rough, unstoppable sounds came from beneathit.
Cai’s throat ached as if he’d suddenlyswallowed scalding water, and he knelt by the bunk.“I’m sorry,” hesaid, his own voice hoarse and strange to him.“I know you don’tunderstand me.I’m sorry.Let me see to your wound.”
“I dounderstand.”
Cai jerked back.He sat on his heels,wondering if the clear Latin declaration had come from somewhereelse.“What?”
The Viking shoved his hair back with ashaking hand.“I do understand,” he repeated, gazing bleaklystraight into Cai’s face.“I speak Latin.I was taught it by aslave monk in my lord Sigurd’s kingdom—the only thing you punyChristians are good for.”
Cai swallowed hard.It was as if awild beast he’d encountered in the forest had suddenly addressedhim and opened a discourse.“Why… Why didn’t you tellAelfric?”
“The scarecrow?”The Vikingmanaged a half-choked laugh.“I speak only to men.Because you haveaided me, I will speak to you.When I have strength to kill you, Iwill do that, but until then, listen to my advice, monk—a favourfor a favour.Give up the treasure of Fara Sancta.Sigurd and theother Dane Land warlords will keep on raiding till youdo.”
