The evening light was sweet.Now thatJune was here, the scurvy grass was in full flower, masses of itcarpeting the rocks and turf along the shoreline.Scattered seathrift broke its fragrant snowdrifts with taller pink blossoms thatdanced in the wind.The combined scents, blowing in on a warmsunset breeze, washed over Cai where he sat on a bench outside thearmoury.Cai set down the axe he had been polishing and leanedback.
He could pretend, here in the lastlight, that all was well.The armoury was just a barn.Itssandstone blocks had soaked up a day’s worth of heat, radiating outnow against Cai’s spine.The tide was low, the spur of sand thatled to the islets exposed.There, beyond the bright greenmermaid’s-hair kelp and the stones that sometimes yielded tiny,intriguing beads Theo had called sea-lily stems, the first monks ofFara had made their homes.Traces were still to be seen of theircells, not rooms in a dormitory hall but individual huts made outof stone, each one shaped like a beehive.Cai had thought his ownlife at the monastery tough, after the relative riches of hisfather’s court, but these first comers—holy men from Hibernia andthe far west of Scotia—must have existed on little more thanseaweed and blind faith.
No, perhaps not blind.There was apeace and sense of purpose on this shore.The Hibernian saints hadcome here of their own free will, without an abbot or a settledChurch to guide them, and here they had lived out their lives,listening to God’s word on the wind and the water.A hermit’s caveremained there still, marked by a poignant, plain wooden cross.Theo, too lively and sociable a creature to withstand a hermit’slife, had spoken with a kind of longing admiration of these meneven while he prepared his brethren’s next lesson in astronomy orphysics.
Music joined the flower scents andskeined itself through them on the breeze.Cai closed his eyes.Inthis world where all was well, his brothers were singing.Thechurch walls were finished, new timbers arching over the space theyenclosed.The work of thatching would take longer, so the voicesrose unfettered, a rich chant for vespers.Laban, Aelfric’sgrim-faced deputy, concealed a pure tenor inside his scrawny chestand an unexpected gift for teaching the ragbag voices of Fara tojoin in harmoniously with it.The labours of the fields weredisrupted, brethren running everywhere in their attempts to keep upwith the new routine of Hours, but in spring it could almost bedone, and Cai had to admit the music was lovely.Leof would havedelighted in it.
He allowed himself to drift, imagininghe could pick out Leof’s clear note from the mingled voices.He hadbeen up since dawn.The infirmary was clear of all but the mostserious cases from the battle a fortnight before, but John requiredconstant attendance, and the Viking, after his wild declarations ofprincedom and intended murder, had lapsed into a strange,half-waking passivity, watching Cai’s movements about thequarantine cell with dull, hooded eyes, accepting from himspoonfuls of broth before turning his head aside.He hadn’t spokenagain, in Latin or his own language.Cai was beginning to thinkhe’d dreamed their exchange after that night of fever andblood.
He tipped his head back against thestone.As well as doctoring, he’d put in his duty shift asshepherd, helped with the silage crop and carried out his dailydrill with the warrior brethren of Fara.At least this last wasgetting easier.Now that they’d won a fight, his unlikely soldierstrained with confidence as well as hope.They slashed and parriedin the ruined hall, and sang like angels for Laban.Wondering atthe strangeness of the world, Cai let go, weary nature having herway with him.
He awoke in darkness.No one hadcome looking for him, but no one would, not now.A figure coalescedout of the gloom—Demetrios, collecting the fresh leaves of thescurvy grass by light of the thin new moon, a trick Danan hadtaught for capturing their freshness.Cai drew breath to greet him,then changed his mind.Demetrios was pretending with greatsincerity not to have seen him.The Greek had been devoted to Theo.So had Benedict and Oslaf.There wasn’t a soul within the whole ofFara’s bounds who didn’t have cause to detest thevikingr—and equal reason to mistrust the man who had brought oneinto their midst, healed him and harboured him there.They tooktheir fighting orders from Cai, did as he bade them on the trainingground, and left him afterwards without a word.
Cai didn’t blame them.Sometimes hethought back to the night of Theo’s feast, the lights and thechatter and the smallpipe music, and a slow ache of lonelinesswould drag through him.Everything had changed since then.He livedin a world of hard work and readiness to fight, not companionshipand learning.Even Aelfric was leaving him alone, just as he’dasked, not harrying him over his haircut or his failure to turn upnine times a day for prayers.
He watched Demetrios fade into thedusk, his basket of herbs balanced on one hip.It was time he wentback in too.Oslaf took shifts in the ward, but he wouldn’t feed ortend Fenrir.Cai had no idea why he did it himself.
Something clattered in the barn.Caibolted off the bench and stood rigid, staring into the darknessbeyond the open door.He’d thought nothing could scare him aftertwo Viking raids, but like most of his brethren he jumped like acat at sudden noises.Probably a sword had come down off itsmakeshift rack.Gathering his robes so he could move in silence, heeased into the barn.
There was just enough light, once hiseyes had adjusted.Quickly he worked his way along the racks andshelves, checking that everything was in place.He kept the armouryas orderly as his ward cabinets now, restlessly tidying andcleaning after each drill.He needed to know he could run here andlay hands on any weapon he chose, dole them out in proper order tohis fighting men.Nothing was on the floor.Hands outstretched, Caimade a fingertip count of dagger hafts, shields,longstaffs…
And came up one short on the swords.He froze, listening intently.The barn had ventilation windows onits landward side, high up in the wall but large enough to let aman climb through.A tall, determined one, anyway.Blindly Caicounted his broadsword handles again.Broc’s were all there, roundand crude from the hillfort’s smithy.So were the better ones themonks had stripped from the bodies of the Vikings they’d killed.The only one missing had a wolf’s-head bronze casting on itshilt.
Cai ran.He didn’t try to follow theintruder through the windows.A dash down the overgrown track thatedged the barn was quicker, if you didn’t mind nettle stings andscratches from the brambles.Lamps were still burning in therefectory.By their golden light, Cai made out a trail of crushedvegetation leading straight up to the main hall’s southerndoor.
The refectory was echoingly empty.No—there was Eyulf, sieving flour for the morning’s bread, his faceas usual covered with white dust.
“Eyulf,” Cai called softly.“Haveyou seen...”He remembered who he was talking to and shook hishead.“Never mind.Just go to the dormitory barn and make sure thedoor is barred after you.”
He was turning away when Eyulf bangedon the table with his spoon.He got up from the bench, stood on histiptoes to make himself taller, drew down his brows in a terriblescowl and took a couple of prowling steps forwards.Then he pointedto the stairs.
At any other time, Cai would havelaughed.“Thank you.Leave your bread for now, all right?I’ll findhim.”
He should have rung the warning bell.He could have had a dozen fighting men at his side in a minute,helping him track down the rogue.Instead he padded softly down thetorchlit corridor that led to Aelfric’s office and the rooms wherethe Canterbury men had established their base.No chance of thosehigh dignitaries bunking down with the brethren in the barn.Maybethis was the night they would learn to regret their splendidisolation.Maybe they had already learned.Aelfric allowed only onetorch to burn in each corridor, and only until the lights hadexhausted themselves and burned out.It was a good economy.Cressets and lamp oil were lasting much longer at Fara these days,and darkness shut down all reading and study at sunset, asAelfric’s God intended.
Cai slipped past Theo’s study, wherelights used to blaze in improvident splendour halfway through thenight.He rounded the corner into the narrow passageway beyond.Empty, and the doors to the clerics’ cells intact, as far as hecould see…
Firelit shadows patched themselvesinto the shape of a man.The Viking, naked but for a blanket he’dhitched round his waist like a kilt, was leaning in a corner, hisback pressed to the wall.His sword was clutched in both hands.Hisface was gaunt with pain, and Cai could count the hollows betweeneach rib.“Fenrir!”
The Viking’s head jerked up.He swungto face Cai, raising the sword in a movement of practised,murderous beauty.“This isn’t your business, physician,” he hissed.“Go back to your ward.”
Cai strode to meet him, disregardingthe blade.The Viking was about to drop it anyway.He was ready tofall.“You shouldn’t be out of your bed.What in God’s name are youdoing here?”
“I have come to slay thescarecrow.My honour demands it.So should yours, but you are softand puny.I shall do it for us both.”
Cai grabbed him.He took the swordfrom his hands before it could clatter onto the flags and wake thewhole corridor, got a steadying grip round his waist.“I’ll showyou how soft and puny I am in a minute, you stupid bastard.Nobody’s going to do any slaying here tonight.Come withme.”
“No.My flesh remembers historment.I shall murder him, and then the one who held you backfrom aiding me.Then the one who walks past my bed without seeingwhen I thirst or hunger.Then the ones who do not meet your eyeswhen you speak to them, or turn away from you discourteously,or…”
“We can’t murder men forbad manners.As for Aelfric, I’d like to kill him too, but theothers…” Cai pulled Fenrir’s arm around his shoulders.“The othersare afraid of you.”He tucked the deadly wolf’s-head blade into thegirdle of his cassock.“I can’t think why.Now come withme.”
“No.If you won’t let meslaughter these fools, turn me loose.I will go back to the beach,fend for myself until my brother comes back for me.”
“Gunnar?”
Fenrir twitched.He emitted a faintgrowl, twisted out of Cai’s grasp and slammed him against the wall,just below the guttering torch.“You will not say thatname!”
Cai couldn’t say anything at all witha sinewy arm pressed to his throat.He couldn’t breathe, either.The Viking stared hard into his face.Freeing himself would havebeen easy—a knee to the groin or a jab to the healing wound—but hecouldn’t bring himself to move.He wasn’t afraid.The press of aliving body against his was a terrible comfort, even like this.Ahot pressure like tears built up behind his eyes, and he ran hishand down Fenrir’s arm.
