The vulpine features altered.Itwasn’t exactly a softening—more the relaxation of a snarling houndbewildered by a caress.“You will not say the name,” he repeated,and sank to his knees at Cai’s feet.
“Oh, God.”Cai crouchedbeside him.The makeshift kilt was soaked with blood.“You’ve tornout your sutures.Come with me.Hold on to me.Come on.”
The journey back across the courtyardand up to the ward was painful.Oslaf met them in the doorway, hiseyes wide.“Caius, forgive me.I only just noticed he wasgone.”
Cai hefted his burden over thethreshold and back into the quarantine cell.Fenrir was stumbling,barely conscious.“That’s because you didn’t look.Is his bunk matclean?Fetch a fresh one before I lay him down.”Oslaf ran to obey,and together they eased the Viking flat.Cai began to examine hiswound.“I understand your hate.I won’t force you to help with him,but if you can’t, you have to tell me, so he’s not left on hisown.”
“Where did you find him?Why… Why are you wearing his sword?”
Cai had forgotten that.He undid theawkward weight from his girdle.“I need fresh sutures.Quick,before he comes round properly.He was outside our new abbot’srooms.”
“With his sword?Cai, don’tyou see?He’s going to murder us all in our beds.”
Cai couldn’t argue.“Well, just nowhe’d have a hard time getting back out of his own.I don’t carewhat you think, Oslaf—as long as he’s in here, he must be treatedlike anyone else.”
“Why?”
Cai frowned.It wasn’t like Oslaf toargue or question him, not like that.Maybe Benedict’s new chillwas rubbing off.“Because I’m a doctor.Because—”
“No.Why bring him in thefirst place?Everyone loves you here.And they know it’s you theyhave to thank that we lived through the last raid.But they can’tforgive this.”
Threading a strand of sheep gutthrough a fine bone needle, Cai bent over his task.“I’m notlooking for forgiveness,” he muttered.“Sage oil, please.Rags.Asfor my reasons…”I wounded him myself.He was alone.Theo spoke inside myhead and told me to.None of these would do.Because he was beautiful, my wolf from thesea, and I couldn’t bear him to die.Cai bit his lip.“I don’t know.I don’tknow.”
He plunged the needle into the paleskin.Fenrir jerked on the bed.Oslaf was ready to hold him down,but this time instead of lashing out, the Viking only clutched theedges of the bunk.
“Sorry,” Cai told him,pulling the new suture tight.“I didn’t want to sedate you again.But I can, if you can’t bear this.”
Fenrir gave a low rumble of laughter,such a contrast to his pain-racked face that Cai and Oslaf bothjumped.“I’ve felt your blade, monk.Your little prick…doesn’tbother me at all.”
Cai worked on.With an effort he kepthis face straight.“Ah,” he said, when he thought his voice wouldbe steady.“Viking humour.I’ve heard of this.”
“We do not call ourselvesVikings.We bear the names of our ancestral clans—Hallgrimr,Vigdis, Torleik.Nor do we raid in horned helmets, as your foolishSaxon bards would have it.The horns are for rituals only, theworship of Thor.Can you imagine—in a packed longship, orclose-quarters battle…”
He couldn’t go on, and Cai finishedstitching as deftly as he could.He pressed a wad of soothingwillow extract onto the wound.“Yes.I suppose you’d have someone’seye out.”
Fenrir smiled.It was the first timeCai had seen him do so naturally, without his lupine snarl.Heturned away quickly, astounded at the charm of it—ashamed of hisresponse.He shook out a fresh bandage and began to bind the woundup.
Oslaf was staring too.“Hedoesspeak like us.”
“Yes.I told you.His Latinis better than mine.”
“I thought him merely abeast.”
“Well, he isn’t.”Cai dareda glance into the gleaming agate eyes.“He’s a man, and a bloodydangerous one.So.Can you keep a watch on him while I’m not here,and treat him like a man as well as guard him?”
“Yes.Ask him to pardon myneglect of him—and my help in keeping him prisoner.”
You could ask himyourself.ButCai knew he was placing a huge burden on Oslaf as it was.Hegestured to the younger monk that he could go, and returned hisattention to his patient.
He worked on for a while in silence.As well as his pulled stitches, the Viking was covered with othercuts and grazes, trivial in a healthy man but each a possiblegateway for infection after long illness.He cleaned the injuriesmethodically, making quite sure not to linger or let a swab becomea caress.“Why am I not allowed to call your brother by his name?Am I considered too lowly?”
Fenrir focussed on him with an effort.He’d exhausted himself with his abortive hunt and was on the edgeof sleep.“No.Well—yes, you are.But that isn’t thereason.”
“What, then?”
“My brother is the heir toSigurd’s Torleik clan.Our lands are wider and richer by far thanall Sigurd’s rival tribes put together.I wish my lord Sigurdhealth and long life, but when he dies, my brother will be powerfulbeyond imagination.”
Cai shrugged.“I’m pleased for him.Even a king has a name, though, and any peasant may useit.”
