“You don’t understand.Gunnar ismore than…” Fenrir’s brow furrowed as he searched for the word, orperhaps steeled himself to use it.“He is mine—bróðirminn.He is coming back for me.Until he does,his name belongs on my tongue only.How did you find itout?”
“You called it when you hada fever.And you still do, in your dreams.”
For the second time that night,Fenrir’s mask softened.Then he flushed in what could have beenshame or anger, and he turned awkwardly away onto his side—notbefore Cai had seen the glitter of tears.“I forbid you to listen,then.”
“I’ll try.”
“And while we are discussingnames—do me a kindness and stop trying to call meFenrir.You cannot pronounce it, and the sound you make painsme.”
“What shall I call you,then?”
“Fen will do.”
“Very well.And since yousound like a sheep giving birth when you say mine, you’d bettercall me Cai.”
In the morning Fen was better.Cai,who had fallen asleep on a spare cot in the ward, awoke to thecommanding ring of his voice.“You!Physician Cai’s dogsbody,Odleaf or whatever you are called—fetch him to me instantly.Whathas he done with my hair?”
Cai swung his legs off the bed.Therewere days at Fara when things were more difficult than others, andthis one was off to a rare start.He took a moment to splash hisface with water, then strode to Oslaf’s rescue.Fen was boltupright on his bunk, his eyes bright with imperious life.Caipushed the door closed behind him.“Keep your voice down.What thedevil is wrong with you now?”
“My hair.Where is it?Where did you put my sword, and where is my fine helmet with thechased-silver cheek guards?”
“Your sword is locked upout of your reach.Your helmet…” Cai hesitated.He’d thought aboutusing it, giving it to one of his warrior monks, but somehow thething had repelled him.Behind its cruel mask, even a friend’s facewould become a stranger’s.He’d locked it up inside a chest in thearmoury.“Your helmet was lost.And as for your hair, I gave it tothe tanner to stuff saddlebags.”That wasn’t true, but the look onFen’s face was worth the price of the lie.“Don’t worry, it’ll growback.You can look like a great louse-ridden thug again soonenough.”
Fen’s brows shot up to the place wherehis fringe had once been.“You’re a fine one to talk about lice.I’ve heard about you dirty Christians, mortifying your fleshbeneath your robes until it rots—using your vows of poverty toexcuse yourselves for sleeping in flea-ridden filth.”
“There, Oslaf.Aren’t youglad he’s started talking?Go and get your breakfast.”Cai advancedon his patient.“And you—keep a civil tongue in your head whenyou’re talking to the men who help you here.There’s precious fewwilling to do it.Have you passed water this morning?Was thereblood in it?”
“You have no right to askme such questions.You must show respect for me.Youmust—”
“A simple yes or no willdo.”
Again, that unlikely blush.Caicouldn’t tell if it was rage or mortification, and wished he didn’tfind so fascinating the movement of blood beneath the paleskin.
“Yes, then.Andno.”
“Well, that’s good.You can getup.I’m about to teach you a few things about dirty Christians.”Hehoisted Fen off the bunk by his armpits and deposited him on abench.“This mattress—which I’m about to change for you yetagain—is filled with the dried flowers of a plant called bedstraw,a natural repellent to fleas and other vermin.If it smells sweet,that’s because of theTanacetum vulgare—tansy—that drives away ticks.We also useit to flavour our bread.As for mortifications of the flesh…” Hethrew a blanket at Fen and shook out the new mattress.“I can’tanswer for the abbot and his clerics.But the man who used to ruleus here—Abbot Theodosius—forbade us all such things.He said…” Caipaused, waiting till his voice would be steady again.He wasremembering Theo catching Wilfrid by the arm one day, asking himwhy he was limping, and with gentle firmness making him hitch hiscassock up to show the circlet of bramble thorns round his thigh.“He said it was monstrous to misuse the bodies God gave us.Likebreaking a beautiful gift.Now, do you think you could walk with medown to the courtyard?”
“Walk with you?I couldsling you over my shoulder and carry you there,” Fen returned, butwith less of his customary snarl.He was watching Cai oddly, as ifreassessing him.“Why should I, though?”
“I haven’t finishedteaching you.Come on.”
“In my blanket?”
“No.In one of these.”Caitook a fresh cassock out of the linen chest.He waited for theoutcry, but perhaps he’d shocked his patient speechless.Making themost of it, he shook the garment out.“As you say, it has a skirt.It’s also warm, comfortable and practical.Put it on.”
“Where… Where are my otherclothes?”
“Incinerated, mostly.Wesalvaged what we could, but you’re not walking round this monasterydressed like a pirate.”
To his surprise, Fen took the garmentfrom him.He stood up, letting his blanket drop.He showed no signof consciousness at his nakedness, and Cai studiously failed tonotice it either, waiting while Fen pulled the cassock over hishead.
“With what shall I gird upmy loins?”
He made a fine figure in the longbrown robes.They had belonged to Brother Petros, who’d been aboutthe same height.With his shorn head and his direct gaze, he waspleasing to Cai somehow in the way of an oak sapling—young enoughto bend, set to last a hundred years.“You’ll gird them as youusually do.The linens are in that box.But don’t bother now—I’mtaking you for a bath.”
Fen refused assistance down the stairswith a haughty gesture that made Cai want to slap him.In the freshair of the courtyard, though, he swayed and grabbed at the lowstone wall that surrounded the well.
“Sit down,” Cai orderedhim, looking out across the fields.The little packhorse he used onhis travels and the monastery’s only other pony were both hard atwork in the hay pasture.“Wait.Sit there, and…” He tugged up Fen’shood to conceal his bright hair.“Just for a moment, try not to beconspicuous.”
