There was little chance of that atFara.The perpetuating part, anyway—Cai, at twenty-four summers,had long since attained his majority.Broc had provided him withgirls, but Cai hadn’t wanted a slave, or worse still some tired,resigned castoff of the old man’s.He hadn’t really known what hewanted, until…
Swift movement flickered on thewhite-gold beach that bordered Fara to the north.Cai raised a handto shield his eyes against the sun.A shiver of pleasure wentthrough him, driving off his shadows.In many ways Broccus needn’thave worried—Cai was a very poor Christian still, frequentlyshipwrecked on the tides of sensual enjoyment that came to sweephis new ascetic principles away.In many ways he was his father’sson.
He lifted a hand and waved to theyoung man running full pelt up the beach, his cassock hitched intoboth hands, his flag of fair hair flying.“Leof!Leof!”
They met as they always did afterCai’s trading trips—arms outstretched, laughter shaking them,knocking the breath from one another on impact.Cai had been gonefor three weeks this time, much longer than usual, and theircollision was proportionately harder, tumbling them both into thesand.They rolled in the dune grass, little crushed clusters offlowering thyme sending up fragrance around them.“Leof.How areyou, you puny Saxon?How is Fara?”
“Oh—the same.”Leof beamedup at him.His face was smudged as usual with ink from thescriptorium.“Hengist has discovered a new seaweed we can eat.Brother Gareth has a wart and thinks it’s plague.Theo’s had meworking all hours on his book.”
“And is it?”
“What?”
“Plague?”
“Oh, no.”
“Thank God for that, then.I don’t have to hurry home.”
Their mouths met, smile to hungrysmile.For Cai there was nothing finer than this—Brother Leof atthe end of a journey, a passionate reunion in the dunes.He let theyounger man roll on top of him, shuddering with joy at thesurrender.Leof was lighter, less huskily built, but it wasn’tabout strength, and still less force, as he’d have liked to explainto Broc, if it wasn’t immediately imperative to thrust all thoughtsof his father right out of his mind.“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you.Ah, youlook fine out of your cassock.”
“And so will you, out ofyours.”
Leof shook with laughter.“Fool.Ihave to talk to you.”
“Talk afterthis.”
“But it’saboutthis, Cai.”
“Well, then—tell me after,while the subject’s still fresh in your mind.”
The pony regarded them placidly.Around them, sky and air wove the ancient song of the meeting placeof earth and sea—wave-rush on the shore, gulls mewing and sobbing.No more bells, except a last dying peal from Fara.
“You’ve missed your lunch,”Cai whispered, running a hand up beneath Leof’s cassock andstroking the skinny belly underneath.“And you’re thin.Have youbeen eating?”
“I forget.I lose myself.It seems of more importance to follow the curve of a letter with mybrush than to pursue a clanging, cracked bell to therefectory.”
“Very noble-minded.But thecurves and the weave and all your wondrous little beasts can’t liveif their creator isn’t fed.”Cai moved his hand, and Leof archedhis head back, groaning.“At least this part of you is stillvigorous.”
“For you it is.Oh,Caius—my brother, my brother…”
Caius stripped out of his travellingclothes.The damage to the deerskin leggings wasn’t too bad, henoted—just one small damp mark, the rest of his seed spilledblissfully into the turf and the clutch of his own hand, Leof’spouring hotly into his throat, where Cai could still taste it,salty and rich.He shook out his cassock from the pony’s pack butdidn’t immediately put it on.The heavy brown wool was in need oflaundering, at his long journey’s end, and on spring days like thisits weight was unappealing.Still, it was practical, warm in thedraughty monastery buildings, and Brother Hengist had perfected awash that kept most of the lice out.Cai stood naked, idlyscratching the pony’s ears, enjoying the caress of the warm wind onhis skin.
“Cai, please get dressed.No man as beautiful as you should ever be allowed amongstmonks.”
Caius looked at Leof in surprise.He wassitting curled up on the turf, his skirts firmly tucked around hisankles.He was pale in the sunlight, and Cai put the cassock downagain and unpacked the last of his bread and cheese.He had alittle wine left too, nice Traprain mead, not as good as the stuffthey brewed up themselves at Fara but restorative nonetheless.“Here,” he said, dropping down beside Leof and handing him theflagon and a chunk of bread folded up round the cheese.“I am notbeautiful.I’m a Roman-Briton mongrel with no grace.Not like…” Hepushed Leof’s breeze-winnowed hair off his brow.Of all thepolyglot men who had gathered at Fara—old-blood villagers likehimself, Theo’s Greek contingent, the Angles and Danes from thecolonies further south—he was the fairest, probably nearest in kinto the strapping great Vikings who tore up the shorelines allsummer long.Not that Cai would ever have said so togentle-spirited Leof, who abhorred their very name.“Not like you,my blue-eyed Saxon.Now eat and drink, and tell me what’s botheringyou.”
Leof wiped his mouth like a child.“Ialmost don’t want to.I feel so ungrateful, when I’ve been so happywith you.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?”Cai frowned and cast his mind back over the past few weeks, his ownvarious misdemeanours.Theo was tolerant, but… “Oh.AmIleaving?”
“No.Nothing like that.Imissed you so much while you were away, but…I thought more too.Prayed more.”
“Am I that much of adisturbance?”
“Not you yourself.Yourfriendship means everything to me.It’s just that I can hear thevoice of God more clearly when you’re not here to make my fleshsing.Caius—pleaseput your cassock back on.”
