All these preparations had been hisway of staving off the truth.Irrational, because with every swipeof the straw across Eldra’s coat he had made her more fit for hernew owner, but this way he brought the racing minutes under somekind of control.If Cai was giving Fen a horse to aid his journey,it would be the best horse available.If he was providing suppliesto send him on his way, they would be fresh and wholesome.And thatreminded him—he had told Hengist to pack up some saddlebags withvictuals, dried fish and oatcake that would serve Fen if hisperishable food ran out on the long road south.Cai had better goand check there was enough.That Hengist was doing it right.Thenanother aspect of this departure would be his, a thing inside him,not a hook in his guts hauling them out.
He led Eldra up into the pasture atthe top of the slope.It was drier here than anywhere else, so thateven if she did choose to roll and besmirch herself, the damagewouldn’t be too bad.What Cai wanted to do was let her go.Hewanted to slap her on the rump and send her pelting off to some fardistance where no one could ever retrieve her.He wanted to fastenup the gates of Fara, hide every loaf and apple in the place andtell Fen that if he wanted food, he damn well could stay here andgrow it like anybody else.
Cai’s throat contracted.He gave alow, wrenching moan he was grateful nobody could hear.No one butEldra, anyway.She thumped him with her muzzle, right in hisslow-healing stitches, then trotted away with her freshly groomedtail bannered high.
He took the clifftop path toavoid passing through the new huts.Since yesterday and his visitto the graves, he was formally up and about, the reprieve ofsickness ended.He couldn’t get from his bunk to the latrineswithout half a dozen interceptions, questions.Brother Cai, BrotherCai.
Abbot Cai.
He didn’t mind.He knew most of theanswers and remembered how it was.In troubled times, good to havea benign elder to direct your works, or simply bestow upon them anod and a smile.Yes, the church would be rebuilt.No, there wouldbe no canonical hours, only morning and evening prayers, as inTheo’s time.Who was Cai to decide such things?He didn’t know, butthe answers came to him clearly and cleanly when they had to, basedon common sense and his long acquaintance with these few survivingmen.No one had ever asked Aelfric anything.Theo had usuallytravelled about at the heart of a small group, eager for histeachings and his word.
Cai had no teachings to offer, but hewould do what he could.He just couldn’t do it now, not until hehad once more strangled into submission his infantile rage.Abenign elder?Emerging onto the clifftop, taking deep breaths ofthe fresh breeze, Cai choked on bitter laughter.He felt like achild.
And, dear God, there was a ship on thehorizon.He stumbled, grabbing at a fence post for balance.No.There wasn’t a single thing, not a scrap of resistance left, insidehim or in the remains of the monastery, to fight off another raid.“No…”
“No!”
Cai glanced down the track, startledat the echo.Fen was running towards him, as little like a monk asCai had ever seen him—a proud, athletic figure, his cassock onlyincidental, a becoming second skin, even with a waxed-linen apronon top.“No, Cai,” he called, coming into sight of him.“Not thistime.Just take them and get them inland.”
Make a run for it.Even now Cai’shillfort blood rebelled at the idea.Fen came to a breathless haltat his side, and Cai shielded his eyes, trying to make out thedetails of this new terror.It was one ship only.That wassomething, except that it was huge…
A vessel such as Cai had never seen.She was ungainly, more like a river barge than a seagoing carrier.She was magnificent, though.The sunlight was dancing off goldentrimmings on her prow.Her sides were decked with purple cloths,and her sail… Cai took Fen’s hand.He hadn’t meant to—had meant toteach himself how not touching him would feel and start to livewith it.But it was so natural, and natural as breathing thereturning embrace of Fen’s arm around his waist.So there theystood—lovers, brothers, comrades, watching the sea.“That sail.Thesign on it—that’s the bishop’s crozier.”
“His what?”
“His staff, you heathen.Doyou see it—the spiral curving back on itself?”
“Yes.Who would bring sucha ship out here?”
“I don’t know.That’s theemblem of the diocese at Hexham.Only the bishop himself would havethe authority, or…well, a king, but that’s even less likely than abishop, this far north of civilisation.”
“It looks as if it’sheading to East Fara.The island.”
Cai wasn’t certain which of them hadbegun the walk down to the beach.Fen’s hold on him distracted himfrom many things, quieted his mind even when he wished to stayalert, cogent, angry.He only came to surface again when the clifftrack narrowed and Fen let him go, pushing him gently ahead to takethe lead.Why were they coming here?Cai had a dozen things to do,and Fen from the look of him had been helping with the slaughter oftheir few remaining pigs.But as they made their way downslope, hesaw that the vision of this strange, majestic ship had exerted itspull on others of his brethren too.One by one they appeared amongthe dunes, leaving their tasks behind them.Perhaps they were onlyrelieved that the vessel hadn’t heralded another raid, and wishedto watch it out of sight.Or maybe, like Cai, they couldn’t taketheir eyes off the misty place on the horizon where it was slowlyfading, in flickering purples and flashes of sun.
The Fara brethren settled on thebeach, on the dry sand and the scattered rocks where the sealsliked to bask.Cai knew he should send them back to work.He was noAelfric, but he shouldn’t allow a reasonless midday idleness likethis.They were working monks, and outside of mealtimes and prayer,their labours were mapped out for them—especially now, when barelya stone lay on a stone at Fara to show what the place was meant tobe.There was no excuse for Cai himself to be here, hitching up thehem of his robes and scrambling onto a rock so he couldsee.
Fen took his elbow to give him a boostand steady him, and then he too clambered up and sat at Cai’sside—to windward, Cai noted, shielding him, keeping him warm.“Isshe still heading out?”
“I’m not sure.She seems tobe just…hanging there.Drifting.”
An attentive silence fell.Thesurvivors of the last raid had been subdued men, but still whenthey came together there were murmurs about aching limbs, theoccasional burst of laughter.They were quiet now, their attentionfixed on the gilded ship.
She came about.The movement wasimperceptible at first, and then the noonday sun caught her helm ina blaze.At first Cai was surprised by her new heading, but theneverything faded away but her beauty.She was making for shore.Allaround him, the gathered men came to their feet, shielding theireyes to watch.Cai got up too, and he and Fen picked their way downpast the rock pools and over constellations of pale cockleshellsand barnacles until they were standing at the sea’sedge.
The ship was too deep in thehull to draw very far into the shallows.A couple of hundred yardsout, her crew trimmed the sail.They were vigorous men in neatuniforms, a match for any interestedvikingrpirates.Cai could make them out clearlynow, as well as the ancient gateway symbol on the canvas.Not justepiscopal authority, then, but secular, and the highest in theland—the mark of the kingdom of Bernicia.
The vessel came to a standstill.Firstthe crew ran to drop anchor, and then a burly quartet of themwinched up a smaller craft, a tender-boat fit to make the runbetween ship and shore.In it was a solitary figure, balancing withfragile dignity while the tender swayed on its ropes and waslowered by slow, careful degrees into the water.Three of thecrewmen scrambled down rope ladders and boarded it too.Two of themtook up the oars, and the third stood behind the passenger,apparently as a kind of honour guard.All were heavily armed,showing rich purple cloth beneath their breastplates, their shieldsalso marked with the crozier and gate.
Only when the tender was far enoughinshore to rock on the breakers did Cai understand.“My God.Whohave they got there?”
“They stopped off at Addy’sisland, didn’t they?He told us they were after him to make himbishop.”
“Didn’t we agree he wasmad?”
“Well, does he look sane toyou?”
Addy—Aedar, the hermit of Fara—wassitting bolt upright in the boat.His hair and beard were streamingin the wind, untamed as ever, but over his cassock he was wearing asumptuous gold and purple cloak.He had an air of having beenbundled into it.In his hands he was clutching a staff, at oncelike his old shepherd’s crook and entirely alien to it—the mark ofthe shepherd of souls, its old functional shape wrought out of useand into beauty, the bishop’s spiralled crozier.He saw Cai andFen, and used this mighty symbol of authority to wave at them, abroad grin breaking across his face.“My friends!”he yelled acrossthe windswept distance between them.“I am pleased to see you.Waitthere.”
