The oldman’s shoulder twitched.His grip on the reins relaxed.“What—inyour pigsties?No.We’ll bed down in one of the villagers’ barnsfor the night.”
“At least eat with us.”
“Lentils and scurvy grass?”
“No.”Just as well you didn’t turn upyesterday, though.“A good fish suppertonight.”
“Very well.Turn around, Gowan!”Broc held out a broad,calloused paw to his son.“You’d better climb up.What’s the matterwith you, boy?You look like a ghost that’s been left out to bleachin the rain.”
Only onecresset flickered in the church that night.The light was enoughfor the two men and the book they held between them.Cai had sparedhis brethren their lesson for that night, sending them off to theircells with an extra jug of ale in honour of Broc’s visit.Then hehad awkwardly asked the old man if he would come to the church—notto meet God, or anything so injurious to digestion.Just to see thebook.
Broc wasas uneasy as a bear, even in the stripped-back nave, which apartfrom its stark wooden cross now scarcely betrayed any signs of itsfunction.He occupied old Martin’s chair as if it had been hishillfort throne, thighs splayed, only a vague notion of courtesypreventing him from propping up his feet on the stool in front ofhim.
Cai saton a bench at his side.“My abbot Theo brought this back from theEast with him.He hid it with Addy—with Aedar, I mean, the newbishop—and Aedar gave it to me.”
“From the East?Kent?”
“Further even than that.A land called Arabia, beyond theMid-Earth Sea.”
“Why did he leave it with you?”
“I’m still not sure.He told me I should learn and teach fromit, spread light.And I will, as long as I’m able.”
Broc’sattention had been on the book.Now he looked up thoughtfully athis son.“As long as you’re able?Why shouldn’t that be for a longtime yet?”Cai didn’t reply, and the old man pursed his lips, browfurrowing.“You know, I’d thought there was no hurry, but…isn’t ittime you had a child?”
“A child?”
“Yes.A boy, an heir—someone to carry on what you are.I willraise him, if you are… If you couldn’t keep him here.”
Caichuckled.“Well, I couldn’t sit with him in my lap while I talkedto my monks about chastity.Broc, you have dozens of sons.Go andtell them to get heirs.”
“None of them are firstborn,” Broccus returned grimly.Cai,who’d heard that sole argument for his value all his life, shookhis head, and Broccus sighed.“I mean…none of them are my Caius.Could you not consider it, lad?If I sent you down the choicest ofmy women?I have one girl—good birth, willing, fertile as aspringtime coney.Couldn’t you bring yourself to have her justonce?”
My Caius.Cai, who’d been about tosnarl at the old man to mind his business, lost a breath as thewords sank in.“Thank you,” he said quietly.“I’m grateful.But…Icouldn’t lie with a woman.Not now.”
Broccusblanched.“Are those rumours true, then?What have they done toyou?”
“Nothing.No.”Frowning, Cai gave his father an amused,disgusted grin.“No!Not for that reason.”
“What, then?Oh, is her place taken?”Broc exhaled noisily.“Isee.And around here, not by a woman, I assume.”
“No.Not by a woman.”
Asilence followed, broken by the crackle of the torch in itscresset.“Which one is he, then?”
More silence.Cai clasped his hands round the back of his headand curled over until his fringe was brushing theGospel of Science, thepage where a small man was standing on the surface of the moon todemonstrate her phases, and Cai dearly wished he could join himthere.
“I heard it said, not that I believed it, that you fought witha half-tame Viking at your side.I didn’t see that kind of fox inyour chicken coop tonight.Is he gone?”
“Yes.”
“And is that why the bones of your back are sticking out like astarved hound’s?”
Howcould the old man know that?Cai, returning from the moon, realisedthat for the first time in his grown-up life, his father’s arm wasaround him.“No.I’ve been ill, that’s all.I was wounded in thelast raid.”
“You took a blade?”
The oldsod sounded more delighted than concerned.Still, his arm was warm,and as he had pointed out to Cai, he had never pretended to beother than he was.“Yes, a sword.Right through myside.”
