“That’s a brave lad!Let me see the mark of it.”
“Not here.I’d have to hitch up my robes too high, and that’sunbecoming…”
“In the house of God.”Broc snorted.“I’m sure old Martius andCernunnos wouldn’t faint to see your tackle.Never mind.Look atwhat that bastard Bren did to me in the last cattleraid!”
He pulled open the neck of his tunic, and Cai saw a livid scarsnaking up his throat.He gave a low whistle.“You were lucky.Thatone missed your carotid by an inch.”Broc beamed as if he’d beengiven a gift, and Cai remembered he had marks of battle hecouldshow withoutgetting undressed.“A Viking I was fighting slashed my arm.Look.”
Broc whistled in his turn.“That musthave gone to the bone.”
“Near enough.And here,where I fell from the scriptorium onto the rocks.”
“I can see grit in itstill.This is where Edulf lobbed a javelin at me.That was a grandbattle.”Broc rolled down his sleeve and sat nodding insatisfaction at the memories for a moment.“Next time you’retroubled with raiders, you should remember that I can raise anarmy.I have enemies all over these hills.They’d just as soonfight Vikings as fight me.”
An army… Cai hid a smile.That wouldbe Broc himself in a chariot, and a handful of old-timers likehimself on ponies.“Thank you.But I’m not sure if I’d stand up toanother raid.We’ve lost so many men, and our best warrior is… Hehad to leave.”
“That damn Viking.Ah,you’d feel different once your blood was up.”Broc patted the openbook, turned another couple of pages.“I bet you would fight forthis, if nothing else.”
“Perhaps.It’s a finething, isn’t it?”
“Aye, fine enough.But yourown Roman ancestors knew more than this.It’s these bloodlessChristians who are trying to make such knowledge rare.”Stretchingand yawning, Broc glanced at the night sky through the openrafters.“Still, it’s good that someone wrote it down.I must gowhile there’s still some light.”
Cai accompanied him as far as thedoor.Once there, the old man surveyed the darkening hillside,starred all over with faint light from the beehive cells.“Forgiveme,” he said—a low growl expressive of anything but remorse, butnevertheless a shock to Cai.“I have seen this place now.Yourmonks have told me how you built it up from less than nothing.You’ve done well.You should take care of that book, boy—andyourself.”
The breeze snuffed Cai’s lantern inthe doorway to his cell.He thought about lighting it again, butthen set it aside in its niche.He was tired.That was good.Hisone hope tonight was that he would drop into the profound sleepwhere all his memories of Fen seemed to be stored, fresh and vividas if just laid down.Yes, tales with the ink still wet on them, ofa monk and a Viking who met in combat and defied two worlds to livein love.Wild fantasy, of course, on a chill north-coast night withthe wind moaning through every gap in the stonework.Awake, Cai waslosing belief in the stories himself.
He stripped off his cassock andfumbled in the dark for his woollen nightshirt.Barda had made abatch of the garments for the monks when the autumn nights began tocool.A true ascetic would have refused her, but Cai had been tooglad of the gift to refuse it for any of his brethren, who spenttheir nights warmer if itchier for her generosity.He shrugged intohis and lay down.He would say his prayers later, he told himself.He would have the strength for them once he’d visited hisdreams.
A shoulder touched his.Biting back ayelp of fright, Cai sprang out of his bunk.He retreated until thehut’s curved wall stopped him, reaching for the sword that lived inhere with him now that the armoury was gone.“Who isthat?”
Silence.Had Broccus somehow made goodon his offer to send him a girl?Perhaps he’d intended it allalong, brought the poor lass with him, hidden under sheep or sacksof grain.With an effort Cai stopped the wild rush of speculation.“Speak, or you’ll be sorry for it.Who is there?”
“Caius, it’s…it’s me.Oslaf.”
Cai let go the sword along with apent-up breath.The weapon thudded onto the earthen floor.“Oslaf?What in God’s name are you doing here?”He grabbed at possibilitiesand found one that didn’t make his hair stand on end.“Are yousick?Did you come here to find me?”
“I should say that,shouldn’t I?That I felt ill, came here and…fell asleep on yourbunk while I was waiting?”
Crouching, Cai sheathed the sword.Hehung it up again, then retrieved the lantern from its niche andre-lit it by feel, his flint striking sparks before the wickcaught.A soft glow filled the cell, revealing Oslaf sittingupright in the bunk, his hair dishevelled, his pallor lendingcredence to his story.And if it was true, he had kindly undressedin readiness for Cai’s examination.He was an attractive lad,skinny but no longer starvation-thin.His skin was smooth andunmarred, a hazelnut brown in the lamplight, scattered withfreckles.
“Oh God,” Cai whispered.“You’d better tell me the truth.”
“Not if you stand therelike Judgement.I can’t.”
“LikeJudgement?”
“As if you’re about topoint at me, call me an abomination and throw me out,like—”
“Oslaf!”Cai slung thelantern over a hook.He knelt on the bunk and took the boy into hisarms, pulling up the blanket to warm him.“Of course I’m not.Howcan you?”
“I’m sorry.But you’ve beendifferent lately.You know you have.”
“Aye.And if you don’t knowwhy, no one does.”
Oslaf laid his head on Cai’s shoulder.Cai knew the nature of the convulsion that went through him—theheave of a grief too deep for tears, dry and terrible.He held himuntil it had passed.Oslaf said, “I do know.”His voice was worn torags.“I do know.I’ve been watching you, and I’ve seen you dyinginside your skin, just like I did after Ben.When your father cametonight, I thought he was going to pick you up and take you home,like my grandmother did when you summoned her.”
“Not Broc’s style.”Cairocked the boy, pressed an absent kiss to his brow.“Still, he waskinder than I’d thought.”
“Yes.He’s like you.Andyou’resolike him.I can see how you’ll be when you’re older—strongand tough, but compassionate too, and shining with your learning.Iwant to be with a man like that.”
