have anything else to do with it, except…” Cai paused, wiping salt-stung tears out of his eyes. “Don’t tell Aelfric.”
“Aelfric is going to notice a six-foot-tall Viking in his monastery. Even in the quarantine cell.”
Cai almost laughed. But the Benedict he had once known, that vigorous and hot-tempered ploughman, would have knocked him down for so much as suggesting the betrayal. “I’ll deal with Aelfric,” he said hoarsely. “Here. You take his shoulders and I’ll…”
“No. Leave him to me.” Ben pushed Cai out of the way. “You bring your kit and his things. That sword is a good one—the shield too. Is that his helmet down there?”
Cai looked. The incoming tide had washed a gleaming curve of metal up into a niche between the rocks. He went to pick it up. He turned it over in his hands. Yes, he thought it belonged to the Viking. He remembered how the amber eyes had widened and shone out from behind its mask. Would Cai have been able to run the young man through without the disfiguring metal?
It didn’t matter. Cai gathered the other weapons and followed Ben up the cliff path, suddenly too exhausted to do more than put one foot in front of the other. Ben had slung the Viking over one shoulder. The matted bronze hair hung down, swinging in time with Ben’s movements. The hand that had reached out blindly for a long-gone friend also swung, limp and pale. Cai doubted there was a pulse in its wrist. He wanted to check, but Ben was moving too fast for him. Probably being carried like this would kill the raider off before they got to the top of the cliffs, but Cai could hardly ask Ben to cradle him in his arms.
If he died, he died. The world would be that much simpler for Cai. There would only be a wolf-shaped vacancy, a gap where the sea wind would blow soundlessly through. Cai remembered his dream and caught his breath, stumbling on the track. The wolf from the sea…
Yes. The wolf would die. A faint dawn light was filling the infirmary by the time Cai and Ben got there, turning the lantern’s flame sallow. Eyes flew wide at their arrival. Bodies stirred beneath blankets, and Brother John, who had never emerged from the twilight world into which a Viking’s sword had plunged him, staggered up from his cot, face contorting in bewildered horror.
He tried to block Cai’s way. Pushing him gently aside, Cai directed Ben into the little cell off the infirmary. Not many diseases survived long in the salty north-coast gales, but this was where Cai watched over fever cases until he was sure they would turn into nothing worse. He shoved the door shut behind him with his foot. “Set him down there.”
Ben dumped his burden without ceremony onto the quarantine bunk. It was a comfortless wooden frame, bare of the mattress and blankets that might harbour sickness. “They won’t let you keep him here. Not Aelfric—your own brethren.”
“He won’t trouble them for long,” Cai said grimly. He dropped his kit and the Viking’s weapons with a clatter on the floor. He’d seen enough of death by now to recognise its coming—the stillness it set on a brow, the waxen stiffening of lips that looked made to smile and devour and laugh at a world now lost to them. He knelt by the bunk. He pushed his fingertips up under the young man’s jaw. The skin was damp, unexpectedly fine-grained and smooth. Beneath it was the faintest pulse, the throb of a tadpole cleaving water. “Not long. Fetch me cloths and some water.”
“No.”
Benedict had backed away and was leaning by the door. As Cai watched, he crossed himself. “I won’t help you treat him, Caius. Not one of his kind.”
“They’re not bloody demons!”
“They are to me. To all of us here. They surely were demons to Leof. Or do you forget?”
Cai couldn’t answer. He waited for Theo’s voice in his head, the voice that had bidden him to spare his fallen enemy. But Theo had fallen silent, leaving him only with the vision of
“Aelfric is going to notice a six-foot-tall Viking in his monastery. Even in the quarantine cell.”
Cai almost laughed. But the Benedict he had once known, that vigorous and hot-tempered ploughman, would have knocked him down for so much as suggesting the betrayal. “I’ll deal with Aelfric,” he said hoarsely. “Here. You take his shoulders and I’ll…”
“No. Leave him to me.” Ben pushed Cai out of the way. “You bring your kit and his things. That sword is a good one—the shield too. Is that his helmet down there?”
Cai looked. The incoming tide had washed a gleaming curve of metal up into a niche between the rocks. He went to pick it up. He turned it over in his hands. Yes, he thought it belonged to the Viking. He remembered how the amber eyes had widened and shone out from behind its mask. Would Cai have been able to run the young man through without the disfiguring metal?
It didn’t matter. Cai gathered the other weapons and followed Ben up the cliff path, suddenly too exhausted to do more than put one foot in front of the other. Ben had slung the Viking over one shoulder. The matted bronze hair hung down, swinging in time with Ben’s movements. The hand that had reached out blindly for a long-gone friend also swung, limp and pale. Cai doubted there was a pulse in its wrist. He wanted to check, but Ben was moving too fast for him. Probably being carried like this would kill the raider off before they got to the top of the cliffs, but Cai could hardly ask Ben to cradle him in his arms.
If he died, he died. The world would be that much simpler for Cai. There would only be a wolf-shaped vacancy, a gap where the sea wind would blow soundlessly through. Cai remembered his dream and caught his breath, stumbling on the track. The wolf from the sea…
Yes. The wolf would die. A faint dawn light was filling the infirmary by the time Cai and Ben got there, turning the lantern’s flame sallow. Eyes flew wide at their arrival. Bodies stirred beneath blankets, and Brother John, who had never emerged from the twilight world into which a Viking’s sword had plunged him, staggered up from his cot, face contorting in bewildered horror.
He tried to block Cai’s way. Pushing him gently aside, Cai directed Ben into the little cell off the infirmary. Not many diseases survived long in the salty north-coast gales, but this was where Cai watched over fever cases until he was sure they would turn into nothing worse. He shoved the door shut behind him with his foot. “Set him down there.”
Ben dumped his burden without ceremony onto the quarantine bunk. It was a comfortless wooden frame, bare of the mattress and blankets that might harbour sickness. “They won’t let you keep him here. Not Aelfric—your own brethren.”
“He won’t trouble them for long,” Cai said grimly. He dropped his kit and the Viking’s weapons with a clatter on the floor. He’d seen enough of death by now to recognise its coming—the stillness it set on a brow, the waxen stiffening of lips that looked made to smile and devour and laugh at a world now lost to them. He knelt by the bunk. He pushed his fingertips up under the young man’s jaw. The skin was damp, unexpectedly fine-grained and smooth. Beneath it was the faintest pulse, the throb of a tadpole cleaving water. “Not long. Fetch me cloths and some water.”
“No.”
Benedict had backed away and was leaning by the door. As Cai watched, he crossed himself. “I won’t help you treat him, Caius. Not one of his kind.”
“They’re not bloody demons!”
“They are to me. To all of us here. They surely were demons to Leof. Or do you forget?”
Cai couldn’t answer. He waited for Theo’s voice in his head, the voice that had bidden him to spare his fallen enemy. But Theo had fallen silent, leaving him only with the vision of
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