Read Online Brothers of the Wild North Sea by Harper Fox - Free Book Online
Authors: Harper Fox
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wind-driven flap of their robes, in the place where the church had been. Shaken by the speed of his approach, Cai could almost take the vision wholesale, believe in it as he wanted to—the brotherhood nearly back at full complement, close to thirty of them standing in the sun.
But five were strangers. They were gathered around a tall, thin man whose resemblance to Theo vanished after one cruel sting. The remaining Fara brethren were facing them. Through a flash of red fury Cai saw John and Cedric amongst them. Cedric was propped up in Wilfrid’s arms, John on his knees, his face grey and drawn.
Cai let the mare pick up speed. She liked open ground, and the church—the remains of it, the undefended space with its tumble of stones and burnt rafters—stood all by itself on the hillside. The monks were beginning to turn in response to the thunder of hooves. Mouths opened, fingers pointed. The thin man pushed back his hood to see, revealing a harsh tonsure and a face like a carrion crow’s. Repulsion crawled in Cai’s marrow, an antipathy that curdled his blood. Deepest instinct told him that this carrion bird was his enemy, more certainly than the vikingr who had plundered and burned with blind malice only. For a moment he wanted to plough straight into the group, smashing himself and the chariot to bits in the process, but he eased the speeding pony’s head around, drawing her through an arc to slow her down.
“You,” he cried as soon as he was within earshot. “What in God’s name are you doing? Why are those men out of bed?”
Benedict detached himself from the group and ran to intercept him. “Caius, wait.”
“No! Take the horse. Hold her.” Cai leapt down, not caring whether Ben had obeyed his order or not. He vaulted into the church over the tumbledown wall and ran to Brother John. “All right,” he said to him, crouching at his side. “Just hold on and…” He broke off, lifting a scarlet hand. “He’s bleeding,” he yelled, and thrust out his red palm at the newcomers. “Who the devil are you? What have you done?”
The tonsured man stepped forwards. If he was startled by Cai’s intervention, his face didn’t betray it. In fact he looked coldly amused. “I am Abbot Aelfric of Canterbury, sent to mend the devil’s work in this blasphemous pigsty. God and the Vikings have begun my mission for me. Now—before I order you tossed from the cliffs—who are you ?”
Cai hauled in a breath. Before he could expel it, a shadow fell across him—Ben’s huge bulk, interposing itself between him and Aelfric. “My lord abbot,” he said, planting a hand on Cai’s shoulder and pushing him down. “This is our physician, Brother Caius. Forgive him. The men killed in the raid were his close friends, as—as they were to all of us.”
“This wild-eyed savage is a monk? Where is his cassock?”
“He’s been travelling. Abbot Theodosius used to permit him to wear—”
“Where is his tonsure?” Aelfric turned back to address the brethren, dismissing Benedict without a glance. “And all of yours? Where are your hours for prayer? Why have I come here to find you doing as you wish, through all the day and the night? You say the Vikings raided here. I say again—God wielded his sword over you, and sent a cleansing fire. In truth…” He paused, eyes shining coldly. “Cast your minds back to that night. In truth, did Vikings come? Or were they demons, cast up from your own blackened consciences to reprove your sins?”
Caius burst into laughter. “You think we dreamed this raid?” He stood up, knocking aside Ben’s restraining hand. “Wilfrid—press the hem of John’s cassock here, as I have been doing. To staunch the hole the dream-demon made in him. Tonsures, Aelfric? Hours for prayer? You try both, in a freezing winter here. You’ll want every hair on your shiny pate by the end of it. Ask the newborn lambs in the snow if Brother Shepherd can come home to pray nine times a
But five were strangers. They were gathered around a tall, thin man whose resemblance to Theo vanished after one cruel sting. The remaining Fara brethren were facing them. Through a flash of red fury Cai saw John and Cedric amongst them. Cedric was propped up in Wilfrid’s arms, John on his knees, his face grey and drawn.
Cai let the mare pick up speed. She liked open ground, and the church—the remains of it, the undefended space with its tumble of stones and burnt rafters—stood all by itself on the hillside. The monks were beginning to turn in response to the thunder of hooves. Mouths opened, fingers pointed. The thin man pushed back his hood to see, revealing a harsh tonsure and a face like a carrion crow’s. Repulsion crawled in Cai’s marrow, an antipathy that curdled his blood. Deepest instinct told him that this carrion bird was his enemy, more certainly than the vikingr who had plundered and burned with blind malice only. For a moment he wanted to plough straight into the group, smashing himself and the chariot to bits in the process, but he eased the speeding pony’s head around, drawing her through an arc to slow her down.
“You,” he cried as soon as he was within earshot. “What in God’s name are you doing? Why are those men out of bed?”
Benedict detached himself from the group and ran to intercept him. “Caius, wait.”
“No! Take the horse. Hold her.” Cai leapt down, not caring whether Ben had obeyed his order or not. He vaulted into the church over the tumbledown wall and ran to Brother John. “All right,” he said to him, crouching at his side. “Just hold on and…” He broke off, lifting a scarlet hand. “He’s bleeding,” he yelled, and thrust out his red palm at the newcomers. “Who the devil are you? What have you done?”
The tonsured man stepped forwards. If he was startled by Cai’s intervention, his face didn’t betray it. In fact he looked coldly amused. “I am Abbot Aelfric of Canterbury, sent to mend the devil’s work in this blasphemous pigsty. God and the Vikings have begun my mission for me. Now—before I order you tossed from the cliffs—who are you ?”
Cai hauled in a breath. Before he could expel it, a shadow fell across him—Ben’s huge bulk, interposing itself between him and Aelfric. “My lord abbot,” he said, planting a hand on Cai’s shoulder and pushing him down. “This is our physician, Brother Caius. Forgive him. The men killed in the raid were his close friends, as—as they were to all of us.”
“This wild-eyed savage is a monk? Where is his cassock?”
“He’s been travelling. Abbot Theodosius used to permit him to wear—”
“Where is his tonsure?” Aelfric turned back to address the brethren, dismissing Benedict without a glance. “And all of yours? Where are your hours for prayer? Why have I come here to find you doing as you wish, through all the day and the night? You say the Vikings raided here. I say again—God wielded his sword over you, and sent a cleansing fire. In truth…” He paused, eyes shining coldly. “Cast your minds back to that night. In truth, did Vikings come? Or were they demons, cast up from your own blackened consciences to reprove your sins?”
Caius burst into laughter. “You think we dreamed this raid?” He stood up, knocking aside Ben’s restraining hand. “Wilfrid—press the hem of John’s cassock here, as I have been doing. To staunch the hole the dream-demon made in him. Tonsures, Aelfric? Hours for prayer? You try both, in a freezing winter here. You’ll want every hair on your shiny pate by the end of it. Ask the newborn lambs in the snow if Brother Shepherd can come home to pray nine times a
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