Chapter 2
Chapter Two
For the brethren of Fara, a feast was
a modest affair. Theo, knowing that fields had to be tended and
goats fed no matter how many chapters of his book had been
finished, allotted his guests one good tankard each of mead and
rolled out a small vat of heather ale to be shared around. A sheep
had been killed, and Caius finished bottling up his remedy for sore
heads, then followed the scent of roasting mutton down to the
refectory.
The sight he found there pleased him.
He took his place quietly between Brothers Leof and Benedict, and
accepted his mead from the abbot’s own hand. This was very
different from his father’s idea of a celebration. By now a
drunken, coerced girl would have been dancing on the table. With
not enough women to go round between Broc’s friends, Cai would have
found himself fighting off the sweaty attentions of a warlord
before the main course had been served.
Life wasn’t perfect here at Fara. Men
squabbled, petty grudges were borne. Around him at the long wooden
table Cai found every type of human face, from Leof’s ethereal
beauty to the lumpen grin of poor Brother Eyulf, a halfwit rescued
by Theo to work in the kitchens, who closely resembled the turnips
of his trade. But they all turned to Theo, as he stood to give them
grace, and Cai could see nothing but goodwill, as if by common
consent each one of them had left the unworthy parts of himself
behind for now, and come with warm fraternal hearts to join the
feast.
Theo led the ancient Latin grace with
a careful sincerity that made the words new. Then he blessed each
one of the thirty men gathered, thanking them briefly for their
work—the shepherd and the weaver, the doctor and the cook. He
nodded to Brother Michael, who struck up a north-shores ballad on
his smallpipes—music during dinner being the rarest of treats—and
signaled for the meal to begin.
Caius took an early leave. His long
day’s walk was catching up with him, and he needed to put distance
between himself and Leof, partly for his own sake and partly
because Leof, after half a cup of heather ale, was losing his
convictions. Cai could see it in the lambent softening of his blue
eyes, perceive it in the lingering press of his elbow when he
passed the bread. Although on a night like this Cai would gladly
have led him out to the moonlit slopes beyond the farmland, he
didn’t want to be the means of his undoing.
He paused for a moment on his
way out of the refectory. A story came into his mind—one of the
many Theo had told him, of a sparrow that flew into a king’s
feasting hall through one window and just as swiftly vanished into
darkness on the other side. Even so, man appears on earth for a little while,
but of what went before this life or what follows, we know
nothing.
He shivered. He knew that life was
short. That it could be bloody, and grasped in dirty hands until it
spilled out its juices and died, he had learned from his father too
well. Cai didn’t know how he would succeed in his efforts to
renounce it, but he could only try, and certainly he could step out
of the way of Leof’s much more promising struggle. He could see
Leof as an abbot himself one day, pure-minded and serene,
counselling novice monks of his own. Now he was chattering to
Eyulf, who adored him with the mute passion of a hound. Quickly,
before Leof could glance up and see him go, Cai slipped
away.
The night was calm and still.
The shadows in the courtyard were deep, but Cai’s feet knew each
dip of the well-worn flagstones, and he made his way easily past
the well and up the mossy outer stairs that led to the dormitory
chambers. He was relieved to have his own cell to lie down in
tonight. He’d spent his novitiate year in the communal chamber with
only five other brethren, and hadn’t exactly been cramped, but
tonight he meant to say his prayers as taught and stretch out in
solitude, receptive to the voice of God. Cai thought he could give
his life away, devote himself body and soul, if he were quite sure
he had heard it for himself. Just once, he asked silently, letting himself into his cell
and pushing the heavy oak door shut behind him.
The dormitory building was
perched on the very edge of Fara rock, and Cai’s unglazed cell
commanded a view out over the moon-silvered bay and far beyond it,
right to the glittering horizon. He opened the shutters, leaned his
elbows on the sill. Just once, God—and the great crescent moon seemed to roll on her
back among the clouds and offer herself languorously up to
him.
He sighed and turned away. He got
undressed quickly, as he’d been taught, paying his nakedness no
attention. He lay down flat, placing his hands at his sides. No,
wait—he was meant to fold them on his chest, wasn’t he? Theo’s
instructions hadn’t been very precise, and Cai had suspected the
abbot didn’t care much how his novices slept, as long as they did
so contentedly and awoke refreshed. Clasped on his breast, Cai’s
hands were at least out of mischief, and he drew and released a
deep, calming breath and closed his eyes.
He just wasn’t destined to have this
made easy tonight. Even the dried bedstraw herbs in his thin
sleeping mat smelled wonderful, heady and sweet. No sooner had he
dismissed the scent from his mind when the door of the cell next to
his creaked and banged hard against the wall. That meant Benedict,
who despite his bulk moved quietly, was drunk. And if he was drunk,
caution would be thrown to the winds, his beloved Oslaf clutched
tight in his huge farmer’s hands and half-carried into his
cell.
Cai rolled over. Monks had no pillows,
so he pressed his hands to his ears. The cells ought to be
soundproof and normally were, their great doors once closed, but
Benedict had left his shutters open to the warm spring air, and
Oslaf’s first laughter-cracked groan carried effortlessly through.
Images leapt into Cai’s head. It would be so good, to be thumped
down onto a bunk tonight and ploughed under by a nice warm weight
like Ben’s. For the life of him, Cai couldn’t see what was wrong
with it. Well, Leof had never said that it was wrong—just
distracting.
Oh, God. It was very distracting. Oslaf
began to moan, quietly but in explicit rhythm. The wooden frame of
the bunk cracked off the wall, and there was a short-lived scuffle.
Then a cry from Ben made Cai’s skin prickle tightly all over in
response—the sharp joy of penetration, desire finding target in
flesh. Not something he and Leof had ever done. Cai had feared to
hurt him, and Leof had shown such confusion when Cai had offered
himself in that way…
At least his two neighbours weren’t
going to torture him for long. The thuds and grunts had
accelerated. Then there was a silence that was somehow worse, and a
long whooshing groan of utter satisfaction from Ben.
Cai gritted his teeth. He was erect
again, much worse than when he’d been down in the pools. Heat like
summer lightning flickered all over the surface of his skin. He
took hold of the edge of the thin mattress ticking and buried his
face in it until the lack of air became more urgent than the ache
in his cock. Eventually the miles of road he had covered that day,
the hills and tracks and wild moors, came to his rescue, and he
fell into a restless, haunted sleep.
He had a strange dream. In it, a wolf
came from the sea. Cai, standing on the moonlit beach, felt no
fear. He’d met wolves before, during long winter journeys through
the forest, and he knew that none would come near Fara at this time
of year, and never from the sea. Therefore he must be dreaming. He
let himself enjoy the creature’s beauty as it bounded from the
waves.
It stood still, shook off its fur and
became a man. Disbelief held Cai in place. When finally he turned
and began to run, it was too late—his feet tangled in seaweed, and
the creature caught him easily, knocking him flat. Hot breath
brushed his ear. Wolf’s teeth sank into his shoulder, but there was
no pain. The weight that pinned him was all human. A human arm
locked round his chest. A strength like nothing he’d ever felt
before restrained him, and he shuddered in terror and pleasure.
Rough words resounded in his head, a language he didn’t understand,
but he knew what he was being told to do and did it, spreading his
thighs, lifting his backside to his captor’s thrust. He waited to
be torn apart.
No pain. A living heat drove up into
his core. The creature—the human, the wolf—said his name, and the
tenderness of it, the deep vibration, sent a melting rush into
Cai’s very bones. He pushed up in longing, and there was no pain,
only an overwhelming feeling of being owned, claimed, brought home.
Thrust after thrust…
He awoke coming. His fists were
clenched on the bunk’s wooden frame, his body soaked in sweat.
Rigid, he rode out his shaft’s helpless spending, sweeter and more
dreadful than he could bear. It broke him to tears. He lay sobbing,
eyes squeezed shut.
He could hear bells. Disconnected
thoughts flicked through his head. He would never know the voice of
God, not if it depended on chastity. He’d better get the mattress
ticking off, rinse it under the pump. Perhaps he should just leave
Fara. A wolf from the sea…
A bell, stirring gently on the inshore
breeze now tugging at the wooden shutters. Wiping his eyes, Cai
struggled out of bed. He went to lean on the windowsill,
momentarily dizzy and weak. To climax so hard on his own like
that—ah, he was hopeless, the very idea of losing Leof’s sweet
services enough to drive him wild. From here he could see the
church, its reed-thatched roof shining eerily under the moon. The
bell in its small, squat tower was ringing passively. An inshore
wind—Cai didn’t like those, in or out of raiding season. No
northern coast dweller did. From instinct and habit, he looked out
to sea.
There was a sail on the horizon. A