Chapter Nine
Cai knelt by the old man on the
cave floor. He couldn’t breathe, not even to let go of the
horrified sob wedged tight in his chest. He didn’t know where to
touch him. His throat looked intact, but there were a dozen places
in his cassock’s folds where the wound might be concealed.
You’re a
doctor, he
told himself fiercely, but it was no good. All hope was gone, all
life long fled from a face like that—ravaged and hollow, grey as
the dawn.
The sob tore free. Addy snorted
himself awake at the sound, opened his eyes and stared up at him. A
beatific smile spread across his face, as if he had expected this
morning all his life, anticipated everything and awoken full of joy
to find it fulfilled. “There’s a good boy,” he said, lifting a bony
hand and patting Cai’s face. “There, you see? Don’t
worry.”
Cai leapt to his feet. He cracked his
head off the cavern’s roof, but the pain was meaningless. The thing
that got released in men’s bodies in extremity, the heat in the
blood that made them fight or run away like deer—he could feel it,
raging through every vein. His heart would rip out through his ribs
if he didn’t move. He gave Addy one last look and half-fell out of
the cave.
The beach was empty, swathed in mist.
No Fara devils seemed to be around, but God help them if he found
any now. One line of footprints faded off into the distance. The
blood-heat in him pitched, and he took off, heedless of the stones
on his bare feet.
Fen had got far enough to let Cai run
off some of his terror-born rage, but he was still throbbing all
over in the grip of it when the lean figure emerged from the mist.
Fen was motionless, his head down. He didn’t flinch or glance up
when Cai tore across the last stretch of beach between
them.
The knife was still in his hand. Cai
knocked it free, and it sailed end over end to bury its blade in
the sand. He crashed to a breathless halt beside Fen. “What were
you going to do with that?” he yelled. When Fen didn’t stir, he
grabbed him by the jerkin. “What were you going to do?”
Fen animated. He shoved Cai’s hand
away, and Cai got ready for a fight. Instead Fen fell back a few
paces. His eyes were wide, a lostness draining their amber fires to
grey. “This… This is all your fault.”
Cai swallowed hard. The mist was
catching in his lungs. “Mine?”
“Yes. You, with your
blasted Christian ways—your doctoring, and your healing, and your
damned compassion. With your body that makes me feel as if my own
doesn’t belong to me anymore, and yours does, so that I feel your
pain more than my own…” Fen paused for breath. “So that I feel
another man’s pain before I inflict it! Damn you—I cannot even
raise a knife to a useless old man!”
“Am I meant to be
sorry
for that? Fen—you
murderous bastard…” Desperately Cai choked back the laughter that
was trying to rattle out of him at Fen’s discomfiture, his baffled
rage at not being able to commit cold-blooded murder. “Why the hell
would you have wanted to?”
“Can’t you see? That old
lunatic knows about the treasure. He’s hiding it somewhere on this
island, and the only place we haven’t looked is inside that cave,
the place where he sleeps. He’s defending something
there.”
“Don’t be so stupid.
There’s nothing in there but damp.”
“At the back, in the
shadows where we couldn’t see. And you heard what he said about
tunnels. Don’t look at me like that, monk—I wasn’t going to torture
him for what he knows. Just kill him and get him out of the
way.”
“Oh, is that all? Why
didn’t you say?” Horror and laughter were winding themselves around
in Cai like drunken serpents. What was he doing, out here on a
barren island with this creature? Why did he want to take him in
his arms? “My God. He’s just a poor old man.”
“I know that. Look, you’ve
gained your point. I haven’t harmed him, have I? I…I
couldn’t.”
He sounded so mournful. Cai reached
out to him. “Come here.” Fen obeyed as far as coming to stand in
front of him, but wouldn’t take his outstretched hand. “He isn’t
hiding anything. Listen—our boat might be ready. I think the sooner
we leave here, the better.”
“Why? In case your
castrating bloody influence wears off?”
“You were going to murder
our host. It might make things awkward over breakfast.”
Fen smiled—an involuntary flicker,
quickly erased. “He was sleeping like a dog. He didn’t
know.”
“I think he did,
Fen.”
“All right. If you want to
walk away from so much power, we’ll go.”
“Not yet. First we go back
and see that he’s all right. Thank him.”
At last Fen took his hand. He did it
reluctantly, but their palms met with a sensual warmth, and after a
moment he gripped tight. “Very well, Saint Caius of
Nowhere.”
Addy was pacing back and forth along
the high-tide line, the hem of his cassock snagging on dried
seaweed. He was anxiously watching the sky. He didn’t appear to
notice his guests’ approach until Cai called out to him, and then
spared them only a distracted glance. “He is late. He is late, and
you two must be hungry.”
“Who is late,
sir?”
“The eagle.”
Cai shot Fen a warning look. “I see,”
he said cautiously, getting into the old man’s path and stopping
him gently, afraid his restless movements would wear him out. “You
know, if you wished, Fen and I could patch together a fishing net
and…”
“Ah, no. No. If you provide
for me, how will I know the love of God in the beat of the eagle’s
wings?” Cai couldn’t answer that. After a moment Addy returned his
attentions to earth and gave him a wide smile. “But I would have
liked to have given you your breakfasts. Perhaps you had better
pursue your own ways now. You mustn’t starve here.”
“We can catch this next
tide, if our boat holds up. Are you sure you won’t come with
us?”
“No, no. These fools who
wish to place me on the bishop’s throne would find me too easily on
the mainland. You won’t tell them I’m here, will you? If anyone
asks, you will say you met a mad old hermit, and Addy is a
legend.”
Cai shrugged. “I promise.” It seemed
true enough to him now. Perhaps some shipwrecked monk had become
marooned, assumed the name and grown old here in his delusions of
power. “Well, if you change your mind or you’re ever ill, light a
signal fire on your western beach. We’ll see it from Fara.” Once
more he looked around the featureless strip of dunes, where not so
much as a rabbit or a goat cropped the turf. “I still don’t see how
you live.”
“I told you. God
provides.”
Even if He’s a little late this
morning. Cai
had been turning away. Then something in the old man’s voice made
him pause. There was such certainty in it, the deep note of
conviction that had drawn Cai to him the day before.
“Caius, listen. I have said that
your new abbot Aelfric is a poor example of the coming faith.
Whatever you profess—even if it’s no more than belief in yourself as a
man—you must be a good example. Do you understand?”
“No,” Cai said honestly,
spreading his hands. “Even if I did…I don’t know how.”
“We can’t lead men to purer
lives unless our own are pure.” His benign gaze encompassed Fen,
and he smiled. “I don’t mean the flesh. For myself, I believe the
flesh must have its way, governed by love and by will. But I am a
heretic. By the example of your own life, I mean. Cai, you grieve
over Theo, and I thought I did too—but there is really very little
need.”
“Why?” Cai could hardly get
the question out past the pain in his throat. He didn’t think he’d
ever grieved for him more poignantly than now, when for all his
words the old man’s eyes were bright with tears for him
too.
“You’ll see. You’ll see.
Now, catch your tide. Unless…” He suddenly focussed on Fen, his
smile broadening. “Unless, son, you would like to go and take a
look around inside my cave. It’s daylight now, and your search will
be easier. Caius and I will wait.”
Fen’s lips parted. Then he stared at
the ground, his brow knitting ferociously. “I don’t wish it.
No.”
Cai had seen him flush before, in rage
and arousal, and sometimes mortification at the forced intimacies
of medical care. But this was pure shame. Cai hadn’t thought him
capable. Shame at his aborted deed, or only at being found out in
it? Addy didn’t seem to care. He was chuckling now, rocking himself
back and forth in amusement. “Poor wolf, poor wolf. I would have
made a sorry meal for you. Tell me, Fenrisulfr—there being no
secret of Fara, what would you have by way of treasure? Can it be
attained in this life? I’d grant you it myself if I
could.”
Fen looked up. “Vengeance,” he said
suddenly, as if Addy had fished the word out of him on a hook. “My
kinsmen who abandoned me here among Christians and lunatics—I would
have revenge.”
“Ah.” Addy sobered. He
folded his hands into his sleeves. “That, I can’t grant. But you
will have it one day. Yes—knee-deep in water and blood.”
“Fen, come on.” Cai took
hold of him, a firm grip on his rigid arm. “Sir, we should go
now.”
“Yes,” Addy said absently,
distances opening up in his eyes. “Go in God, blessed be Her
name.”
“And you.” Cai hesitated,
wondering if he’d misheard. “Her name?”
“Ah. Yes. I forget
sometimes—forgive me. But that reminds me. That old woman Danan—you
said you know her.”
“Yes. I’m a kind of
physician at Fara. Not much of one, but…”
“She has told me you are
very good. A healer by spirit as well as by skill.”
“Really?” For a moment Cai
was distracted. She’d called him a hit-and-miss quack last time
they’d talked about his medical skills. “Yes, I know her. She
trades me the herbs I need for my work.”
“Take care of her. It
matters little really—she’d be back with the corn in spring—but I
wouldn’t wish her to die that way.” Addy shivered. “How strange,
that the word of God should be put into practice so! No, not that
way. Keep watch, Cai. Look out for her.”
The incoming tide ran strongly, but it
was still a long haul from the island of Fara to shore. The sun had