the bedwarmer are both dead. You were right, Broccus—peace isn’t the way. I thought you would help me, but if not… Just let me go.”
Caius turned and walked off. He could hear Broc calling after him, but it didn’t seem to matter through the ongoing racket in his head. The cries and the shouting had never let up. Sometimes beneath them sea bells whispered, and the bell from the burnt-out church—fallen along with the tower and stolen for melt by the raiders—kept up its dull warning song.
He picked his way around the central fire, around groups of children playing in the dust. When he trod on one, he picked it up out of habit and put it on his hip, jouncing it absently. He’d barely been big enough to walk himself when his first little half-sib had been thrust into his arms, and so it had gone on. He’d lived hip-deep among children all his life. Now he came to think of it, they were the only part of his father’s world he’d missed, and he held the small body close, blindly seeking comfort. Probably it was a relative anyway.
The child began to yowl and laugh in pleasure at the ride, and its mother emerged from one of the smaller huts, smiling to see Broc’s eldest boy back in camp. “Caius, Caius! Lost your frock?”
Cai handed the infant down to her. “Looks that way, doesn’t it? Just for today.”
“Ah, won’t you stay with us? Don’t mind your old fool of a father.”
“I don’t, Helena. But I have to go.”
“You should hear him. Cai this, Cai that, when he’s trying to get your brothers to behave. I think he’s even proud of you for joining that monastery of yours.”
“Yes, he sounded it.” Cai looked into her cheerful face, dusted all over with flour. Yes, she’d been one of Broc’s women for a while. She hadn’t suffered too much, and now she had a home, and this sturdy boy. Come back and be my son again. In a way, it would be the easiest thing in the world. If he stayed, no doubt the noises in his head would soon be drowned out by others—the pigs squealing now, for example, as the inept village butcher began his task… Cai’s head spun. “I have to go,” he repeated, avoiding her kindly outstretched hand. “I don’t belong here anymore.”
The question remained as to where he did belong. Stumbling out of the village, past Broc’s ferocious outer defences, the wooden palisade and Roman-style earthworks, Cai tried to think it through. Leof had brought him to Fara. Whenever Cai had doubted what he was doing there, he had turned to Leof and seen, in his friend’s devout, loving ways, an ideal pattern for life. And although Cai knew Abbot Theo had never been supposed to tell him that the round apple Earth danced round the sun, his teachings had shown Cai what such a life could be when lit up from within by learning.
Find Addy. Remember, Cai—the secret isn’t in the book. It’s in the binding.
Cai jolted to a halt on the track. Theo’s voice, cutting through his inner racket like a knife, solemn and clear as if the abbot had been standing in the sunshine beside him. Leof and Theo were gone. Cai hadn’t been able to save either from a brutal, unchristian death. And his abbot’s last command, half-forgotten in the mess inside his skull, meant nothing to him.
He could feel the revolutions of the Earth. He wasn’t meant to, he was sure. The vastness of the rock, and the great invisible force that pinned him to it, meant he could spend his days in blissful unawareness of moving at all. Such an illusion was every man’s right, Theo had taught. Learning could be taken or rejected. But the choice had to be there. The treasure. The secret of Fara.
The sky darkened. The track was empty before and behind him, and he was far enough from the hillfort that no one could see him, but he made his way into the gorse, a painful sickness boiling up in him. He wished the Earth would stop. He wished there wasn’t blood beneath his nails, so deeply ingrained that no amount of
Caius turned and walked off. He could hear Broc calling after him, but it didn’t seem to matter through the ongoing racket in his head. The cries and the shouting had never let up. Sometimes beneath them sea bells whispered, and the bell from the burnt-out church—fallen along with the tower and stolen for melt by the raiders—kept up its dull warning song.
He picked his way around the central fire, around groups of children playing in the dust. When he trod on one, he picked it up out of habit and put it on his hip, jouncing it absently. He’d barely been big enough to walk himself when his first little half-sib had been thrust into his arms, and so it had gone on. He’d lived hip-deep among children all his life. Now he came to think of it, they were the only part of his father’s world he’d missed, and he held the small body close, blindly seeking comfort. Probably it was a relative anyway.
The child began to yowl and laugh in pleasure at the ride, and its mother emerged from one of the smaller huts, smiling to see Broc’s eldest boy back in camp. “Caius, Caius! Lost your frock?”
Cai handed the infant down to her. “Looks that way, doesn’t it? Just for today.”
“Ah, won’t you stay with us? Don’t mind your old fool of a father.”
“I don’t, Helena. But I have to go.”
“You should hear him. Cai this, Cai that, when he’s trying to get your brothers to behave. I think he’s even proud of you for joining that monastery of yours.”
“Yes, he sounded it.” Cai looked into her cheerful face, dusted all over with flour. Yes, she’d been one of Broc’s women for a while. She hadn’t suffered too much, and now she had a home, and this sturdy boy. Come back and be my son again. In a way, it would be the easiest thing in the world. If he stayed, no doubt the noises in his head would soon be drowned out by others—the pigs squealing now, for example, as the inept village butcher began his task… Cai’s head spun. “I have to go,” he repeated, avoiding her kindly outstretched hand. “I don’t belong here anymore.”
The question remained as to where he did belong. Stumbling out of the village, past Broc’s ferocious outer defences, the wooden palisade and Roman-style earthworks, Cai tried to think it through. Leof had brought him to Fara. Whenever Cai had doubted what he was doing there, he had turned to Leof and seen, in his friend’s devout, loving ways, an ideal pattern for life. And although Cai knew Abbot Theo had never been supposed to tell him that the round apple Earth danced round the sun, his teachings had shown Cai what such a life could be when lit up from within by learning.
Find Addy. Remember, Cai—the secret isn’t in the book. It’s in the binding.
Cai jolted to a halt on the track. Theo’s voice, cutting through his inner racket like a knife, solemn and clear as if the abbot had been standing in the sunshine beside him. Leof and Theo were gone. Cai hadn’t been able to save either from a brutal, unchristian death. And his abbot’s last command, half-forgotten in the mess inside his skull, meant nothing to him.
He could feel the revolutions of the Earth. He wasn’t meant to, he was sure. The vastness of the rock, and the great invisible force that pinned him to it, meant he could spend his days in blissful unawareness of moving at all. Such an illusion was every man’s right, Theo had taught. Learning could be taken or rejected. But the choice had to be there. The treasure. The secret of Fara.
The sky darkened. The track was empty before and behind him, and he was far enough from the hillfort that no one could see him, but he made his way into the gorse, a painful sickness boiling up in him. He wished the Earth would stop. He wished there wasn’t blood beneath his nails, so deeply ingrained that no amount of
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