Sanctuary (Dominion) (9 page)

"Ah," I replied. "I assure you, we are not troublemakers. We only seek the warmth of a fire and the company of good people."

Ailbert glanced at Oswin, who regarded Daniel suspiciously. Oswin seemed to be the oldest of the bunch, with a wiry build and thinning brownish-gray hair. His deep-set eyes and hooked nose made him look like a shrewd, calculating bird. "Can you prove what you say?"

Arkael sniffed, and I sensed he thought little of our lack of trust in each other. "I will do my best."

Oswin glanced over at his brother, thinking, then looked back at me. "Tell me some of the other priests you know around here."

I shrugged. "I know few in Mercia, but I was raised at the church in Eoferwic. I could tell you all you need to know about them."

"Tell me."

I stepped closer, feeling confident. Also, the smell of their dinner was inviting. "Father Eadwyn resides there last I knew, along with the bishop Rothward, and another priest named Oslac. Although, Father Oslac was quite old, so I’m not sure if he still lives.”

"I know Oslac,” Oswin said. “I also know he's missing something. Tell me what that is.”

"A finger. From his left hand. He lost it while fighting Scots when he was a soldier. He was captured for a short time."

Oswin nodded and waved us over. "Oslac doesn't tell too many people that story. He must like you."

I moved past Offa, who'd stepped aside while keeping an eye on Arkael. The others scooted over, making room for two more around the fire. "Thank you so much, my friends. I can't tell you how eager I am to get off my feet and rest." I sat down next to the fire and warmed my hands. "And yes, Oslac can be quite protective of his past. Parts of it, at least. He’ll tell anyone who will listen about the gore and blood he’s seen, though."

“He does like a good war story, that one,” Oswin agreed.

"Care to share in our dinner, father?" Ailbert asked. "It's good to have a priest around. The Lord knows these godless men need some saving." Ailbert laughed, while Oswin raised his eyebrow.

"Woden protects my soul," Oswin said, and his brother nodded in support. "No offense to your sensibilities, though," he said to me.

"No offense taken. I'd be honored to eat with you. I'm afraid what we have is meager, but you're more than welcome to it." I took what little food we had out of my satchel, noticing that Arkael still stood a few paces behind me, his arms crossed. I would have asked him to join us, but Ailbert distracted me with a shout.

"Hunlaf!" he called out, peering over his shoulder. "More food!"

At first I looked at the boy, thinking that's who he spoke to, but it was the person behind the cart who stirred. Except it wasn't a person who appeared around the edge of the cart. It was a dwarf. I stared at him in surprise as he limped to the back of the cart and gathered two more plates and cups, then brought them toward the fire.  He was short, obviously, only slightly taller than Ailbert was while seated on his log. His body, his legs and his arms were all thick, though, and powerful. His head was stout and blocky, and his long, unruly red hair and beard made him appear even more so. I hadn't noticed before but a chain ran from a rusted iron collar at the dwarf's neck to the back of the cart, with the middle section lying next to Ailbert. Ailbert must have noticed me staring, because he picked up the chain and tugged.

“Hunlaf,” Ailbert said, “stop scaring the Christians!” He laughed.

"No, it's okay. I'm not scared. I've seen dwarves before," I said, a little indignant. Hunlaf handed me a plate with some cooked pork and a chunk of cheese. The aroma was heavenly. "It's a pleasure to meet you." I said, trying not to stare at either the food or the dwarf. Hunlaf looked at me strangely, then grunted and continued his work.

“I bought him from a peddler up north, who found him trying to pinch his wares,” Ailbert said. Hunlaf grunted at that, too, only louder. “Best money I ever spent! Everywhere I go, the little ones come up to pat him on the head, or tug on his beard. And while they’re busy with the dwarf, I’m selling my wares to their parents. Or stealing time with their mothers!” He laughed again, and I smiled politely.

Edmar nodded. He was in his forties if I had to guess, but seemed very healthy and well-built, with a full head of grey hair and a thin beard. Given his size, I guessed he’d once been a soldier or laborer. He dressed simply, as did his son, both of whom wore simple wool breeches and cloth tunics, leather boots, and heavy coats. “I seen him do it, too. I don’t know how, but he lures them in, no matter where we go.”

“You always travel together?” I asked, motioning to all the carts.

“Ever since Oswin here lost two of his brothers in the middle of the night to those bandits outside Lodis,” Ailbert said. “It was his idea to pull our carts together and travel like this. We each offer different services, so it all works out. I'm a tradesman. I'll give you what I have and I'll take what you have as long as it's a fair bargain. Edmar and Edward, however, are merchants. They sell their goods, and they want honest silver for it. A slight distinction for some," he smiled at Edmar, who was too busy eating a handful of bread to notice, "but not for us. Oswin and Hrodgar make everything they sell, or they sell their services in towns, usually over the winter. So we don't really compete with each other. We all pitch in to keep Offa here with us and looking fearsome and we stay on well-traveled routes. We haven’t had trouble since.”

Offa bowed his head. Ailbert leaned forward.

“If I can say, though, father, I feel just as good having you around as well. Can’t hurt to have Christ Almighty,” he pointed at the sky, “favoring us along with a strong blade or two. God be praised.” He raised his drink.

“Speaking of blades,” Oswin said, looking at Arkael, “what’s your story?”

Arkael glanced back at him, his face belying nothing. Then he turned to me. “I’m a soldier of God,” he said flatly. I raised my eyebrow, wondering if he was serious, or just playing games with his words, again.

“Priests need protection, too, these days,” I said, hoping they didn’t think anything strange of us. “Perhaps you heard of the bandits south of here that kill priests? Led by a man named Brannic?”

“Hell’s teet,” Ailbert straightened up. “There’s nowhere safe left to go, is there?”

We spoke briefly of Brannic and other bandits in the area, although according to these men the forests were light of robbers this year. After that, we chatted amiably and ate heartily, and Edmar shared a small casket of ale that served to lighten the mood. Eventually, in celebration of having guests at his campfire, and because he was tired of ale, Ailbert produced some wine he'd bought from a Frankish merchant. He'd intended to sell it, but he'd found no buyers yet so he decided we might as well just drink it.

Fancy wooden cups were handed out by Inar, the boy sitting behind Ailbert, although I waved him off since I already had the cup I’d taken from Humbert. Inar looked to be about eight years old, with shaggy blond hair and hard eyes for a child. He was also mute, though Ailbert didn’t say why. He did little else the rest of the night, other than sit quietly behind Ailbert, staring at the ground. Arkael had waved off the earlier offer of ale, but Ailbert wouldn't have his wine turned away.

"You haven’t had a drop all night, good sir, and this wine was given to me by a Frank who claimed it was Greek, and that it was fantastic." Arkael raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea what Greek wine tastes like, but maybe you can tell me if he was lying?" He handed the bottle, a large, brown thing, to Arkael, who turned it over in his hand. He opened the top and took a swig.

"It's not Greek," he said, "but it's close enough."

That's when the drinking began in earnest, and the merchant’s lips became loose with stories, news and rumors about the lords and ladies of Britain, especially their indiscretions. Arkael made short work of Ailbert's bottle of wine, and he produced two more silver pennies in exchange for another. He didn't say anything while he drank, but I could tell he was getting drunk because his head would loll and his eyes would close and then open again. I even drank some ale, more than I typically do, which would hurt in the morning because this was a particularly strong brew.

After a while, nearly everyone had retired for the night except for Ailbert, Arkael, Hunlaf, Hrodgar, and myself. Normally, I would have been asleep already, but Ailbert spoke mostly to me all night, and I had trouble trying to find a good enough break in the conversation to thank him for his courtesy and retire.

“It’s a whole world of sin, Father,” Ailbert said, railing against the society he also seemed to love. “The beautiful women, the wine, the anger and jealousy. How do we live without sinning? It’s not fair to tempt us all day and then punish us for being tempted.”

“Ha!” Hrodgar laughed. “That’s how the Christians lure you in. They create circles in their arguments that make them seem more important than they really are because you can’t solve them. That’s why I won’t leave Woden. He doesn’t try to trick me, and he doesn’t care about my sins.”

“That’s because all Woden wants is blood, my friend.”

“So does God. How many have died in His name, eh?”

“Some people only learn at the end of a sword,” Ailbert explained. “The difference between Woden and Christ is that those who teach about Christ will do it through reading and speaking first. They will fight only after that. For Woden,” he waved his hand dismissively, “it’s sword first, sword second and sword third. Right up until everyone’s dead and feasting in his great hall.”

“Ha!” Hrodgar laughed again, finding the whole conversation amusing.

“Father,” Ailbert turned to me, “help me make this poor man understand his madness, for he does not know any better.”

I smiled, and tried to think of the simplest way to add to the conversation without getting completely sucked in. I really wanted to go to sleep.

“You’re asking the wrong man,” Arkael cut in, and the menacing tone of his words caught me off guard. In fact, the jovial nature of our conversation seemed to stop dead in its tracks.

“I’m not sure the wine agrees with him,” I said, smiling uncomfortably.

“Shall I take the bottle back?” Ailbert asked. He leaned over and reached out but Arkael ignored him, his eyes stuck on me.

“Tell me, priest,” he said mockingly, “what do you believe today? Are we all sinners, or just fools?” He slurred those last few words. "I don't appear at your whim, simply because you prayed for help. I am not an angel who flies down from heaven to protect your worthless soul."

“I never thought you were.” By now, Ailbert, Hunlaf and Hrodgar were watching us intently, not sure what to make of this change in tone.

"That is a lie." Arkael was right, that was a lie, but I only suspected it briefly, and I didn't want to explain my reasons in front of anyone else.

"I think he needs to sleep," Hrodgar cut in, “like me.”

"You can't deny what happened,” I said, letting myself get drawn into the conversation anyway. “I saw what you did, and I had every right to believe that God played a role. I still do. And anything I've done since then has only been an attempt to examine that possibility. And I can only do that by learning about you."

"Me?” he asked, then shook his head. “You spend so much time trying to learn about me, without ever asking yourself if the effort is worth it. What if you do? What if you learn about me and you find me to be nothing like what you thought?"

"I think I know enough about you by now-"

"You know nothing about me, priest," Arkael said, his eyes narrow and accusing. "Nothing."

I had no words for him in reply. I'd seen him act short with me, or cross, or even annoyed. But the Arkael in front of me now was none of those. Tonight he was angry, and my mind raced to discover what I'd done to make him so.

"We're all telling stories here, so let me tell you one. A terrible story." Arkael leaned forward and set his bottle down. Then he stood up, grasping the cart for support, and waited until he had his balance. "A man, a farmer, who lived long ago, before your ancestor’s ancestors were even born, was married to a beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman he’s ever known. A powerful warlord invades his land one day, and comes to his village, and one of his soldiers sees this woman. He wants her, so he takes her. But this farmer won’t have that. The warlord, he’s powerful, vicious, and cruel. Kingdoms have fallen at his feet. But the farmer doesn’t care about any of that. He thinks only of his wife. He thinks only about the woman he loves more than anything in the world. So he fights for her. He fights the soldier, and nearly kills him.”

Arkael leaned over to pick the bottle back up, apparently not done with it.

“The warlord sees all of this. And he rides over, gets off his horse, and walks up to them, his anger boiling over at being defied. The soldier, he slays on the spot. No soldier of his will be bested by a peasant. The other man, though,” Arkael shook his head, “this husband, with a wife he adores…” He winced again, and rubbed his temple before looking back up at me, glassy-eyed.

“He spends the next three days tied up in the warlord’s camp, watching every soldier there take his turn with his wife, who was tied up next to him. On the fourth day, the warlord killed him.” He paused, his lips trembling. “It was one of the few times he ever showed mercy.” Arkael took another drink and glared at the fire.