'Ah, novice – Aelfric, is it? We haven't had a chance to talk.' Elfgar's face was round, almost fat. He must eat far more than he was supposed to. But his eyes were deep and sharp. His companions, whose names she didn't know, were still, watchful.
'And you're Elfgar.'
Elfgar bowed.
She stood warily, with her back to the desk. Elfgar and his cronies fanned out, cutting her off from the door. She saw low cunning in their overfed faces. But her head was full of words, and her first reaction wasn't fear but irritation that they were wasting her precious time. 'What do you want? You can see I'm working. Soon study hour will be done-'
'Ah, yes, study.' Elfgar leaned over the manuscript, coming close to her. She could smell him, a kind of sickly milkiness under the dirt stink. 'You're not very good at it, are you?' With a slow, obscene gesture, he put his finger in his mouth, drew it out wet, and held it over the page.
'Please,' Aelfric said hastily. 'You'll ruin it.'
'So what? It's only scribble.'
'It's hours of work. I'll go to Dom Wilfrid. I mean it.'
Elfgar snickered. 'Dear old Wilfrid. It's a long time since I heard a harsh word from him, I can tell you that. But then he's so ashamed.'
'Ashamed? Of what?'
'Of what we give him, and how he longs for it.'
'Whatever it is you want, Elfgar, get it over.'
He stepped closer, so that milky stink was even stronger. 'Why, do you think I'm here to hurt you, novice? Not at all. I'm here to help your frail little soul. It will do you good to eat a little less each prandium, and hand over the rest to me and my brothers. It will speed your way into Heaven to work a little longer in the fields in the hours of opus manuum, while I and my brothers doze. You see? That sort of thing. And just to prove how sincere I am, I'll freely give you a little of what Dom Wilfrid so longs for, in his cold and lonely cell.'
The others rushed her from either side. Before she could raise a hand they had pinned her arms and spun her around, and Elfgar pushed her down so she sprawled over the table, belly-down over the precious Menologium. She struggled, and was punched in the back hard enough to wind her. It took only heartbeats. Obviously these brutes practised their moves.
The sudden violence in this place of learning was shocking.
And when they had her pinned, the others yanked her arms over her head, and Elfgar fumbled at her habit, dragging it up over her legs.
She understood. They were trying to tup her – even thinking she was a boy. So this was how they exerted their power, even over poor, confused Dom Wilfrid.
But she was no ordinary novice.
'You can't do this. You'll burn in Hell!' She thrashed and squirmed. Her reward was another punch, this time in the nose. Her mouth filled with blood. Elfgar ripped down her pants and kicked apart her legs. He fumbled at her, and she felt the hot tip of his prick pushing at the cleft of her buttocks.
Dazed by the blow, confused, she tried to think. Perhaps if he used himself up in her arse, she could still get out of this with her secret intact, and no worse than a bloody nose and a sore backside.
But now, with horror, she felt his hand snaking around her hips. Perhaps he meant to play with Aelfric's balls. There was nothing she could do about it. She felt his hot hand slide over her belly, and then down into the tangle of hair below-
He pulled back. 'Tears of Christ!' He laughed. 'Why, lads, he's no Aelfric! You're a-'
Wood slammed on bone. 'Animals! Hell-hounds!'
Elfgar howled and fell back. Aelfric's hands were released. She slipped backwards off the table, her manuscripts sliding back with her. Frantically she fumbled at her habit.
Dom Boniface was laying about him with his walking stick, the purple scar on his face flaring. The three novices yelled and ran. Elfgar was bleeding from the back of his head, his pants around his ankles, his prick comically still erect. They clattered into tables, spilling heaps of vellum and ink pots, until at last they made it out of the door. Boniface chased them. 'I've had enough of you animals! I know what you do! Never mind your confessor, I'm going to the abbot about this, and you'll be scourged as even you have never been scourged before!…'
The Menologium was on the floor, covered in blood and spilled ink. Aelfric lifted it to the table and tried to smooth it out.
She was distracted by a wheeze. Boniface, his burst of energy used up, had collapsed to the floor, still clinging to his stick.
She ran to him. 'Dom Boniface. Let me help you.'
With one arm under his, she got him to his feet. He was lighter than she had imagined, frailer, and there was a strange stink about him. Perhaps it came from the purple growth that enveloped one cheek and the side of his jaw. As she walked him to a chair, she tried not to recoil.
He noticed, of course. Gasping, he said, 'Oh, you needn't be afraid of it, child.'
'Afraid?'
'Of my demon, the thing which is eating me from the outside in. I don't fear it. I thank God for sending me an opportunity to show my strength! I have had a good life, and a long one – I'm forty-three, you know – I thank Him and praise Him.' She got him to the chair, but he tried to kneel. 'Join me now, child, in a prayer of gratitude.' He closed his eyes.
She knelt, but she felt unable to concentrate. 'Oh, Dom Boniface – the manuscripts are ruined! Even the original is covered in blood.'
'The blood you spilled defending it. That's no sin. Ruined? Well, perhaps. But time ruins all things. That is why we make copies, after all. Your copy may last a century or two, but when it wears out there will be another novice, in this very room, to make a fresh version, and so it will go on.'
'But all the time I put into it-'
'Then you must thank God for giving you the opportunity to start again and to do it even better. Everything that happens to us reflects the generosity of God.' He opened one eye. 'I don't think he saw, you know. Elfgar. He felt below your belly, but he may not believe the evidence of his fingertips. Especially since he was distracted by my stick colliding with his thick head. Your secret is still safe. Safe with you, your father, the abbot – and me, Aelfric.'
'Aelfflaed,' she said miserably. 'My name is Aelfflaed.'
'No,' Boniface said gently. 'In this holy place, your name is Aelfric. Come now, Aelfric, and join me in prayer.'
She closed her eyes, kneeling, and followed as he began to chant a rosary. The repeated words soon lost their meaning, and the throbbing pain of her nose subsided in the soothing rhythms.
VI
At last Macson opened his eyes.
He was lying on a straw-filled pallet, in a small, smoky, mud-walled room. He turned his head to see Belisarius, who sat gravely on a battered couch in a corner of the room. Macson raised his right hand. Belisarius had stripped it of its bandages. At the sight of his ruined palm, Macson blanched.
Belisarius waited patiently.
Macson said something in a tongue Belisarius didn't recognise. Then, evidently remembering further, he repeated it in Latin: 'Where am I?'
'A tavern,' Belisarius said. 'Near the docks. I took a room.'
'You brought me here.'
'It wasn't cheap. I had to hire two men to carry you.' Two of those accusers who had filed out of the church, in fact, who hadn't been averse to accepting a little of Belisarius's silver.
Macson looked at his hand. 'What have you done? The bandage-' 'The priest's rag would not have helped. I
