Isle of Glass (15 page)

Jehan rose fully. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s no time,” Alf said. “Just come.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jehan followed him. He moved
swiftly and in silence, cowl drawn up. When they left the Bishop’s palace for
the outer darkness, Jehan could not see him; a thin strong hand gripped his
wrist and drew him onward.

He knew where he was by scent more than by sight. Hay and
horses and leather: a stable. A dim light glowed at the far end, shining on a
white shape. Fara. Alf led him to her.

There was something in the straw at her feet; from it came
the light, welling through folds of dark fabric. Jehan discerned a human shape
drawn into a knot, arms wrapped around its head.

He knelt. The figure was naked under the cloak, drawing
tighter as he touched it; and he knew it. He turned to his guide, wild-eyed.

Alf’s habit. But not his stance nor his height, nor ever his
face, that pale oval within the cowl, with its frame of dark hair and its dark
winged brows and its eyes gleaming green. Nor was that his voice. His was
golden; this was shaken silver. “Yes, I tricked you; but I brought you here
without a fuss.”

“But how—” he began.

She cut him off. “Later. That really is your little Brother,
and he needs a strong dose of common sense.”

Jehan looked from her to Alf, seeing the likeness between
them. “What’s happened to him? Why is he like this?”

She told him, succinctly. His fists clenched and his face
hardened. “You,” he said when she was done, his voice level, controlled. “Are
you the woman?”

She laughed aloud. Fara snorted at the sound. “Dear God, no!
If I had been, he'd be there still, and the better for it too.”

“Who are you, then? What are you doing here?”

Her eyes danced, mocking him. “Don’t you know me yet? I’ve
run at your heels for close upon a fortnight.”

He stared thunderstruck. "Thea?”

“Thea,” she agreed with but little patience. She knelt
beside Jehan and contemplated Alf’s still body. “He’s more than half mad, you
know. After a lifetime of self-delusion, he’s had a very rude awakening; he
doesn’t want to face it.”

“Why?” Jehan demanded harshly. “What has he awakened to?”

“The truth. Your monks raised him to think he was a gentle
little ringdove, but he’s grown into an eagle. And he’s just discovered that he
has talons.”

“No wonder he’s terrified.” Jehan touched the tense shoulder
gently. “Brother Alf. It’s all right. I’m here.”

There was no response. Thea frowned, but Jehan sensed
concern beneath her impatience. “I couldn’t do anything with him, either.”

“Did you really try?” Again Jehan touched Alf’s shoulder.
“Brother Alf, it’s late, and I’ve been waiting for hours for you to help me
with Dionysius. Won’t you come back and go to bed?”

Alf was still for so long that Jehan feared he had failed
again. Then the knot loosened, and Alf lay on his back, open-eyed, staring at
nothing. “No,” he said. “I can’t go back. I’ve sinned mortally. I tried to kill
a man, and I tried to kill myself.”

“You were provoked,” Jehan pointed out steadily, though he
wanted to cry. “I’d have tried to kill that son of a sow too.”

“It was still a sin. If I can sin. I may not have a soul,
Jehan.”

The other shook his head firmly. “I don’t believe that.”

Alf did not seem to have heard. “I wrote the
Gloria Dei
.
Even in Rome they sang its praises: the jewel of theological works, the triumph
of orthodoxy over heresy. I wrote it in a grand fire of arrogance, in utter
certainty of its truth. It is true; I know that, and Rome knows it. But if I am
a creature of darkness, a soulless one whose other self is a sword, then what
does that make all my pretensions to piety?”

“Logic,” said Thea, “is a wonderful thing. But you carry it
too far. ‘
Mouse
is a syllable,’ you
say. ‘A mouse eats cheese. Therefore, a syllable eats cheese.’ ”

In spite of himself, Jehan laughed. “She’s right, Brother
Alf. So you’re different; so you’ve never got old. God made you, didn’t He? He
let you see enough of Him to write your
Gloria
.”

Alf closed his eyes. “And people say that I was a
changeling, a demon’s get; and when I was anointed a priest, the oil cast a
spell on me, holding me as I was then, a boy of seventeen.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Thea. “Get up and face the truth. You
are wallowing. You have been wallowing for most of your life. And tonight you
found out that you had a temper, by God and all His angels; as if the lowest
human cur didn’t have one, too. Why, even the Christ got angry once and whipped
the money-changers out of his Temple. Have you been trying to outdo him?”

He leaped up, eyes blazing. “How dare you speak so?”

“There now. A little honest anger—though your piety is
false. You should get angry more often and less piously. Then you won’t be
tempted to barber brats of squires with a sword.”

Alf sank down, head in hands. “Go away,” he muttered. “Go
away.”

“Brother Alf,” Jehan said. “She’s right. You’re taking this
too hard. You had to leave St. Ruan’s, and the King wouldn’t listen when you
asked for peace, and those idiots of squires treated you too foully for words.
Of course you went a little wild. Come to bed now and get some sleep. In the
morning you’ll feel better.”

Alf let Jehan draw him to his feet again, but he would not
go. “The cross," he said. “Morwin’s cross. Joscelin took it. And I—I
forgot—”

“Poor little Brother.” Thea held up a glimmer of silver.
“This was much too precious to waste on the likes of him. I rescued it. Mended
it, too.” She slipped the chain over Alf’s head and settled it on his breast.

His hand sought the cold silver as if for comfort. She
smiled at him, half in mockery, half in something else, and melted. The white
hound wriggled out of the habit under Jehan’s wide eyes, and nosed it
disdainfully.
Here’s something to preserve your modesty. Put it on and go to
bed.

Alf fumbled into the robe, gathered up the cloak, and shook
straw from them both. He paused to stroke Fara’s neck and to quiet her concern
for him; and followed the others.

Some moments after they had gone, a shadow slipped from a
host of its fellows and glided after them.

Alf did not wake all at once as he usually did, but
sluggishly, reluctantly. Long before he opened his eyes, he sensed that he was
alone.

He sat up slowly. His hands stung; he stared at them. Each
palm bore two thin, parallel cuts. He closed his fingers over them and rose.

The air tasted of full morning, with a touch of incense, and
of bread for the daymeal, and of smoke from the kitchen fires. Mass was long
since over; everyone had gone about his work. Even Thea was out, pursuing her
own business; her mind-touch was sharp, swift, preoccupied.

He bathed with exaggerated care, as if water could wash away
the memory of the night. When he dressed, it was in the garments Alun had lent
him.

The King was looking for him. But something within him had
broken when he took up the sword and had not yet mended.

When he left, it was to the stable that he went.

He rode out alone by ways he knew from his riding with the
King. The moors rolled away before him, lands that had been empty since the
legions marched along the Wall of the Emperor, white now and still, dazzling in
fitful sunlight.

Away from the town in a hollow of the hills, a small glassy
tam reflected the changeful sky. There he halted, stripped off the mare’s
saddle and bridle, and hid them in the heather.

She stood still, head up, breathing deep of the free air.
“Go,” he said to her. “Run as you will.”

She bent her head and nuzzled his hands. Would he not go
with her?

He smoothed her forelock. “I need to think,” he said. “I
can’t do it back there. But you needn’t linger with me. Go; be free.” His words
made no sense to her. She turned and knelt, inviting him to mount.

He framed a protest, thought better of it. Even as he
settled on her back, she straightened and sprang into a gallop.

o0o

The sun hung low when they returned to the tarn. A white
hound guarded the saddle, rising as a woman and inspecting them both with
approval. “You look well,” Thea said.

Alf slid from Fara’s back and stood with his hand on her
neck. “I’ve shirked all my duties.”

Thea wrapped his cloak about her and helped him to saddle
and bridle the mare. “The King is yelling for you,” she said as he tightened
the girths.

“Is he angry?”

“Upset. He’s already heard about your adventure with his
squires. The two boys are riding home as soon as he can spare escorts for them.
He wasn’t even going to do that, but Aylmer talked some sense into him. As for
Master Joscelin, he’s locked in a cell. He’ll get his sentence as soon as Richard
cools down enough to pass it. It will be dismissal at the very least; Richard
can’t decide whether to strike his head off or to condemn him to keep it as
you’ve left it.”

Alf turned to her, dismayed. “He can’t do that! Those
children have already suffered enough, between the fear I put into them and the
ridicule they’ve won themselves. They don’t need any more punishment.”

“Except a good whipping.”

“They didn’t know what they were doing.” He gathered up the
reins. “I’d better go back and talk to the King.”

Thea caught his arm. “Wait.” He stopped. Her face was pale,
and more serious than he had ever seen it. “Brother, Richard’s not the only one
who’s upset. The tale has grown in the telling. You’re the hero of it still in
most places—but not in all. Some people are saying that you did more than prove
your prowess with a sword. That you used sorcery.”

“I did,” Alf said.

She shook him hard. “Haven’t you got your wits back yet?
Reynaud and his Hounds have been closeted with Bishop Foulques. Who’s no friend
to either Aylmer or the King. And whose brother is assistant to the Pauline
Father General.”

Alf nodded calmly. “I know that. Will you let me go? I have
to see the King.”

“You
are
mad.” But she released him. He mounted and
turned the mare’s head toward Carlisle.

Even as Fara moved forward, a weight settled on the crupper;
arms circled his waist. “Now,” Thea said in his ear. “Tell me what you know
that I don’t.”

He looked back and started. It was still Thea, but Thea
changed, dressed as a farm girl, with a brown freckled face. She laughed at
him. “I had to give you a reason for being out all day, didn’t I?”

“No,” he answered. “You didn’t. Get down and run as a
hound.”

“Oh, no. I won’t give you the pleasure. I think I know what
you’re up to, little Brother, and it’s rampant folly.”

“What am I up to?”

“Self-sacrifice. Holy martyrdom. Giving your all to the
cause of the Elvenking.” He said nothing. “See how well I know you. You rode
out in a great passion of despair; you cast that despair to the winds; you
prayed and you meditated, and you rediscovered serenity. And then, behold! a
revelation. Fiends and false prophets are plotting against you. What to do?
Flight is wisest. But wisdom has never been your great virtue. Why not stand
and face the consequences of your own foolishness? You’ll win the delay you’ve
prayed for, bind Richard until spring and give Gwydion time to plan another
embassy. And last but far from least, put an end to your dilemma. The Hounds
will burn you if you tell them the truth.”

“Yes,” he said. “They will.”

“What did you tell Alun about suicide?”

“He had something to live for. His lady, his brother, all
his people. And I...I was an innocent. I didn’t really understand what I’m
capable of. Nor was I sure that there wasn’t some way to reconcile the two
halves of myself. Now I know better. I can’t be both monk and enchanter; I
can’t be only one of the two. Even when I try to be a plain man, my power slips
its chain and betrays me. I’ll destroy myself whatever I do. Why not to some
purpose?”

“Noble,” she said. “Stupid. You may be as old as most humans
ever get, little Brother, but you’re the merest child.”

“Are you any more?”

“Probably not. But I didn’t grow up in a cloister. I’ve been
hunted as these Hounds hunt you.”

“You weren’t caught.”

“I didn’t mean to be.”

He was silent, his eyes fixed upon the walls of Carlisle.
Yet he was very much aware of Thea’s presence.

Strange, he thought. The women in the tavern had roused only
disgust; and they had set themselves to seduce him. Thea, fully clothed and
decorously riding pillion, and calling to mind all his troubles, made him want
to abandon his vows.

Why not?
his dark self asked in the deep cell to
which he had banished it.
You seek your own death. You know you cannot be
either damned or saved. What would it matter if you had your way with her?

And she would welcome it. But he could not. He was a fool,
as she had said, and a coward. That would be his epitaph.

o0o

Just within the city’s gate, the mare halted. Thea slid to
the ground in full view of the guards. “Thanks to you, sir,” she said in the
broad accent of the North.

Alf flushed. People were staring; most knew who he was. He
wheeled the mare about without speaking.

”Thank you for the ride!” she shrilled behind him.
Somewhere, someone laughed.

Jehan was at arms practice when a monk brought a summons
from Bishop Aylmer. He had been tilting at the quintain with two or three of
the younger warrior priests; and he was more than a year out of practice.
Mis-aimed strokes or over-slow reactions had brought the wooden Saracen
spinning round more times than he could count, to return his own blows with
ones at least as heavy. He ached all over; he was glad to stop.

Stripped of his heavily padded practice armor and bathed and
dressed, he presented himself at the door of the Bishop’s library.