Free Conqueror by Stephen Baxter

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 removed it and bathed your wound in wine, which may stop it festering. And it is better to leave the burn exposed to the air, rather than to cover it.’
    ‘You are a bookseller, not a doctor.’
    Belisarius frowned at how much this stranger seemed to know about him. ‘True. But I have always travelled. I have necessarily picked up a little medical knowledge, if only to keep myself healthy. The Moors, in fact, are proficient in medicine, having preserved ancient wisdom and built upon it.’
    Macson moved his hand cautiously; it was rigid, claw-like. ‘I’m not even in much pain.’
    ‘I gave you a little opium. The pain will return, I’m afraid.’ Macson turned to him. ‘Thank you. You helped me. Though I’m not sure why.’
    Nor was Belisarius. He had no business here, save to sell his books, and he certainly didn’t want any entanglement with local criminals. But perhaps there had been something in the dignity of this shabby Latin-speaker, tortured before his eyes by barbarian Germans, that had appealed to his soul. He said simply: ‘You asked me.’
    Macson propped himself on his left elbow and laughed, hollow. ‘A man may ask for charity from a bishop, but he doesn’t always receive it.’
    ‘Besides,’ Belisarius said carefully, ‘you claimed you know me.’
    ‘So I do. You are Basil—’
    ‘Belisarius.’
    ‘Yes. Belisarius the east Roman. You deal in rare books from the libraries of Constantinople and Alexandria. I have worked for Theodoric before. You may not remember me - but I do you.’
    Belisarius didn’t remember this man, but he had no reason to believe he was lying. ‘You are not a German.’
    ‘No. I was born on the other side of the estuary of the river Sabrina, in what was known as the land of the Silures, - in the days when this island was a province of Rome.’
    ‘You are of the wealisc.’ Welsh.
    He grimaced. ‘I am British. The wealisc is what the Germans call us. It is a word that means “foreigner”. Or “slave”.’
    ‘Tell me what was being done to you, in that church.’
    ‘It was a trial,’ Macson said darkly. ‘I am a learned man, sir, as is my father, who raised me as a scholar. I worked faithfully for Theodoric in his book business for many years. But Theodoric accused me of stealing from him.