Free Brothers of the Wild North Sea by Harper Fox Page B

each other, circling warily. Ben came forwards, slowly enough this time for Cai to see his intent, and their sticks locked at right angles with a loud crack. Nodding satisfaction, Ben stepped back and tried for the leg-swipe manoeuvre again. He was taking it easy on purpose, but Cai understood how a twisting dance step would take him out of range—balanced and jumped and got around him in time to try for the drop move himself. Ben sidestepped with unlikely speed, spun round and delivered a thump that shook Cai to the bone through the defending pole.
    Fires leapt up in Cai’s breast. He hadn’t liked fighting for Broc, but those ragged hill-warriors who took him on had soon learned to regret it. He struck back powerfully, knocking a grunt and a startled laugh from his opponent, and they set to in good earnest. Splinters flew from the poles as they clashed. This was a battlefield art, not an elegant one, and after being ditched to the ground twice more, Cai took it to close quarters with a kind of joyous rage. It was good not to think. It was good to struggle hotly with a man of his own strength—stronger, if he let himself admit it. He braced, Ben’s corded bare thigh pressing tight against his, then thrust him back, gasping. A heat like arousal flared through him. God, maybe he was impure, for such life to be burning in his veins, Leof barely cold in his grave… He tried to retreat, but Ben wasn’t having any of that, surging forwards in pursuit.
    Oh, it was good. Cai let go and fought for his life. He didn’t hear the silence that came down over the ruined hall, didn’t notice that the monks had stopped their practice and were standing in a frightened clump. Ben was calling his name, but he didn’t want to stop. Why was Ben blocking him, not responding to his moves? One block—another—until on the third Ben’s pole snapped under Cai’s assault, dropping Cai hard against his chest.
    “Caius, please. The abbot!”
    Cai froze. Ben’s hands were tight on his shoulders, immobilising him. Panting, Cai came back from his fugue far enough to see not just Aelfric but Laban and the three other Canterbury clerics lined up on the far side of the hall.
    He pushed out of Ben’s arms. He couldn’t imagine why he had feared or hated these men for one instant. They were nothing to him—scrawny black-robed skeletons he could knock down with one hand. He strode through the crowd of his brethren, who parted to make way for him, and took a running leap up onto the lintel stone once more. “Good day, my lord abbot,” he shouted, cheerfully brandishing the pole. “How may I help you?”
    Aelfric stepped forwards. He was pale, and he hadn’t managed to compose his face into its crow-like scowl. “What… What is the meaning of this?”
    Cai glanced back at the monks. It was well enough for him to take his own monastic life in his hands, wasn’t it? But his little army hadn’t bargained for this. “It’s drill practice,” he called out, making sure they heard. “And I am responsible for it. Ben, will you take these men to the armoury and make sure the weapons are all put away? I want to speak to Aelfric.”
    He waited till the last of the monks had filed out of the hall, their faces averted from Laban’s glare. Aelfric didn’t even look at them. His gaze was fixed on Cai, as if reassessing him. “Explain yourself.”
    “I will. I will defend you from the demons—yes, even you—next time they come. Just in case they aren’t to be deterred by prayer.”
    Aelfric seemed to take this in. Cai wondered what had changed inside the narrow, tonsured head—or what had changed in himself, to make those harsh features shadow with uncertainty. “Your faith is imperfect, Caius. Do you not believe these things are in God’s hands?”
    Cai looked down at his own, clamped tight around the weapon. His faith was in tatters. Was this what old Danan had meant? “Yes, my lord abbot,” he said clearly. “I believe that they