Free Glendalough Fair by James L. Nelson Page A

did not ask where he had found it, and he was grateful that Finnian did not ask how he had come to lose his old one. He took off the cape and handed it back to Finnian and then slipped the robe over his head. It was rough and penitential, as such things generally were, but dry and warm, and it felt marvelous.
    Finnian handed Louis the cord belt and Louis tied it around his waist. He heard the sound of footsteps, soft on the straw-covered floor, and turned toward the front part of the stable to see who was coming. Finnian did not look, however, as if he was expecting the newcomer, which Louis soon realized he was.
    It was Brother Lochlánn, a fellow novitiate, a few years younger than Louis but one who had been at the monastery at Glendalough much longer. Louis knew little about the boy and cared even less. He was a surly sort, always grumbling about his superiors and lording it over the younger and weaker boys. Louis had never given Lochlánn much thought, but he understood that the young man came from wealth and had been sent to the monastery against his will, no doubt by parents eager to be rid of him, which Louis could understand.
    Surprising as it was to see Brother Lochlánn there, it was more surprising still to see that he held two swords in his hand, each sheathed in its own scabbard. He held them awkwardly, as if he felt he was doing something he knew he should not be doing.
    “Ah, Brother Lochlánn, there you are!” Finnian said. He stepped over and took the swords from the boy’s hands. “Brother Louis, Brother Lochlánn here thinks he is more fit to be a man-at-arms than a priest, isn’t that right, Brother Lochlánn?”
    The young novitiate shrugged and did not say anything. His expression, however, strongly suggested that he thought Finnian a fool and Louis a fool and likely the rest of the known world a fool.
    “Brother Lochlánn,” Finnian continued, “has been telling some of the other novitiates who will listen that monks and priests and such are weaklings and cowards. He has proved his own manhood by thrashing some of the younger boys.”
    Finnian handed one of the swords to Louis, who took it with some reluctance.
    “Brother Lochlánn is very brave with those younger than him,” Finnian continued, “and since he fancies himself a bold warrior I thought perhaps you might let him take a few passes at you. To show his prowess against one closer in age and size to himself.”
    Louis drew the sword from the scabbard. He gave no thought to doing so, his arm seemed to move of its own accord, and there was the long straight blade gleaming dull in the twilight of the stable. It was not the finest weapon Louis had held, not by far, but it was decent, and he relished the sensation of holding the sword, at once so familiar and yet so long denied. He felt a thrill run through him, like the first time he ran his hand over Failend’s smooth skin.
    “Will you?” Finnian said, interrupting the reverie. “Will you let Brother Lochlánn take a pass or two at you?”
    Louis looked up at Finnian. “Why do you think I know the use of such a weapon?” he asked.
    Finnian shrugged. “I had a notion you might.” He handed the other sword to Lochlánn, who took it less willingly that Louis had. “Go ahead,” Finnian said, “draw the blade.”
    Brother Lochlánn glared at Finnian and then glared at Louis. “If I wound him or kill him I’ll be brought before the law,” he said grudgingly.
    “What,” Finnian said, “are you afraid of the law? Or…are you afraid of Brother Louis?”
    “Afraid of…” Lochlánn spluttered. “No, I am not afraid of that…” His voice trailed off.
    “That what?” Louis asked, but Lochlánn just glared at him with an expression equal parts contempt and anger.
    “Very well,” Louis said, stepping away from Finnian and swinging his sword idly left and right to warm the muscles of his arm. “I give you my word as a gentleman you will not be brought before the law for any