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Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

Within a heartbeat, he was close before us and I found myself taking the simple wooden cup he thrust towards me. The contents were dark, and I sniffed.

“It is wine,” Ljósberari said, laughing suddenly in a cackle that reminded me of Chlotar. “Fine, Frankish wine. Would you like some,” he called out to Chlotar, who still hovered by the door, in the shadows.

“No, master,” he replied without leaving his post, his tone soft, subservient.

“Master! Master!” said Ljósberari, raising his hands in seemingly feigned fury. Turning, he glided back to his chair. “How many times must I tell you? I am a teacher, not your master.”

Chlotar did not answer, and Ljósberari did not appear to care. Sitting once more on the finely carved chair, he beckoned to us both.

“No matter the number of times I tell them, they will insist on calling me ‘master’.” He shook his head and poured more wine from the pitcher into a cup for himself. Leofstan glanced at me in surprise, for Ljósberari had addressed us in Englisc, and from the tone and his ease with the words, it was clear it was the tongue he had learnt as a child at his mother’s side. “I am master of nothing,” he went on. “I am but the bearer of truth. It is my honour to help pave the way of light. I am a comforter, a paracletus, if you will.” He spoke in the tone of a priest giving a sermon and I glanced at Leofstan. His use of the Latin word for helper left me in no doubt now that this man was learned and that somehow, he had read The Treasure of Life, for paracletus was how Mani described himself in his teachings.

“Come, come, be seated,” he said, his teeth flashing in a mirthless grin. Cautiously, we made our way closer. The dry rushes on the floor scratched at my bare feet. “You look startled to hear me speak,” Ljósberari said with another bark of laughter. “Did you not know I came from the fair shores of Albion? I have to say, it feels good to speak so freely. There are so few amongst us with whom I can speak Englisc.”

“Is Aelfwyn one such?” I asked, scanning the table for any sign of a weapon. A small eating knife rested close to our host’s hand. The blade was short. It might be enough to slay the man before Chlotar could stop me. But it was on the other side of the board and I would need to fling myself across the table to reach it. My chances of snatching it up before Ljósberari were slim. He looked at me sharply and picked up the knife. The moment was gone, and I slid onto the bench.