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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

“I knew better than to speak to my master without being addressed, especially when he was conversing with an honoured guest, but I could not remain silent. I pleaded with him not to sell the book. Stupidly, I told him it was of great importance to me. He laughed, and when I would not stop speaking, he beat me.” Scomric hesitated, running his hand over his greying hair, pausing from time to time, as if feeling the scars of that beating. “He hit me until I was senseless. When I awoke, the Moor was gone and so was the book.” He reached into his robe and produced a folded piece of parchment. “To taunt me, the Devil left behind this scrap of writing.” He shook it out to show the strange flowing script that covered it. I had never seen anything like it before. It was clearly writing, but nothing like any language I had ever studied. “One day I will decipher this thing,” he said. “Perhaps then I will learn where the Moor took the book.”

“What did you do after you found the book had gone?” asked Leofstan in a small voice.

Folding the parchment, Scomric secreted it away within his robes, close to his heart once more.

“When I was strong enough, Chlotar and I rose up in the night. We liberated the other thralls. I knew the truth and I had waited too long to act. Satan had sent his emissary and I had lost the book that God had given into my hands.”

“So you killed your master?”

Scomric smiled at the memory.

“Yes, I killed him. His wife too.” He licked his lips, as if the memory of their deaths tasted good. “And we slew all those who had shown me that the darkness had already triumphed within their souls.”

Leofstan was horrified.

“I understand that you had suffered. You had been mistreated, and you needed to escape. But you are a man of God. Jesus tells us ‘love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’”

“Christ is weak!” Scomric screamed, his face darkening with anger. “He is pathetic! ‘Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.’” He spoke in a sing-song, mocking tone. “‘Love thy neighbour as thyself.’ No! The darkness must be destroyed and the light ushered in. It is the only way.”

“But… but…” stammered Leofstan. “To burn people alive… We have seen the corpses. Are those things not the work of Satan? Are they not the darkness you seek to conquer, rather than the light?”