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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 am glad your hearing is intact,” said Fridwin, the slightest of smiles on his lips. “You have not lost that, along with your faith. God is good.”

Met with the minster father’s implacable demeanour, I had at first been unsure of myself. But his obvious disdain now kindled something within me, an anger that I had come to know lurked just beneath the surface.

“I had hoped to see some of the great tomes you have here,” I said. “I have copied parts of Ceolfrith’s pandect and Willibrord’s calendar. My teacher, Brother Leofstan, told me you had a copy of Beda’s Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum within your library.”

Fridwin sniffed again.

“Brother Leofstan is correct,” he said, looking as if he had smelt something disgusting. “In that at least.”

I nodded, making to step past him into the shadowed scriptorium. He moved to block my path.

“Alas, you cannot enter the scriptorium. The books are for the eyes of our brothers in Christ alone.”

I stopped moving, as if Fridwin had slapped me across the face. I felt my rage building up inside me and I opened my mouth. I wanted to shout at him. Until a few months before I had been copying texts in the scriptorium at Werceworthe. But I could see from his expression that he knew this. A small, dark voice inside me whispered that I should punch the man. Who was he to deny me?

Perhaps Fridwin saw some of my conflict displayed on my features, for he took a step backwards.

“You are no longer one of our brethren, Hunlaf.” He swallowed, maybe thinking of who I had become. What I was capable of. His eyes flicked down to take in the sword and seax on my belt. “If you wish to pray, might I suggest, Saint Peter’s? There is a fine carving of Christ on the altar, and the coloured glass in the windows is truly a marvel. Many find the colours soothing as they pray for spiritual guidance.”

I glowered at him, my fists clenched at my side. He had no idea of the sacrifices I had made. I had been forced to decide between the brethren and the blade. It had been clear to me that I needed to embrace the way of the sword if I was to protect those I loved; my family at Werceworthe. I did not regret my decision, but it was perhaps not until that moment, with the sneering Fridwin denying me access to the scriptorium, that I understood the true impact of my choice.