“Take it step by step,” I said quietly.

“Paul had the skills and strength to be a warrior; he was a member of the Duke’s guard. I was more apt at scholarly pursuits. Full of ideas. Argumentative. Too ready to speak out. My tutors warned me, but I never learned to hold my tongue.”

A sound of derision from Knut, when Kalev translated that for him. Gareth hissed something in Knut’s ear, and he fell silent.

“Not all of this need be heard tonight,” Felix said. “Enough to say that certain words of mine came to the Duke’s ears, words challenging the authority of the Church and the influence of the bishops over Remont. My father’s secure position at court, which he had held for many years, was suddenly under threat. Rather than make a groveling public apology, I left. Paul came with me.

“We crossed the water, first to the southwest of Britain, to a place where other Breizhiz had settled. Our skills found us roofs to sleep under, coins for our pockets, food to sustain us. Paul was a strong-hearted man.” His voice cracked. “He could set his hand to anything. I found work as scribe and translator—I can read and write Latin, and I knew Irish already, thanks to Brother Seanan, a traveling scholar who stayed at Remont’s court. So we came to Erin.

“I helped Paul. Helped him with his Irish, helped him learn. And he . . . he guarded me, he kept me safe. He was the home I carried with me.” His head came up, his eyes went to Knut, and if I had seen death on the Norseman’s face before, now there was a look to equal it on Felix’s gaunt features. “You killed him,” he said, and his tone was the punishing stroke of a flail. “If you had not bound him, he would have swum to safe shore. My brother was young. He was strong. For his courage, you fettered him, and he died.”

I saw Johnny look at Gareth, and Gareth give him a little nod. What it meant, I did not know.

“Felix,” said Gull, not bothering to ask Johnny for permission to speak, “how long is it since you and your brother left home?”

“Almost three years. I was seventeen when we left that shore, Paul one year my senior. For the last two years, we have been at the court of Muredach, King of Munster. I am—was—the king’s translator and chief scribe. Paul was personal guard to Muredach’s son Eoghan.” A pause. “He became both guard and friend.”

“Was it on behalf of the king of Munster that you were on the ship?” I ventured.