Sanctuary (Dominion)

by Kris Kramer

  “Oh! Daniel!” he said, and I smiled, relieved. He slapped my arm, nearly knocking me sideways. He still packed a punch. “I remember you, boy. I thought you left. To study in Rome or wherever they teach the young priests?”

  “I was there, yes,” I said. “Now I’m back. I’m looking to find a place to stay for a while.”

  “As well you should. Winter’s about to freeze all our arses off, boy!” His expression changed when he realized what he’d said. “Oh, sorry. Guess I should mind my tongue when I'm around you, huh?”

  “It’s quite all right, Dagbert.” I smiled, putting him at ease.

  “Hengist,” he motioned the other guard over, “this is Daniel. Look at him, coming back to us a priest, aren’t you?”

  Hengist glanced at me and nodded, then went back to leaning against the wall and picking at his ear. Once I heard the name I recognized him as the youngest son of a smith named Brehan. We didn't know each other as children but I remembered hearing a story once, just before I left, about how Hengist had impregnated the serving girl of a local lord who kept his home in the city. I wondered if they'd ended up married, though I supposed his job as a city guard now answered that question for me.

  “You should be getting to the church then, shouldn’t you, boy?" Dagbert said. "Go on in, then. It’s right where you left it.” He laughed. “Tell ‘em I said hi.”

  He waved me through the high, arched gate and I plodded along the worn stone path that led through the old Roman parts of town, right up to the bridge that crossed the river. Tradesmen, crafters, sellers and buyers crowded the streets just north of the river, trading money, food, leather, pottery, jewelry, clothes and anything else anyone would pay for. Pack mules lined the road, smoke wafted lazily from most buildings and the smell of ale and pork carried on the wind, making me realize just how cold and hungry I was. I lingered on the near side of the bridge, though, watching the riverbank just before it disappeared underneath. I’d played down there as a child with a few other boys whose names I only partially remembered. One of them died young, another lost interest in us, and the last left when his parents went south for work. Godric. That was his name.

  The main church – there were three other smaller ones in the city, catering mostly to the poor – was situated in the northwest corner of the city, inside the walls of the old fort that had been the heart of this place at its birth in the first century. It was past the marketplace, the tradesmen’s shops, the taverns and everything else this town had to offer. I would see it all on my way there, and every building would bring back a memory I may or may not want. Playing under the bridge, for example, or the mildly sweet smell of fresh bread as I walked past the baking ovens in the market over and over again, or when Mildrith, the daughter of a carpenter, kissed me behind the stables of the Sothward Inn. Even the walls themselves reminded me of the first time I came to this city. I’d marveled at everything, never in my life having seen so many people and homes in one place, and I’d wondered at the time if my mother had somehow been made a princess and was taking us to a great hall.

  And then there were the memories I wished I could wipe from my mind. Like the beating I received from the Bishop for stealing as a boy, and then being beaten again for lying about it. Or the day I saw Mildrith kissing some other boy behind the very same stables. Or the day my mother died. She’d been sick and I didn’t even know. I was seven years old, and had just finished dinner when the Bishop took me into his office and told me she’d gone to heaven to see God. I didn’t understand, of course, and I found out later that night she’d died from some disease no one could even name. But that wasn’t the worst part. The priests told me I couldn’t see her body. It had to be burned to keep her disease from spreading. I’d been with her only a few hours before, helping with laundry, and she’d looked just as she always had, but some sickness lurked within her and took her without warning. The only family I had left in the world, the only person I loved, was gone, and my lasting image of her was as a servant, lugging around a water bucket.

  My throat tightened and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of her in so long. She was taken from me so early in life that I never even had a chance to know what kind of person she was. She loved me, and treated me well, but that was a mother interacting with a young boy. I’d never know what she really thought about, or what she enjoyed, or even feared. I chalked it up to another example of a cruel, hostile world. My father died when I was a baby and my mother when I was a child, leaving me to navigate this existence all on my own, with no one to guide me. And like most directionless young men, I’d blamed God for my misfortune. I suppose I still did. And that made growing up in a church a difficult and complicated experience. But I was glad to remember this now. I couldn't become wistful or complacent. I needed to remember that I still had a quest to finish.

  The brick path leading to the Roman section of Eoferwic widened, eventually opening up into a large square plaza surrounded by grand, two-story, stone buildings. A grassy mound filled the center, topped by a small fountain sitting under the shade of an oak tree, and various estates lined the southern and northern edges, all of them separated from the plaza by a waist-high enclosing wall. The church, though, filled the entire western side, looming over everything with its imperious presence. An open gate in the wall led across a small walkway to the giant double doors of the church, each with a flat iron cross in the center, large iron knockers just below each cross, and thick, simple curved handles that met in the middle. I avoided those doors, though, and instead walked around to the back, toward the two-story annex that held bedrooms, classrooms, a kitchen and a small library. That's where the servants and the nuns would be this late in the evening, and I preferred to announce myself there, first.

  A child sat on the ground just outside the back door to the annex, a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders. He couldn't have been more than five or six years old, with thick brown hair, and arms and legs that were all bone and skin. He held a stick in his hand, using it to draw something in the dirt. He looked up at me curiously as I approached, and I wondered if I’d struck a similar expression sitting on those steps as a boy.

  “Good evening,” I said, smiling.

  He stared at me silently for a moment, examining my wet robes and hair, and then went back to his dirt. I decided to leave him be. I remembered how important drawing in the dirt could be when you’re forced to do chores all day.

  Through the back door was a narrow hallway, with several closed doors lining either side. I moved past them quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone, and then past the empty library to my right. The hall angled left, leading to a small kitchen, along with a storeroom and a pantry. Past that was another door that led to the grassy courtyard between the annex and the church. I stood in the kitchen for a long moment, next to a large pot of boiling water sitting over an open fire. The heat was glorious, and I wished I had dry clothes to change into so I could just curl up here on the floor all night. The door to the storeroom closed and I turned to see a woman in a nun’s habit standing behind me.

  “Hello?” she said. The two nuns who’d been staying at the church when I left were named Agnes and Ethelwan, and this woman was neither. She was tall, thin and middle-aged, with brown hair sneaking out of her habit, and a face best described as pointed and surly. She likely thought me a crazed intruder. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes. I uh, I’m looking for Father Eadwyn. Is he still here?”

  “You know the Father?” She scrunched her eyebrows at me.

  “I do. I was raised here as a child.”

  “Oh,” she said, her expression brightening. “I apologize. I haven’t been here long, so I don’t know everyone who’s been through these halls. I believe Eadwyn is in the church. I can go get him for you.” I noticed the hint of a Frankish accent in her speech.

  “No," I said. "Thank you. I’ll go find him.”

  “Can I get you a clean robe? You look wretched in that one. You’ll ca
tch a cold if you haven’t already.”

  “I would very much appreciate that. Thank you.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  She retreated down the hallway, before I could ask her name. I waited by the fire a few more minutes before reluctantly leaving the kitchen and venturing back out into the cold, drizzly air of the courtyard. A few hurried steps took me to the back entrance of the church, a small wooden door that creaked when I opened it, just as it always had. The church in Eoferwic was the largest I’d seen in my travels across Britain, even larger than the cathedral in Leicester. The nave was at least sixty feet long and forty feet wide, and it had a raised presbytery about fifteen feet in either direction. A tower shot up from the back of the church, at least four stories tall. During Roman times, the tower would have been manned by soldiers and used to spot enemy advances far in the distance. These days, it was just another room to store the Bishop's things. I stepped inside onto the cracked stone floors to find myself standing next to the Bishop's office. It was empty, so I continued down the short hallway and out into the drafty interior of the church proper, stopping just under the apse, the dome covering this end of the building.

  A man came into sight ahead of me, in the nave. He wore a well-tailored brown woolen robe over a thinner linen one, and a small silver cross hung around his neck. He looked at me and his lips parted, as if to say something, but instead he just gawked at me, probably deciding if he recognized the young man standing before him. Finally, after a few long heartbeats, he did.

  "Daniel?"

  "Eadwyn," I said, striding across the floor to embrace my old friend. I very nearly did, too, before remembering what state my robes were in. It didn’t matter, though. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me like a father would a long-lost son. Eadwyn had always been the one person here whose company I’d enjoyed most. When I came to the church as a boy, he’d been about the same age I am now. He looked after me like an older brother, warning me before trouble came and giving me advice on how keep it from coming back. He rarely demanded anything of me, and was more than generous with his time when I needed it. He looked older than I remembered, almost forty now, with thick, curly brown hair on top of a high forehead and a serious face that made it seem as if he was always squinting at something.

  "What are you doing back?" he asked. "Is your studying finished?"

  "It is," I said, believing that to be a true enough statement. "I'm back from Rome."

  "Well, that’s… that's wonderful!” he said, his excitement causing his voice to echo through the room. He looked me over, finally noticing my condition. “You look like you must be freezing!”

  “I am. A nun is getting me dry clothes. I found her in the kitchen. I don’t know her name.”

  “Ah. Sister Deaga, I’m guessing. I’ll make the proper introductions when she returns. In the meantime, let’s get you to the back and warmed up. Can’t have you getting ill the day you come back to us.” Eadwyn led me out of the nave, back the way I’d just come. “You should have written to let us know, so we could have expected you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Father,” I said, falling back into old habits. I wasn’t entirely comfortable calling him by his name. “I would have, it’s just that my journey took a few twists and turns. I didn’t come straight here.”

  “That’s understandable, of course. It’s unfortunate for the Archbishop, though. He left for Rome late in the summer. Did you see him, or did your paths cross at all?"

  My stomach tightened. If Rothward was in Rome, he would discover why I wasn't. He was old, and he wouldn't travel through winter, so I didn't have to worry for a while, but I couldn't be here when he returned. I hoped he hadn't decided to send a letter in his place. "No. I didn't see him. I wish I had. I wasn't aware he was an Archbishop now."

  “He is. A few years now. God favors those who give their lives in service to Him, and few do so more than the Archbishop. We're all very proud of him." We reached the door and stepped back into the courtyard. "So how long will you be here?”

  “I’m not sure, yet.”

  "You’re here for the winter at least?"

  "I am, if you have room."

  His eyes lit up at the news. "Of course! We can put you in your old room. It’s been empty since you left.”

  “Really? No other little orphans running around that needed a bed?”

  Eadwyn smiled. “Plenty of orphans, but we have space for them and for you. You return to us a man, Daniel, a learned one. You should have your own room.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Come. Let’s get you presentable. We should let everyone know you’re here.”

  Chapter 9

  Sister Deaga met us in the annex with dry robes and slippers, and then led me to my room, which could be generously described as Spartan. I couldn’t walk more than three paces in any direction, but it had a cot, a chest for my personal items, a chair, and a small desk with a candle sitting on top, and it was far better than sleeping outside. I changed clothes, gave the wet ones to Deaga, and let Eadwyn lead me back to the kitchen to warm up.

  We sat on either side of a small serving table, nestled against the back wall, and chatted about my journey while I sipped on hot cider. We fell back into our normal conversational rhythms without even trying, and I had to remind myself a few times not to be too honest with him. I intimated that I’d spent much more time in Frankia on my way back than I really had, while my stay in Rogwallow went from most of a year down to a few months. I explained my vagaries as merely sightseeing trips to a variety of churches throughout Europe and Britain, which I had in fact done prior to settling in Rogwallow. And luckily, I could also talk about the churches in Leicester and Lincoln, where I’d stayed on my way here. Eadwyn was quite interested in the details of these places, since he’d never been outside of Northumbria in his life, so I gladly relayed all the details I could remember.

  The back door opened, stopping our conversation in mid-sentence, and an old priest in a thick, fur-lined, brown robe stomped in from the courtyard, slamming the door behind him. He was easily past sixty, a rarity in these parts, with a slight stoop in his shoulders and a bald head that revealed a few scars from his former life as a soldier. A foul expression twisted his face, and when he saw us, he glanced at me, but I saw no hint from him that he knew me.

  "You," he pointed at Eadwyn accusingly, "need to send that silly wench off to Jarrow or Lindisfarne. I won't be having her treat me like I'm a fool child."

  "Oslac," Eadwyn said soothingly, "I do not believe Sister Agnes deserves to be called as such, but I will speak to her later." He waved the old man over. "In the meantime, perhaps you should say hello to our guest."

  Oslac shuffled over, squinting at me as I stood and smiled politely. He scrunched his forehead, already heavy with wrinkles, until his eyes lit up in recognition.

  "The boy!" He punched me in the shoulder, though he had no strength in his arms, unlike Dagbert. "The one we chased outta here."

  "Oslac," I said, bowing my head slightly, "it's good to see you again."

  "Back from Rome, are ya?" he asked. He reached out and tousled my hair. I’d hated that as a boy, but I didn’t mind it now.

  "I am. I'm here for the winter. And you'll be glad to know that your name came up along the way."

  "Did it now?” He squinted again, curiosity taking hold. “I hope it wasn't someone I poked with my sword in the old days." He cackled.

  "No. It was a merchant named Oswin. I met him on the road a few days south of here. He spoke well of you. Although I think even the ones you’ve tried to kill would speak well of you these days.”

  “If they’re still alive, then they’re too old to hold grudges, boy.” A mischievous grin covered his tanned, weathered face. “That’s how I see it.”

  “I've put him in his old room. We haven't promised it to anyone, have we?” Eadwyn turned to me. "We've had a lot of visitors staying with us lately from some of the other churches and mon
asteries. Everyone is worried about the recent attacks and we've been trying to share news as much as possible."

  Oslac frowned in thought. “No one coming that I know of. But it'll be good to have someone back in that room. Nothing but the rats been in there since last winter.”

  “As long as it keeps the rain off my head, I’m happy to be wherever you put me.”

  "We'll put you to work is what we'll do." Oslac slapped my shoulder.

  "Agnes and Ewen are outside I take it?" Eadwyn asked, and Oslac's smile turned back into a scowl.

  "Aye. I'll let you go talk to them. I've nothing left to say to that woman." He threw his hands up in disgust and walked away.

  "He hasn't changed much," I said.

  "No,” Eadwyn sighed. He led me through the annex, back outside, where a horse-drawn cart now sat parked on the dirt path connecting the plaza to the stables. The boy from earlier hung from one side of the cart, while another boy, a year or two older, with wild, black hair, had pulled himself up the other. A giant of a man carried a sack of grain from the cart to the back of the church, setting it on the ground next to the door. He was at least a head taller than I, but he must have weighed twice as much. His arms were muscled, his back broad and his face grim under a mop of blond hair. He saw us, and nodded at Eadwyn deferentially.

  "Father."

  "Hello, Ewen."

  He went back to the cart, where another nun shooed the boys away. She was older than Deaga, but not by much, frumpier, with a chubby face sticking out of her habit. She turned to Eadwyn with an exasperated look, and seemed about to say something to him before her eyes found me, stopping her in her tracks.

  "Daniel?"

  "Sister Agnes," I gave her a small bow. She bounded over and hugged me, nearly squeezing the breath from my lungs.

  "You're back! And you look just like you did when you left. No meat on your bones at all!"

  "I promise, I do eat."