As they retreated, Hathumod begin to speak. “How I came here is a long tale. If you have the patience for it, it will change you utterly.”

“No tale can be too long if it is also exciting,” retorted Beatrix, “for we bide ungodly quiet here. We get so few visitors—”

“She’s very young,” said Brother Felicitus as he closed the gate, cutting them off from the women’s enclosure. The men followed him through a gate in the log fence marking out monastic ground from the unhallowed buildings set up between the inner and outer fence. “But her parents are dead, her elder brother rode east with Princess Sapientia, and her elder sister died at the battle to recover Gent. Duchess Liutgard is her distant kinswoman, but the duchess has been called south by the king on his great expedition to Aosta, so it fell to her cousin Ortulfus to give her guidance.” Having established his abbot’s noble credentials, he felt free to eye Baldwin distrustfully, as if he feared Baldwin intended to lure poor young Lady Beatrix into a life of debauchery. Baldwin was too busy tearing up the loaf into four equal portions to notice.

“I feel sure Father Ortulfus is a Godly man,” said Ivar.

“So he is. Here is the laborers’ dormitory.” Felicitus indicated a long hall with a porch set outside the inner wall. “Those who are servants of the abbot, or of the king—” He nodded at the two Lions. “—reside here. Our circatore, Brother Lallo, will take care of you. Here he comes.”

Brother Lallo was brawny and immaculately groomed. For a circatore—the monk set in charge over the manual laborers—his hands were remarkably clean.

“Can they work?” he demanded, looking Gerulf and Dedi over and not appearing to like what he saw. They were all unkempt. “I’ve a full house these days, for it’s troubled times as you know, Brother Felicitus. I wish you would have consulted me first.”

“And risked sending them down the road to Oerbeck where they’ll get no more than a thin broth for their supper? We are still the king’s monastery, Brother, and God’s house, and have an obligation to travelers.”

“And vagabonds, evidently!” replied Brother Lallo sourly. “At least they don’t have dogs with them! Come this way, then. You’re stout-looking fellows, I’ll give you that.”

“We are Lions in the king’s service,” said Gerulf, with real annoyance.

Lallo blinked. “Why aren’t you with the king?”

Dedi seemed about to speak, but Gerulf signed him to silence. “That is truly a long tale, and a cursed strange one, for I’ve seen such things as few would believe—” He broke off, rubbing his throat. “Ach, well. My throat’s too dry to talk much.”

“Come, come, then,” said Lallo eagerly. “We can find you mead. There’ll be porridge and apples for supper. A long tale would be welcome here.”

As Gerulf and Dedi walked off to the laborers’ dormitory, Baldwin gave Ivar, Ermanrich, and Sigfrid their share of the bread. Ivar wolfed his down before they reached the inner gate, but all it did was make him hungrier.

At the inner gate Brother Felicitus handed them over to the rotund guest-master, who saw them washed and fitted with clean robes appropriate to their status and brought them to the abbot’s table just in time for the evening’s feast.

Father Ortulfus was young, vigorous, and handsome. He had a sarcastic eye but a gleam of humor in his expression as he rose to welcome his guests. The dozen monks seated at the abbot’s table gaped at Baldwin, who had cleaned up nicely. “My spies brought news of your arrival. There are places for you on these humble benches.”

Since all the furniture in the abbot’s dining room was elaborately carved and painted, as befit the son of a noble house, Ivar merely smiled. “You are most gracious, Father Ortulfus. We have traveled a most strange road. I am Ivar—”

“—son of Count Harl of the North Mark and his late wife, Lady Herlinda,” finished Ortulfus. “Before I became abbot, I had the honor of being a member of Biscop Constance’s schola. I will not soon forget the trial of Hugh of Austra before an assembled council in Autun. Nor, I suppose, will you, Brother Ivar.”

Ivar knew his fair complexion branded him, since his blushes could never be hidden. His cheeks burned. “Nay, I suppose I will not.”

Baldwin had already found a seat next to a slender monk of aristocratic bearing whose expression was, alas, not at all pure as he offered to share his platter, on which lay a steaming and handsomely spiced whole chicken. Ermanrich and Sigfrid held back at the door, waiting for Ivar’s reaction.