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Celyn’s home in the village was a small dwelling, neat and tidy inside, as reluctant to give up clues about its owner as the man himself. Except for one: the Welshman lived alone. This in itself was telling.
He had tried to ask Celyn about his home and his family on their journey, but he had not gotten far. The only thing Celyn had told him was that his wife and child were dead, and then he would say no more.
A dark grief shadowed the man, one that Thomas had yet to find the words or the courage to ask about. But he couldn’t help but speculate that the story behind that grief would explain why Celyn lived as an exile here in Bebbanburg, instead of serving the king of Gwynedd.
Some borrowed clothes, and a brief wash with cold water drawn from a well, revived Thomas. At least he would
