40
A Fey Matter
March 31, AD 643, Lindisfarne
Thomas straightened, stretching out the kink in his back. Beside him Matthew and Brother Jarlath still bent over their spades, cutting away the turf to expand the monastery’s garden.
It was warm, the spring sun shining with some strength, and he swiped his sleeve over his face, wiping away the sweat.
He saw a figure approaching and squinted, trying to determine who it was. Soon the figure was close enough to recognize. “Celyn!” he called, surprised. The Welshman and the other king’s men had been away with Oswy as the king made the rounds of the kingdom, seeking tribute from his thegns and other nobles. “You’re back!”
The Welshman pulled him into an embrace, a rare warm smile on his face. “Good it is to see you, periglour,” he said, pullin
