At last, all is ready. The winter storms die down. We pack our chests for the journey. Ealdwulf comes to wish us Godspeed and gives me a letter for his mother.
I’m finishing my farewell letter for Enfleda when a visitor arrives. His feet are bare, his hair unkempt, and his tunic torn. He holds a staff and wears the largest cross I’ve ever seen.
“We haven’t met,” he says. “I am Abbot Aidan from the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.”
“Lindisfarne?” I repeat dumbly. “In Bernicia?”
“Your family home. Do you remember it?”
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