Charred.

The fire had been out since compline, but the smoke still lingered on the fields. He could taste it at the back of his throat — wet ash, burnt wool and other things he didn’t want to name.

Without searching Martin found Alwin at the fence line above the western field, standing with his arms crossed tight, staring back toward the village. The sky was lightening behind the ridge, grey edging toward pale. Bells would ring soon for lauds. The knight-brothers were already moving across the courtyard behind them, soft footfalls and murmured prayer. Martin didn’t speak, he leaned against the post beside him, close enough that their shoulders just touched. 

Alwin didn’t react. His jaw was set, there was soot across his temple, disappearing into his hairline.

The wind shifted; the smell of charred grain and damp thatch. His throat tightened, his hand fell to one side, knuckles brushing Alwin’s – who turned his palm upward as a silent greeting.

Martin linked their fingers. Alwin’s grip was immediate and insistent. Martin didn’t pull back.

They were unseen by the others.  The men who’d been at the fire were all seeking somewhere to collapse. Somewhere beyond the fields, the unusual sound of a woman’s voice rising came through — not a cry, just words he couldn’t make out. Commands, maybe. 

Martin’s thumb found the inside of Alwin’s palm, moved across it once. Twice. The way you’d settle a spooked animal. 

Alwin’s breath caught. “You’re thinking,” Martin said quietly. He sensed Alwin’s mouth tighten so he waited. 

He also ached — hours of hauling water, passing buckets, a beam he’d tried to lift before the roof came down. He couldn’t tell Alwin that part yet.  Couldn’t say that Godric had gone back in and Martin had been a few steps behind when the crack was heard. 

That he’d heard but couldn’t help.

Alwin couldn’t take that. Not yet. Could he ever?

Yet more crossed behind them, boots on gravel. After the night they’d had, no one cared about two men standing close in the dark.

“There was a woman,” Alwin said finally. His voice was raw, “Her daughter didn’t come out.”

Martin’s chest tightened – he wasn’t able to react.

“I didn’t know them,” Alwin continued. “Never spoke to either of them. But she—” He stopped and swallowed. “She looked at me like I could fix something. Like if I just… stayed there, it would matter.”

Martin’s thumb stilled and Alwin whispered “I don’t know it did”.

Martin turned to face him properly now, their joined hands the only thing between them. Alwin’s eyes were red-rimmed, whether from smoke or something else Martin couldn’t tell, “I know you gave some comfort.”

Alwin looked away while Martin shifted his grip, brought his other hand up to the back of Alwin’s neck. Steadying – grounding. “That’s what matters. You stayed.”

Alwin leaned over slightly, just enough that Martin could feel the weight of him. They stood like that. Close enough that if anyone saw there’d be no pretending this was just fellowship. Neither of them cared.

The sky was lighter now. Birds starting. The smoke was still there but thinning until the wind carried the last toward the river.

The wind was shifting again. For a moment Martin heard it again — the crack of the beam, wood splitting. Then just nothing. 

“We should sleep,” he mumbled – his voice almost steady -“while we can.” Alwin didn’t move. Martin’s thumb pressed against the base of Alwin’s skull. “Come on.”

Their fingers stayed linked as they turned toward the grange and no one cared to stop them.

Terms

• Compline — final prayer service of the day, after dark
• Grange — the working farm buildings where lay workers slept and worked (as distinct from the brothers’ quarters)
• Knight-brothers — the vowed Templar brothers (as distinct from lay workers like Alwin and Martin)
• Lauds — pre-dawn prayer service
• Neusum – 12th century spelling of ‘Newsam’ – the Knight’s Templar commercial farm near Leeds.