together up to the throne of God. Daily he dreamed that one day the whole church would hold its breath as his voice ran like molten silver from the moon.
But though he prayed every night and tried to convince himself that he was one of them, he knew something was starting to go badly wrong. Even if he hadn't seen the singing master shaking his head and the choir members exchanging glances whenever he was asked to sing alone, he knew that his voice wasn't like the others'. The music was perfect in his head. He could hear exactly how each note should sound. He knew what was required of him, but when he opened his mouth, what came out now made even him cringe.
When he was eleven years old, they sent for him. The cart to take him back to his village was already standing at the abbey door. Sometimes with training the voice can be improved, they said, but his was becoming worse. It happens with some castrati. Unlike normal boys, their voices can never break, but they can crack as the child grows, and a bell that is cracked cannot ever sound a pure note.
Raffe begged them to let him become a monk or to take Holy Orders as a priest, so that he could remain among them and listen to those voices even if he could never be one of them. But they sadly shook their heads. Did he not know, had he not learned in his studies what is written in the Holy Bible — 'He that is wounded in the stones shall not enter the congregation of the Lord.' Eunuchs are unnatural. They are an abomination. They are unclean. He had been wounded for God, and for that very wound he would be cast out from God's sight.
When he returned home, his father said nothing. In contrast, his mother had plenty to say about the wicked waste of money and the dashed hopes of the whole family after all they had sacrificed for him. He had trampled on all their dreams by failing to study hard enough, by failing to be good enough. He found his sleeping place occupied by his younger brother. His tasks on the farm had been shared out among the others. They had not expected him to return. Like a stone lifted out of a pond, the water had closed over the gap where he had once been, leaving no trace. But all that he could have borne, for none of it had hurt him as much as his father's silence.
A swan alighted with a splash on the river, almost colliding with the boat. The ripples sent the slender craft rocking. Raffe squinted up at the sky; the sun had risen high enough now for Walter to have opened the gate and the servants to be about their morning tasks. He hauled himself upright, scratching violently at the swelling bites of the marsh midges on his arms.
Having returned the boat to the old eel man, Raffe made his way back to the manor. He could not suppress a yawn as he crossed the courtyard, weaving between the bustling servants.
'Weary already at this bright hour, gelding?'
Raffe whirled about to find Osborn's younger brother, Hugh, standing in front of the stables. God's teeth, when had he returned? Only yesterday he'd ridden out with Osborn and the rest of his men on their way to attend the king at court. What was he doing back here?
Hugh looked the steward up and down with amused disdain. 'By the Blood, you look so draggled, had it been any other man I'd have sworn he'd spent the night in the arms of a whore, but we know you weren't losing your sleep in that cause, don't we?'
Raffe, aware of the barely suppressed grins of the other servants, turned away, trying hard to swallow his anger. It wasn't easy for his fist was itching to connect with Hugh's nose.
'I can see you still want for manners. Like a dog to a whistle you should come running to your masters when they address you.'
Raffe wheeled around and walked rapidly towards Hugh, his fists clenched. He stopped so close to him that, being a good head shorter, Hugh was forced to crane his head back to look Raffe in the face.
'Did you want something?' Raffe said coldly.
Hugh giggled. 'You know, however many times I hear you speak, I still can't get used to the voice of a little girl