She paused in her work. ‘Yes.’
‘He was trying to find you?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you did not wish to speak to him?’
‘I . . . No.’
Hrype smiled grimly. ‘How did you prevent him crossing the causeway?’
‘He was afraid to,’ she replied. ‘I saw him there, nerving himself to come to me.’ Hrype guessed she did not mean she’d actually
seen
him, for it was a substantial distance from March to Bearton, and even the most long-sighted old woman would surely struggle to make out any more than the line of the far shore. No; Aetha would have seen him in her mind.
‘Did you place the fear in his head?’
‘He was already anxious, for the water was high and in places the path across the causeway was submerged. There are fell creatures in that black water, Magic Man, as all fen dwellers well know.’ She smiled, revealing strong, yellowing teeth. ‘It was not much of a challenge to work on those fears a little.’
‘You knew who he was?’
‘I did, for hadn’t Yorath just been to tell me he was looking for me?’
Hrype stared at her. ‘You would have recognized him even without her warning, I think,’ he murmured.
She met his eyes for a moment and then her gaze slid away. She sighed. ‘Perhaps.’
He longed to ask her why she would not permit a meeting between herself and Sibert. He had been given a reason – hadn’t Yorath said plainly that her mother had shut her mind to the past and wanted no reminders? Why, Aetha had taken the extreme step of abandoning the place that had always been her home and moving to this desolate islet in the middle of nowhere, cut off from humankind and with no company except her cat, her hens and her bees. Sibert, too, would not be just anybody, linked as he was with the terrible days of Hereward’s rebellion and its aftermath.
It was enough, wasn’t it?
Hrype’s mind was working swiftly. Should he confront her directly, or would that merely serve to arouse her curiosity and send her thoughts flying straight back to the one time and place Hrype did not want her to dwell on? Or should he thankfully accept that she had not spoken to Sibert, had no wish to, and undoubtedly would do whatever was necessary to make sure she didn’t?
He was interrupted by Aetha’s quiet voice as softly she chanted the words of an ancient spell for protection. Then she said, ‘Do not worry. I remember it all, just as well as you do, but some things are best left in the past.’
She set a coarse pottery mug down on the floor beside him, its contents sending up spirals of steam. He smelt the sweet aroma of honey, accompanied by something spicy. He glanced up at her, intending to thank her, and he surprised her in an expression that was the last thing he would have expected.
She was sorry for him.
FOURTEEN
I
was exhausted after my long day, and I slept soundly, despite worrying over the absence of both Sibert and Hrype. In a way, the fact that neither of them had returned eased my anxiety, for I told myself that they must surely be together and therefore much safer than if either had been alone. Well, Hrype was all right whether by himself or in company; he has a sort of infallibility about him, which I assume comes from being a cunning man. Not many men are willing to tangle with someone like Hrype. As for Sibert, he had certainly matured recently but he was still subject to fits of self-doubt when the least little obstacle could rear up like a tall cliff and stop him in his tracks, quaking with fear of what might happen. To think of him under the protective cloak of his uncle Hrype was very comforting.
I stirred once, for I had heard a small sound. I thought it was the door opening and was reassured, imagining that one or both of my companions had just crept in. Then I went straight back to sleep.
In the morning I discovered two things: I was still all alone in the little room, and someone had been inside during the night. I knew that without a doubt, for every night before I sleep I always make sure that everything is packed neatly away in my leather satchel and that the buckles are fastened. This morning, one strap was buckled but one lay loose.
I got up straight away, arranging my clothing and brushing the straw out of my hair, for instinctively I felt that whatever I had to face I would be better prepared for it if I were fully dressed and tidy. Then I made myself eat breakfast and drink a hot infusion, for we all do battle better with food inside us. Then I sat on my neatly made bed and thought about what could have happened.
There were no signs that anyone else had spent the night in the house, for the other mattress was undisturbed. I told myself the most likely event was that Hrype and Sibert – perhaps both of them – had returned briefly to our dwelling to fetch something from my satchel, and perhaps to check that I was safe, and then left again on whatever business he, or they, were pursuing. They would have seen me sleeping deeply and taken care not to wake me. Wouldn’t they? No doubt they would return soon and tell me all about what they’d been up to.
Yes. That must be right.
The alternative – that some stranger with malicious intent had opened the door, stared down at me and gone through my belongings as I slept – was just too frightening to contemplate.
I reached for my satchel and, forcing my shaking hands to work, checked the contents. As far as I could tell, everything that ought to be there was there. Whoever had rooted through my potions, ointments, herbs and dressings had not disturbed them much, and nobody but me would even have noticed that they had even been touched. He – I knew instinctively that the intruder had been a man – had investigated the pieces of folded white cloth at the bottom of the satchel but only to the extent of pulling out a corner to identify the fabric.
It still could have been Hrype or Sibert, I told myself firmly. Both of them knew what I carried in my bag. Both of them would also know that I wouldn’t object if they needed some herb or remedy and came to fetch it, and I tried to convince myself that, finding me so deeply asleep, they would have helped themselves rather than wake me up to ask me for assistance.
The problem with that comforting picture was that, as far as I could tell, nothing was missing from my satchel.
I sat there drowning in my fear for several moments. Then, with a greater effort than I’m prepared to admit, I fought back.
I’m still alive
, I told myself firmly.
Nobody has hurt me. Nothing has been stolen
. Although I did not know who had entered the little room, and what they had wanted of me, I was determined to find out. I wished with all my heart that Sibert or Hrype were there to find out with me – but they weren’t, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tidied away my breakfast utensils, picked up my cloak, tied it firmly and set out into the morning.
How would you go about trying to find out who had crept into your house during the night and what they had been after? I’ll tell you what I did: I tried to think why anyone might be interested in me, and straight away the answer flashed back that it must surely be to do with the pale youth. With Gewis, as I now knew him to be called. Yesterday I had gone to his village to find out anything I could about him. The four monks who guarded him must somehow have known where I was going. Perhaps they had made Gewis admit that he’d told me he was a carpenter’s son from Fulbourn. I did not allow myself to dwell on how they might have forced him to tell them. So, knowing I was curious about him, they had forestalled me, and one of them had gone there before me. He had found Gewis’s mother Asfrior in her little house and somehow persuaded her to set out with him; perhaps he’d concocted some tale about her son needing her so she’d gone willingly. Then he had struck her with something very hard, such as a lump of stone, and hidden her body under the trees. Again I heard those chilling words:
It is safe now
.
Safe? What did he mean? I was all too afraid that I knew, for surely he could only have been saying that, with Asfrior dead, it was safe for me to go to Fulbourn for my only source of information concerning Gewis lay dead with her head staved in.
Oh,
oh
, if I was right, what sort of men were they? What was it that had to be kept secret, so very secret that they had killed, and were going on killing, to prevent anybody finding out?
That thought was so awful that my mind shied away. Instead, I went over what I had learned from Asfrior’s neighbour. I pictured Edulf, twenty years older than his young wife, a man who bore a heavy weight on his shoulders and whose own father had been involved in some tragic mystery. I thought of how he had died, falling to his death while working on some grand new building. Whoever had been in charge had demanded the finest craftsmen; I pictured Edulf, no doubt pleased and flattered to have been chosen, setting off with a spring in his step, his tool bag light on his shoulder. But then I realized that wasn’t right, for he forgot his tools and his wife had to go after him with them.
I thought about that. The old woman hadn’t actually said it sounded an unlikely tale, but she hadn’t needed to. I agreed with her. A good workman with a reputation to uphold just doesn’t set off on a new job without the tools of his trade. Edulf would no more have forgotten his bag than I would have gone to see a sick patient without my satchel.
I wondered what had really happened. Gewis, I realized slowly, was even now in a place where he was being kept apart from the rest of the population. Had this urgent summons that had come for his father been to achieve a similar result? Was that why he had not taken his tools, because the story of working on a magnificent new building was just that, a story, and in reality he knew quite well where he was going and why?
Something must have gone wrong. Whatever they had hoped to do with Edulf, they had not succeeded, for there had been a frightful accident and he had broken his neck. He probably had not fallen from scaffolding while working on a carving; that, like the fictitious job itself, was nothing more than a cover story to satisfy the curious.
They – whoever they were – had wanted Edulf for some matter of great importance. They thought they had got him away to safety, but then something went wrong and he died. Now, four years on, they had come for his son Gewis instead.
Why? What did they want with the men of this family?
I had absolutely no idea.
My musings had achieved the desired effect: I had forgotten my fear. Well, most of it. I was hurrying along in the midst of the crowds of good Ely folk and, for the moment anyway, I felt quite safe. However, enemies were near, and I decided that, since they were taking an interest in my comings and goings, I ought to find out all I could about theirs. I knew that at least two of the quartet of burly monks had left Ely yesterday, for I had seen them just outside Fulbourn. I could not very well go inside the abbey to see if they were there, but I could check to see if they had set out across the water. Turning abruptly, I hurried down to the quayside from which I had embarked the previous noon.
I found the boatman who had given me directions and rowed me across – or, more accurately, he found me. He called out a cheery good morning and asked if I wanted to cross the water again today.
‘No, thanks,’ I replied. ‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something.’
‘Ask away,’ he said with a grin. He was young, he was quite handsome and I think he was flirting with me.
I leaned closer, taking advantage of his interest. ‘It’s a little delicate,’ I whispered.
His eyes widened, and he put a finger alongside his nose. ‘I won’t tell,’ he hissed dramatically.
I smiled. ‘I thought I saw a couple of the brethren from the abbey yesterday, when I was on my way to Fulbourn,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘Both of them are broad-set, tough-looking men and they have a sort of secretive, watchful look about them. I just wondered if you remember taking them across, or even if you told them, too, how to get to Fulbourn?’
Slowly, he shook his head. ‘No, can’t say as I recall anything like that.’
‘Oh.’ I’m not sure how I thought the information would have helped, but nevertheless I felt very disappointed.
But my ferryman was leaning close again. ‘I remember rowing them back though,’ he whispered.
‘You do?’
He nodded.
‘When?’
‘Ooh, mid afternoon.’
‘Did they—’ No. I had almost said,
Did they look as if one of them had just done a murder?
But it would have been an absurd question.
Then the boatman really surprised me. I suppose, thinking about it now, men like him study their passengers, observing small things that most of us would miss. When you’re pulling hard on the oars, endlessly rowing people to and fro, there can’t be much else to do except indulge in a bit of speculation.
He said, again speaking so quietly that I had to strain to listen, ‘I don’t know what else they may or may not be but they’re not monks.’
It took a moment for me to recover. Then I hissed, ‘How can you be so sure?’
He smiled grimly. ‘They were bearing arms.’
I realized that I did not want to believe him. ‘Most men carry a knife,’ I protested, ‘even monks, if they have to go on a journey that takes them out of the safety and sanctity of the abbey.’