Slowly, the terror retreated, and Gewis came back to himself. He raised his head, quite surprised to find that his face was wet with his own tears. He heard a quiet cough, realizing only then that there was somebody else in the room. Expecting to see one of his guardians, wearily he sat up and met his visitor’s eyes.
It was not one of the guards, although he saw two of them outside the room, standing in the dark passage.
It was the abbot’s most senior prior.
Gewis shot to his feet. He might not be a monk, but during the short time he had been at Ely he had picked up the habit of reverence from the brethren. The man who now stood before him was second in seniority only to the abbot himself.
‘Please, Gewis, sit down,’ the prior said quietly.
He called me by my true name
, Gewis thought.
Why, when everyone else here calls me Brother Ailred?
Slowly, he sank down on to his thin, hard mattress.
The prior drew up the wooden stool and sat down close to the cot. He studied Gewis intently for some moments without speaking.
Growing uneasy under the scrutiny, eventually Gewis said hesitantly, ‘S–sir?’
Sir
was not right. He frowned, embarrassed, as he tried to remember if he should call the prior father or brother . . .
But the prior did not seem to have noticed. ‘Are you unwell, Gewis?’ he asked. His tone was gentle, kindly, but Gewis did not entirely trust him. He looked up into the prior’s face. He was a man in the mid-thirties, dark-haired, sallow complexioned, and the intense, brown eyes were small and deep set, their steady gaze unblinking and penetrating.
‘I am quite well, thank you,’ Gewis stammered.
‘You look pale, my son,’ said the prior. He shot a look in the direction of the guards. ‘Not enough time out in the good, fresh air, I expect. Tomorrow you shall have more.’ He frowned, his eyes appearing to take in every detail of Gewis’s face and body. ‘You are thin, I see. Is the food here not to your taste? Perhaps there is some special dish you would like?’
Gewis could barely believe what he was hearing. The food was fine, he wanted to say, better than he was used to. If he ate little of it that was because he still had no idea why he had been brought to Ely, he was very afraid that they meant him harm, he was lonely, he missed his mother and there was something within the abbey that terrified him and which, despite the rumours that now flew around freely between the brethren, nobody seemed prepared to talk about out loud.
He did not feel able to say any of this to the prior.
‘Er . . . the food is very fine,’ he managed.
‘Good, good,’ the prior said. ‘And you are comfortable here in this room?’
‘Yes, but—’ His nervousness overcame him.
‘But?’ the prior prompted.
‘But I don’t understand why I’ve been taken away from the others,’ he said in a rush. ‘I was quite happy in the dormitory with the brethren, and—’
‘You are not a monk, Gewis, and therefore you do not belong with them,’ the prior interrupted smoothly, his face twisted in a rictus of a smile.
There was a moment of silence. Then Gewis heard himself say, ‘Then why am I here?’
The prior sighed. Gewis stiffened in fear – surely he had just been unforgivably impertinent and he would receive some awful punishment? – but then to his amazement the prior stretched out a long, graceful hand and laid it on Gewis’s wrist.
‘You are here for your own safety,’ he said. ‘Your existence has long been known to – to the people who wish to safeguard you. You spent your childhood in Fulbourn, hidden away from the eyes of the world. Those who knew where you were did not know
who
you were; those who were aware of your identity did not know where to look for you. Nevertheless, you were not left unguarded. Those whose concern you are were kept informed regarding your progress as you grew out of boyhood towards manhood. When the time was right, you were brought here to the safety of Ely abbey.’
My mother knew they would come for me
, Gewis thought suddenly. He remembered the night that the four burly men had sought him out. His mother, opening the door, had greeted them as if she had been expecting them. When he’d said goodbye to her, she had smiled through her tears and whispered words of encouragement. It had always puzzled him because in that emotional moment of farewell she had seemed so very
proud
of him . . .
Gewis straightened his back, raised his chin and stared the prior in the eyes. ‘What do you want of me?’ he demanded. He was gratified to find that his voice sounded strong and firm.
The prior sensed the change in him; Gewis knew it for he saw it in the man’s expression. But, instead of frowning at his impudence, the prior nodded slowly, and Gewis saw some strong emotion flash briefly in the dark eyes. For a moment he thought it might have been respect.
‘We wish to protect you from those who would do you harm,’ the prior said.
Gewis laughed, a short, sharp, humourless sound. ‘Who might that be?’ he demanded.
The prior shook his head. ‘It is not for me to say,’ he replied smoothly, ‘but you must trust me when I say you have not been brought here without very good reason.’
‘If not you, then who will tell me?’ Gewis persisted. The night was becoming more unreal with every moment that passed. Being permitted to speak his mind to the second most senior figure in the abbey was an unexpected indulgence, and he intended to make the most of it.
The prior was watching him closely as if assessing his mood. Then he said, ‘One is on his way here who will supply all the answers. He is—’
‘He is Lord Edmund the Exile,’ Gewis interrupted. ‘Yes, I know.’
The prior had gone pale. ‘How do you know this?’ His voice came in a low, angry whisper in which Gewis detected anxiety and, watching him closely, Gewis saw him shoot a furious, accusatory look at the guardians out in the passage.
Gewis had no wish to make trouble for his four guards. They might have taken him from his home and brought him to the abbey without a word of explanation but they were only following orders. Besides, they had treated him well; apart from the one incident just outside the abbey walls, when he had cried out and they had silenced him, none had raised a hand to him, and they had always seen to it that he had warm clothing, blankets on the bed and enough to eat and drink. There were worst gaolers, Gewis was sure.
He thought rapidly. ‘I heard some monks talking,’ he said. ‘They said an important visitor was expected, and one of them mentioned the name.’
The prior looked sceptical. Gewis, risking a quick look at the guardians, saw relief on their faces. One even gave him a short, tight smile.
‘Hmm,’ said the prior.
Gewis met his gaze, trying to make his expression innocent. ‘Who is this lord?’ he asked. ‘Is it true that he’s important?’
The prior managed a smile. ‘He is important to some,’ he said evasively. ‘As to who he is, he will explain all of that to you when he arrives.’
‘Has he far to come?’ Gewis asked.
The prior did not answer for some moments. Then he said, ‘Oh, yes.’
He said something else, but Gewis could not have heard right for it made no sense. After the prior left and the door of the little room was quietly closed, Gewis was left alone in the dark with his thoughts.
He had much to think about, but his mind returned again and again to the prior’s final words. Because what Gewis thought he had said was, ‘The blood calls out to him.’
SEVENTEEN
I
t took me a long time to get to sleep, and in the morning I felt groggy and listless. I recognized that I had suffered a shock last night; more than one, for I had seen a ghost and been kissed hard by a stranger. Stranger . . . no, that was not the right word for him, for something inside me had known him, recognized him . . . With an effort I pulled myself back from the indulgence of thinking about him and instead addressed myself to the day ahead.
Although I felt I ought to hurry out to pursue my investigations, I knew I was in no fit state. I made myself a calming brew, the main constituents of which were chamomile, clover and honey, and then I ate some bread and more of the honey for my breakfast. I barely tasted the food, but I did feel better after it had gone down.
Then I tidied the room, folding my borrowed garments and stowing them back in Sibert’s pack, and tried to see my way through the misty maze that appeared to surround me. I sat in thought for some time, and I got absolutely nowhere. I began to wonder what I was doing in Ely, for surely I was no good to anyone here and I’d be better off at home pursuing my studies and helping my aunt with her patients? But I knew that I would stay; for one thing, Sibert was still absent, and although Hrype was on his trail it was by no means certain that he would find Sibert if Sibert didn’t want to be found. Some instinct told me that, if ever Sibert was going to ask for anyone’s help in finding the answers about his own past that he so badly wanted, it would not be Hrype he approached but me.
I could not therefore leave Ely and desert my friend. There was something else: when I thought back to the previous evening and managed to see beyond the terrifying vision in the old church, I remembered the pale youth. He had recognized me and he had been about to hurry over and speak to me, of that I was sure. He needed my help, and I wasn’t going to let him down.
Although I told myself it was on account of these selfless reasons that I resolved to stay in Ely, even in my own head that was a lie – or, if not exactly that, then a fudging of the truth. I stayed because my dark-eyed stranger was on the island, and I wasn’t going to leave all the time there was a chance I would see him again.
I swung my cloak round me, pulled up the hood and went out into the morning. I was not at all sure where I was going but, as I paced up the narrow alley, I was filled with the sense that something was about to happen. The foreboding was at the same time both exciting and vaguely threatening.
Hrype had woken at dawn stiff and cold. After parting from Lassair the previous day he had looked for Sibert all along the Ely quays, asking if anyone had seen him or ferried him across the water. Nobody had or, if they had, they weren’t prepared to reveal the fact to a nosy stranger. As the light failed he had found a waterside tavern and ordered food and beer while he’d decided what to do. The obvious answer had been to return to the room, have a good night’s sleep and start again in the morning, but he could not face Lassair just then – or now. She surely must know from Sibert that he had welcomed the visit to Ely because it gave him an opportunity to discover more about his past, and Hrype perceived that she was very curious about what exactly was going on between him and Sibert. With good reason, he thought ruefully, but that did not mean he was ready to explain. He was not at all sure that the day when he
was
ready would ever come . . .
So he’d paid for a bed in the tavern, but the space that his coins bought him was narrow, smelly, bug-ridden and he’d had to share it with other men. He had opted to sit on the bench in the corner, where he’d managed to doze on and off through the long night. It had been a relief when morning had come.
A wakeful night had, however, given him time to think and he had resolved to find Sibert, whatever it took and no matter how far he had to travel in the search. Hrype was not like other men, and he had an aid in his search that was not available to many; after he had taken a fairly unappetizing breakfast in the inn, he’d set off along the quay until he found a quiet spot where the track gave out and low-lying, waterlogged fields began.
He went in under the thin shelter of some winter-bare alders and crouched with his back against the trunk of the largest. It was not ideal; even his skill could not light a fire on the sodden ground. Also, although it was a desolate and deserted place, the town was quite near, and there was always the possibility that he would be disturbed. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes, drew deep on his reserves for the necessary concentration and, when he had put himself in the light trance state, summoned the guardian spirits and asked his animal guide for help. He opened his eyes and thought he glimpsed a large presence beside him, its thick brown fur brushing against him. His bear was there. He smiled faintly, then he shook the runes on to their cloth.
He looked for a long time. What he saw both reassured and deeply disturbed him, for the stones told him how and where he would find Sibert but also that there was a great disturbance hanging over the young man and grave danger hovered very close.
Hrype thanked the spirits, asked his guide to stay close and, his hands moving deftly but reverently, packed the runes away in their leather bag. Then he stood, straightened his cramped spine and set out back the way he had come.
He found a boatman to row him across to March. Almost in a daze, he headed off for the place where the causeway to Bearton branched away into the misty distance. He had almost reached it when he felt a hand on his sleeve. He turned to see Aetha.
‘I have been awaiting you, Magic Man,’ she said very quietly. There were people about, hurrying to and fro about the morning’s business. Aetha looked around quickly, and then she climbed the low wall and walked a few paces down the causeway to a place where a stand of willows stood with the bases of their trunks in water. She hopped nimbly up on to the top of a low rise where the ground was relatively dry and beckoned him to join her.