‘I will do my best to make sure he does,’ my aunt replied. ‘Now, stop hovering over me, Lassair. You keep getting your head between me and the light.’
I was, for the time being, dismissed. I turned to where Sibert stood with the pale youth. ‘Where on earth did you find him?’ I asked.
Sibert tore his eyes away from his uncle – he looked sickened by the sight of the huge wound – and looked at me. ‘He was down by the water when we got back just now. I recognized him initially by his hair. I don’t know what he was doing out there, but he asked if we’d shelter him.’
‘I can talk for myself, you know,’ the pale boy said.
I turned to him. I could think only that his mother was dead and he probably didn’t know, but it was hardly the moment to blurt out the news. ‘Who are you?’ I said instead.
‘My name’s Gewis.’
I knew that already, and more. ‘You’re a carpenter’s son from Fulbourn.’ I remembered his exact words. ‘You said you were a monk, but—’
‘No, I’m not, for I’ve taken no vows,’ the boy protested. ‘I said they’d turned me into one, but I only meant they’d shaved my head and put me in a robe, and I don’t think that’s binding.’
‘I’m sure it’s not.’ I smiled at him and after a moment he grinned back. ‘So, you’ve managed to get away from them, and now you’re trying to get off the island?’
He frowned. ‘That’s right, but there’s much more to it than that.’ The frown deepened. ‘They seem to think my father belonged to some ancient family, and they wanted to make him a figurehead for men to rally round, only his enemies tricked him and they killed him.’
He appeared to recount that terrible fact with equanimity. I wondered how he would react when I told him about his mother. ‘And now, in the absence of your father, they plan to use you as a rallying point?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I reckon they do.’
I had no idea who these ambitious men might be. The important thing was that, to judge by his face, this boy wanted no part of their scheming. Besides, hadn’t he just run away from them? But it seemed wise to make sure. I hesitated, choosing my words, and then said, ‘Do you wish to join them and lead this faction?’
He said simply, ‘No.’ Then, watching me closely, he added, ‘Why? Do you know anything about them? There’s something, I can see it in your face.’
So I told him as gently as I could what these men who wanted so badly to advance him into prominence had done to his mother.
He went even paler, if that was possible, and he would have slumped to the ground had it not been for Sibert’s support. His eyes anguished, he said, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I found her body, and I went back to the village for help,’ I said, pity for him threatening to make my voice unsteady. ‘A man from the village identified her. There was no doubt.’
‘Why?’ he asked. The word was a sob.
‘I think it was because she knew the secret of why you had been taken to Ely and they feared what would happen if the truth got out,’ I said. The four guards had killed, or tried to kill, all those who had witnessed their actions, and I could not help but think they would have killed me, too, if they discovered that I knew about Gewis; after all, a young nun had been attacked because they thought she was me and she might very well have died had not her sisters woken up. If anyone from Ely had sought out Asfrior, as indeed I had tried to, there would always have been the danger she would tell them too much.
I had gone to find her. It was quite likely that I had precipitated her death. I did not tell the boy that. I was barely able to deal with it myself.
Slowly, he nodded. ‘I must go back to where they have buried her and tell her I am sorry that I abandoned her,’ he said slowly. ‘I will do so as soon as it is safe. And then . . .’ His words trailed off.
‘What will you do?’ I asked him. ‘Where will you go?’
With a visible effort he brought himself back to the present. ‘I must get away from here,’ he said. ‘Now that you have told me what they have done, that makes them my enemies. They will cut me down as my father and mother were cut down if they know I am against them.’
‘You must—’ I began.
But just then there was a soft exclamation from Edild. ‘He is stirring,’ she said. ‘Lassair, come here – I need your help, for he must not twist and turn or he will tear the stitches.’
I hurried over to kneel beside her. Hrype’s eyelids were fluttering; she was right, he was about to wake up. ‘He’ll be able to tell us who attacked him!’ I murmured to Edild. ‘He hasn’t said a word so far, but—’
I heard Sibert speaking urgently to the boy. Then he was right beside me, whispering in my ear and speaking so fast that it was quite hard to make out what he was saying.
‘Sibert, slow down!’ I protested. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m taking Gewis to Aelf Fen,’ he repeated. ‘He’ll be safe there, and he can hide out till he decides what to do.’
‘Where
is
this Aelf Fen?’ said Gewis plaintively from the door. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘It’s where we live,’ I said, turning to look at him. ‘We all have family there, and Sibert will make sure you are well looked after. Sibert, are you sure you want to go?’ I added in a low voice. ‘Hrype’s just about to come round – don’t you want to stay and talk to him, just to reassure yourself he’s all right?’
Sibert muttered something but I didn’t catch it. He had gone white again, and there was sweat on his brow – was he really that squeamish? – so I thought it best to let him be. Besides, Hrype was starting to struggle, as Edild had predicted, and I had work to do.
I was only vaguely aware of the door closing behind them as Sibert and Gewis went out into the night.
My aunt and I worked over Hrype as he lay there on the straw mattress. Edild always stresses that a healer must be detached, with all their concentration fixed upon the needs of the patient, and that this is hardest to achieve when the patient is a friend or a relation. I had never appreciated until that night how difficult this could be. We worked so hard, Edild and I, and once when the wound started bleeding again and she couldn’t stop it she called out in anguish to her spirit guide and I really thought I could see her silvery wolf in the little room with us. I was tired and overwrought, however, and so perhaps it was just my imagination.
When we had done all that we could, we sat down on either side of him and Edild held his hand. He was calm now, the hectic flush of heat gradually lessening, and he was slipping in and out of sleep. I stared at him for a long time, and then I looked up at my aunt. She was not aware of my eyes on her and the expression on her face took me by surprise.
I realized, at last, something I had known deep down for some time: Edild loved Hrype.
I dropped my gaze. She had never breathed a word about what she felt for him, and presumably this meant she preferred to keep it to herself. Well, that was her choice. I would make sure she didn’t know I knew.
I got up and stretched, then slipped outside to the privy. I stood for a while in the quiet alley looking into the eastern sky. There was the suggestion of a lightening of the darkness; dawn was near. I wondered what the new day would bring. I was shivering – it was a cold night – and went back inside.
Hrype was awake. Edild held a cup to his lips, and he was sipping at the contents. She was speaking softly to him, and something she said made him smile. It was only a slight smile, but I took it as a good sign. I went to kneel at his other side. ‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘I will live, Lassair.’
I wasn’t sure how to reply, so I just said lamely, ‘Oh, good.’
His smile widened. Then he said, ‘Edild tells me I have you to thank for the fact that I am still here.’
Now I felt embarrassed and the hot blood rose in my face. ‘The stitches are a bit rough,’ I muttered. I knew I had hurt him terribly – the memory of how he had howled with pain before, at his own suggestion, I’d thought to give him the pain-deadening poppy draught was all too vivid – and to have him express gratitude was hard to take.
‘Rough or not, they stemmed the blood and stopped my life force running out of me,’ he said. ‘Lassair, I thank you.’
He and Edild were both staring at me, grey eyes and green eyes carrying the exact same expression. It was too much; I dropped my head, unable to look at them. The mood in the little room was full of tension, and I felt an urgent need to dilute it. I said, ‘Hrype, who attacked you? Did you see his face? Should we try to bring him to justice?’
There was a long silence, and I sensed something quite dreadful. Edild looked at Hrype and, all but imperceptibly, he nodded. Then he looked at me and said, ‘Sibert.’
I didn’t understand. Did he mean Sibert was to seek out the attacker and have him arrested? Or . . .
Edild must have noticed my confusion. ‘Sibert attacked Hrype,’ she said. ‘Hrype went back to see Aetha again, and then he went searching for Sibert on March island. Sibert was waiting for him and attacked him with a large knife.’
I said stupidly, ‘I didn’t know he had a large knife.’
Edild gave a short sound of irritation at the irrelevance of my remark, but Hrype, who seemed to understand better what I was feeling, said, ‘It was an old blade, and I think he must have stolen it, perhaps from Aetha.’
I tried to take it in. I looked from one to the other of them and read such a complex mix of emotions that I felt totally confused. Eventually, I said, ‘Why?’
Hrype sighed deeply, wincing as the movement tugged at his wound. The wound that his own nephew had inflicted . . . Then he said, ‘It is a long story. I will begin the tale, for it is mine to tell, and if I grow weary Edild will take over.’
I waited.
After what seemed like an age, he began. ‘You have heard, Lassair, of how my mother, my brother, my brother’s wife and I were together here on the Isle of Ely at the time of Hereward’s rebellion against the Conqueror’s rule.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You know that Edmer my brother was gravely wounded and that, although Froya and I did all we could, in the end there was no alternative and I had to amputate his leg.’
‘Yes, and then she got him away because his enemies here wanted to kill him, and she took him to Aelf Fen while you stayed here pretending you were still looking after him, and she was pregnant with Sibert and he was born later, after your brother was dead.’
‘You know the story well,’ he remarked. ‘Yes, all that is true.’ Something flashed across his face – I thought he was reacting to a stab of pain – and then he said, ‘Lassair, consider this: Sibert was born a little less than nine months after Edmer was struck by the arrow that eventually took his life.’
‘Yes I know,’ I said, ‘I just said that.’
Hrype seemed to be waiting for me to go on. When I didn’t he sighed again and then said, ‘Let me tell you about Froya. What do you think of her, Lassair? What sort of a woman would you say she is?’
I felt very awkward. It was not for me to judge my elders or, even if I did, it would be disrespectful to reveal my thoughts. ‘She’s . . . er, she’s very nice,’ I said.
Hrype smiled, the expression there and gone swiftly. ‘You may speak freely,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ I arranged my thoughts. ‘She is an unhappy person. She finds life hard, and she is easily cast down by problems.’ I recalled how, when Sibert had gone to fetch Edild –
oh, Sibert!
– he had asked if he should also fetch Froya, and my instinctive reaction was that she would be the last person I’d want in a crisis. ‘She panics readily and she is not strong,’ I finished. I hoped it was enough – it felt like much more than enough to me.
Hrype nodded. ‘All that you observe is true,’ he said. ‘However, I must tell you that she was not always as you see her today. She was my pupil – it was I who introduced her to my brother – and as a young woman she was spirited and a quick learner. We achieved much working side by side and never more so than when we tended the wounded and the sick during the rebellion here.’
‘She fell in love with your brother,’ I said dreamily, ‘and they were wed.’
‘They were,’ he agreed. ‘They made a good couple, for Edmer loved her dearly, and it moved many people to see that big, tough, strong man side by side with a fair, fragile woman like Froya. Her looks were an illusion, back then, for she, too, was strong, in her own way.’
‘I have never doubted it,’ I said. ‘No weakling wife could have got her gravely wounded husband across the fens the way she did. It must have been dreadful,
and
she was pregnant so she must have worried about the child she carried as well as poor Edmer.’
The child she carried . . . Something was nagging at me, trying to claim my attention.
Hrype was speaking, and I made myself listen. ‘What she achieved was remarkable,’ he said, ‘and in many ways it was an event that she has never truly got over.’
I tried to work out what he meant. ‘You mean she injured herself in some way?’ That made sense. ‘Was it something to do with the baby? Did her efforts to take Edmer to safety damage her body so that the birth was more difficult than it should have been?’ I was quite sure I was on the right track; after all, Froya had borne no more babies after Sibert. But then, cross with myself, I thought, of course she hadn’t! She couldn’t have, because her husband was dead.