by Alys Clare
Soon he had left all signs of human habitation far behind. The sea to his left glittered silver in the sunshine, and in the distance he could make out the sound of small waves flopping down on to the shore. He looked out over the land between him and the water, which, as he rode steadily north, changed from a line of low, honey-coloured cliffs into a steadily widening band of salt marsh. With a shudder, he remembered what the mate had said about quicksand.
After some time the path curved round to the right. Rollo realized that he had reached the northernmost tip of the land and was now going eastwards. He drew rein and looked around him. As far as he could see, there was not a soul about. The wide sands extended on ahead of him until, at a point he could barely make out, the land gave way to water and the sea began.
He did not like to admit it, but he was afraid.
He had come this far, he told himself. He had no choice but to go on. He was on a mission from the king, and he could not return to him until he had fulfilled it.
He turned Strega’s head towards the sea and set out across the uncertain ground.
To begin with, the going was quite good. He appeared to be following a well-used track, which had a gravelled surface and was elevated slightly above the surrounding marsh. Strega was nervous – he could tell by the slight sheen of sweat on her coat and the occasional shudder in her flesh – but her head was up and her ears pricked forward. He was thankful all over again for her sturdy courage.
He peered ahead, trying to make out where the sea began. He was in a strange place, half land, half water. The light, too, was weird; sometimes the sun shone down clearly, and sometimes it was as if its light was reaching him through a fine mist, or a veil. He did not let himself dwell on that.
After some time he glanced over his shoulder. He was horrified to see how far he had come out across the endless shore. The line of the higher ground was far, far behind.
He turned back to face the sea. Go on, he commanded himself. Go on, discover what lies out there, and then you can return to safety.
He put his heels to Strega’s sides, and she moved on reluctantly.
They went on for some time. The path had deteriorated, and now he had to think about every step the mare took. She, too, was worried; there was a tentative feel to her paces.
They came to a place where she stopped and would not go on. Rollo had been staring ahead, straining his eyes against the powerful light and trying to make out what was ahead. Now he looked down at the ground and was horrified at what he saw.
They were no longer on a path of any sort – at least, not one that he could make out. The horse’s feet were embedded in the salty, sandy mud. As he watched, the mud crept a finger’s breadth higher up her trembling legs.
He was suddenly aware of the sound of water. A slow, steady rushing filled his ears, and now he had noticed it, it was all he could hear.
Unless, carried on the gentle breeze, there was the sound of someone quietly laughing . . .
He raised his head and looked out at the water. He stared, blinked a couple of times and stared again.
There could be no doubt about it.
The tide was coming in.
ELEVEN
My heart sank lower and lower as Hrype and I climbed the gentle slope up from the quayside at Chatteris to the abbey. I felt like lying down and howling, but that would not have done anyone any good. There was, however, a chance that if I managed to pull myself together, I might, as an apprentice healer, be able to help in the care of my sister.
I pulled myself together.
Something occurred to me which, had I not been so self-pityingly miserable, I might have thought to ask before. ‘Hrype?’ I said.
He looked at me kindly. ‘What is it, Lassair?’
‘How did you know that Elfritha was ill? Did someone from the abbey come to the village?’
‘Yes. They were directed to your parents’ house, and your mother very sensibly sent them on to Edild. Your mother is praying, every minute she can spare,’ he added gently, ‘but she knew full well that if someone was to be spared by Lord Gilbert to come and care for your sister, it had far better be Edild.’
I nodded. I could picture my poor mother, torn between the sense of asking Edild to go, and the longing of her heart to run to her sick daughter there and then.
‘And Edild told you, so you came here too,’ I said.
There was a slight pause.
‘She did,’ Hrype said eventually, ‘although not in quite the sense that you mean.’
‘But—’ I began, at first unable to understand in what other sense my words could be taken. I looked at him, and the expression in his strange eyes was enigmatic.
I understood. ‘You weren’t in Aelf Fen when the messenger came from the nuns, were you?’ I whispered.
He shook his head, a faint, private smile hovering on his lips. ‘No.’
‘Where were you?’
‘I was – a long way away.’
‘Then how did you know?’
His eyes met mine. ‘I heard her.’ He pointed to his head. ‘In here.’ Now his hand moved to hover over his heart. ‘And, more imperatively, in here.’
Yes. Hrype and my aunt loved each other, but probably only three people in the world were in on the secret, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone. As far as everyone else was aware, Hrype shared his home with his late brother’s widow and her son. Only five people knew that Sibert was actually Hrype’s son, the fourth and fifth being Edild and Sibert himself. He had only found out a year and a half ago, and, no matter how I hinted, he would never speak to me concerning his feelings about this devastating revelation.
Sibert’s mother Froya would not survive without Hrype, and all the village understood that. She had never got over the traumatic events of her past, and she depended on her brother-in-law for just about everything. They had been lovers just once, when both were in despair, and Sibert had been the result.
All the time Froya was alive, Hrype was bound by everything he held sacred to honour his responsibilities towards her. He might dream of leaving her to go and live with Edild, where his heart undoubtedly had already preceded him, but he would never do so.
It had been my privilege to witness Edild and Hrype together on a few occasions when they were away from the ever-open eyes of the Aelf Fen villagers. It was both a joy and an ache to watch them.
Yes. It came as no surprise to me now to learn that some mystical communication between them had allowed Edild to summon him when her need for him was suddenly so great. When word had come from Chatteris that Elfritha was very sick and perhaps dying, the sudden pressure on Edild to hurry away to the abbey and try to save her, bearing all the hopes and anxieties of my parents and my siblings, must have been vast. No wonder she had silently cried out for the man she loved.
He was still watching me, a slightly quizzical look on his handsome face that bore the dignity of ancient kings. He was, I realized, checking to see if I had understood. I gave him a quick smile and nodded – just at that moment, I could find nothing to say – and he murmured, ‘Good.’ Then he braced his shoulders and strode on up the long rise to the abbey.
When we were still some distance away and out of sight of anyone watching from the settlement or the abbey, we paused, stepped off the road into a small copse of willow trees and resumed our old man and daughter guises. It was Hrype’s idea – I had, in truth, been far too preoccupied with thoughts of my sister to think about the dangers that might or might not be posed by a fanatical priest to a cunning man and an apprentice healer, but Hrype was clearly taking no chances. When we were ready, he looked me over with critical eyes and then gave a curt nod.
We went on, at a much slower, more painful gait, Hrype bowed over and shuffling as if every step hurt, to the abbey. There were a few people moving around in the forecourt, and I looked out for my cheese-seller woman. She did not seem to be there. Hrype was at the gates and already knocking with his staff.
After a f
ew moments the small side gate opened an inch or two, and a nun looked out. It was not the big, hatchet-faced woman who had admitted us before. This one was thin and pale and looked harassed. ‘Yes?’ she said impatiently.
Hrype nudged me. ‘We’re friends of the novice Elfritha, who we’re told is very sick,’ I said, my voice shaking despite my efforts to control it. Now that we were there at the abbey, my anxiety was pressing on me so hard that it was all I could do not to throw myself on the ground and start wailing.
On hearing my sister’s name, a transformation came over the sharp-featured face of the nun. Her eyes softened, and she reached out and took my hand. ‘Come in,’ she said, opening the gate more widely and ushering us through. ‘I will take you to her straight away.’
‘Is she – she’s not—?’ I could not get the question out.
The nun was still holding my hand, and now she gave it a squeeze. ‘She still lives,’ she said. ‘We are praying for her every hour, and our infirmary nuns are doing what they can to help the healer who has come to tend her. She is from Elfritha’s village, so you probably know her.’
I did not know whether or not to say that Edild was my aunt. I sent out a silent question to Hrype, but received no answer. I decided to keep silent. My instinct was to trust this kind nun, but, on the other hand, Hrype and I had just taken some precious time to disguise ourselves, and if we revealed our true identities, our efforts would have been for nothing.
The nun had been hurrying us along, and we had now reached a long, low building across the cloister from the big church. The nun opened the door and led us inside. It was clearly the infirmary, and rows of simple cots lined the walls on each side, about a third of them containing patients. The nun strode down the long room and, at the far end, turned down a little corridor that led off to the right. There was a door in the wall in front of us, which was partly open and led to the cloister. She strode on, coming after a few paces to another, smaller room. Its door was ajar, and the window set high in the wall was open. There was a faint scent of lavender mixed with the tang of rosemary, and I guessed that my aunt had been busy with her precious oils.
Neither open door and window nor sweet perfumes could do much against the stench. Even before I dared risk a glance at my sister, I knew from the smell that she was very, very ill. Anyone expelling that much from their body – from their suffering, heaving stomach and their constantly voiding bowels – must surely be in the last extremities of life.
I stepped inside the little room and looked down at the figure on the bed. Before I could prevent it, a gasp of horrified pity escaped me. My aunt, on her knees beside the low cot, turned round sharply and gave me a frown. One of Edild’s maxims is: never to do or say anything to let a patient know how ill they are. Although my exclamation hardly counted as actually saying anything, she was quite right to admonish me.
I swept down beside her and knelt over Elfritha.
My sister had her eyes closed. They seemed to have sunk in her head, and the eyeballs stood out very round behind the pale, almost translucent lids. Her cheeks looked strangely flat, as if her face were falling in. Her skin was as white as the sheet on which she lay, and her short hair, swept back from her forehead, was soaked in sweat. She appeared to be wearing a thin shift, and that too was soaking, sticking to her body. A sheet was pulled up over her breasts, but I could see her neck, throat and shoulders. The bones stood out stark under the flesh; already, she looked more like a skeleton than a living woman.
I made myself take a few calming breaths. When I was sure I could trust my voice, I turned to my aunt and said, ‘How is she?’
Edild shrugged. ‘She is as you see her,’ she said shortly. You’re a healer, she seemed to be implying. What do you think?
Anyone who did not know my aunt might be forgiven for judging her as detached and unfeeling, considering it was her niece who lay dying on the bed. But I did know her, rather well. I was all too aware that it was her habit to adopt a chilly demeanour at the very times when her heart and her emotions threatened to force her sobbing to her knees.
I put out a hand and gently laid it on my sister’s hot forehead. It might have been my imagination, but I thought she moved, just a tiny amount, as if in response. ‘She is very hot,’ I said. ‘She has sweated a great deal, and her body must be desperate for water.’
‘It is,’ Edild agreed. ‘Yet whenever she takes a decent mouthful, she vomits it up again almost instantly, thereby losing more than she has absorbed.’
That was even worse than I had thought. ‘Oh, but then how—?’
‘I am feeding her tiny amounts at a time,’ Edild interrupted. ‘Watch.’
I moved aside to let her take my place by the bed. Edild took a cup of cold water – I could see how cold it was, for it had formed beads of moisture on the outside of the cup, and I guessed that a concerned nun had just drawn it from some deep well that was their water supply – and dipped a small spoon into it. Very gently, she put the spoon against Elfritha’s slightly open mouth and let one tiny drop fall on to the lower lip. After a moment, the tip of Elfritha’s tongue emerged to lick it away. I wanted her to do it again immediately, over and over until my sister had taken in a decent amount, but Edild sensed my impatience and, turning to me, shook her head.
‘We must not hurry,’ she whispered. A very sweet smile swiftly crossed her face, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. ‘I do know how you feel,’ she added.
I watched as Edild put two more minuscule drops of water on Elfritha’s lip. I fought my desire to grab the cup from her and do it faster, faster. Slowly, I felt the anxiety leave me, until I knelt at Edild’s side, quite calm.
Then she handed me the cup and told me to carry on.
Intent as I was on my sister, I was aware of Edild’s movements only on the edge of my attention. She went to stand beside Hrype, and he put his arms around her. She leaned against him – or, to be exact, she seemed to collapse into him – and for a little while he just held her, as if he were putting some of his formidable strength into her. Then, with a little smile just for him that went straight to my heart, she disengaged herself and stood away from him. I heard them muttering, and it appeared from what I picked up that she was describing the course of Elfritha’s sickness.
‘Is it some disease from which others too are suffering?’ Hrype asked.
‘No,’ my aunt replied. ‘It is possible that more of the nuns may succumb, but Elfritha has been sick for two days now, and I would have expected somebody else to be already unwell, were this something that is going to affect many.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Hrype muttered.
I was concentrating so hard on putting the smallest possible droplet of water on to my sister’s lip that I missed what Edild said next. Hrype spoke, the low rumble of his deep voice a soft and sort of hypnotic sound. But then one word leapt put at me, and all at once I was fully alert.
Edild must have sensed my involuntary movement. She crouched down beside me, waiting as I administered another drop of water.
‘How many has she taken?’
I knew she would ask and had been carefully counting. ‘Seven.’
Edith nodded. ‘Well done,’ she whispered. ‘That’s enough. Now we wait.’
I did not need to ask what we’d be waiting for.
I stood up, putting the cup and the spoon down on the little table beside the bed. Straightening up, I was met with the disconcerting sight of two pairs of eyes, green and silvery-grey, watching me with the intensity of a hawk eyeing the mouse that will be its supper.
I collected my thoughts, for I knew what they were about to tell me.
‘Someone tried to poison her, didn’t they?’ I said.
Instantly, they both shushed me, stepping closer so that the three of us stood in a tight triangle. ‘We think so,’ Hrype agreed.
I paused, again thinking rapidly. ‘Have we a sample of the vomit?’
Edild’s mouth turned down in a grimace. ‘Not of
what she brought up at the outset. Since I have been here, it has mainly been watery bile.’
The product of a stomach that had emptied itself, I reflected.
I had a sudden thought. ‘What of her garments?’ I asked eagerly. ‘If the sickness came on her abruptly, might she not have been sick down herself?’
Edild glanced at Hrype, then back at me. ‘Surely someone would have washed her clothes by now?’ There was doubt in her tone.
I made the offer before either of them could ask me. ‘I’ll go and find out.’
I realized quite quickly that the nuns must be in their church, saying one of the daily offices, for the abbey was all but deserted. Two lay nuns sat at either end of the infirmary, and one nodded to me as I emerged from the short passage outside Elfritha’s room. Rather than go down the length of the long room, I used the door that opened directly on to the cloister. I paused to look around, gazing out over the abbey and listening. There was another stout lay sister on duty at the gate, and from somewhere close at hand I could hear voices, a man and a woman’s.
I slipped back into the shadows of the cloister and wondered how I was going to find the laundry. It would have to be close to a water source, I reasoned, and I recalled having seen a little stream running along the western edge of the enclosing walls, where the abbey was closest to the surrounding fen. I turned in that direction and presently saw a small hut, its door propped open to reveal big tubs and a small hearth over which a large pot was suspended, presumably where water was heated. On a rough frame behind the hut, a load of washing was drying in the last rays of the setting sun.
I checked quickly, but there was nobody watching. I looked at the items on the frame, and most of them appeared to be bedlinen. I crept inside the hut.
There was a big pile of dirty clothes awaiting the laundress’s attention. The pot above the hearth was full of cold water, and kindling had been set ready. The nun in charge must have been intending to do a wash when she returned after the office.
