by Alys Clare
I said, ‘I could go and see Lady Claude again. She wasn’t there when I went a couple of days ago, so it’d look odd if I didn’t try again.’
Two pairs of clever eyes turned to me. ‘What have you in mind to say to her?’ Hrype asked. ‘Other than asking how she feels, of course.’
I hesitated. ‘I could try to draw her out about Ida,’ I said. ‘I could even tell her that her symptoms – the headaches and the sleeplessness – are often an accompaniment of grief, and that talking about the dead person sometimes helps. All of that is true,’ I assured him. ‘Isn’t it, Edild?’
‘Yes, it is,’ she said slowly, ‘although I do not like the idea of making use of your profession to extract information that is not strictly to do with healing.’
There was a pause. Then Hrype said, ‘I am sure that Lassair would not permit her curiosity to interfere in any way with the correct treatment of her patient.’
It was very generous of him, and I hoped it was true.
Edild made up her mind. ‘Very well,’ she said eventually. She fixed me with a hard stare; she knows me better than Hrype does, and she is never taken in by my dissembling. ‘But remember you are there to heal,’ she said forcefully. ‘Anything else – anything at all, even if it does pertain to a young woman’s death – is secondary. Is that understood?’
I made myself hold her eyes. ‘Yes, Edild.’
Once Hrype had gone and my aunt and I were settling for sleep, I found that my mind was too hectic with thoughts and conjectures to allow me to relax. After what seemed ages, but was probably not all that long, I slipped out of bed, picked up Elfritha’s shawl against the night chill and went outside.
I walked slowly down the path, looking out over the marshy ground to the fen edge and the island. I thought of Derman. Was he out there now? I wondered. Had his sister found him and was she even now reassuring him, encouraging him to come home? If so, we would all have to watch him, perhaps taking turns, because it would be best if he did not venture out until Ida’s killer had been found. The people of Aelf Fen were not bad, I knew that well enough, but they had got it into their heads that Derman’s hopeless love for Ida had led to murder when she’d turned him down – and, it seemed, they weren’t going to change their minds.
I thought about Sir Alain. Had he killed her? If he had, and we could somehow prove it, what were we to do? We would have to approach Lord Gilbert, and that wouldn’t be easy, and he would probably—
The singing began. From somewhere quite close by, I heard that eerie voice. For all that I had now met its owner, it sounded no less strange rising softly into the night air. I was tempted to seek him out, speak to him, try to comfort him, but if, as I guessed, he did not know I was there, then it might dismay and distress him further to know he had a witness to his pain and his grief.
I edged into the soft darkness beneath a group of alders and listened. I noticed then that, where before there had been no more than a hummed chant, a succession of heartbreakingly sad sounds, now there were words. I strained my ears, and eventually I made them out.
Alberic was singing his lament for Ida.
The singer of a thousand songs was I,
Yet now but one remains, the saddest of them all.
For now that in the fenland soil you lie,
I have no longer any hopes on which to call.
At first I was not free my love to show,
And then, by fate, another took your heart from me,
My dearest hopes were shattered by this blow
So cruel, and yet I knew I had to set yu free.
Oh Ida, can you hear this sad refrain?
Can notes of music pierce your damp and peaty frame?
And would you hold me close if I were lain
Beside you? Could we sing the happy songs again?
He had stopped. I stood there alone in the silence for some time, tears on my face. Then I wrapped my shawl tightly around me and went back to my bed.
We were woken at first light by someone’s fists hammering on the door. ‘Open up, oh, for the Lord’s sake, open up!’ cried a voice.
Struggling out of sleep, I realized with horror that I recognized the voice. It was my brother’s.
Edild was already on her feet, fumbling with the door latch. I elbowed her out of the way, wresting the door open. ‘It’s Haward!’ I cried. ‘Something’s wrong – someone’s been taken ill or is hurt!’
He fell into the little room. His face was wet with sweat, and his eyes were wide with horror. ‘Is it our parents?’ I demanded, my hands on his shoulders shaking him roughly in my terrible anxiety. ‘Squeak? Oh, not Leir, lovely little Leir?’
Haward shoved my hands away, and I fell over my own feet and sat down hard on the earth floor. He rushed to help me up again, hugging me tightly. ‘No, n–n–none of them. They are all unharmed.’ He brushed a quick kiss against my cheek.
With my immediate fears allayed, there was time to think of others. ‘Then who—?’ I began.
My aunt took charge. In a quiet voice that was nevertheless full of calm authority, she said, ‘What has happened, Haward? Tell us what we must do.’
He turned to her gratefully. ‘Yesterday Lassair told Zarina that she’d found a wreath by Granny’s grave, and we all guessed it had been left there by Derman, thinking Ida was still in the tomb. Zarina went out some time last night to see if she could find him.’ Such was the power of Edild’s effect on him that his stammer had temporarily vanished.
‘She went in the night?’ I protested. ‘By herself? How could you let her?’
‘I d–d–didn’t!’ He rounded on me as swiftly as when we were children and I had accused him unfairly. ‘I thought we were going to go together, early in the morning, but she must have waited till I had g–gone home and was asleep, and then slipped away by herself.’
‘I see,’ I muttered. I ought to have known him better than that. ‘Sorry.’
‘Then what happened?’ Edild asked, glaring at me as if to say, Don’t you dare interrupt him again!
‘I went j–just before dawn to see if she was ready to go. You know I always wake early, and it seemed a good time to try to c–c–catch him – Derman – unawares.’ He stopped, swallowed and, his expression anguished, began again. ‘She – she wasn’t there. I s–s–set out for the island.’ Again, a pause. His face was working, and I knew how hard it must be to try to force the words out past the gagging stutter. ‘I m–m–m–met her c–c–coming back. Sh–sh–she was crying. I p–put my arms r–round her and for just an instant she h–h–hugged me. I knew then she hadn’t found h–h–him s–s–so I t–told her to go on home and I’d h–h–have a look round.’ He stopped, drew breath and said, ‘I w–went out on to the island. I c–c–couldn’t see any s–s–sign of him. Then I turned to c–c–come back and th–th–there was a sh–sh–shadow under the water. Sh–sh–sh–she w–w–wouldn’t have s–s–s–seen it, there was only j–j–j–just enough light f–f–for me.’ He shuddered to a halt, exhausted by the huge effort of stuttering out his tale.
‘What was this shadow, Haward?’ Edild’s voice was gentle, soothing, hypnotic almost, and, responding to her again, for a few moments Haward calmed down.
He fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall above her head, breathed deeply and said, ‘It was a body. A big body, face down in the water, the head and shoulders caught under the planks of the causeway on to the island.’
Nobody spoke. Haward dropped his head. Then Edild took his hand, bent down so that she could see into his face and said, ‘Who was it?’
Haward’s expression was dreadful to behold. Shock had taken hold, and he was shuddering, his teeth rattling. Although he was still sweating, he was deathly pale. His eyes on Edild’s he said, ‘It’s Derman. The back of his head isn’t there any more.’
FIFTEEN
In that first shocked moment as the three of us stood there wide-eyed with horror, I believe we all had the same unspoken thought: did Zarina kill him?
Oh, I prayed to the silent, watchful spirits, oh please, please let it have happened that way! I could not bear the thought that the woman my brother loved and wanted so much to marry might be a murderer . . .
Through the wild panic of my thoughts I heard my aunt’s quiet voice. She was addressing me: ‘Lassair, go and fetch Hrype and Sibert. Tell them I require their assistance, but don’t say why.’ She studied me. ‘Calm yourself,’ she commanded. ‘Breathe deeply and quietly.’
I did as she bade me. After a while I was in control, and I arranged my face into what I hoped was an everyday, pleasant expression. Edild was right; it would do no good to race across the village to Hrype’s house with a face eloquent of horror. It might be early yet, but enough people would be up and about for somebody to spot me and spread the word that something was afoot. My aunt was watching me closely, and she gave a curt nod. ‘Off you go,’ she said.
I hesitated. ‘Er—’
She gave an impatient tut. ‘What is it?’
‘Why do we need Hrype and Sibert?’
She looked at me pityingly. ‘Derman was a large man,’ she said, speaking slowly as if explaining to a child. ‘How do you think we are going to bear him back here unless we have help?’
I hurried off. Part of me was full of admiration for Edild’s courage, for surely what we ought to do was report the death to Sir Alain de Villequier and wait for him to give the orders concerning what was to be done with the body. Part of me, aware that I was equally involved in this surely risky piece of independent action, was just plain scared.
I tapped gently on the door of the house where Hrype, Froya and Sibert live. As the latch was lifted, I made sure I was smiling cheerfully. The door opened to reveal Sibert.
‘Good morning,’ I said, still smiling. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you so early, but Edild has sent me to ask if you and Hrype could come and help her with something.’
I heard quick movement from within, and instantly Hrype appeared beside Sibert. ‘What is it?’ he demanded, just as Sibert, with a puzzled grin on his face, was asking, ‘Why are you smiling like a village idiot, Lassair?’
Fortunately, Hrype didn’t appear to hear. Addressing myself to him, I said, with what I hoped was a convincing shrug, ‘I don’t know.’ As I spoke I fixed my eyes on his and tried to put my thought – Derman’s dead, and Haward found the body – into his mind.
I don’t suppose for a moment that he received my silent message, but he read enough in my expression to realize something bad had happened and Edild wanted to keep it secret for the time being. ‘Of course we’ll come,’ he said easily. He turned back into the little house – I could see Froya behind him, crouched beside the hearth and stirring something in a pot, the usual anxious frown creasing her brow – and said, ‘Eat, Froya. Sibert and I may be some time, so don’t wait for us.’
‘But—’ she began, the nervous frown deepening. With Froya, I suspect there is always an anxious but.
‘It’s all right,’ Hrype said soothingly. ‘Don’t worry.’
I thought that saying don’t worry to a woman like Froya was a bit like telling the wind not to blow.
As soon as we were out of earshot of the house and its neighbours, Hrype said in a low voice, ‘How did he die?’
I all but stopped dead in my tracks. He’d heard! But now was not the time to stand and wonder at my growing powers of thought transference. In any case, the credit should surely go to Hrype for picking up my wordless message rather than to me for sending it.
‘How did who die?’ Sibert was demanding in a fierce whisper. ‘What are you talking about?’
I put out my hands to each of them and drew them closer. ‘Haward went out to the island where my Granny is buried,’ I hissed. I paused to explain to Sibert. ‘We know Derman has been going there because I found a little garland he left for Ida, thinking she was still there.’ I went on to tell both of them what Haward had just told Edild and me, finishing with the frightful discovery of Derman’s dead body.
‘We must bring the corpse back to Edild’s house and determine how he died,’ Hrype said as soon as I was done.
‘That’s what she thought,’ I replied. ‘That’s why she sent me to fetch you two, because Derman’s such a big man and we need help.’
‘How is your brother?’ Hrype asked.
Thinking it was compassionate of him to be concerned, I said, ‘He’s in a bad way. He’s had an awful shock and—’
But it seemed that efficiency and not compassion had motivated the remark: ‘It would be better if he did not come with us,’ Hrype said. ‘In addition, I would prefer to view the body without—’ He stopped.
I could not think at first what he meant. Then, as a very frightening possibility dawned, I whispered, ‘Without Haward present, do you mean? Oh, Hrype, surely you don’t think Haward was involved in Derman’s death?’
To my surprise Hrype took hold of my hand and gave it a hard squeeze. ‘I am trying to help, Lassair! I know you love your brother and cannot imagine him guilty of anything so terrible, but the facts are these: Haward loves Zarina dearly and wishes to marry her, but she refuses because she will not inflict the heavy burden of caring for her simpleton brother on Haward and his family. We who know Haward are perfectly well aware that he would not even contemplate getting rid of Derman and removing the obstacle to his and Zarina’s happiness, but others, I assure you, will not be so charitable.’
I waited until my outrage receded a little. ‘So why do you want to view the place where Derman died without Haward there?’
‘Because,’ Sibert put in impatiently, ‘when Hrype and the rest of us are asked about it, we can say what our impressions were, and everyone will know they weren’t influenced by anything Haward said or did.’
I had to admit that it made good sense.
Edild had given Haward a mild sedative by the time we got back, and he was lying on my bed half-asleep.
‘He should not be forced to return to the place where the body lies,’ she said softly to Hrype. ‘He has had a very bad shock and needs to recover his wits.’
Hrype nodded. ‘The four of us will go. Between us we ought to be able to carry the body.’
I could see the sense of that. I went over to Haward and, crouching in front of him, softly called his name. He raised his head and stared at me. ‘Don’t stay here,’ I urged him. ‘Go home. Tell our parents what has happened, and they’ll look after you.’ I thought of something else. ‘Fetch Zarina, and take her with you. She’ll have to be told that he’s dead –’ despite the dreadful suspicions, she had still lost her brother, her only kin, and would undoubtedly need comfort no matter how he had died – ‘and the best place to tell her is among loving people.’
If, indeed, she needed telling . . .
The people of my family were loving, that was certain. Whether or not they would live to regret having accepted Zarina so open-heartedly remained to be seen.
Edild rolled up a blanket and tucked it under her arm. I paused to bend over my brother and kiss his forehead – at first he barely seemed to notice, but then he met my eyes and gave a quick nod, presumably acquiescing to my suggestion – and then I hurried after the others.
We did not speak as we crossed the marshy ground to the fen edge. Too soon the upright posts set in the water to mark the crossing place to the island came into view. I tried to suppress my dread. The back of his head isn’t there any more, my brother had said. What awful sight w
ere we going to have to see? I shuddered, all the way from my shoulders to my feet.
Silently, Sibert took my hand. I could have kissed him.
Hrype went first on to the planks between the uprights. He moved slowly, looking over the side to the right and the left, searching the black water for what we knew was there. Very soon he gave a soft exclamation, pointing down to the left. ‘There he is.’
We hurried to join him.
Derman was floating just below the surface, face down, his sturdy, powerful arms outstretched as if he were trying to fly. The coarse fabric of his patched and darned shirt was full of air, rising like a huge bubble up to the surface. His legs bobbed gently up and down in a horrible parody of walking.
Realizing that I was looking at every part of him save the crucial area, I turned my eyes to his head.
The back of his skull had received a series of blows. Whoever had attacked him had hit him so hard that the bone had smashed. We could see the leathery white matter beneath, and that, too, had ruptured, revealing a mass of bloody pulp in which there were fragments of the skull.
All hopes of a terrible accident flew away. Had it happened as I had so hoped, had he slipped, cracked his head on the planks of the causeway and fallen, unconscious, into the water to drown, there would have been only the one blow to the head. This had been no innocent, fatal misfortune.
What poor Derman’s murderer had done to him was one of the most furious, frenzied onslaughts it has ever been my bad luck to witness.
