by Alys Clare
It took all four of us to pull him up out of the water. It was as if the fen did not want to let him go and, when finally we wrestled his dead weight up on to the planks, the black mud gave out a last bubble of stinking gas as if to spite us. We were filthy, our hands, arms, bodies coated with muck, and Sibert was soaking wet, for at one point, frustrated at our lack of progress, he had armed himself with a stout stick, jumped down into the water and tried to lever the corpse up from beneath.
Edild spread out the blanket, and we laid Derman on it. We each took firm hold of a corner and, with a huge effort, lifted him off the ground. Then we set out across the mile or so of difficult terrain back to my aunt’s house.
Edild and I live on the edge of Aelf Fen, well away from the rest of the village. We prefer it that way, and so, I am sure, do the villagers. Healers are very welcome when people need us, and indeed our patients and their relatives are always grateful and fulsome in their praise and their gifts when we make someone well again. However, in most people’s minds healing is next door to witchcraft, and they are all more than happy that we don’t live right on top of them.
As we approached the path up to the house, we could see that Edild’s patients for the day had already begun to arrive. Fortunately, there were only two so far: an old man, and an even older woman. Edild gave a small sigh and indicated that we should lower our burden.
‘William and his old mother,’ she said quietly. ‘She is dying, and William will miss her very much when she goes. There is very little I can do, but he appears comforted by the tonics I prescribe for her.’ She frowned, then turned to me. ‘Lassair, go on and speak to them. Tell them to go home, and say to William that I’ll come to see his mother later.’
I ran on up the path and delivered the message. William looked at me worriedly and whispered, ‘Mother may not last till later,’ to which I could think of no answer except to agree with him. His mother looked as insubstantial as a piece of dandelion fluff, and I was amazed she’d managed to walk up from the village. I could not, of course, say so. I watched as they shuffled away and, when they could no longer see the house, went back down the path to summon the others.
We carried Derman’s body into the house, laid him very gratefully on the ground – he was extremely heavy – and Edild secured the door. There was no sign of Haward, and I hoped he was even now at home in the stoutly reassuring company of our parents. Working very swiftly, Edild removed Derman’s garments and studied the body. We all knew how he had died, and I turned away as she and Hrype studied the devastating wounds on the back of his head. Sibert, I noticed, had retreated to the furthest corner and was busy inspecting his hands.
He, however, was not an apprentice healer; I was. All too soon my aunt’s autocratic tones sang out: ‘Come here, Lassair, for it is rare that we have the chance to see what is inside the skull.’
With the utmost reluctance I did as I was told. Stepping forward, I made myself look at the great crater on the right side of the back of the head. To begin with, I had to fight the urge to be sick, for the bloody, oozing, waterlogged mess was a hideous sight. But then, listening to Hrype and Edild speculating on the brain as the source of all we do, all we are and all we think, revulsion turned to interest, and then to fascination.
‘Is his brain different from ours?’ I asked after a while.
Hrype turned to me, his eyes alert. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because he was simple,’ I replied. ‘He may have grown into a man, but he didn’t act like one. Everyone said he was like a child, but that’s not really right either. He was just . . .’ I searched for the right word, gave up and said, ‘Just different.’
Hrype nodded. ‘It is an enigma, isn’t it?’ he agreed. I was not sure what an enigma was, but I said yes anyway. ‘Here we have the brain of a man who was different, as Lassair says –’ he paused to prod at the white matter – ‘yet, for all that is visible to our eyes, it looks just like any other.’ I wondered how many brains Hrype had studied, but quickly decided I did not wish to think about that. ‘What happened, Derman?’ Hrype asked softly. ‘Were you born this way, and if so, why did the gods choose to make you as you were?’
Nobody answered him. I’m not sure any of us knew how.
Edild was inspecting the rest of the body. I moved closer to her, watching as she ran her hands over the stiffening limbs. I found myself looking at the genitals, blushed furiously and then sternly reprimanded myself for my coyness. Healers, as my aunt repeatedly tells me, treat every part of the human body with the same dispassionate interest, even the bits normally kept modestly out of sight. I stared at the penis and testicles beneath the fine downy body hair, noting their lack of development. Derman was a man, yet his genitalia were like those of a small boy.
I suddenly remembered something Zarina had said: He is not as other men, and he does not begin to comprehend the true nature of how a man and wife live in intimacy together. And, later, The idea of any sort of physical closeness is just not possible.
Staring down at Derman’s body, I wondered how she had known. At the widow Berta’s cottage, Derman had slept in the lean-to, but then these two had grown up together and travelled with the troupe of players for a considerable time; it was only to be expected that Zarina would have observed her brother’s naked body on occasions. All the same, there was something about this that bothered me . . .
I did not have the chance to think it through because just at that moment Edild, who had been inspecting the large, flat feet and was now running her hands up the lower legs, gave a soft exclamation. ‘Look,’ she murmured.
Hrype and I edged closer to her and stared down at what she was indicating. I could see it immediately: across the front of both shins there was a red mark, a deep indentation that in one or two places had cut into the thin flesh.
‘That must have hurt,’ I said, wincing in sympathy.
‘It perhaps explains the sequence of events,’ Hrype said thoughtfully. ‘It would appear that he slipped, or tripped, and somehow as he fell he managed to bark his shins on the planks of the causeway. Perhaps he landed in the water; perhaps on the causeway. Either way, he was down, no longer on his feet, and, since he was a tall, strong man, I believe that is relevant.’ He paused. ‘Let us say that he landed, either on the planks or in the water, face down. It would then have been relatively easy for his assailant to raise their weapon and bring it down repeatedly on the back of his head.’
We all thought about that; even Sibert who, now that we were no longer talking about brains and poking at what was left of Derman’s, had crept forward to join us around the body.
It was he who voiced what I’m sure we were all thinking. ‘It wouldn’t have taken a man to kill him, then,’ he said slowly. ‘Even a woman could have done it.’
Although none of us said the words aloud, a woman like Zarina seemed to echo through the little room.
SIXTEEN
Hrype straightened up and said, in a tone that seemed to reject any contradiction, ‘I shall go and tell Sir Alain what has happened.’
Edild and I looked at each other. In her eyes I read compassion, and she waited for me to say what I’m sure both of us were thinking. ‘But we can’t!’ I whispered urgently. ‘If Zarina did this, he’ll take her off to be penned up in some horrible cell and she’ll be tried and they’ll hang her, and Haward really loves her, it’ll break his heart and he’ll never find anyone else!’
The flow of words left me exhausted. I found I was crying, tears rolling steadily down my face.
Hrype said, very gently and kindly, ‘I understand how you feel, Lassair. But listen to what I say: for one thing, it is not at all certain that Zarina had anything to do with her brother’s death. Sir Alain does not strike me as a man to make a hasty judgement, and I—’
‘He fathered Ida’s baby!’ I hissed, trying and failing to whisper and shout at the same time.
‘You don’t know that!’ Hrype flashed back. ‘All we can be certain of is that he visi
ted Lady Claude at Heathlands during the period when Ida became pregnant.’
He was right. I had to admit it, despite my own certainty. Glumly, I said, ‘What was the other thing?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You said, for one thing. That implies there’s something else.’
He gave a swift, bleak smile. ‘Indeed there is, although you, passionate defender of what is right that you are, will not like it.’
‘Tell me anyway.’ I felt so weary, so tired with all the emotion, that I could hardly bring myself to care very much.
He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Lassair, it is impossible for us to dispose of Derman’s body in secret. This is a small village full of people all too ready to discuss and dissect their neighbours’ business, usually making wildly inaccurate and damning assumptions along the way. We were very lucky to bear him back to this house without anyone seeing us, and I do feel very strongly that we should not take that for granted.’ He paused. I had a fair idea of what he was going to say, but did not interrupt. ‘Everyone knows Derman went missing; many of the men of the village have been out searching for him.’ That gave me an idea but, again, I kept silent.
‘We could, I suppose, try to bury Derman’s body by night in some out of the way place and keep up the pretence that he never came back,’ Hrype went on. ‘That way, we would make quite sure that no suspicion will ever fall on Zarina and Haward.’ This time I couldn’t prevent my gasp of horror, but he held my eyes and I did not speak. ‘But think, dear child, think what would happen when our deception was discovered, as it would almost certainly be!’ He grasped me by the shoulders, his face so close to mine that I read the strength of his feelings.
I thought. I saw in my mind the four of us – Hrype, Sibert, Edild and me – sneaking out of the village on a moonless night bearing a large, heavy body in a blanket. I saw us walking for miles, right away from Aelf Fen. I saw us work through the hours of darkness to dig a deep hole and bury the body. I saw us return. Then I saw a band of men out searching for a fugitive, and I saw them discover the recently-disturbed earth. Derman had lived in Aelf Fen, and so they would come here looking for those who had killed and buried him.
I said, although I think I knew it was hopeless, ‘Wouldn’t Sir Alain and his officers assume that some of the village men had killed Derman? Enough of them have been threatening what they’d do to him if he ever turned up, and—’
Slowly, Hrype shook his head. ‘That would not be right, Lassair. We must not point blame where there is no blame.’
I remembered what had suddenly occurred to me a moment ago. ‘But it might be exactly what did happen!’ I protested.
He studied me. ‘Do you really think so?’
I thought. I thought for some time, trying to persuade myself. Eventually, I shook my head. This was, I felt quite sure, an intimate crime; Derman’s killer was far more tightly enmeshed in his life than a handful of angry villagers. Anyway, I had noticed that, as the tally of days since Ida’s death and Derman’s disappearance increased, so the number of voices baying for justice steadily lessened. People are fickle, really, their attention quickly diverted. We in Aelf Fen live hard lives, and it was understandable that private concerns should have slowly and surely overcome the brief excitement of a murder in our midst.
‘If we covered up Derman’s murder and tried to hide his body,’ Hrype said quietly, ‘we would never be sure that we had not been observed. We would wait, all four of us, for the tap on the door that brought the force of the law to us and our loved ones. We would already be guilty of covering up a murder and hiding a body. How quickly, do you think, would other accusations fly to stick to us?’
He was quite right. I thought of Zarina, of Haward. If we did as I wanted and tried to hide what had happened, the suspicion I wanted so badly to divert from the two of them would land square on their heads. They would suffer, my parents would suffer, and so would my siblings. Oh, and what about Froya? If Hrype and Sibert were dragged off in chains, what on earth would happen to her?
I felt myself slump as the fight went out of me. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Go and find Sir Alain.’
Hrype did not waste another moment. On his feet in the blink of an eye, he paused to rest a hand briefly on Edild’s shoulder and was gone.
Sibert rose, more slowly and reluctantly. ‘I’d better go home to my mother,’ he said wearily. ‘She’ll be worrying.’
That was an understatement. As he passed me I whispered, ‘Good luck,’ and he gave a quick quirk of a smile.
Alone either side of dead Derman, Edild and I looked at each other. She reached out for the blanket and draped it over the body. ‘I will wait with him,’ she said, tucking in the folds of the heavy material as if soothing a sleeping baby. ‘Go where your heart is, Lassair.’
For a moment I thought she was referring to my Norman. My Rollo. He had been much in my mind that morning, and I had wished I had his strength and resourcefulness to help and support me. But quickly I realized that Edild meant my brother.
‘Send for me if you have need of me,’ I said as I, too, got up.
She looked up and smiled. ‘I will.’
The scene into which I entered when I reached my parents’ home was touchingly tender. My father stood just inside the door as if to proclaim his right to defend his loved ones. My two younger brothers sat beside the hearth, Squeak looking belligerent, little Leir puzzled. Zarina sat on Haward’s bed with Haward on one side and my mother on the other. Each held one of her hands, although she had to keep detaching one or other of them to dry her tears.
I stared at Zarina, willing her to meet my eyes. After a moment she raised her head and looked at me. ‘You went to the island before dawn, didn’t you, Zarina?’ She made no response. ‘Haward followed you, searching for you, and he met you coming back. You were weeping.’
Still she did not reply. My mother tightened her hold on Zarina’s hand and glared at me, although I couldn’t help noticing that Haward did not – could not? – meet my eyes. My father, picking up on the sudden tension, came to stand beside me. ‘What are you suggesting, Lassair?’ His tone was guarded. My dear father is a very fair man. He is deeply protective of those he loves, yet always insistent that we must look for the truth . . .
I turned to him quickly, trying to reassure him, then back to Zarina. ‘You claim you didn’t see Derman, yet when Haward got to the causeway not long afterwards, he spotted the body straight away. Didn’t you, Haward?’
My brother looked so wretched that I hated myself for what I was doing. But I had to know! He looked at Zarina, then at me. ‘It was only j–just light when I got there,’ he hedged. ‘Zarina could easily have f–f–failed to—’ Honesty fought with loyalty. Loyalty won. ‘She w–wouldn’t have s–s–seen him down in the w–water while it was still dark,’ he said firmly.
Oh, Haward. ‘She had gone specifically to look for him,’ I said. ‘There is starlight and usually moonlight except on a cloudy night, and last night was clear.’
I did not need to say more. I found it inconceivable that Zarina would not have noticed what Haward so clearly saw not long afterwards. Looking at her, I said, ‘Zarina, why did you lie?’
My mother cried out in protest, but Zarina, turning to her, whispered something and gently touched her cheek. Looking back at me, she said simply, ‘Because everyone knows I couldn’t marry Haward all the time there was Derman. Of all people, I had the motive to kill him.’ Her eyes filled with tears again. ‘I cared deeply for him, like I’d have cared for a child wholly dependent on me. He saved my life. I would not have hurt him.’ She turned to Haward. ‘I would have given you up, for all that I love you, rather than harm Derman.’ Then she threw her arms round my brother’s neck, pressed herself to him and sobbed as if her poor heart would never heal.
My mother looked up at me with a curt nod as if to say, There’s your answer!
I wanted to believe Zarina. I knew she loved my brother. In addition, she had sounded very plausib
le when she had spoken of her own brother. Yet there was something . . . I knew we had not got to the bottom of this.
‘You’d better get your story ready,’ I said unkindly. I was angry, with her, with myself, and it spilled over into my speech. ‘Hrype’s gone to inform Sir Alain de Villequier that Derman’s been found dead.’
Nobody protested. Perhaps they were all so much worldlier than me that none of them had even contemplated my silly idea of concealing Derman’s murder and hiding his body.
My father said with dignity, ‘We shall be ready.’ He glanced at Zarina, a worried frown making deep creases in his forehead. ‘I think,’ he went on, ‘we had better tell the truth and say that you did see him in the water.’
Zarina’s head shot up, and the shock made her face go white. ‘No.’ Then, quickly: ‘They will not believe that I didn’t kill him. They’ll say I needed him out of the way and that I—’
I went to kneel in front of her. ‘They won’t believe you if you say you didn’t see him, Zarina,’ I said gently. ‘None of us really did, and we’re on your side.’
She looked wildly round at my father, my brothers, my mother, and finally at Haward. She said in a pathetic little voice, ‘Didn’t you?’ and slowly they all shook their heads.
I thought she’d be furious. Instead, an expression of such intense love spread over her face that I, too, felt like crying. ‘And you still took me in and looked after me, even though I’d lied to you,’ she said wonderingly.
My father said, ‘That’s what families do.’
There didn’t seem anything else to add.
I left them soon after that. I would have to speak privately to Zarina some time soon; the conviction that she was still hiding something just would not go away, and I cared far too deeply for my brother’s happiness to ignore it. With Derman dead, there was no longer any impediment to the marriage. Always assuming, that was, they didn’t come along and arrest Zarina for murder.
