by Alys Clare
He was grubbing about in the waist-high bracken on the far side of the clearing. He straightened up at my call and looked at me, eyebrows raised. I beckoned, getting to my feet as I did so, and in a few strides he was beside me.
‘What?’ he said softly. There was a light in his eyes; I think he already knew, somehow, that this was something important. I noticed, with a separate part of my mind, that his deep eyes sometimes seemed to shine as if they were lit from within . . . ‘What?’ he repeated impatiently.
‘Tell me again how the witness described the murder,’ I said, my voice low.
He did not question my request but said, ‘Romain caught up with Sibert, who managed to double back and attack him from behind, crushing his skull with a branch.’
‘Did anyone see the body’ – I hated speaking of poor dead Romain in such detached terms but it was the only way I could begin to cope with this – ‘to verify what the witness said?’
‘No one that I know of,’ Hrype replied. ‘Except, of course, Baudouin.’
‘And nobody would think to question Baudouin’s word,’ I said slowly. Then: ‘Hrype, if it happened as we think it did, if the assailant attacked Romain when he was already on the ground, then the wound is in the wrong place. When we left him, Romain was curled up on his back, hugging his knees tight to his chest. It would have been impossible for anyone to hit him on the back of the head.’
Even as I spoke, my brief moment of certainty broke up and faded. There was no way of telling how long Romain had lain there; he could have rolled over on to his front, or managed to get to his feet, shortly after we had left him. My brilliant idea was nothing of the sort.
Then why, I wondered, was Hrype nodding, smiling even, for all that it was a grim smile?
‘It did happen as we envisage,’ he said, ‘and Romain was not struck on the back of the head.’ He hurried back to where he had been searching and held up a piece of branch, jagged at one end where it had been torn off the tree. I prayed that he would not bring it over to me, for I knew what it was, but he did.
He held it up. I could see dried blood on it, as well as some pale matter which I had spotted before I had the sense to look away.
‘I am sorry, Lassair,’ Hrype said gently. There was a swishing sound. ‘There; I’ve thrown it back in the bracken. It’s gone.’
I swallowed back the threatening nausea and said shakily, ‘What were you going to show me?’
‘When you poleaxe a beast,’ he said, still in those soothing, gentle tones, ‘the weapon may be stained with blood and sometimes, if the blow breaks the skull, with brains.’ Oh! ‘There are invariably a few hairs, and I would expect to find hairs also on a weapon that struck down a man on the back or the top of his head with sufficient force to shatter bone.’
‘Romain had thick hair,’ I murmured faintly. ‘Thick and glossy . . . ’
‘There is not a single hair on that branch,’ Hrype said. ‘If it was what the killer used to murder Romain, then the poor man was hit on the brow, on the front of the face, where hair does not grow.’
‘The witness must have been mistaken, then,’ I whispered. ‘Perhaps he did not get as good a view of the murder as he claims.’ I realized something. I said excitedly, ‘So how can he be so sure that Sibert was the murderer?’
‘How indeed,’ muttered Hrype. He was frowning, staring absently out across the clearing.
‘We must ride back to Aelf Fen with all speed and tell Lord Gilbert!’ I said, already gathering up the horses’ reins. He did not move. ‘Come on!’ I urged.
He turned to me as if about to speak. But then, apparently changing his mind, he nodded and together we set out up the track towards the road.
SEVENTEEN
Baudouin had located his witness. He was a smallish man with sparse gingery hair and pale skin flecked with scaly patches. He claimed to be a merchant, although his general appearance gave the impression that if indeed he was, then he was not a very successful one. In the company of a sway-backed mule laden with shabby goods that surely only the desperate would wish to buy, he travelled the roads and the tracks of a wide area of East Anglia between the coastal ports and the inland towns, villages and hamlets and his name was Sagar. Brought forward to repeat his tale, he was sweating with nerves and had clearly taken a drink or two.
Baudouin had found lodgings for him with one of Lord Gilbert’s men. Lord Gilbert, informed that Sagar had evidence which would condemn Sibert for Romain’s murder without any doubt, had instructed his man to present Sagar at the appointed time and meanwhile keep him sober and keep a close eye on him.
The appointed time was the next day.
Tomorrow, Baudouin thought, tense with apprehension. I only have to wait until tomorrow. Sagar’s testimony will confirm what I have already said and Sibert will hang. Lord Gilbert will return my crown to me – who else will step forward to claim it with Sibert dangling on the end of a rope? – and I shall present it to the king. Then Drakelow will be mine once more.
One more day of waiting, and then everything would be all right.
Hrype and I covered the return journey to Aelf Fen even more swiftly than we had ridden out. The horse and my pony were sweating and blown by the time we got home and I wanted to rub them down, allow them to cool off and water them, but Hrype would not let me. He was deeply uneasy now and I guessed it was because he feared someone would see us with our borrowed mounts.
‘They’ll be tended, don’t worry,’ he said abruptly, almost dragging me off my pony’s back.
His face was set in such ferocious lines that I did not dare argue.
I wondered what I ought to do. It was by now twilight, and I did not want to go back to Goda’s house, although I knew I should as no doubt she would be yelling for me, furious at my absence and perhaps even a tiny bit worried about me, although that was unlikely. But then was there any point in walking all the way to Icklingham when I was planning to present my evidence to Lord Gilbert in the morning?
Hrype decided for me. ‘Go home,’ he ordered. ‘Make up a reason. Tell your family you’re worried about Sibert and your sister has allowed you to come back to try to see him. Something of the sort – anyway, don’t tell them you’re going to see Lord Gilbert first thing in the morning.’
‘No, I won’t,’ I agreed. That wouldn’t be difficult as I was trying very hard not even to think about it, never mind speak of it.
He studied me for a moment. ‘You have to make him believe you,’ he said with sudden passion. ‘You must explain how you left Romain lying on his back and—’
‘But nobody believes I was even there!’ I wailed. ‘Everyone thinks I was at Edild’s house!’
‘She will have to say she said that to protect you,’ he said curtly.
Poor Edild. A healer’s reputation would not be enhanced by the knowledge that she was a liar. And would they believe her any more than they did me? Both of us, after all, were going to have to convince Lord Gilbert that what we had said before was the lie and what we were now saying was the truth. It was not going to be easy.
He took hold of my shoulders, staring into my eyes. For a moment I felt his power, raw and seething within him, then with an almost visible effort he concealed it. ‘There will be a way, Lassair,’ he said, his voice hypnotic. ‘Believe. Believe.’ He gave me a shake, quite a hard one.
‘I believe!’ I whimpered. Then he let me go and, leading the horses, strode away.
My family welcomed me with love and sympathy, asking no awkward questions despite the late hour. They obviously hadn’t heard that I’d run away from Goda’s house without permission – for once I was thankful for my sister’s indolence – and accepted without question the excuse that anxiety over Sibert’s fate had driven me home.
They settled me comfortably and my mother made me a hot drink and gave me a slab of bread and some slices of dried meat, a luxurious late-night snack. I was very hungry and gulped it down. When I’d finished my father said, ‘You’ve come at the right
time, Lassair. We’ll know tomorrow.’
I felt a cold shiver down my back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re taking Sibert before Lord Gilbert. There’s a witness who says he saw him murder Romain.’
A witness! Oh, dear Lord. I was going to have to stand up and accuse this witness of lying. Or, at least, of not being close enough to detect the details of the murder, such as from what direction the blow fell and who had delivered it. I was trembling at the very thought.
I could not tell my family any of this. If I announced my intentions they would certainly try to stop me and probably succeed. I was a child, they would say, nobody was going to listen to me, and it was far, far better for humble people like us to keep well away from matters that did not concern us.
But this did concern me. I was the only person who knew without any doubt that Sibert did not kill Romain.
I did not sleep much that night.
I slipped out of the house when my family were all bustling about and, in the usual confusion made by seven people and a baby in a very small space, nobody noticed.
I went straight to Lord Gilbert’s house and asked to see him. Again, they tried to stop me but this time the man himself was at the door of his hall and he invited me in. From the look on his face, I imagine he thought my antics would amuse him.
‘What is it this time?’ he asked, smiling indulgently. ‘More fanciful tales?’
‘No,’ I said, standing up very straight and trying to look dignified. ‘The same tale, and it is not fanciful. I lied when I said I was at my aunt Edild’s house and she backed me up, thinking only to help me. The truth is, as I told you before, that I was with Sibert at the time of the murder and I know that he did not commit it.’
Lord Gilbert studied me for some moments and I grew increasingly uneasy as I watched his expression change from a smile to a scowl. Then he said suddenly, ‘Oh, I’ve had enough of this! You, girl, whatever your name is, you’ll get your chance to declare this story of yours before all those concerned.’ Greatly alarmed, I took a step back but he was too quick. His arm shot out and he grasped my wrist in a strong hand. ‘Wait here,’ he commanded. ‘Very soon your moment will come.’
He pushed me into the corner of the room and I had to watch as he summoned servants to set out his chair and some benches on the dais at the far end of the hall. The dais, I realized apprehensively, could only be there for one reason, which was to put Lord Gilbert up on high and make the rest of us appreciate to the full our lowly status. Well, as far as I was concerned, he needn’t have bothered as I was shaking with fear already and it was taking all my meagre courage not to bolt for home.
He sat down, glared down at me cowering in my corner and then, with an imperious jerk of his chin, beckoned to me to approach. ‘Stand there,’ he commanded, indicating an area immediately before the dais, on the left side. People were filing into the hall now and several of his men took up their places on the benches beside him. Then a servant slipped out of the hall, to return a few moments later with Baudouin de la Flèche and a thin, gingery man with bad skin and a nervous twitch above his eye. Several of Lord Gilbert’s men accompanied them, and they all went to stand opposite me to the right of the dais.
I stood alone.
Then they brought Sibert in.
His appearance shocked me. He looked as if he had been in some dank, dark cell far below the ground for months, not days, for his face was deadly white and his tunic foul with stains that I did not care to look at too closely. There were shackles around his wrists and ankles and they had made angry red welts in his flesh. Before I could stop myself I opened my mind to him and the force of his terror almost rocked me back on my feet. It was like trying to stop a tempest with a feather but I did my best, battling against his despair and silently shouting out to him, Have heart, Sibert! I’m here to help! It’s not over yet!
I think he was too far gone in his images of a nightmare – and fairly brief – future even to catch a whisper. He looked up briefly at those arrayed against him. Then, finally, he looked at me. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he hung his head.
I wished I could have gone on trying to give him confidence but, faced with his collapse, my own courage seemed to be rapidly evaporating and I would need what I had left for myself. If only Hrype could have been there, I thought wildly, it would be so much better! He made me believe; or, rather, he had made me believe last night. Now, I felt like giving up and running and running till I was so far away that nobody would ever find me.
I couldn’t do that. They’d stop me and besides, I had to try to save my friend. Steeling myself, I tried to blank out the waves of shock and horror coming off Sibert and I turned my full attention to the men who held our future in their hands.
Lord Gilbert opened the proceedings, gabbling quickly and all but incomprehensibly through the formalities and then reminding us, as if we needed it, why we were here and what Sibert stood accused of. He invited Baudouin to speak first and he outlined smoothly and eloquently how, concerned for his nephew and the unspecified but dangerous mission he believed him to be engaged upon, he had gone looking for him. How men had sought him out with the terrible news that Romain had been murdered, taking him immediately to the place where the body of his nephew and heir lay. How he had come across the witness who told him how poor Romain had been so brutally struck down.
All this time, while he told this tale that he so clearly believed to be the truth and that would condemn my friend to the gibbet, Baudouin kept his eyes fixed on Lord Gilbert. It was only when he had finished that he glanced very briefly at me. The gloating look of triumph in his eyes hit me like a fist.
Then he pointed to the gingery man with the twitch and said dramatically, ‘Sagar here present is that same witness. Listen now, my lord, to what he has to say.’
Lord Gilbert looked closely at the witness. Then he said, ‘Very well. Let him speak.’
Sagar crept forward until he stood immediately before Lord Gilbert’s chair on the dais. Once or twice he glanced back at Baudouin, his eyes sliding away to shoot scared glances up at the plump and imposing figure before him. Then, with an obvious effort, he stood up straight and puffed up his meagre chest. He had the look of a man who was very apprehensive but nevertheless determined to do his duty.
I was quaking.
‘Well, man?’ Lord Gilbert prompted when we had all been waiting some moments.
‘It was just as he says,’ said Sagar, jerking his head towards Baudouin. He frowned deeply as if concentrating very hard and went on, ‘I was travelling on the track from Dunwich up to the coast road and I came to this clearing, see, and there were these two young men, one following the other, and the second one, he called out to the first, and then the first shot off into the bushes and doubled back, so that he came out behind the other man.’ Sagar paused, appearing slightly perplexed, as did quite a few of those listening to him. ‘Well, next thing I know, the first man, which is him’ – the accusing hand pointed straight at Sibert – ‘he leaps out at the other one and before he can recover – the other one, that is – that one swings this great bit of broke-off branch and catches him full on the back of the head, such a blow as you could hear the skull smash like an egg!’
An awed hush followed his dramatic words. Lord Gilbert leaned over to the man on his right and they conferred for a few moments. Lord Gilbert was looking very serious and once or twice he shot a glance at Sibert.
‘There appears to be no doubt in this matter,’ he said eventually, ‘and we have a witness who has described to us very clearly how Romain de la Flèche met his death at the hand of Sibert here before us. Sibert!’ His sudden loud cry made Sibert jump and, with obvious reluctance, he raised his head and stared at his lord.
‘Sibert, you are guilty of murder and you will hang,’ Lord Gilbert said portentously. ‘You—’
I found myself hurrying forward and somehow I seemed to have crossed the floor of the hall and elbowed Sagar quite roughly out of
the way, so that now I stood alone before Lord Gilbert.
‘He didn’t do it!’ I cried.
I could hear Lord Gilbert’s sigh even from where I stood. Baudouin de la Flèche’s intense dark eyes were boring into me as if he wished they were knife points.
‘You must explain yourself,’ Lord Gilbert said wearily. I think perhaps he thought I’d be so overawed by the proceedings and the company of so many rich and important men that my nerve would fail me. It hadn’t.
‘Sibert was with me at the time Romain was killed,’ I said. My voice was shaking in time with my trembling knees. ‘I know I said at first that I didn’t go to Drakelow with Sibert and Romain but that was a lie, and I only said it because I’d gone without permission and I was afraid I’d get into trouble, which was why my aunt supported my story that I’d been with her. She was trying to help.’ The thought of Edild undermined me and I had to bite the insides of my cheeks quite hard to stop myself sobbing.
Baudouin stepped forward. ‘How are we to judge which story is the lie and which the truth?’ he cried. ‘This girl is a well-known liar and nothing she says can be trusted!’
Lord Gilbert was staring hard at me. ‘Answer the question,’ he ordered.
I was thrown into panic. What question? Mutely I shook my head.
Lord Gilbert shot a glance at Baudouin and then said to me, ‘How are we to tell when you are lying and when you are telling the truth?’
‘I’m telling the truth now!’ I cried. ‘Oh, you must believe me!’
Again Lord Gilbert turned to the man on his right and I heard them muttering. My aunt’s name was mentioned. If I could, I must save Edild from the ignominy of standing in Lord Gilbert’s hall and admitting she had lied for me. I said, ‘There is something more!’
Lord Gilbert turned his head and stared at me again. So, I am sure, did everyone else in the hall. ‘Well?’ he said coldly.
