by Alys Clare
I said in a whisper, ‘What is it?’
And Hrype told me.
This is the story he told.
‘My ancestors were men of importance in our homeland,’ he began, ‘for among our number runs a strain of magic-workers, and the kings of old trusted us and depended on us. So it was that when the waters rose and our lands were flooded, the king who led us here to England took the precaution of surrounding himself with protective magic. My forefather Creoda was his close adviser, ever at hand to warn him of unsuspected perils and provide the means of dealing with them. Thanks to him, the king and the people settled safely in their new homes on the coast. The king built his great hall, the people settled nearby in their round houses and the land proved fruitful, so that the people prospered and the children grew healthy and strong. Creoda, whose invaluable place at the king’s side had won him both favour and wealth, asked for a parcel of land on which to build his own hall and when the king readily agreed, Creoda selected Drakelow, for he knew it was a place where the power that is in the land and the sea manifested itself with unusual force.’
‘That’s why they built the sea sanctuary there!’ I whispered.
‘Creoda did not build it,’ Hrype replied. ‘It was there years, centuries, ages before Creoda’s time.’
‘Yes, I know. I meant that the ancient people who built the sanctuary recognized the power.’
Hrype stared at me. ‘Yes,’ he said. He went on staring at me and then, as if coming out of some inner place of contemplation, picked up his tale.
‘The king and the people lived in peace and contentment,’ he said, ‘but then came the dread threat from the east, and in helpless horror our people heard tell of how the dragon-prowed Viking ships advanced out of the dawn light, grinding on to our shores and discharging their cargoes of ruthless fighting men. Settlement after settlement fell, the people cut down, the dwellings and the long halls burned, the wealth of the people plundered. Our king, fearing for the very existence of the new realm he had carved out for his people, called on Creoda and asked him what should be done. Creoda said there was a way to defend the king’s realm, but it involved great peril. “Do it,” said the king. “Whatever it takes, do it,” and he gave Creoda free rein, offering gold, offering men, offering a secluded place in which to work the magic.
‘Creoda did not need the men and he took only what gold he needed for his purpose. He went quite alone to his secret place and there he built a fire so hot that it turned solid metal into molten liquid. He put the king’s gold on to the fire and watched as slowly it melted. Then he used his magic arts and out of it he formed three crowns, putting into them the essence of his soul so that they turned into objects of power, each one bursting with strong enchantment. As he weakened – for he had used almost all of his strength and was now little more than a shadow – he spoke the words of the spell. Then, laying aside the crowns while they cooled, he wrapped his burned hands in clean cloth and lay down to sleep.
‘When he was partially recovered – and he never regained more than a small portion of his former vigour, having poured it into his creation – he rose up and returned to the king, seeking a private audience. “Behold what I have made for you,” he said, and as he unwrapped the crowns from their protective linen, for the first and only time their magical voices were heard in the king’s hall. The king covered his ears in abject fear and quickly Creoda replaced the linen wrappings.
‘Slowly the king recovered from his terror and asked, “What must I do with these dread objects?” “You must bury them on the shores of your land,” replied Creoda, “where their power will blend and combine to form a defensive shield that will repel those who would invade and rob you of what you have won.”
‘The king and his sorcerer talked long into the night as they pondered the best locations for the crowns, and at last the king made his decision. “One shall I bury here at Rendlesham,” he declared, “for here is my hall and my high seat, the heart and the centre of my realm. One you, Creoda, shall take with you to Drakelow, for your power is in these objects and it is fitting that one part of what you have freely given should remain close to you, hidden where its force shall guard my port of Dunwich. The third we will take north and bury at Bran’s Head, so that the northern shore of our realm shall also be defended from the men who come out of the east.”
‘It was done as the king decreed. Creoda and his king took a strong bodyguard and they went secretly and by night. Keeping to the ancient tracks along which run the lines of power, they went first to Bran’s Head, where with solemn ceremony and deep magic Creoda called upon the old gods and buried the first crown on the margins of the realm, where the land meets the sea and the forces are strong. Then they proceeded to Drakelow, and Creoda buried the second crown on his own land. Finally they returned to the king’s hall and on the long shore below Rendlesham, Creoda donned the horned headdress and, in the light of the crescent moon, buried the third crown. Then he took the fly-agaric potion and, with a winged horse and a goose to guard him, set out on his last and greatest spirit journey, using what was left of his magic power to spark the three crowns into everlasting life. Creoda, greatest of all sorcerers, had interred the crowns and it is not for any man to undo what he did.’
It was some time before I realized that Hrype had stopped talking. My eyes were closed and my mind was alive with images. I saw a magical flying horse with a woman on its back and she whispered her name to me: Andrasta. And there beside her was Epona riding her giant goose; my granny Cordeilla flashed across my inner eye and I recalled how she always called on Epona and her goose when she embarked on a tale, for Epona is the mother and patron of all storytellers. I saw the Goddess of the Sacred Grove, and she was holding out her sword arm straight and true as with the tip of her great weapon she blessed all those who accepted the challenge and fought, in whatever way was their particular talent, to protect the sacred homelands of the people.
Creoda had done that, and he was Hrype’s ancestor.
I opened my eyes and stared at him.
It was as if he had been waiting for me. Sibert sat immobile as stone and his eyes were still fast shut. Froya was hunched on her stool, her back bent as if under a heavy load.
I could have believed that Hrype and I were alone.
I felt his thought. It came at me like an arrow and as soon as I understood, it seemed to me that the awareness had been there all along.
‘The crown must go back,’ I whispered, my voice hardly more than a breath.
‘Yes.’
I hesitated, for I was tired and afraid. But he was relentless and I knew I must speak. ‘Must I take it?’
‘You must, and Sibert must go with you.’
‘Why?’ I asked. I sounded like a wheedling child.
‘Because it was you and Sibert who took it,’ he answered.
And all at once it made perfect sense.
TWENTY-ONE
Sibert and I set out while it was still dark and for the third time I embarked on a long journey far from the safety of my home.
Hrype promised to reassure my parents but I knew they would be so very worried about me. They must have hoped that I’d had enough of excitement for the time being, as indeed I had. Returning to Drakelow was the last thing I wanted to do and, glancing at Sibert as the dawn light steadily grew stronger, I thought he probably felt the same.
We were lucky this time in that we got a lift from a garrulous carter eager for somebody – anybody – to talk to, and he picked us up just south of St Edmundsbury and took us all the way to the place where our track branched off the road south-east to the coast at Dunwich. Despite the nervous tension and the underlying fear, both of us managed to sleep, although I don’t suppose even that stopped the carter’s chatter.
Rested and well-fed as we were – the carter had shared his food with us and, thanks to Hrype, who it became clear was much better at putting together travelling rations than Sibert, we were provided with a generous pack – we made good time on the
last leg of our journey. We arrived at Drakelow in the late afternoon and stood side by side on the top of the low cliff staring out at the crumbling timbers of the sea sanctuary, just becoming visible above the outgoing tide.
‘I think,’ Sibert said thoughtfully, ‘it’s even more damaged than it was last time we were here.’
I agreed. ‘The sea is reclaiming it.’ I felt strange; sort of dreamy. ‘Soon it’ll all be gone and there will be nothing left to mark where it was.’
‘Then we’d better hurry up and put the crown back,’ Sibert replied. ‘It’ll be safe then.’
He was right. Although I’d have given anything not to have to do this task, I realized that we could only be free to go home once we’d steeled ourselves and completed it.
We decided to wait until twilight. It did not seem likely that there was anyone around to see us but you never knew. We settled in a hollow on the top of the cliff and ate quite a lot of Hrype’s supplies. Then Sibert had a doze and I sat watching the waves. The tide had turned and was coming in again but I reckoned we still had plenty of time to get out to the sea sanctuary and bury the crown.
When it was growing dark I packed up our belongings and roused Sibert. We clambered down the cliff and struck out across the pebbly sand.
There were puddles on the foreshore and as we splashed along they struck chilly on my skin. The air, too, felt colder than it ought to have done for a summer’s night. I looked up and saw a bank of cloud blowing up out of the dark eastern sky, slowly and inexorably blanking out the bright stars. A mist was rolling in on the silvery surface of the sea. I felt suddenly afraid and instinctively I moved closer to Sibert. He glanced at me and I saw my apprehension reflected in his face. He clutched at the crown in its bag at his waist and said gruffly, ‘Come on. The sooner we’ve done it, the sooner we can be safely back on dry land.’
Back on dry land. Yes, how much I wanted that. How alien, by comparison, was this mysteriously threatening watery world whose margins we trod.
We were holding hands. I don’t know which of us made the move, but all at once Sibert’s strong, warm hand was clutching mine and I was so glad. The mist had crept up to our feet now. It was as if some element of the sea were stealthily extending its reach to draw us in, grasping for us with thin, silver fingers. I glanced down at the strange sight of my legs appearing to end just above my ankles.
All at once the wrecked posts of the sea sanctuary rose up right in front of us.
We stopped. Then Sibert squared his shoulders and said, ‘We must put it back exactly where we found it. Can you recall the place?’
I could. Even in the growing darkness, with the mist blotting out all firm outlines, my instincts were leading me right to the spot. It was as if the crown’s power had left a trace of itself down there in the sand beneath the ancient wood. For someone like me it was as easy to read as a candle in a window on a moonless night.
‘This way.’
Confidently I stepped forward into the circle. Then, crouching down, my skirt flapping into a pool of sea water, I started to scoop out the sand. Sibert placed the crown carefully down beside one of the timbers and then began to help me and quite soon we had made a significant hollow. Sibert sat back on his heels, brushed his hair off his sweaty forehead – it was hot work digging the hard, wet sand – and said, ‘It’s not deep enough yet. I think we ought to—’
Something big and black rushed up out of the darkness and buffeted into him, knocking him over. I screamed, for in that first horrified shock I thought it was some nightmare creature out of the sea. Then I heard the sound of fists on flesh. Someone grunted. Someone cried out in pain.
Struggling, locked together, the two shadowy shapes were now out on the far side of the sanctuary and I could hear their feet splashing about in the water. I rushed after them, panicking, trying to make out which one was Sibert, and as I watched, my thoughts flying wildly from one rescue plan to the next, each of them equally futile, I saw the shorter, stockier shadow raise its arm and with a sickening crack, land a heavy punch right on the point of the tall, slim shadow’s chin.
Sibert went down.
He stayed down, for the other shadow was sitting on his head and his head was under the water.
I leapt on to the man’s back, pummelling at him with both hands, then when that failed, trying to reach round to stick my fingers in his eyes, up his nostrils or into the corners of his mouth. His broad shoulders felt like iron and he brushed me off, taking no more notice of me than a bull does of a gnat. He was gasping, groaning with effort, for Sibert must have sensed death coming for him and he was thrashing about like a landed fish.
I gathered myself and leapt on him again, punching harder, screaming, shouting. Sibert was dying right before my eyes and I had to save him.
Then two things happened. Sibert stopped struggling, then the man threw himself backwards and I was flung off him into the deepening water.
I leapt up again, hampered by my soaking-wet skirts, and flew at the inert shape that was Sibert. I tried to raise his head up out of the waves that were now running powerfully up the shore, but savagely the man kicked me away. I fell again, and this time I hit my forehead very hard on one of the timbers of the sanctuary. I shook my head, stunned, and bursts of brilliant light exploded behind my eyes.
The man pushed Sibert deep under the water and held him there. Then he splashed across the sea sanctuary until he stood over the crown, still lying on the sand where Sibert had put it.
Even as he spun round to face me, triumph written all over him, I knew who he was. Baudouin de la Flèche cried out in a voice that was hardly human, ‘This treasure is not going back under the waves! I claim it, and with it I shall win back Drakelow!’
‘You’ve killed Sibert!’ I sobbed. ‘You’ve taken a young man’s life, purely for your own selfish reason!’
He laughed. ‘His life means nothing! I have killed before and I shall do so again.’
In an instant of shock and horror I thought I knew what he meant. No. No. I shook my head in denial, for if I was right it was a dreadful, abnormal act. I must be wrong – I must be . . .
Now Sibert was dead too – I dared not think about that – and I knew I was going have to fight his killer.
He stood quite still and I heard him laugh again. It was as if he were daring me to speak, to tell him what I was thinking. He actually said, ‘Go on, then!’ and I knew my horrified conclusion was the right one.
I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge.
‘You killed Romain,’ I said. ‘There was no murderer other than you, and you bribed Sagar to say it was Sibert.’ I shook my head. ‘Romain was your nephew and your heir. Why?’
‘Romain was a hot-headed fool.’ He spat out the words. ‘I went to such trouble to make him think he had found out about the crown by himself, when all along it was I who had arranged it so that he just happened to meet the one man who had the necessary information.’
‘Why didn’t you take it yourself?’ I cried. ‘Were you scared of it?’ I knew it was foolhardy but I could not resist the jibe.
He made a sort of growling sound and raised his fist, so that for a moment I thought he was going to hit me. I flinched.
He regained control. He said very coldly, ‘You forget, girl. That madman Roger might have been able to provide a rough location for the crown but nobody was going to find it without help. Sibert’s help, and yours.’
‘Then why did you not seek us out as Romain did?’ I flashed back.
Something in him seemed to snap. ‘Because I could not approach it!’ he screamed. Then, his struggle for calm very evident, ‘Even if you and Sibert had led me right up to it, I could not have taken it from its hiding place.’ He glanced down at the crown, lying at his feet, and I thought I saw a long shudder go through him. ‘It all but overwhelms me when I am close to it,’ he added, half to himself, ‘and here, where its power is far, far stronger and when, before you came, no human hand had touched it for centur
ies, I knew it would be reluctant to let me near.’ He breathed deeply for a few moments. Watching him intently, I saw some fierce struggle within him, as if even now, with his prize at his feet, a part of him was desperate simply to run away.
With a visible effort, he stood his ground.
‘I let Romain think he was acting alone but I was watching him all along,’ he said. ‘I saw the three of you, splashing around out here and letting yourselves get caught by the incoming tide. I saw you fail, curse you. Then I slipped away.’ He spat into the small waves running over his feet.
‘When I returned in the early morning, you and the boy had gone and you had taken the crown, and Romain had set off after you. I followed him. He had let you get away and I had to find him. But both of us failed. He managed to catch you up and he attacked that pale, spindly boy, but somehow you and he managed to fight back and you laid Romain on his back, writhing in agony.’ I shut my eyes tightly for a moment. It was an image I could not bear to dwell on. ‘Sibert still had the crown,’ Baudouin said bitterly. ‘I had to think of another way of getting it back.’
‘So you killed your nephew and made out that Sibert was a thief and a murderer.’ How callous and cold-hearted he was!
‘I did,’ he agreed. ‘Nobody was meant to doubt my word, and when that fat fool Gilbert insisted on hearing what my witness had to say, I had to pay Sagar to provide the information.’
I was still having trouble accepting that Baudouin had killed his own nephew. ‘But Romain was your heir!’ I said. ‘You were going to all this trouble to win back Drakelow, but what was the point if nobody would come after you to inherit it?’
‘Oh, don’t you worry, somebody will,’ he said roughly. ‘Congratulate me, girl, for I am to be married. For some time I have my eye on the plump and comely daughter of my neighbouring lord, and she has consented to be my wife. She comes from a line of wide-hipped and fertile sisters who all have families of their own, so she will undoubtedly start filling Drakelow’s nursery within nine months of our wedding.’
