Mist Over the Water

by Alys Clare

  His thoughts ran on. The Wessex plot depended on both Lord Edmund, who was the driving force behind it and in addition its financier, and also, of course, on Gewis, and on the boy being who they said he was. If one or the other were to be removed then the plot would collapse. Rollo could not remove Gewis; for one thing he did not know where the lad was, and for another there was Lassair. If there was no other solution, he would just have to remove Lord Edmund.

  He felt calm descend on him. It was always the way; all the time he was undecided, and several courses of action presented themselves, he felt as tightly stretched as a bowstring before the arrow flies. However, once he had made up his mind it was different. He had learned long ago to take all the time he needed to go through each and every possibility so that, once the decision was made, he knew it was the right one and he never undermined it by entertaining second thoughts.

  In the middle of the afternoon, two of the big guards came hurrying along the street and were quickly admitted into the house where Lord Edmund was lodging. Rollo stiffened, his full attention fixed on the spot where the two men had just disappeared. They were worried. He had seen that in the way they moved and in the anxious glances they shot over their shoulders. Something had unnerved them; what was it? He ran over several possibilities. He would wait to see what happened next before he made up his mind.

  Within a short time there was more activity outside the house. The two guards reappeared and checked up and down the street, then one beckoned behind him and from within the house a tall, thin, cloaked figure appeared, the hood drawn forward to conceal the head and face. The cloak, however, was of expensive material and the man’s boots were of supple leather and polished to a shine; he was a man of wealth, and Rollo knew his identity. He watched as the other two guards fell into step behind him, one carrying a large bag, and the five of them set off hurriedly along the street.

  Rollo emerged from his hiding place and followed them. They hastened across the marketplace, one of the guards swearing at a fat woman with a basket who got in the way and raising a hand to cuff her out of their path, and made straight for the abbey gates. The pair of guards in the lead summoned the monk on duty, and he came to speak to Lord Edmund. There was a muttered conversation, the monk nodded quickly a few times and then Lord Edmund was escorted inside.

  Nobody was looking Rollo’s way, but nevertheless it seemed wise to leave quickly. He was almost certain that the guards suspected the presence of an enemy within the town – which was why they had encouraged their lord to move inside the greater security of the abbey and its strong walls – but he doubted that they knew yet who this enemy was and what strength of men and arms threatened Lord Edmund and his faction.

  Rollo smiled wryly. Unwittingly, Lord Edmund had, in seeking the safety of the abbey, done the very thing that Rollo wanted him to. Out here I am one man alone, he thought, armed with my sword and my knife, and my strength is not in might but in stealth. Inside the abbey, however, the situation would be different, for the odds would alter in his favour.

  King William had explained the nature of the monks of Ely. Traditionally, the abbey had supported the House of Wessex. The last Wessex king, Edward, known as the Confessor, son of Aethelred, had spent his childhood in Ely and was educated by the monks; the link between the House of Wessex and the abbey of Ely was rumoured to endure still, although these days it was not safe to speak of it. King William, however, had eyes and ears in unlikely places, and he had told Rollo that Ely’s prior was a Wessex man receptive to any plot that would bring back the old regime. However, the king’s informants understood that many of the younger monks wanted no truck with the old ways. Feelings still ran high at the Conqueror’s crippling reprisals against the abbey in the aftermath of the 1071 rebellion. Had the monks given away the secret of the safe ways on to the island sooner, the abbey would have held on to its vast wealth. The more worldly monks recognized that there was no point in fighting the might of the Normans and the surest route to a secure, peaceful life was to support the king. Moreover, the huge new church now soaring up within the abbey walls was without doubt an indication that Ely would rise to the heights, provided no further murmurs of rebellion reached the ears of the king . . .

  King William had provided a name. If you require support, he’d said to Rollo, seek out the master of novices, whom they call Brother Mark.

  Rollo silently repeated the name. Then he turned away and was swallowed by the crowds.

  I spent much of the day shut up in our little room with Hrype and Edild. Hrype was very weak and still in pain – I told Edild the exact details of the draught I had given him, and she blanched and said he’d better not have any more pain relief for the time being – but he bore the agony bravely, and I did not hear him complain. Edild cared for him with a tenderness that spoke eloquently of her love for him. Now that I recognized what they felt for each other, I was amazed that I had never spotted it before. They must, I decided, have been very, very careful. In a little village like Aelf Fen, where everybody knows everyone else and we all watch one another like hawks over a cornfield, it was no mean feat to have been so discreet that not one word about them had ever been breathed.

  It was left to me to prepare food and drink when Edild ordered it. She tried to make Hrype take a few mouthfuls to build up his strength but, although he tried, he barely ate a thing. He did, however, gulp down several cups of my honey mixture. Edild said it would do him good. I wished I had the wealth to go out and buy for him the sweetest, finest wine. It would have put heart in him far more effectively than warm water and honey.

  He seemed better by twilight. Edild was sitting behind him, so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap. She held his hand in hers, and with her other hand she stroked his forehead. He was obviously enjoying it, and I had the distinct sense that she was putting her own strength into him to hasten his recovery.

  It was hard to watch them. When, finally, Hrype muttered something to the effect that I must surely feel restless after a day closeted inside, I took the hint and announced I was going outside for some air and to stretch my legs.

  I had told Rollo I would stay inside. While I appreciated that he had insisted on this because he was worried about me, it was not he who had been forced into the position of third party to a pair of lovers all day. As I pulled on my cloak and eased out of the little house, it was such a relief that I could have sung.

  I didn’t have anywhere to go. I wondered where Rollo was. He had implied he had some important task to do, and I believed he meant he was going to leave the town. It did not occur to me to go and look for him. I felt instinctively that I would not find him unless he wanted me to.

  I thought about Gewis. My family would make him welcome, I knew that very well. They would be desperate to ask about Edild, Hrype and me but I thought – I hoped – they would be too polite to press him if he did not volunteer anything. I was far from ready to go home, but I did not like to think of my parents and my granny worrying about me. I reassured myself by remembering that they knew Edild was with me. They were not to know that, far from carefully watching over her niece, my aunt lay with her secret lover enjoying a rare moment alone with him. They would never find out from me either. Edild had kept many of my secrets in the past, and now it was time for me to do the same for her.

  Poor Gewis. He would still be coming to terms with the death of his mother. I did not envy him. I hoped my mother was finding some way to comfort him. He was young still, and he had the look of someone who found the world a hard place.

  That thought led me directly to Sibert.

  My friend had been told something that devastated him. Yes, he had suspected that there was something odd about the time his parents and his uncle had spent in Ely together, but I was quite convinced that he had got nowhere near the truth, even with his wildest guesses. To learn after nearly nineteen years that his dead, hero father was no such thing – a hero, yes, but not his father – and that his mother had conceived him
with her brother-in-law, Sibert’s uncle, must have driven him to the verge of madness. He was, as I have so often thought, not really equipped to deal with too much reality.

  I still did not understand why his reaction had been to attempt to kill Hrype. Why? Because for him to impregnate Froya had been a sin? Because it had been the worst possible betrayal of poor, wounded Edmer? Or because – and I thought this the most likely – Sibert had had to find out the truth for himself?

  It would have taken a very brave man to say to the young Sibert, There is something you must know. I slept with your mother as her husband lay dying, and you are my son, not his. But Hrype was a brave man. Why had he kept silent?

  Because of Froya, came the answer. I suppose I provided it myself, but at the time it sounded as if the words were spoken in another voice that could have been Hrype’s.

  I thought about that. Yes, it sounded believable. Froya was delicate, her equanimity readily shattered, and both Hrype and Sibert had to work hard to restore her calm when she got upset. If she had begged Hrype not to tell Sibert the truth, I thought he would have restrained himself, even if he thought it was wrong.

  Froya. Oh, dear Lord, her secret was out now. Had Sibert gone to confront her? For a moment I was horrified that he had, but then I was suddenly quite sure he hadn’t. He would not face her on her own. He loved her, I did not doubt it, and deep down that would not change, no matter what she had done. He was probably beside himself with fury at her now, but he would not attack until Hrype was there to protect her. It had, after all, been both of them who had done wrong.

  They were his parents. I still found it all but impossible to believe, but Hrype and Froya were Sibert’s parents.

  That was something else I was going to have to keep from the inhabitants of Aelf Fen.

  I found that my aimless wanderings as I thought about my friends had led me past the row of dwellings and towards where the water lapped at the foot of the track that bordered the lower edge of the meadow. Just along there was the place where Sibert had borrowed the boat. He had taken it three times now, and it was still missing. It was just as well that its rightful owner did not appear to have any use for it at the moment or we would all be in trouble.

  I watched the dark water. It was still high, and I could smell rain on the air. The dark, heavy clouds in the west had been building up all day. Ely Island would soon be a little smaller as the water rose and . . .

  There was a boat approaching. I heard it before I saw it, and as it emerged from the gloom I saw that it was the one Sibert had purloined.

  One person rowed it. It looked like a boy, and he wore a worn tunic and a shapeless felt hat pulled well down so that it covered his hair. I thought I recognized that hat . . .

  Clumsily, the boy shipped his oars and the boat slid alongside. I reached down and grabbed the rope, making it fast. The boy stood up, and I held out my hand to him.

  ‘It’s holed,’ the boy said apologetically, shaking the water off his boots. ‘I ran over a submerged branch, and I’ve been baling half the way back.’

  Then Gewis took my hand and, with a sheepish smile, stepped out of the boat and on to the damp grass.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘W

  hat do you think you’re doing?’ I hissed furiously. ‘Sibert took you away from here because it’s not safe! Why on earth have you come back again?’

  ‘They killed my mother!’ he cried. Hastily, I shushed him, and he went on more quietly, ‘I have to tell Lord Edmund I know what he’s done. Then I’m going to get the sheriff and—’

  It was a fine and noble idea but quite unrealistic. We were peasants, powerless, bound by invisible but unbreakable fetters. Lord Edmund was so far above us that there was nothing our feeble protests could do to touch him. ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ I interrupted. Poor Gewis. How little he knew about the world. ‘The four guardians will be hunting for you now. If they find you, they’ll take you straight back to Lord Edmund—’

  ‘That’s what I want!’ Gewis said passionately.

  ‘No you don’t!’ Why wouldn’t he see? ‘If that happens, the outcome will be one of two things. Either they’ll force you into the role they want you to play, which you already say you have refused—’

  ‘I have! I won’t do it, not for anything in the world!’

  ‘—Or they’ll kill you because you know about what they are trying to do and therefore you can’t be left alive to tell anyone else.’

  He was staring at me with his mouth open. Then, as I watched, slowly the terror left his eyes and he straightened up. When he spoke, there was a new note in his voice, and I knew that the time when I could boss him about had gone.

  ‘I am going to the house where I was taken before Lord Edmund,’ he said calmly. ‘I do not expect you to come with me, for it is, as you say, perilous.’

  I wanted to scream with frustration. I didn’t. Someone would have heard. Instead, I just said, ‘Come on then. Show me where it is.’

  We kept in the shadows as we made our way up the dark, silent alley that led to the marketplace. We waited for our eyes to adjust to the sudden light of the torches flaring high up on the abbey walls, then hurried around the square, crouching low and staying right back against the encircling buildings. There was nobody about. Ely, it appeared, had retired for the night.

  Gewis ran off along a wider street where the houses were large and prosperous-looking, stopping after only a few paces in front of a grand establishment that showed all the signs of wealth. Some gift of foresight, probably provided by my fear, permitted me to see what he was about to do; I grabbed at his arm, but I was too late. He was already banging on the door.

  I didn’t know whether to flee or prepare to fight. My hand closed on the horn hilt of my knife, and I drew it out of its sheath. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I felt sick. Then the terror abated slightly, just enough for me to come to my senses and realize that, despite Gewis’s forceful fist on the wooden door, no lights had come on and no cross servant had poked his head out to demand what we thought we were doing.

  The house was empty.

  I put my knife away and leaned forward, my hands on my knees, while my heartbeat and my breathing returned to normal. Then I looked up at Gewis and said, ‘Now what?’

  His face was thoughtful. ‘Lord Edmund might have left the town,’ he said slowly, ‘but I don’t think so. He wants me as a figurehead for this rebellion he’s plotting, but he was never going to succeed with just me and my four guards. There must be many more supporters waiting for the word.’

  He was right. This Lord Edmund probably had a secret network quietly preparing for the moment when their leader would emerge with the new champion, whereupon they were no doubt relying on the optimistic hope that all the malcontents in England would rally round and kick King William and the Normans back to Normandy.

  I heard Rollo speaking in my head. Does anybody truly want another battle like Hastings? I thought of Granny Cordeilla, who still cannot speak of those terrible times without her voice breaking, for among those she had lost on that unforgettable day had been her best-loved brother Sigbehrt, known as the Mighty Oak, who fell defending his brother Sagar Sureshot, as well as his lord and, ultimately, his king.

  Men fight battles, Granny is wont to say. Women break their hearts in the aftermath. She is old and she has lost so many that she loved. But as I stood there beside Gewis, for a moment I was fired with the image of myself wielding a sword, shrieking my war cry as I galloped into the fray to fight for what I thought was right. The image faded, and my feet gently bumped back on to the solid ground.

  Rollo was right. Twenty-four years ago the people of England had fought and lost, and since then there had been peace, give or take a rebellion or two. Even if a figurehead representing the great kings of the past were to materialize among us, did it honestly make sense to rise up and support him?

  It just wasn’t worth the price.

  Gewis must have noticed I was no longer
listening. ‘Lassair!’ he whispered. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, what were you saying?’

  ‘I said he’ll have gone inside the abbey. The monks knew I was there so obviously Lord Edmund has support among them, and I know the prior is in league with him.’

  I felt a chill around my heart. The abbey was a great deal more secure than this house, stout and well built though it was. Did that mean Lord Edmund knew he was in danger? Had his men informed him that a Norman spy was in the town?

  Rollo was in danger. I knew it. I felt it throughout my body.

  ‘I know a way over the wall,’ I said. Gewis looked surprised; perhaps he had expected I would try to talk him out of trying to get inside the abbey. ‘You’ll have to give me a leg-up, and I have no idea how we’re going to get you over, but we’ll just have to do our best.’

  He stood there, slowly shaking his head. Then a grin broke out on his face and, grasping hands, we hurried away.

  I found the place where Rollo and I had got out of the abbey. As I had thought, it was very difficult getting up the high wall on the outside, without the help of the compost heap; Gewis made a stirrup of his hands and, after a few fruitless efforts where he shot me up too fast and I lost my grip, falling quite heavily on the hard ground, eventually I was astride the wall. Then I reached down and, fighting to hold on with my right hand, held out my left and tried to haul him up. I couldn’t have lifted his weight unaided, but he was agile and his toes found all but invisible spaces in the stones of the wall, so that he supported himself and all I had to do was provide a bit of lift.

  All the same, we only just managed it.

  I pointed out the compost heap, and we dropped down on top of it. It broke our fall but at a price: we stank.

  We brushed ourselves down as best we could, and I stood getting my bearings. There was no hope that I would remember the tortuous route along which Rollo had guided us, but there was no need to. We could see the walls of the new cathedral rising up some distance before us to our left; all we had to do was head that way and we would be in the heart of the abbey.