Blood of the South

THIRTEEN

I was awake early the next morning. I’d been dreaming about Granny Cordeilla. She had a skillet in her hand and she said, Use whatever weapon is to hand! As the image receded, I smiled. She’d been a feisty little woman, my Granny Cordeilla, but, in the way of dreams, reality had been altered slightly. It was my mother, not my grandmother, who had once utilized a cooking implement to lay someone out.

Granny’s presence stayed with me as Edild and I began our day. Edild saw a series of patients, and she gave me a long list of tasks. Around noon, she was called to attend the birth of the carpenter’s wife’s first child. I stopped for a bite to eat, then went back to my chores. Now that I was alone, the sense of Granny’s presence intensified.

Whatever weapon is to hand … The more I thought about it, the surer I was that my granny hadn’t been referring to skillets or frying pans. I did have a weapon, of a sort; and it was very closely associated with Granny Cordeilla. Was that what she had meant?

Abandoning my chores, I took the shining stone in its bag out from its hiding place. Then I wrapped myself up in my shawl and, using the rear door, let myself out of the house.

There was really only one place to go. Closely associated as it was with both my grandmother and the shining stone – for the stone had lain hidden with her out there for many years – I struck off across the sodden ground towards the little island where my ancestors lie buried. I knew it was going to be hard going, but the flood waters had receded further overnight and at no point did I get wet higher than my knees. There was, however, no possibility of actually going across to the island; apart from the deep water all around it, only its summit broke the surface.

I made my way to a low rise on which stood a group of willows. Their branches grew thickly, sweeping down close to the ground, and once I had pushed my way within their circle, I was hidden from the casual glance. I found a reasonably dry spot among the roots of the largest tree, sat down and took out the shining stone.

I’d been anticipating the moment when I had a proper look into its depths purely because I wanted to, rather than at another’s request. I’d been both excited and curious, and I’d also been apprehensive. Now that the time had come, apprehension was the dominant emotion, swiftly escalating to fear.

I held the heavy stone in my palms, staring down into it. It was black; shiny, unrelieved black. It was dormant, inert. Nothing was going to happen; I’d-

But then it changed.

I’m not entirely sure what I saw in its depths. I saw vision after vision, one scene succeeding another in the blink of an eye. I saw myself, as I understood myself to be. I saw another me, and it felt as if the shining stone was drawing out of me aspects of myself that had always been there, had I but troubled to look. I had no idea how it was happening – it was as if the stone’s presence in my hands was somehow allowing me to see with far clearer eyes.

It seemed to be aware of my present concerns. It told me things; or, perhaps, it helped me to use my own knowledge, reason and wits to understand what had previously been hidden. It could be that, sensing I had a new and very powerful entity very firmly on my side – there was absolutely no doubting that – I had, for the first time in my life, the confidence truly to be myself; to trust my own judgement.

I leaned back, stretching my neck, shoulders and back, making myself relax, about to wrap the stone in its wool and put it safely away. But it hadn’t finished with me.

Out of nowhere, I saw those narrow eyes again. Now the fierce intent glittered out of them, and the features of the face clarified into an unreadable mask. This was a man intent on violence – of the most brutal, irrevocable sort – yet he was detached; whatever terrible act he was about to do, it would not be performed out of any deep emotion.

Who is he? I asked the question inside my head, praying the stone would answer. I saw a swift succession of images – the track leading out of the village; the drowned woman; Jack and me by the pool where she’d been found; the derelict monastery where we’d slept in the hay. Was this man her murderer? Had I been right when I’d felt his eyes on me, heard the whistle of the knife flying towards me to take my life?

I couldn’t bear any more. Swiftly I covered the stone with my hands, blocking it from my sight. I didn’t know what to do: should I stay where I was, hidden among the bare willows? Should I break cover and run as fast as I could back to the village? But the ground was waterlogged, and fast running all but impossible. He’d spot me instantly, and even my best speed would be no match for that silver blade …

Then I realized something. It might have been the stone, communicating with me; it might have been my own common sense, fighting to be heard, but, when I made myself stop to think, I noticed that I wasn’t afraid. Whoever it was, watching and waiting his moment, just then he was no threat to me. I was safe; but I wasn’t the only one who mattered.

I had to go …

I looked down at the stone. Did I trust it? Did I trust myself?

As if I was watching someone else, I saw myself put the stone back in its bag and stand up. I brushed down my skirts, wrapped my shawl around me and strode out from under the willows, setting off for the village at a steady pace that was nowhere near a panicky run.

I had my answer.

It was late afternoon when I reached the village. I’d been out for hours; far longer than I’d thought. I wondered if the shining stone somehow altered the perception of time. It seemed quite possible. I let myself into Edild’s house, and saw straight away that she was not back. I poked up the fire, building it up until I had a cheery blaze, then set water on to boil in order to prepare food. I was ravenous, and Edild would need to eat when she came in.

Presently there was a knock on the door. I got up, opened it and saw Jack standing outside. I felt a huge wave of relief. I’d known it would be him. ‘Come in,’ I said.

He did so, settling on the floor beside the fire and holding out his hands to the flames. ‘That feels good,’ he murmured. Then, raising his eyes to look at me, he said, ‘I came looking for you earlier. Nobody was at home.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Why did you want to see me?’

‘I thought you might have come with me again to help me look for Harald Fensman’s clan,’ he said. ‘I wanted-’ But then he stopped, and whatever he’d been about to add remained unsaid.

‘Did you have any luck?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘And you were going to talk to Lady Rosaria last night – did you?’

‘Not for long,’ he replied. ‘Lord Gilbert is very protective. A sheriff’s officer is not permitted to interrogate a lady.’ His tone was carefully neutral.

‘Do you think she’s recovering?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I can say, since I’ve never known what’s wrong with her. What do you think, healer woman?’

I made myself concentrate. It wasn’t easy, when other things were batting about in my head, clamouring to be said. All in good time, I told myself. ‘Undoubtedly she’s had some very bad experience,’ I said. ‘She, her baby son and her maid took ship from their home in northern Spain to Bordeaux, where they changed vessels and came up to Lynn aboard The Good Shepherd. The maid was very sick, and had to be helped ashore at Lynn. Lady Rosaria and her son then went on to Cambridge alone.’ I looked at Jack. ‘Can it be that the maid falling ill and perhaps dying was enough to cause Lady Rosaria’s state of deep shock?’

He shrugged. ‘What else is there?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Did she speak of her circumstances back in Spain? She mentioned her husband’s father, but was there anyone else?’

‘There was his old father, who was called Leafric – she did reveal that last night – but he died years ago,’ Jack said. ‘If there were other family members, she’d surely have turned to them rather than set out for England.’

‘She told you her husband’s grandfather was called Leafric?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Yes, that tallies. She told me her son is named after a forebear of her husband’s.’

‘Is that relevant?’

Slowly I shook my head. ‘I’m not sure.’ Funny things were happening inside my mind. I had the feeling that we’d just stumbled on something important.

I said, ‘We too have a Harald whose father was called Leafric.’

There was quite a long silence. Then he said, ‘Are you sure?’

I smiled. ‘I’m the family bard.’ I remembered all those endless hours with Granny Cordeilla, and how she would test me over and over again until I stopped making mistakes. ‘My father’s mother was called Cordeilla, and it was her youngest brother who was called Harald. Along with his two elder brothers, he fought at the great battle, and he was the only one who survived. The family never saw him again, and my granny always said he’d left his homeland rather than bend his neck before the conquerors.’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I’d been more diplomatic, since the son of one of those conquerors was sitting beside me. ‘Harald and Cordeilla’s father was called Leafric.’

After a pause, Jack said, ‘So your family has a missing relative called Harald, who left England and might well have ended up in Spain. His father’s name was Leafric. Now here we are, with a woman who claims her father-in-law was called Harald Fensman, and his father was called Leafric. Do you think it’s possible we’re referring to the same man?’

‘Possible, yes,’ I agreed, ‘but highly unlikely. For one thing, nobody in the family heard from Harald after he disappeared. There’s nothing whatsoever to suggest he went to Spain, and, as far as we know, he didn’t. Why would he?’

‘As far as you know,’ Jack repeated softly. ‘But what do you know?’

I was stumped. ‘I’m not sure.’ Had there ever been any hint of what had happened to Harald? If he had contacted anyone in the family, then the most likely person was his sister Cordeilla, my grandmother. She’d always said they were close. It was too late to ask her, but I could do the next best thing: I could speak to her two favourite children, my aunt Edild and my own father. ‘I’ll ask,’ I said, ‘and-’

‘What’s the other thing?’

‘Huh?’

‘You said, for one thing, and that usually suggests there’s going to be at least one more.’

‘Oh, yes. The other thing is that my great-uncle really couldn’t be Lady Rosaria’s father-in-law, because he wasn’t rich and his kin didn’t have wide estates and luxurious houses. He came from kin just like mine.’

I hoped he would nod his head in agreement, and we’d finally abandon the idea of Lady Rosaria having anything to do with me and my family.

He didn’t.

‘Harald Fensman became a man of position and status, that’s for sure,’ he said instead. ‘But how do we know what his circumstances were when he first arrived in Spain?’

I had a horrible feeling that I knew what he was going to say. ‘Don’t,’ I muttered.

He must have picked up my distress. He leaned closer to me, and I felt my hand being enclosed in his. ‘Does it upset you so much?’ he said gently.

‘The thought that Lady Rosaria’s late father-in-law was my Granny Cordeilla’s youngest brother, which means she is related by marriage to my family, and we’ll have to look after her when all the time she’ll be looking down that long nose of hers, dismissing my poor mother’s cooking and housekeeping, despising my beloved father’s lowly occupation and treating the rest of us like slaves? Oh yes, it distresses me, all right!’

To my shame, I found I was crying; great sobs were bursting out of me. Jack gave a soft sound of sympathy, put his arms round me and drew me tightly against him.

He felt so strong.

After a while, I sat up and dried my eyes. ‘I’m better now,’ I said.

He smiled, and I tried to respond, but failed. Then he said, his mouth quirking as if trying not to laugh, ‘You don’t know she’s got a long nose.’

‘What?’ I was already grinning.

‘None of us have seen her without that veil,’ he pointed out. ‘For all you know, she may have the most pert and lovely little nose.’

If his intention had been to cheer me up, he had succeeded. He had released me from the hug, but now he took hold of my hand again. ‘I’m not belittling how you feel,’ he said. ‘If I were in your position, I’d feel just the same. The thought of Lady bloody Rosaria as a permanent house guest is abhorrent.’

‘And you don’t even know how small my parents’ house is,’ I put in.

‘Oh, I expect I do,’ he replied. ‘But, dear Lassair, I think you may be overlooking something.’

‘What?’

He paused, then: ‘It’s not only Lady Rosaria who’s looking for a kind, loving family to take her in, is it?’

I knew what he meant. Instantly the outlook became a lot better. ‘No,’ I said. ‘There’s the baby, too.’

‘And you’ve developed quite an affection for Leafric.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘Wouldn’t it make her more tolerable, if he was also part of the arrangement?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Whatever has happened, and whatever she has become, he’s not to blame.’

‘Indeed he’s not,’ Jack agreed, and I was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. ‘The innocent never are, yet so often it’s they who suffer most.’

I looked at him. Something had sparked off a memory, and it clearly wasn’t a happy one.

It was my turn to squeeze his hand. I went on holding it, even after the need for a kind touch was past, for the moment seemed right to speak. ‘Jack, there’s something I must tell you.’

‘Hm?’ He didn’t sound very interested; perhaps his mind was still on his memories.

‘It’s important,’ I went on. ‘We’re in danger.’

Now I had his attention. His green eyes fixed on mine and he said urgently, ‘What makes you think that?’

I don’t think, I know, I said silently. The shining stone doesn’t deal in uncertainties. ‘Remember, beside the pool where the drowned woman was found, we speculated that her killer might be watching us?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘That wasn’t the only time I’ve sensed eyes on me. Today, I felt his presence again -’ it hadn’t been quite like that, but I wasn’t ready to explain about the stone – ‘and I am certain he means to harm us.’ I met Jack’s intent stare. ‘To be precise, he means to harm you.’ Before he could interrupt, I hurried on. ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it? If he’s worried because he thinks we’ve found out something that incriminates him, then it’s you, as the lawman, he’ll want to get rid of.’

I’m not sure what I expected; it certainly hadn’t been that Jack would smile. ‘I appreciate your concern,’ he said, ‘and I’m grateful.’ He was getting up, preparing to leave.

‘But-’

He looked down at me, staring right into my eyes. ‘Lassair, if I took account of all the men who wish me harm – who wish to kill me, no doubt – I’d never leave the safety of my house.’

I stood up too, and stood face to face with him. ‘I really do believe your life is at risk.’ I hesitated. ‘I can’t tell you why, but please don’t dismiss it.’

‘I’m not dismissing it!’ The denial came so swiftly that I knew it was sincere. ‘And I’ll be careful. I promise.’

Something in his direct gaze was disturbing me; I turned away. ‘I’ll walk with you some of the way,’ I muttered.

He went as if to stop me, but then, with a shrug, nodded.

There was rain in the air; it was not yet falling, but it would very soon. We were passing the church when I felt eyes on me. I spun round, my heart thumping in alarm, but then I saw who it was. ‘Just a minute,’ I said to Jack. I ran across the track.

Standing deep in the shadow beneath the ancient yew tree in the churchyard was Hrype, cloaked and hooded, his face concealed and his silvery eyes glinting in the fading light.

‘Why are you hiding?’ I whispered.

‘I have my reasons,’ he said gruffly. Then, glancing out to where Jack stood waiting, he said acidly, ‘I won’t keep you from your friend.’ Only he could imbue that pleasant, inoffensive word with such dark meaning. ‘You’re to come out with me tonight. There’s a task you must perform.’

‘Must?’ I repeated, instantly angry. ‘On your orders, Hrype?’

He gave a sound expressing his impatience. ‘No. The prime concern isn’t mine.’ He hesitated. ‘There is someone else; someone who-’

‘Lassair?’ Jack called. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Get rid of him!’ Hrype hissed.

‘No!’ I hissed back.

Hrype muttered a curse, and then, as both of us stepped out from the shadows, I witnessed the extraordinary thing I’d seen once or twice before: Hrype changed his appearance. Somehow, using no more than adjustments in how he stood, his attitude and how he held his head, he turned from a tall, straight and proud man in vigorous middle age to a cringing, crippled peasant, worn down to decrepitude by decades of toil. In a thin, reedy voice quite unlike his own, he looked up at Jack, bowed and said, ‘Good evening to you, sir.’ Pulling his hood forward to conceal his face, he slipped away.

I knew why he had stopped me. He wanted me to look into the shining stone; to attempt once more to extract what he so badly wanted to know. My first reaction was to feel distressed and afraid.

Then, as I stood staring after Hrype, another emotion stirred. The shining stone was rightfully in my keeping; my own grandfather had told me so. It had been in his possession and he had given it to my Granny Cordeilla, trusting her to keep it safe until the right hands were ready to receive it.

Those hands were mine.

I wanted to be left alone with the stone. To form my own links with it; to explore it slowly, waiting to see what it offered in return. Discovery promised to be an exciting, seductive and mysterious path, and, that very afternoon, I had made my first solo steps on it.

I was no longer prepared to use the stone at someone else’s bidding, even that of a man as powerful and persuasive as Hrype. I raised my chin, squared my shoulders and gave a nod.

Beside me, Jack gave a soft laugh and said, ‘Have you finished?’

I spun round, to see that he was studying me closely. ‘What?’ I demanded sharply.

‘You’ve just been going through some personal crisis, I’d say,’ he replied, his tone mild. He jerked his head in the direction in which Hrype had melted away. ‘That man asked you to do something, and you don’t want to. At first you looked cowed, and you started chewing on your thumbnail in the way you always do when you’re worried. Then you made up your mind you were going to be strong – I saw it in your face – and refuse him.’

Chewing on my thumbnail? Really? Surreptitiously I glanced down at my hand: four decent nails on the fingers, and the one on the thumb nibbled down to its limit.

I looked up, straight into Jack’s clear, honest eyes. He said softly, ‘Lassair, you can tell me it’s nothing to do with me, but I’d like to help you.’

I didn’t answer. I just went on looking at him.

‘I’m trying to tell you that you can trust me, which isn’t really fair when you know next to nothing about me,’ he said. ‘You know where I live and what my work is. As I said, I was once a soldier, and the change from fighting man to lawman was an obvious and relatively easy step.’ He hesitated, weighing his words. ‘I dislike and distrust the man who gives me my orders – Picot is a crook and a rogue, out to make his own fortune – but I believe it is right to have laws, and that those laws must be upheld and defended. The alternative is every man for himself, and, under that regime, the strong prosper and the weak are trampled in the dust.’

I nodded. Rollo had once said something very similar.

My thoughts veered away from Rollo as if I’d been burned.

Jack shrugged, and I sensed his passionate explanation of himself had made him uneasy.

Then, thinking back, I remembered something he had said earlier: the innocent are never to blame, yet so often it’s they who suffer most.

I looked at him. As if he was prepared for my scrutiny and wanted to stand firm before it, he stared right back at me. He stood easily, yet, even at rest, his broad shoulders and chest revealed his solid strength. What had he been through to be such a champion of the weak, the innocent and the powerless? Had he been a Saxon, I could have understood, for you didn’t have to walk many miles to find people who had suffered appallingly when the Normans came; people whose lives had been changed in a flash from comfort and security to wretched poverty and brutal violence. In the red-hot mood of conquest, William the Bastard, his lords and his soldiers had had neither the time nor the inclination to be merciful.

But Jack Chevestrier hadn’t even been born back in 1066. No blame could attach to him personally for William the Conqueror’s barbarities.

Still he did not speak. He was waiting, I thought, to see what I would do. Whether I would trust him or keep my secrets to myself.

After what seemed a long time, I said, ‘I have made up my mind about something.’ I paused, for I wanted this to sound right. ‘I do believe you wish to help me, and I’m grateful.’ He began to speak, but I stopped him. ‘I’m not ready to tell you what it’s about,’ I hurried on, ‘but please understand that it’s not because I don’t trust you. I do.’

His eyes widened.

‘I’m honoured,’ he said after a moment, his voice low. ‘I respect your right to privacy, but, if you change your mind, I’ll be there.’

For no very clear reason, suddenly I felt moved almost to tears. I sensed that Jack rarely made such offers, and that he had just presented me with a very precious gift.

He looked at me, his face solemn. ‘Lassair, sometimes the hardest thing is standing up for yourself, especially when you’re accustomed to doing what others tell you.’ He paused. ‘For all of us, there’s a moment when we have the chance to assert ourselves, and if we fail to take it, that moment sets the pattern for the rest of our lives.’ He paused, his clear green eyes holding mine. ‘I just wanted to say,’ he concluded, ‘that, if this is your moment, make the most of it.’

He smiled briefly, then turned and walked away.

Just then, the first drops of rain began to fall: heavy, insistent. Jack broke into a run, haring off up the track towards the shelter of Lakehall as if the god of thunder were after him. I pulled my shawl over my head and hurried off to Edild’s house before I was soaked through.

As I flung the door open and burst inside, desperate to be out of the increasingly awful weather, I could still hear Jack’s parting words inside my head. Despite being drenched, I felt as warm as if I’d been sitting snug beside the fire.

Edild came in late, tired but satisfied; the carpenter’s wife had been delivered of a healthy girl. She fell on the food I’d prepared, and, while she ate, I remembered my resolve to ask if she knew anything about the disappearance of Granny Cordeilla’s brother Harald.

‘Edild,’ I began, ‘did Granny Cordeilla speak much about her three brothers?’

‘She had four,’ Edild corrected. ‘One of them, Sihtric, became a monk.’

I had forgotten about Granny’s cloistered brother; it tended to happen when a family member shut themselves away within an enclosed order. But Sihtric the monk wasn’t the man I was interested in. ‘Tell me about Harald,’ I said

‘He was a likeable man,’ my aunt said, her expression softening. ‘He was big and brawny, like so many of the men of the family, but kind-hearted beneath the tough, bluff exterior. Cordeilla took his loss hard,’ she added quietly, ‘and missed him sorely. It troubled her greatly, not knowing his fate.’

‘Could he have died at Hastings, like the other two?’ I asked. I felt very guilty about the rush of hope that rose up in me. I might have preferred Harald dead in battle to Harald as the father-in-law of Lady Rosaria, but that wasn’t very fair on him.

But Edild was shaking her head. ‘No, he survived the fighting.’ She paused. ‘He was seen running away.’

It sounded as though Edild thought that was something to be ashamed of. ‘Running for his life, surely?’ I protested. ‘His king was defeated and lay dead, and his brothers Sagar and Sigbehrt had perished defending him.’ Edild did not answer. ‘Was he not right, to try to save himself?’ I asked in a small voice.

‘Perhaps, but Cordeilla believed he should have brought their bodies home to the island to be buried among our kin, and she was deeply upset.’ Edild closed her eyes, as if the memories pained her.

‘And she had no idea where he went or what became of him?’ It seemed unkind to press her, but I really needed to know.

Edild shrugged. ‘She was convinced he’d left England,’ she said. ‘Otherwise, she believed, he would have found some way to send word to her of his fortunes. Or lack of them,’ she added grimly.

‘Could he have gone to Spain?’ I asked timidly.

‘Spain?’ She shot me a look. ‘Why would he have gone to Spain?’

‘To make his fortune?’ I suggested.

She gave a short laugh. ‘And just how do you imagine he’d have gone about it, in a strange, foreign land where he had no kin, no friends, no contacts and, other than his abilities as a fighter, no skills?’

I nodded, accepting the wisdom of her words. Then – for she had folded her lips in a tight line, as if to indicate that the conversation was over – I started to clear away the supper.

Afterwards, tired out by my long day, I dozed by the hearth. When I’d drifted off, it had still been raining hard, the wind howling like a savage animal, and I’d thought that not even Hrype’s urgency would yield before such a violent storm. But the rain must have stopped, for when there was a soft tap on the door and Hrype came into the room, he was quite dry.

‘Are you ready?’ he demanded, glaring at me. ‘Fetch the stone,’ he added, not waiting for my reply, ‘and we’ll be on our way.’

I stayed where I was. Edild, on the opposite side of the fire, watched each of us in turn. Noticing her interest, Hrype made a low exclamation, then, grabbing hold of me, ushered me outside. The sky had cleared, I noticed, and it was a fine night, the moon just rising and shedding a pale light on the damp ground.

Hrype looked down at me, half-frowning, half-smiling. ‘I thought you’d be ready and eager to go,’ he remarked. ‘Especially after I told you who we’d be visiting tonight.’

‘You didn’t tell me anything of the sort!’ I flashed back.

‘Yes I did – I said there was someone else!’

‘But you didn’t say who it was,’ I said with exaggerated patience.

He studied me. ‘I didn’t think that was necessary.’

‘But-’

He sighed. ‘Think, Lassair. You know what it is I want you to try to decipher from within the shining stone.’

‘Yes, of course. You want to know what Skuli’s doing and where he’s going.’

‘Yes?’ He looked at me enquiringly.

Then I knew. It was obvious, and Hrype had been right to assume I’d have worked it out for myself. There was only one person who was intimately connected with both the stone and Skuli, and I’d been thinking about him only that afternoon. I’d had no idea he was anywhere near, and the thought that he was, and that, moreover, I seemed to be on my way to go and see him, made my heart sing for joy.

I grinned at Hrype. ‘I’ll fetch the stone,’ I said.

I slipped back inside and removed the stone from its place of concealment. Edild watched me, but made no comment. I felt guilty but if Hrype had chosen not to enlighten her, it wasn’t up to me to do so. With an apologetic smile, I wrapped myself in my shawl, went outside again and closed the door.

Then, hurrying to keep up with his long strides, I set off behind Hrype to go and find my grandfather.