Blood of the South

FIVE

Edild exhibited no surprise at my sudden arrival with a screaming baby in my arms. Typically, it was his needs she addressed first, warming some milk over the hearth and dipping in some small pieces of bread. ‘He is presumably in need of a wet-nurse,’ she said in the sudden, blessed silence.

‘Yes.’

Leafric was on her lap, gazing up at her as he sucked at the bread, his gummy jaws mumbling like an old man’s. She glanced up at me over the top of his head. ‘And are there the means to pay such a woman?’

I explained about Lady Rosaria. ‘She paid the woman I found for her in Cambridge,’ I concluded. Mattie, I recalled, had told me Jack Chevestrier made quite sure Lady Rosaria rewarded her adequately.

Edild nodded. ‘The smith’s wife had a baby two months ago,’ she said. ‘It’s her fourth, and she has ample milk. I will ask her.’

I didn’t answer. I was watching Leafric, and wishing that the woman who had given birth to him was a little more maternal. A little more loving. Well, that was how it was with rich noblewomen, and nothing I thought or felt would make any difference. ‘What is it?’ Edild asked.

I remembered, then, the other reason for bringing Lady Rosaria to Aelf Fen. ‘Do you remember the woman who took against her baby?’ I asked. I’d lowered my voice, as if I didn’t want poor little Leafric to overhear. Silly, really.

‘Yes.’

‘You helped her.’

Edild sighed. ‘Time helped her, Lassair. As the days and weeks passed, she came to her senses and realized that her little girl needed her.’

‘Then you can do the same with Lady Rosaria!’ I exclaimed. ‘You can do what you did before, and-’

But my aunt shook her head. ‘It’s not the same at all. The woman who bore this child hasn’t been brought up to be a mother, except in the sense that she conceived, carried and gave birth to him. High-born ladies are not expected to have anything to do with their offspring. Child-rearing duties are put into the hands of others, paid for their services.’

‘I know, but-’

‘No, Lassair,’ Edild said firmly. ‘Where is Lady Rosaria now?’

‘Up at Lakehall. She’s trying to trace her late husband’s kin. She says he was from a fenland family.’

‘Then no doubt Lord Gilbert – or, more likely, Lady Emma in conjunction with that reeve of theirs – will help her, and, before we know it, Lady Rosaria and her son -’ she looked down at the baby, one hand gently stroking his head – ‘will be swept away into the bosom of her family, and that will be the last we’ll ever see of her.’ She looked up at me, her expression intent. ‘Don’t get involved, Lassair. She’s not like us, and she lives in a very different world.’

‘So you won’t go and see her?’

‘If Lord Gilbert sends for me because his guest requires my assistance, then yes, naturally I will. Otherwise, no.’

Then she picked Leafric up and put him against her shoulder, rhythmically rubbing his back. ‘Now, I shall go and speak to the smith’s wife. That bread and milk has satisfied him for the time being, but he’ll be yelling again soon if we can’t find him what he really wants.’

She stood up, and I knew the discussion had come to an end. I gazed down at my hands, folded in my lap. I felt very miserable suddenly.

As Edild passed me on her way to the door, she put her hand on the top of my head. ‘Don’t be sad,’ she said softly. ‘He’ll be all right.’ Then she was gone.

I sat there for some time. Yes, Leafric was going to be well-fed and cared for – providing the smith’s wife was willing – but that didn’t necessarily mean he would be all right. His mother didn’t love him: how could he be all right?

It’s the same for all children born into nobility, I told myself. Why, then, was I so disturbed about this particular one? I didn’t think it was personal – although, in truth, he was a very appealing baby – since I’d only known him a matter of days. Sitting there by Edild’s hearth, I tried to analyse my feelings.

And, all at once, I knew what it was.

In my head, I heard Mattie’s voice. He’s sad, she said. He just lies there, staring around, for all the world as if he’s looking for something, and can’t let himself drop off till he’s spotted it. And the look on that dear child’s face! Oh, it fair twists my heart.

Yes. I knew exactly what she meant, and it twisted my heart, too.

What was troubling me so much was that, somehow, I knew this little boy had experienced love. Someone – presumably the nurse who had cared for him on the journey and who now appeared to have left Lady Rosaria’s employ – had shown him what it was to be cared for with tenderness and consideration.

And, bless him, he missed it.

All at once my sorrow at the ways of the world overcame me. I dropped my face into my hands and wept.

I had managed to pull myself together by the time Edild returned. The smith’s wife had agreed to care for Leafric while Lady Rosaria was in residence at Lakehall.

I got up. ‘I’ll go and tell her,’ I said. I couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for the task. ‘I’ll call by to see my parents before I come back,’ I added, wrapping myself in my shawl. When I’m in the village, I live with Edild; besides the fact that I work with her and it’s better to be on the spot, one less body in my family’s home definitely eases the overcrowding.

‘Very well,’ Edild said calmly.

Even if Lady Rosaria appeared indifferent concerning the arrangements for her infant son, others at Lakehall were anxious to hear. Perhaps I did her an injustice; perhaps it was she who had dispatched Bermund to keep an eye out for my return. He ushered me inside the great hall, where Lady Emma sat peacefully sewing beside the fire. She looked up and gave me a smile.

‘I would judge by the fact that you no longer bear a child in your arms, Lassair, that you have been successful?’ she said.

I returned her smile. I like Lady Emma. ‘Yes, my lady. My aunt Edild found a woman willing to act as wet-nurse, and Leafric is with her now.’

‘She’s welcome to come and live here while she is in Lady Rosaria’s employ,’ Lady Emma said. ‘Lady Rosaria may wish to have the baby close.’

I gave a sort of snort of disbelief: it just burst out of me before I could stop it. Lady Emma studied me for a moment, and I thought I could guess what she was thinking. Tactfully, she made no comment. After a short pause, she said, ‘Lord Gilbert and Jack Chevestrier are already thinking how to set about finding the lady’s kinsmen. She is providing what information she can, although it appears to be rather sparse.’

‘Where has she come from?’ I asked. ‘From her colouring and her style, she seems to be a woman of the south.’

Lady Emma gave a graceful shrug. ‘I have no idea. I was not privy to the conversation.’ Again, her eyes met mine, and, from their expression, I would have sworn that her absence from the discussions was entirely her own choice.

I can’t say I blamed her for wanting as little to do with Lady Rosaria as possible.

I said quietly, ‘I am sorry to have brought her here, my lady.’

Again, she shrugged. ‘You had little choice, Lassair. She could scarcely have been left to fend for herself in a Cambridge inn.’ She sighed. ‘Let us hope that Lord Gilbert’s enquiries will swiftly meet with success.’

Then she bent her head over her sewing once more, and I sensed myself dismissed.

I was setting out along the road into the village when I heard running footsteps. I stopped, turning round and saw Jack hurrying after me.

‘You’ve found a wet-nurse, I hear,’ he said. He’d just been running, quite hard, and yet he wasn’t at all out of breath.

‘My aunt did. And I hear that you and Lord Gilbert have been planning how to find the lady’s relatives and dispatch her off to them as fast as you can.’

He grinned. ‘Quite right, although I bet Lady Emma didn’t phrase it exactly like that.’

I waited, not speaking. ‘Well?’ he said after a moment. ‘What is it?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I said. ‘I’m waiting for you to tell me all about her.’

He sighed, falling into step beside me. ‘Not much to tell. She says her husband’s father was a Saxon noble from a wealthy, landowning family, and he left England after the Conquest to set about restoring his fortunes. His name was Harald Fensman, which I suppose we could have surmised, given that her late husband was called Hugo Fensmanson.’

‘It’s the Norse way, to add son on to the father’s family name,’ I said. ‘My-’ I’d been about to tell him that the man I now knew to be my grandfather, Thorfinn Ofnirsson, had the same custom. But I held back; very few people knew that my Granny Cordeilla’s husband had not fathered her third child, my father. Including my father …

‘What?’ Jack asked.

‘Er – nothing. Did she reveal any more?’

‘Not much. She said she’s a widow, which we already knew, and that her husband died earlier this year.’

I gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘If she wants to be helped, surely she needs to be more forthcoming?’

‘I agree,’ he said. ‘So, I think, does Lord Gilbert, although courtesy to his guest prevents him from saying so.’

‘What will you do now?’

I was afraid he’d say, I’m heading straight back to Cambridge. But he didn’t: he said, ‘I’ve offered to stay for a few days to help in the search for this Harald Fensman’s kinsmen.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Sheriff Picot commanded me to look after her.’

‘But surely-’ I began. Surely he was needed back in Cambridge? Surely the sheriff hadn’t intended his officer to go on taking care of Lady Rosaria until her family were found? I didn’t utter either remark; it would have been stupid, when I’d been hoping so much he’d stay.

‘But surely what?’ he prompted. He was smiling.

‘Oh, nothing.’ Embarrassed, I cast around for something to say. Then, remembering something I’d meant to ask, I said, ‘Who was the tall, bald-headed man you were arguing with as we set off?’

Jack’s smile vanished. ‘Gaspard Picot,’ he said tersely.

‘A relation?’

‘Yes. He’s the sheriff’s nephew, and views himself as heir and natural successor to Picot’s position. He’s certainly evil enough,’ he added in an angry mutter.

‘He doesn’t seem to like you very much,’ I observed.

‘He-’ Jack hesitated. ‘He resents the closeness he believes I have to his uncle. He thinks I’m a party to the schemes by which Picot makes himself rich and powerful, and considers I have usurped his rightful position.’

I recalled what Gurdyman had said: Jack Chevestrier is a better man by far than his master the sheriff. ‘But you haven’t,’ I said quietly.

Jack shot me a quick look. ‘No.’ Then, as if he didn’t want to say any more, he turned and strode away.

I headed on into the village. A cold, forceful east wind was rising, and it threatened rain. Although I couldn’t yet see the moon in the early evening sky – and it would probably be concealed by the gathering clouds – I knew it would be full.

I increased my pace, a shiver of alarm running up my spine. The full moon, combined with the time of year, meant that the tide would be high tonight. If it combined with strong easterly winds – perhaps, judging by the steadily darkening clouds overhead, even a storm – then there would be flooding in the low-lying areas. The people of the fens and the bulge of coastal East Anglia have learned to dread such conditions, for at such times a great wall of water builds up and surges inland. You can’t fight the sea, when it has made up its mind to flood over the land.

Edild and I spent a cosy evening in her neat little house. The rain had begun, beating down fast and furiously. We shut out the violence of the night and sat close to the hearth, and soon, my belly full, I felt my eyes beginning to close.

‘Go to bed, Lassair,’ ordered my aunt.

I needed no second telling. I had a cursory wash, removed my outer tunic and snuggled down under the bedclothes. I was vaguely aware of Edild, moving soft-footed around me as she tidied up and prepared for bed, then I fell asleep.

It was the wind that woke me. It was howling round the house like some desperate monster, and its cry ranged from a low, throbbing hum right up to a full-lunged scream. Back draft from the smoke hole in the roof had disturbed the embers of the fire in the hearth, and there was a mist of ash and smoke in the room. It was raining even harder, and there were regular thumps as objects were hurled against the stout walls. It sounded, in my shocked-awake state, as if the creature outside was trying to break its way in.

As my awareness grew, I realized there was another sound: the muttering of quiet voices. I pushed my humped bedding down a fraction and peered out.

The room was almost dark, lit only by the dying fire. Edild and Hrype sat close together on the far side of the hearth. Hrype’s heavy cloak lay spread on the floor, steaming gently. He had removed his boots and folded back his hose, and his bare feet were towards the fire.

I was torn between pretending I was still asleep and giving them some rare privacy, or making it plain that they – or, rather, the storm – had just woken me up. If I chose the former, there was always the chance that their closeness might proceed to the sort of intimacy that I really didn’t want to witness, even with my head under the covers. I faked a yawn, stretched and, feigning surprise, said, ‘Hello, Hrype. What are you doing here?’

He looked at me, his strange silvery eyes glittering. ‘You have the shining stone with you,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I admitted. He hadn’t asked; he’d stated the fact. He’d presumably have been talking to Gurdyman.

‘Then you must-’

Edild interrupted him, murmuring quietly into his ear. He listened, nodded curtly and began again. ‘Lassair, it is very important that you begin to make appropriate use of the stone. Your-’ This time, he stopped of his own volition. There was a pause, as if he was weighing his words, then he said, ‘Please will you try once more to look into it? You have had it in your possession for many months now, and it will know you when you handle it.’ I made myself ignore the shiver of fear that gripped me at the thought of the stone knowing me. ‘You should not be apprehensive. If you approach it properly – and I am here to make sure that you do – it will be a powerful tool in your hands.’

I thought about that. The shining stone, or so I had been told, permitted anyone who stared into it to see the truth; more alarmingly, if you had the strength, apparently you could use it to search out and harness the forces of the spirit world. The very idea terrified me.

They’d persuaded me to try, Gurdyman and Hrype, that night in Gurdyman’s crypt. Clutching my piece of lapis lazuli, I’d stared into the stone’s dark depths. I could still recall all too vividly what I’d seen and heard. The straining figures, the waters of sea and river; the galloping horses; those two ravens, flying straight for me.

I had tried not to think about it, particularly the birds. Whenever the images had returned, I had swiftly dismissed them. Now, as I allowed them full rein, perhaps for the first time, something else occurred to me: something which I thought I had quite forgotten, except I couldn’t have done because now it was the only thing in my mind …

When I went down to the crypt that night and found Gurdyman and Hrype closeted together, I’d asked Hrype if there was news of my family. Not of them, he had replied, but there was news of somebody else.

I looked at him now, filled with the firm resolution not to weaken. ‘Hrype, what exactly is it you want me to find out for you?’ I asked. ‘When you and Gurdyman made me use the stone before, you’d just told me there was news of Skuli.’

I was studying him intently, watching his face in the dim light for any subtle change of expression. And, as I spoke Skuli’s name, I saw it: a tiny flicker in his eyes. As if, just for an instant, some shadow had blocked out their brightness.

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ I whispered. ‘Somehow, word of what he’s doing has reached you, and you want me to look in the stone and verify what you’ve learned.’ I had no idea whether I was right – what I was suggesting sounded so unlikely – but Hrype’s face remained impassive.

Then the absurdity of it hit me hard. ‘I can’t!’ I cried. ‘I’m a complete novice, and I haven’t the first idea how to use the shining stone! If I’m very lucky, I might see some random, meaningless images, and yet you’re asking me to look for one specific man, who’s somewhere out in the wilds between here and Miklagard! Hrype, I can’t do it!’

Slowly the echoes of my loud voice faded and died. There was nothing to hear but the fury of the storm outside. I waited for some reaction, from Hrype, from Edild – surely my aunt would come to my rescue? Couldn’t she see as well as I could how impossible a task Hrype was demanding of me? – but neither spoke a word.

Finally, Hrype said, ‘You won’t know till you try.’

I don’t know how it came about, but, not long afterwards, I was sitting cross-legged by the fire, the shining stone resting in my open hands and my little piece of lapis tucked inside my bodice, close to my heart.

I sat there for some time. The rising pitch of the storm seemed to recede, and I was only barely aware of the furious, driving rain beating weightily down on the roof. I seemed to have lost the last remaining residue of my own will. I did as Hrype bade me, and focused all my attention on the stone.

At first, I saw the same images I’d seen before. A wide river, winding away ahead into infinity. Then that picture of a team of men, working so hard that I could sense the strain as they pulled and heaved at long ropes and an unbearably heavy load. Now I perceived that there were oxen too: big, lumbering beasts that steamed with the sweat of effort. Fast water, broiling in high plumes of white spray over vicious black rocks. A shaped stone, marked with runes. Then the sea – I heard waves lapping on a shore – and a sense of calm as the wind filled a great square sail high above. A vast port, white buildings brilliant under a bright blue sky filled with sunshine. People, so many people, their garments, even their skin and hair, very different from any I’d ever known; voices raised in furious dispute. The water again, deep, deep blue …

Lulled, half-entranced, I let myself be led. I allowed my vigilance to drop. And then they came straight at me, those two dark, sinister birds. For a split-second I saw a very familiar face – what on earth was he doing there? – and then the ravens were upon me, their long, strong, cruel beaks wide, their claws spread out like a handful of knives. I cried out, dropped the stone and my hands flew up to cover my face. In that instant, I knew, the ravens had been on the point of going for my eyes.

For a few heartbeats, nothing happened except that, perhaps in response to the terrifying thing I’d just seen, the violence of the storm increased for a moment to screaming pitch. Then Hrype gave a deep sigh, and, as if that released Edild from some spell, she got up, hurried across to me and took me in her arms.

I could have stayed there, held close against her, hearing the steady beat of her heart, for a long time. But then Hrype said calmly, ‘Lassair, the shining stone is loose on the floor. You must treat it with more respect.’

I disengaged myself from my aunt’s embrace. Reaching out, I picked up the stone. It had felt quite hot before, probably from the warmth of my hands, but now it was cold. I wrapped it in the sheep’s wool and put it back in the leather bag, pulling the drawstrings tight. Then I replaced the bag in the little recess behind the shelf where I store my bedding during the daytime. As soon as it was hidden away, the atmosphere in the room changed.

But I wasn’t going to be allowed to forget what had just happened. Hrype said, ‘Did you see him?’

‘I didn’t see Skuli, no.’ I was going to keep to myself the identity of the man I had seen.

‘What did you see?’ Hrype persisted. ‘What scared you so badly?’

I took a breath, trying to calm myself. ‘I saw a river, and a place where men used oxen, and their own strength, to drag a long, slim ship over the land,’ I said. ‘I saw perilous rapids, and a stone carved with runes. I saw the sea, and then a busy port. Voices arguing, and the sea again. Then -’ I faltered – ‘then the birds came.’

‘You saw Skuli’s voyage,’ Hrype said, and I could detect a note of triumph in his voice. ‘You saw his journey down the long rivers that lead off to the east and the south, and the portage route where they transport the vessels overland. You saw the rapids, and-’

It was high time to rein him in. ‘Hrype, all of that could have come from my imagination,’ I told him firmly. ‘I already knew about the journey to Miklagard -’ my grandfather had described it, in great detail – ‘and no doubt I just thought I saw those pictures in the shining stone. Probably,’ I added, glaring at him, ‘because you just put Skuli into my mind, and you’ve been pushing me so hard to succeed in spying on him.’

He considered this, and gave a curt nod. ‘That’s possible,’ he acknowledged. ‘Perhaps, in truth, you saw only what you expected to see.’

‘What is this news of Skuli?’ I demanded. ‘And how do you even come to have news, when he’s so far away?’

‘The journey to Miklagard operates both ways,’ he said. ‘Men travel back north again, and they bring tidings from the south lands.’

Yes. That made sense. There was nothing mystical about a returning mariner bringing tales of what he had seen and experienced. I still didn’t understand, though, how Hrype had come to hear these tales; perhaps he’d been visiting some port up on the coast. ‘So what do they say, these tidings?’

Hrype watched me for a moment. Then he said, ‘Merely that Skuli has arrived in Miklagard, and that the voyage passed without major incident.’

Such was the power of his presence that, in that moment, I accepted what he said.

Suddenly he got up, reaching for his still-wet cloak.

‘You’re going?’ Edild said. He nodded, drawing on his boots. She gestured with one hand towards the roof, on to which the rain was hammering in a hard, steady, deafening beat. ‘You can’t go out in this!’

He smiled briefly. ‘I am already wet. A little more will not hurt, and it is not far.’ He bent and kissed her, pausing for a moment to rest a tender hand on her cheek. She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

He had the door open and closed again so swiftly that only a little rain came in. I watched my aunt staring after him. Briefly, all the pain of her situation was in her lovely face. She must surely know that she had Hrype’s love and his heart; sometimes it probably wasn’t enough.

She busied herself spreading out her bedding once more, then she lay down. The fire was dying, giving only a small amount of light. ‘Try to sleep, Lassair,’ she said. ‘From the sound of it, this storm is a very bad one. We will have troubles enough to face in the morning, and will need our strength.’

I turned on my side, facing away from the hearth, and closed my eyes. But I knew I wouldn’t sleep; not yet, anyway, for my mind was racing. Something was wrong, and now, in the darkness, I worked out what it was.

While his powerful, dynamic presence had still been in the little room, Hrype had easily persuaded me that the news of Skuli’s arrival in Miklagard, following an uneventful journey, was nothing to get excited about. He’d wanted me to accept the news without question – without even stopping to think about it – and, Hrype being Hrype, that was exactly what I’d done.

But Hrype wasn’t there any more.

As if it were an animal roused from sleep and instantly on the alert, I felt my curiosity wake up. I even had a swift image of my spirit creature, and I felt Fox’s warm presence curled up beside me. It was a while since I’d been aware of him, and it felt good to have him back. He was, I’m sure, encouraging me.

A dozen thoughts and ideas flew through my head. I forced them into order, and, focusing all my attention inwards, this is what I finally concluded.

From the first time I’d heard about Skuli and the mission he felt compelled to fulfil, there had been the sense that I wasn’t being told the full story. My grandfather had said Skuli was driven by powerful forces within him to succeed where his forefather had failed, and complete the journey to Miklagard. Thorfinn had implied that there was something deeply perilous about the voyage, which was why Skuli had tried so desperately and so ruthlessly to acquire the shining stone. Not only did he believe he was its true keeper; he was convinced he would not succeed without it. Out of the past, I seemed to hear my grandfather’s voice: He believes that the place where he is bound can only be reached with the aid of the spirits.

I had understood – no, they had all encouraged me to understand, Thorfinn, Hrype, even Gurdyman – that the place Skuli was bound was Miklagard. But now I saw very clearly two major objections to that. The first was that, while the journey was undoubtedly long, arduous and dangerous, it was regularly and routinely travelled by many mariners, none of whom had the aid of a magical stone. The second was this: if Skuli had reached Miklagard safely, then that meant his mission was over. Why, then, was Hrype still so very eager for me to go on trying to use the shining stone to see what Skuli was up to?

In the darkness, I was smiling in triumph. I’d always known there was more to this tale of Skuli’s mysterious journey than had been revealed to me. Now, in my own mind, I had proof. What I was going to do with that proof, and, more importantly, how I would react next time someone asked me to look into the shining stone, I had yet to work out.

I could hear Edild’s deep, regular breathing. She had gone to sleep, and she had advised me to try to do the same. I knew she was right, and that I needed my sleep. The storm was still howling outside, and now its violence was intensifying. I must rest. Deliberately, I visualized putting my excitement over my brand-new discovery into a bag and stowing it away. Then I turned to the vivid, violent images which the stone had put in my mind. Slowly, one by one, finishing with those awful ravens, I banished the pictures I’d seen.

One image, however, I allowed myself to see again. Although he looked very different – he was in pale robes, with a headdress that covered his blond hair, and his skin had been darkened, either by the sun or by his own skill – I had recognized him instantly. His presence among the visions I’d seen in the stone was puzzling. What on earth was he doing there, somehow involved with Skuli’s voyage to the south? Even if I’d imagined it all, why had my mind elected to place him there?

I had an explanation, although I shied from it. I tried to tell myself it was nonsense, but it persisted, nudging at me until I steeled myself to face it.

The explanation was this: what I had seen was an image of Rollo Guiscard, who is my one and only lover; the man who stays in my heart although he is usually far away and we are together only rarely. We had made each other no promises, recognizing our love simply by a hand fasting and the exchange of gifts: I gave him a braided leather bracelet, and he gave me a heavy gold ring, which I wear on a chain around my neck. It was almost a year since I had seen him.

Had he appeared before my eyes in that flash of vision because a part of me wanted to make sure he was at the forefront of my thoughts? Was my heart issuing this timely reminder that Rollo was the man I loved; the man I was content to wait for, no matter how long, because our future was together? Hadn’t I once had that brief, lovely image of the child I would one day have with him; the son who would be a mix of Rollo’s Norman and my Saxon blood, a warrior to take on the whole world?

I squeezed my eyes tight shut, as if that would shut off my inner vision. It didn’t. I wanted to cry my distress, and it took a big effort to hold back.

I knew why my conscience had pushed that image of Rollo out of the shining stone and before my eyes, and it had precious little to do with Skuli and his travels.

It was because Jack Chevestrier had entered my life.

Out at sea, huge waves were being driven hard by the howling wind. The full moon meant a high tide anyway, but, that night, an unremitting gale out of the east-north-east was pushing the waters yet higher. With nowhere for the piled-up waters to go, the Wash was overflowing.

Low-lying coastal villages received the punishment first. Small craft were beaten against the shore, some of them smashed to splinters on breakwaters and quays. Tracks became wet, sodden, then turned into streams. Dwellings of every sort flooded, from great manors to lowly hovels, for the elements are no respecters of a man’s wealth and position. People gathered together, trying to help one another. Trying to protect their property. Trying to save lives.

Seawater began to flow up the fenland rivers. Fresh water gave before the onslaught, as huge and powerful wind-driven waves crashed inland. On the Ouse at Lynn, the lower reaches of the town were swiftly inundated. Boats moored at the quays clashed together, and the sound of smashing wood competed with the howls and screams of the gale. Still the water pushed on, and now it drove before it a tide of wreckage.

The waters of the river were still rising some ten miles inland to the south, and abnormally high waves drove repeatedly upstream. In many places, the water swiftly overcame the muddy, marshy fenland river banks, and the surrounding land was soon flooded. Occasionally, the headlong rush of the torrent and its piled debris met an obstacle. The broken planks of a wrecked boat caught against the underside of a small wooden bridge, and the resulting pile-up of water on the seaward side swiftly spread out into a widening pool.

Caught in the swirling current, the torn and shattered pieces of wood moved in swift circles. From time to time, one would be thrust right up out of the water, before once more being drawn down beneath the surface. Amid the wreckage, something white suddenly appeared, to flash briefly in the faint light of early dawn. It was swept under, then, after a while, it bobbed up again. This time, some random eddy in the hugely swollen river cast it up against the side of the little bridge, where it lodged.

It was pale, shimmering slightly under the pre-dawn sky. Perhaps the waters receded a little: for, slowly, more of it became visible above the flood line.

It was a body. It was naked, and lay face down. Its limbs were long and well-muscled; its hair was soaking wet and muddy but, where it was beginning to dry, could be seen to be fair.

The body was in the very early stages of decomposition. The eyes had gone, and small marine creatures had started to feast on the flesh. It stank.

Dawn broke.

The wind began to abate, and, at long last, the great mass of water that had been forced up the rivers and over the land stopped rising. Infinitesimally, it began to recede. The light grew and the new day began. In the ports, towns and villages where the devastation had hit, people began to clean up and count their losses. Several had been killed, and dozens wounded by water-borne debris they had failed to see in the darkness. Livestock had been carried away. Many dwellings had been damaged beyond repair. Crafts of all sizes had been driven from their moorings, many to be wrecked on the shore.

People began the slow trudge up the rivers, searching for swept-away items. Anything that might come in useful for the hundreds of repairs necessary would be eagerly dragged out of the water and carried home. Not long after dawn, a group of three men – a grandfather, his son and his grandson – came down from their village on the fen edge to inspect the wreckage around the little bridge.

On spotting the body, the grandson – he was just a lad – was sick. The grandfather sent his son to fetch help while he stood vigil.

And, as the morning broke, the man came hurrying into Aelf Fen, where he ran up the track to Lakehall and banged hard on the door.