Mist Over the Water

TWELVE

The food stalls were crowded, catering to the needs of a workforce of hungry men who had been busy since first light. Hrype led the way to one where the queue was long enough to suggest that the food was good but not so long that it would be ages before we were served. We stood in silence while we waited, and when it was our turn Hrype ordered steaming bowls of cabbage soup and rye bread sprinkled with poppy seeds. We found a place to sit down — a partly demolished wall over on the abbey side of the market square — and tucked in. The cabbage soup had been thickened with barley and flavoured with pork stock; it even contained some quite generous pieces of the meat. I dipped in my bread and sucked in my first mouthful. The soup was delicious, and very quickly I had eaten the whole bowlful.

With a smile, Hrype tipped some of his into my bowl. ‘You, evidently, are more in need than I,’ he remarked.

I hesitated fractionally, purely for the sake of politeness, and then resumed eating.

When I had finished, Hrype asked me to tell him all that had happened since Sibert and I had arrived in Ely. I did so, concentrating hard to make sure I told him the important facts without too much elaboration or speculation. I forced myself to think only about the pale youth and the murders to which his presence on the island had led. I knew that if I so much as let the thought of Sibert’s private mission cross my mind then Hrype would somehow spot it and pounce.

‘So you see, it really looks as if this pale monk is at the heart of some dangerous secret, although he claims to have no idea at all what it could be,’ I concluded.

Hrype was silent for quite a long time. Then he said thoughtfully, ‘Pale.’

It was a pretty typical Hrype remark: enigmatic and, as a conversational contribution, not in the least informative.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked after a pause during which I cast around frantically — and fruitlessly — to see if I could divine what he meant.

‘Describe pale,’ he ordered.

Ah, yes. ‘His face is white, but not the greyish pallor you get when you’re very sick or in great pain.’ Edild suffers from the dreaded hemicrania, often with disturbed vision and nausea, and I know from one look at her when the pain is bad because her face goes corpse-white and her eyes seem to sink in her head. ‘He just looks as if he’s naturally white-skinned. His eyes have very little colour. The light was poor so I could not determine exactly, but I’d say they were very light grey. His hair is cream.’

‘Cream,’ Hrype echoed.

‘Yes, cream. Not white, like a grandmother’s, not blonde like a child’s. Cream,’ I insisted.

Hrype smiled. ‘Yes, all right, Lassair, I do not doubt your word.’

That was a relief. I sat waiting for him to comment, but he said nothing. Eventually, I could not contain my impatience. ‘Hrype, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your thoughts, but what should we do? This pale boy was forced inside the abbey by four big, strong men who may or may not be monks, and it appears that they watch him closely even now he’s tucked away inside the walls. They saw me talking to him last night — ’ I said that quickly, hoping to minimize the shiver of fear that shot through me when I thought of those four bulky forms advancing through the dusk — ‘and, although as I explained I was dressed as a nun, it’s still very likely they know who I am. They might have followed me, or-’

‘You are not in danger at the moment,’ Hrype interrupted, ‘but it might nevertheless be wise to leave Ely.’

‘But the pale boy’s all alone in there, and he doesn’t understand what is happening!’ I protested. ‘Those men have killed already, and they might be planning to kill him too!’

A smile twitched at the corner of Hrype’s long mouth. ‘I think not,’ he murmured. ‘Although there is indeed much danger. .’ His eyes went unfocused, as if he were contemplating distant things, then he snapped back to me and said, ‘You care about this boy?’

‘I-’ Did I? I had become entangled with the mystery at which he was the heart, that was for sure, and my curiosity was thoroughly aroused. I pictured his face. I saw him trembling with fear. I imagined them holding him down, coldly planning how to dispatch him. It hurt. ‘Yes, I care,’ I admitted crossly.

Now Hrype’s smile spread. ‘It is nothing to be ashamed of,’ he murmured.

‘I’m not.’

He waited while my anger subsided. It did not take long. ‘What will you do?’ he asked softly.

I like to think the idea was mine alone, although my experience of Hrype leads me to believe that he could easily have put the thought into my head. He had, after all, just said it would be wise to leave Ely. ‘I’m going to see if I can find out something about him,’ I said decisively. ‘I’m going to Fulbourn.’ In case he thought I was running away, I added, ‘But I’ll be back!’

It was about sixteen miles to Fulbourn, and I knew the way, having enquired of the ferryman who rowed me across from the island. It lay a few miles east of Cambridge, and for much of the way the path to take was the Ely to Cambridge road. The only slight problem was the rain-drenched land, which meant that some of the lower-lying tracks were under water. I hoped there would be opportunist boatmen ready to make a few coins wherever this had happened.

It was only when I was well on my way that it occurred to me to wonder what Hrype would do while I was absent. I didn’t have to wonder for long, and indeed I was cross with myself for having walked right into his little trap. Something had brought him to Ely, and I did not have to think very hard to work out what it was. Sibert was trying to discover what had happened at Ely when his father took the wound that had ultimately killed him; even without Hrype’s extraordinary ability to see into the minds of others, it would have been clear to him that Sibert had other business on the island apart from escorting me as I went to tend my cousin Morcar.

I had been so proud of not letting Hrype catch a glimpse of what Sibert was up to via the medium of my thoughts. My care and my caution had been quite unnecessary, I now realized, because he’d known all along. Now, by either suggesting or agreeing to go to Fulbourn — I was not sure which — I had given Hrype all the time and the space he needed to go after his nephew and stop his enquiries when they had barely begun.

I was so sorry. I spoke to Sibert silently, inside my head, warning him that Hrype had arrived in Ely and was no doubt trying to find him. I also sent him my humble apologies. I don’t know if he heard but it made me feel very slightly better.

Then, with some effort, I put Sibert, Hrype and the puzzle of their past to the back of my mind and strode out for Fulbourn.

The road to Cambridge was busy, and I got a ride on the back of a farm cart in exchange for giving the farmer a pot of chickweed, camomile and foxglove ointment for his piles. It still surprises me the way complete strangers reveal intimate facts about themselves as soon as they know I’m a healer; I hadn’t been in this man’s company for more than half a mile before he began telling me much more than I wanted to know about his back passage. Still, we both got what we wanted. He would soon have relief from his pain, and I had saved myself ten miles of walking on muddy, soggy ground.

I said goodbye to my farmer just outside the town, setting off on a path that skirted around it to the east and then branching off down a track to the village of Fulbourn. Everyone else, it seemed, was making for Cambridge — my farmer had said there was a market there today — and the winding track was deserted. At least it was dry, although black water lapped, at what seemed to me to be a worryingly high level, in the ditches on either side. It was not raining right now, but the skies were dark and lowering.

If it rained I would get soaked, for the sparse and leafless alders and willows that grew in places along the track offered no protection. But there was nothing I could do about the weather.

I trudged on, my boots already caked with dark mud and weighing twice as much as when I had put them on. Presently, I saw a huddle of buildings in the distance. If my bearings were right, this ought to be Fulbourn.

The narrow path crossed the remains of an ancient track, and for a moment I stood to contemplate it. In the winter-bare landscape I could follow its line as it stretched, straight as a die, into the distance on either side. For some reason I felt a shiver of awe. Or was it fear?

I think some instinctive part of my mind had picked up the danger before I was aware of it because, without my volition, suddenly I found myself hurtling towards a thicket of hazel and bramble that had grown up some twenty paces down the straight track to my right. It was not much of a cover but better than nothing. I got down on hands and knees and wriggled under the dying vegetation. I felt the prickle of a bramble cut a deep scratch into my scalp and crouched lower, my face pressing against the cold earth. I covered myself with my cloak, drawing up my hood, and left just a small space to peer out.

A man was coming along the path from Fulbourn. He was broad and powerful, walking purposefully as if he marched to a beat I couldn’t hear. Even before I saw his face, I knew who he was. I tried to curl up even more tightly, making myself as small as I could.

He was almost at the place where the path crossed the ancient track when he called out. I shut my eyes, in that instant of pure terror reverting to childhood and the belief that if I couldn’t see him then he could not see me. I held my breath, my heart pounding and sweat breaking out all over my body. How would he kill me? With a knife? With his hands around my throat choking the life out of me? I put my hand down to my waist and, trying to stop the tremor in my fingers, drew my knife from its sheath.

I waited.

Nothing happened.

I heard the man talking. What was he saying? Was he asking his gods for strength to do what he must and kill me? I raised the edge of my hood a tiny amount and looked out.

Now there were two men. Another of the quartet from Ely had come to meet him.

I pushed the heavy hood back so that my ears were clear and listened.

The man who had come from the village was nodding his head in answer to something his companion had asked. The companion asked again, and this time the first man said, loud enough for me to hear, ‘It is safe now.’

This seemed to satisfy the other man. He said something — I think he was complaining about a wasted journey — and the first man gave a harsh laugh and said, ‘I told you I could do it alone. It was your choice to follow me.’

They were already moving off. I risked another look and saw that they were not going in the direction of Cambridge, behind us to the west, but up the straight track — which, I had reckoned, went almost due north. Well, if they were striking out back to Ely then it would be a more direct route.

I watched them stride away. They moved fast, and quite soon they were no more than two dark shapes in the distance. I waited a little longer. When at last they were out of sight, I crept out of my hiding place, brushed myself down and hurried on to Fulbourn.

The faint shiver of dread was now escalating very rapidly into all-encompassing fear.

The village had grown up around the church and the green. Rows of small, dark houses huddled close to each other as if for security from the wide, flat land all around. I smelt bread and my nose led me to a baker, busy extracting fresh loaves from his oven. I wished him good day and asked where I might find the carpenter’s house.

He wiped his sweaty face with the back of his wrist and gave me a grin. ‘Which one?’ he asked.

Oh. ‘Er — the carpenter I’m looking for has a son of about fifteen,’ I said, embarrassed. I hadn’t prepared for the possibility that there would be more than one carpenter in the village, which was pretty stupid of me.

To my relief the baker was nodding. ‘I know who you mean now,’ he said. ‘Young Gewis is about that age and he’s Edulf’s son and Edulf was a carpenter, only Edulf died. . ooh, let me see, now.’ He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his cheerful face. ‘Three, four years back? Four, I’d say.’ He nodded, as if agreeing with his own estimate.

Gewis’s father was dead. I hadn’t prepared for that, either. Perhaps it was the wrong family; there was an easy way to find out. ‘Gewis lives in the village?’

‘Aye, that he does.’

I cursed silently. ‘And he’s here now?’ I would have to look elsewhere for my pale youth’s family.

The baker scratched his head. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t reckon I’ve seen him for a few days.’ His frown deepened. ‘A couple of weeks, maybe. .’ My hopes shot up again. ‘His mother’ll be at home,’ the baker went on, and my optimism rose even more. ‘I saw her yesterday evening. She bought a flax-seed loaf and we spoke about whether there’d be more rain before nightfall, and she said-’

‘Where would I find her?’ I tried to cushion my interruption with a smile.

‘Now that I can tell you,’ the baker said helpfully, taking my arm and drawing me so that together we were looking along the street. ‘Go up to the end of the row, past the church and round Norman’s Corner, then head on down that row and you’ll come to four cottages all together. Asfrior’s is the third one.’

Asfrior. Edulf. Gewis. I memorized the names. ‘Thank you,’ I said to the baker, ‘you’ve been very helpful.’

He beamed at me. ‘I like to be of assistance to a pretty maid.’ He reached out a swift hand and pinched my bottom.

I spun around and hurried away.

As I made my way to the quartet of cottages I planned what I would say. I would tell the pale youth’s mother that I had come from Ely and was concerned about her son, worried in case he was in the monastery against his will. I’d say we had talked, her son and I, and that I’d sensed he was uneasy. If she, too, were worried about him, this would surely give her the chance to reveal her anxiety to me in the hope that I might be able to help.

I approached the four cottages. They were well kept, the walls and roofs in good repair, and smoke spiralled up out of the reed thatch of three of them. I went up to the third one and tapped on the door. There was no answer so I tried again, harder this time. I was just about to call out when the door of the cottage on the far side opened, and a short, plump woman of almost my granny’s age emerged on to her immaculately swept step. She wore a gown of some dark-brown shade, over which she had tied a voluminous apron. She wore a neat, white headdress; her face was round and red; and her small, dark eyes bright with interest.

‘If you’re after Asfrior, she’s not at home,’ she said.

‘Oh.’ The disappointment was crushing; somehow I had not thought for a moment that I would find nobody at home. ‘Do you know where she is?’

‘Gone to market, I expect,’ the old woman replied promptly. ‘I heard her very early, getting ready. Heard voices, see, and then a bit of a bustling about; then the door closed and all went quiet.’

‘When do you think she’ll be back?’ If she had set out so early, perhaps she would have finished whatever business had taken her to market and even now be on her way home.

The old woman was staring out up the road. ‘I’d have thought she’d be here by now,’ she said, a slight frown creasing her already lined brow.

I was struck with the alarming thought that maybe Asfrior had not gone to market at all but to Ely. How ironic — how annoying — it would be if I’d come all this way to find her and she’d gone to the very place I’d just left. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long,’ the old woman was saying. Then she added, ‘Want to come inside and have a warm and a bite to eat? You look as if you could do with it.’ She was eyeing me, taking in my thin body.

‘I’d love to,’ I said. Never mind her prurient interest in my skinny body; she had just offered me comforts that I hadn’t expected until I got back to Ely.

She led the way inside. Her cottage was tiny, much of the space taken up by a bed against the far wall. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, and I caught the savoury smell of whatever was bubbling in the pot suspended over it. The old woman pushed forward a stool, told me to sit down, take my boots off and warm my feet, and while I did so she fetched two wooden bowls and ladled out generous portions of barley broth. She fetched a loaf and tore off two chunks of bread.

I fell on the food, and my old woman did not speak until I had finished. Watching as I wiped my bowl with the last of the bread, she said, ‘Coleman bakes a good loaf. If he could only keep his hands to his craft, and not let them wander all over pretty girls’ bottoms, he would be perfect.’

I smiled. ‘It was he who directed me here.’

‘Did he pinch your bottom?’

‘He did.’

The old woman cackled. Then, while I, too, was still chuckling, she said in a very different tone, ‘What do you want with Asfrior?’

I sensed she cared about her neighbour and was protective of her. I said quickly, ‘I mean her no harm. I heard that she had lost her husband and-’ I was floundering, for I did not want to touch on the highly sensitive matter of the pale youth — Gewis — and his mystifying secret unless I had no choice.

Fortunately, the old woman appeared to be convinced that I had no malicious intent towards her neighbour. ‘She’s not done well since her man died,’ she said.

‘How did he die?’ I asked. It might be relevant.

‘He was quite a bit older than Asfrior,’ the old woman said with a shake of her head. ‘Twenty years or so, I’d say, and when the lad was born some took Edulf for his grandfather. Asfrior weren’t much more than a girl, see.’

‘They were happy?’

‘That they were, or as happy as Edulf would ever be. He loved his young wife and his babe, no doubt of that, but he were ever a melancholy man, sad, brooding, as if something was eating at him.’

I thought about that. Could this something be related to the deadly secret? ‘Did he ever hint at what it might be?’ I asked tentatively.

The old woman slowly shook her head. ‘No, I can’t say that he did. There were hints that something had happened to his father — that’d be Gewis’s grandfather — and I once heard a whisper that he — the grandfather — had suffered some terrible fate. As for Edulf himself, though, I never knew what ailed him.’ Then the sharp eyes met mine. ‘Didn’t stop me speculating though.’

‘And what did you conclude?’

‘Didn’t like the life he led,’ she answered promptly. ‘Resented the hardships. Seemed to think he deserved better.’ Edulf, clearly, had got up her nose with his attitude. ‘Instead of appreciating what he had — good, hard-working wife, pretty little child, plenty of jobs to get on with and a fair reputation as an honest craftsman, for all that he didn’t have much flair — he sat around moping and complaining.’

‘Did he-’

But she hadn’t finished. ‘Course, he always looked too fragile for this world,’ she said critically. ‘That deadly white skin and the strange, pale hair made him look more like something from the spirit realm than a flesh and blood man, and he were so straw-straight and thin that you’d think a good easterly wind would blow him away.’

So my pale youth had inherited his colouring and his shape from his father. . Realizing that the old woman still had not said how he had died, I asked again.

‘He went off to work on some grand new building where they wanted nothing but the best craftsmen,’ she said with a disapproving sniff, ‘and that were a surprise in itself because, like I said, you’d get a satisfactory job out of Edulf but no more than that and he weren’t what I’d have called the best, nowhere near.’ Her eyes narrowed as she thought back. ‘Went off all in a lather and in such a hurry that he forgot his tools and Asfrior went after him with them. Next thing we know, he’s had an accident and he’s broken his neck.’

‘An accident?’ I felt a thrill of apprehension.

‘Story went he was perched up high on the scaffolding working on a carving and reached too far.’

It was utterly plausible and such accidents were common. Building sites were perilous places, and I had heard muttered dark tales out of the past to the effect that each great new construction had to have its human sacrifice. With an effort I brought my thoughts back to the present. I exchanged a glance with the old woman, and I had the clear impression that, despite the dangers inherent in a carpenter’s work, she didn’t believe the story of Edulf’s accident any more than I did. Whatever violent drama was being played out around Gewis appeared to have had its origin in the earlier generation: with his father Edulf. Or perhaps even further back, with his grandfather who had met a terrible fate. .

The old woman was chattering on, describing how Edulf’s body was brought back for burial and how his widow had been desperate in her grief. But I was barely listening. Asfrior still hadn’t returned — we would surely have heard her if she had, for the walls of the cottages were thin — and I was struck with the thought that I had sixteen miles to walk before nightfall. I stood up, thanked my old woman and, with a haste that was far from courteous after she had been so hospitable, made my excuses and left.

The cottage next door was, as I had expected, still empty. I wrapped my cloak round me and headed out of the village.

I had cleared the village and was walking fast towards the place where the ancient straight track branched off to the north when suddenly something caught at the edge of my mind. I pinned it down: it was a remark that my old woman had made, and I concentrated hard, trying to remember exactly what she had said. She had said she’d heard Asfrior early in the morning, getting ready to go to market. She’d heard sounds of movement then it was quiet. Yes, all that was unexceptional, but it wasn’t what had aroused my interest — and, I had to admit, my alarm. The sounds of movement were not all, and in my head I listened to the old woman’s words: Heard voices, see.

But Asfrior had been alone. Her husband was dead and her son, as I well knew, was in Ely. I saw those four burly men in my mind’s eye, and I heard again what one of them had said only an hour or so ago: It is safe now.

Dread filled my mind.

What should I do? Where should I look? I had seen him approaching the crossroads, and his remark suggested he had already done what he had come to do. I went over to stare down in the ditch on the right side of the path, still looking intently as slowly I walked back towards Fulbourn. When I was close enough to the village that anyone happening to look up could have seen me, I turned round, crossed to the opposite side and, still staring into the ditch, headed back to where I had begun the search.

I found nothing in the ditch. But, just before I reached my starting point, I became aware of the sound of carrion birds, cawing loudly and repeatedly. I looked up. In a small copse in the corner of the field before me I saw perhaps fifty crows, settling on the ground, pecking, fighting among themselves and fluttering up in the air, only to settle back down again almost immediately. They were so intent that many did not move away until I was all but on top of them.

They had already taken the eyes, and the pale face that gazed sightless up into the sky was bloody with peck marks. The blow to the head that must have killed her stood out big as an apple and dark against the smooth brow.

I turned and ran as fast as I can back to the village. I went to the baker and as soon as he saw me all thoughts of chancing his luck for another pinch fled. With nothing but concern on his friendly face, he said, ‘What is it, lass? You look terrible! Sit down, let me-’

‘There’s a body,’ I gasped. ‘A woman. She’s in the copse at the end of that field.’ I pointed.

‘Are you sure she’s dead?’

‘Yes! Yes!’ The living do not allow crows to peck out their eyes. I fought off the nausea as with my mind’s eye I saw her again.

The baker was already busy. He called out three or four names and other men materialized on the road. He muttered something and the group hurried away towards the copse. One slipped inside a house and returned carrying a hurdle. I followed behind.

When I caught up with them they were standing, heads bowed and caps in their hands, around the body. I already knew who she was and when one murmured, ‘Poor woman. Poor, sad Asfrior,’ I was not in the least surprised.

There was a long silence as the men absorbed the shock. Then one said, ‘Reckon she must have tripped and hit her head.’

The others nodded their agreement.

Two of the men leaned down to the body and gently put it on the hurdle. It didn’t look as if Asfrior weighed very much. Then they took up the ends and slowly bore her back to the village.

I stood beside the baker. His happy face was drawn with sorrow. He put a companionable arm around me. ‘Want to come back to the village?’ he asked. ‘I’ll do you something to eat and a hot drink. I could put some honey in it — give you some heart.’

It was kind of him. However, he seemed for the moment to have forgotten I’d come to the village asking about the dead woman’s family, and it seemed wise to leave before he remembered. His companions had decided this death was a horrible accident — apparently, none of them had thought to ask himself why Asfrior had left the path and why, if she had tripped and hit her forehead, she was found lying on her back — but I did not want to disabuse them.

‘Thank you but I must be on my way,’ I replied.

‘You have far to go?’ He was still eyeing me anxiously.

‘No, no, not far,’ I lied. ‘My father will have set out to meet me by now,’ I added, compounding the lie.

The baker nodded. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘Quite sure. Thank you for looking after me,’ I said meekly.

‘That’s all right.’

‘Goodbye then.’

‘Goodbye, lass.’

As I hurried away I was sure he was watching me. I increased my pace, hoping he would not notice, and soon I was nearing the crossroads. I turned round. The baker had gone.

I set off along the ancient track. It was rough and overgrown, but it went in the direction I had to go. After what seemed like a very short time, I emerged on to the Cambridge to Ely road. I did not meet up with my farmer of the morning, but a merchant heading home with a load of market goods picked me up. This time the treatment I bartered in exchange for my ride was for his wife; I supplied a costly cream made of rose petals and honey that smoothes a woman’s wrinkles, although the effect is only temporary. I was so relieved to be on my way back to the four walls of the little room on the island that I would have given him whatever he asked.

I was rowed back to Ely Island on one of the last boats to cross that evening. When I finally got back, it was so good to close the door behind me that I was only a little distressed to find that I was alone.