Mist Over the Water

FOURTEEN

I was exhausted after my long day, and I slept soundly, despite worrying over the absence of both Sibert and Hrype. In a way, the fact that neither of them had returned eased my anxiety, for I told myself that they must surely be together and therefore much safer than if either had been alone. Well, Hrype was all right whether by himself or in company; he has a sort of infallibility about him, which I assume comes from being a cunning man. Not many men are willing to tangle with someone like Hrype. As for Sibert, he had certainly matured recently but he was still subject to fits of self-doubt when the least little obstacle could rear up like a tall cliff and stop him in his tracks, quaking with fear of what might happen. To think of him under the protective cloak of his uncle Hrype was very comforting.

I stirred once, for I had heard a small sound. I thought it was the door opening and was reassured, imagining that one or both of my companions had just crept in. Then I went straight back to sleep.

In the morning I discovered two things: I was still all alone in the little room, and someone had been inside during the night. I knew that without a doubt, for every night before I sleep I always make sure that everything is packed neatly away in my leather satchel and that the buckles are fastened. This morning, one strap was buckled but one lay loose.

I got up straight away, arranging my clothing and brushing the straw out of my hair, for instinctively I felt that whatever I had to face I would be better prepared for it if I were fully dressed and tidy. Then I made myself eat breakfast and drink a hot infusion, for we all do battle better with food inside us. Then I sat on my neatly made bed and thought about what could have happened.

There were no signs that anyone else had spent the night in the house, for the other mattress was undisturbed. I told myself the most likely event was that Hrype and Sibert — perhaps both of them — had returned briefly to our dwelling to fetch something from my satchel, and perhaps to check that I was safe, and then left again on whatever business he, or they, were pursuing. They would have seen me sleeping deeply and taken care not to wake me. Wouldn’t they? No doubt they would return soon and tell me all about what they’d been up to.

Yes. That must be right.

The alternative — that some stranger with malicious intent had opened the door, stared down at me and gone through my belongings as I slept — was just too frightening to contemplate.

I reached for my satchel and, forcing my shaking hands to work, checked the contents. As far as I could tell, everything that ought to be there was there. Whoever had rooted through my potions, ointments, herbs and dressings had not disturbed them much, and nobody but me would even have noticed that they had even been touched. He — I knew instinctively that the intruder had been a man — had investigated the pieces of folded white cloth at the bottom of the satchel but only to the extent of pulling out a corner to identify the fabric.

It still could have been Hrype or Sibert, I told myself firmly. Both of them knew what I carried in my bag. Both of them would also know that I wouldn’t object if they needed some herb or remedy and came to fetch it, and I tried to convince myself that, finding me so deeply asleep, they would have helped themselves rather than wake me up to ask me for assistance.

The problem with that comforting picture was that, as far as I could tell, nothing was missing from my satchel.

I sat there drowning in my fear for several moments. Then, with a greater effort than I’m prepared to admit, I fought back. I’m still alive, I told myself firmly. Nobody has hurt me. Nothing has been stolen. Although I did not know who had entered the little room, and what they had wanted of me, I was determined to find out. I wished with all my heart that Sibert or Hrype were there to find out with me — but they weren’t, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tidied away my breakfast utensils, picked up my cloak, tied it firmly and set out into the morning.

How would you go about trying to find out who had crept into your house during the night and what they had been after? I’ll tell you what I did: I tried to think why anyone might be interested in me, and straight away the answer flashed back that it must surely be to do with the pale youth. With Gewis, as I now knew him to be called. Yesterday I had gone to his village to find out anything I could about him. The four monks who guarded him must somehow have known where I was going. Perhaps they had made Gewis admit that he’d told me he was a carpenter’s son from Fulbourn. I did not allow myself to dwell on how they might have forced him to tell them. So, knowing I was curious about him, they had forestalled me, and one of them had gone there before me. He had found Gewis’s mother Asfrior in her little house and somehow persuaded her to set out with him; perhaps he’d concocted some tale about her son needing her so she’d gone willingly. Then he had struck her with something very hard, such as a lump of stone, and hidden her body under the trees. Again I heard those chilling words: It is safe now.

Safe? What did he mean? I was all too afraid that I knew, for surely he could only have been saying that, with Asfrior dead, it was safe for me to go to Fulbourn for my only source of information concerning Gewis lay dead with her head staved in.

Oh, oh, if I was right, what sort of men were they? What was it that had to be kept secret, so very secret that they had killed, and were going on killing, to prevent anybody finding out?

That thought was so awful that my mind shied away. Instead, I went over what I had learned from Asfrior’s neighbour. I pictured Edulf, twenty years older than his young wife, a man who bore a heavy weight on his shoulders and whose own father had been involved in some tragic mystery. I thought of how he had died, falling to his death while working on some grand new building. Whoever had been in charge had demanded the finest craftsmen; I pictured Edulf, no doubt pleased and flattered to have been chosen, setting off with a spring in his step, his tool bag light on his shoulder. But then I realized that wasn’t right, for he forgot his tools and his wife had to go after him with them.

I thought about that. The old woman hadn’t actually said it sounded an unlikely tale, but she hadn’t needed to. I agreed with her. A good workman with a reputation to uphold just doesn’t set off on a new job without the tools of his trade. Edulf would no more have forgotten his bag than I would have gone to see a sick patient without my satchel.

I wondered what had really happened. Gewis, I realized slowly, was even now in a place where he was being kept apart from the rest of the population. Had this urgent summons that had come for his father been to achieve a similar result? Was that why he had not taken his tools, because the story of working on a magnificent new building was just that, a story, and in reality he knew quite well where he was going and why?

Something must have gone wrong. Whatever they had hoped to do with Edulf, they had not succeeded, for there had been a frightful accident and he had broken his neck. He probably had not fallen from scaffolding while working on a carving; that, like the fictitious job itself, was nothing more than a cover story to satisfy the curious.

They — whoever they were — had wanted Edulf for some matter of great importance. They thought they had got him away to safety, but then something went wrong and he died. Now, four years on, they had come for his son Gewis instead.

Why? What did they want with the men of this family?

I had absolutely no idea.

My musings had achieved the desired effect: I had forgotten my fear. Well, most of it. I was hurrying along in the midst of the crowds of good Ely folk and, for the moment anyway, I felt quite safe. However, enemies were near, and I decided that, since they were taking an interest in my comings and goings, I ought to find out all I could about theirs. I knew that at least two of the quartet of burly monks had left Ely yesterday, for I had seen them just outside Fulbourn. I could not very well go inside the abbey to see if they were there, but I could check to see if they had set out across the water. Turning abruptly, I hurried down to the quayside from which I had embarked the previous noon.

I found the boatman who had given me directions and rowed me across — or, more accurately, he found me. He called out a cheery good morning and asked if I wanted to cross the water again today.

‘No, thanks,’ I replied. ‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something.’

‘Ask away,’ he said with a grin. He was young, he was quite handsome and I think he was flirting with me.

I leaned closer, taking advantage of his interest. ‘It’s a little delicate,’ I whispered.

His eyes widened, and he put a finger alongside his nose. ‘I won’t tell,’ he hissed dramatically.

I smiled. ‘I thought I saw a couple of the brethren from the abbey yesterday, when I was on my way to Fulbourn,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘Both of them are broad-set, tough-looking men and they have a sort of secretive, watchful look about them. I just wondered if you remember taking them across, or even if you told them, too, how to get to Fulbourn?’

Slowly, he shook his head. ‘No, can’t say as I recall anything like that.’

‘Oh.’ I’m not sure how I thought the information would have helped, but nevertheless I felt very disappointed.

But my ferryman was leaning close again. ‘I remember rowing them back though,’ he whispered.

‘You do?’

He nodded.

‘When?’

‘Ooh, mid afternoon.’

‘Did they-’ No. I had almost said, Did they look as if one of them had just done a murder? But it would have been an absurd question.

Then the boatman really surprised me. I suppose, thinking about it now, men like him study their passengers, observing small things that most of us would miss. When you’re pulling hard on the oars, endlessly rowing people to and fro, there can’t be much else to do except indulge in a bit of speculation.

He said, again speaking so quietly that I had to strain to listen, ‘I don’t know what else they may or may not be but they’re not monks.’

It took a moment for me to recover. Then I hissed, ‘How can you be so sure?’

He smiled grimly. ‘They were bearing arms.’

I realized that I did not want to believe him. ‘Most men carry a knife,’ I protested, ‘even monks, if they have to go on a journey that takes them out of the safety and sanctity of the abbey.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ he conceded. ‘I’m not talking about some tiddly knife.’

‘What then?’

He spoke right in my ear. ‘One of them caught his hem as he got out of the boat. He had a sword in a scabbard hidden under his robe.’

A sword. Still I would not be convinced. ‘But-’ I began, my mind whirling.

‘Anyway, they didn’t talk like monks,’ the boatman said with an air of finality.

‘What do you mean?’

He smiled again. ‘I know monks. I meet a great many of them, and I’m familiar with the way they address each other and how they speak. Believe me, your two burly men may have been dressed as holy men but they’re not.’

I believed him. My mind racing, I understood then that the quartet must be inside the abbey of Ely with the knowledge and, presumably, the consent of the abbot and the brethren. Whatever they were doing there, whatever mystery Gewis was caught up in, it went right up to the highest authority in the abbey of Ely.

And that was the most alarming thought of all.

I left my boatman and walked on along the quayside. I walked aimlessly, for I had much to think about. I kept close to the water — perhaps its proximity was a comfort, giving the illusion that at any moment I could summon a boat and get away, back to my home — and soon I found that I had reached an area of hectic activity, where a boatload of passengers had just disembarked and another group were waiting to go across.

The waiting group included about half a dozen nuns, several of whom were white-faced and frightened-looking and one of whom was sobbing, her hand held against the front of her head. Drawing closer, I observed that she had a black eye.

The oldest of the sisters was only a few years older than I was and so I thought I would chance it. ‘Can I help?’ I offered, addressing the senior nun. ‘I’m a healer, and I observe that one of your number is hurt.’

The nun spun round to look at me, her pale blue eyes chilly. ‘We are perfectly capable of taking care of our own,’ she snapped.

The injured nun let out a low moan. ‘Please!’ she whispered. ‘My head hurts so, and it will be ages before we are safe back at Chatteris and in the care of the infirmarer.’

Chatteris! Hastily, I scanned the faces again but none belonged to Elfritha. Some at least of these women would know her though. The thought gave me courage.

‘I have willow for head pain,’ I said eagerly.

The wounded nun looked at her senior, and her eyes spoke eloquently. ‘Please, Sister Maria?’

Sister Maria’s frosty frown melted a few degrees. ‘Well. .’

I decided to take that as permission. I hastened over to stand by the injured nun and put my hands up to feel around her head. I felt the lump — it would have been impossible not to — and winced in sympathy.

‘How did it happen?’ I asked as I put down my satchel, opened it and drew out the willow-bark remedy. Then, touching her black eye, I added, ‘Did you fall?’

She looked at Sister Maria, who nodded curtly and spoke for her. ‘No, she did not,’ she said tersely. ‘She was attacked.’

A warning sounded in my head, clamouring for my attention. A nun had been attacked. .

‘Attacked?’ I echoed, my hands busy preparing the correct dosage.

‘On behalf of all of our sisters, we have come from Chatteris to pray one last time in the place that used to be St Etheldreda’s church,’ Sister Maria said, ‘and to view the great new cathedral that rises in its place. We were asleep at our lodgings last night when an intruder slipped in. We have no idea what he wanted with us for, as is well known, we are vowed to poverty and have nothing upon us or with us that could be of interest to any thief, even the most desperate.’

No, I thought. But I already knew that theft had not been the intruder’s motive.

‘Sister Anne here woke up — ’ Sister Maria indicated a short, stout, whey-faced nun whose upper teeth protruded over her lip — ‘and saw him. She was too terrified to cry out and alert the rest of us — ’ her tone gave away what she thought about that — ‘and she watched in horror as he went from cot to cot, staring down at the sisters as they slept. Then he came to Sister Magda, who awoke as he crouched over her. Before she could open her mouth to scream he hit her, giving her that black eye, then he raised his hand, in which he carried some hard, blunt object, and hit her on the forehead. The sound woke us, and we all jumped up. He must have decided he could not fight all of us, and he shot out of the room and fled.’

I had been looking very closely at Sister Magda while I listened. The close-fitting wimple concealed her hair and her skin was light, her eyes blue-green. She was about my height and build. Of all the group, she was the only one who looked anything like me.

I watched as she drank the medicine, then I offered a little pot of catmint and caraway cream. ‘Rub it around your eye,’ I said. ‘It will help bring out the bruise and lessen the pain.’

She smiled her thanks.

Sister Maria was clearly becoming impatient. ‘The boatman awaits us,’ she announced. ‘Come along, sisters. Let us hasten away from this place.’

She let her cold eyes sweep along the quay, taking in everything from the rats under the piles to the sweaty ferryman who had just arrived and was resting, slightly breathless, on his oars. Then she ushered her nuns on to the waiting boat, stepped down after them and, keeping her back turned, lowered herself on to the thwart. I watched as she and her sisters were born away. Only Sister Magda risked a farewell glance; our eyes met and she mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

I stood where I was for some time. I felt safe there among the hurrying people. Nobody would risk an attack in broad daylight with so many witnesses. Would they?

For I was in danger of an attack, and I had to admit it. The four burly monks — no, they weren’t monks, were they? — the four tough men who guarded Gewis so closely knew that a young nun had been inside the abbey and spoken to him. They knew he had told her he came from Fulbourn and was a carpenter’s son. One of their number had gone to Fulbourn to cut off the source of information there by killing Gewis’s mother; a second had gone out to meet him to make sure the job had been done. They had not waited to see if the young nun reached Fulbourn; with Asfrior dead, it hardly mattered if she did or not. That night one or more of the quartet had gone out under cover of darkness to the place where a visiting group of nuns was lodging. He had looked at each face and, believing that he had found the one he searched for, he had attacked her. Perhaps his aim had been to scare her off the hunt. Or perhaps he had tried to kill her. Either way, the other nuns had woken up and he had fled.

They think I am a nun, I kept repeating to myself. They do not know me in my true identity. I am safe. I must be, for they attacked not a healer but a nun.

Perhaps I was safe, for the time being, unless — or until — they discovered their mistake. I would. .

But then, with a stab of fear that felt like ice in my veins, I remembered that I, too, had had a visitor during the night. One who had searched through my satchel as if in need of something he knew that I carried. He. .

Again, the progress of my thoughts was interrupted by something more urgent. This time the interruption brought sweet relief, for I was picturing the corner of white cloth that had stood out in the bottom of my bag. My intruder had seen it, investigated it but, thank all the good spirits, had not recognized it for what it was, or, rather, for the use to which it had recently been put.

I had used the cloth to fashion a wimple like my sister Elfritha’s. My intruder had actually touched, unaware, my nun’s disguise.

My guardians must surely be watching over me. The thought gave me so much comfort that, at long last, I felt able to leave the quayside and think about what I should do next.