Music of the Distant Stars

THREE

Wherever they had expected this Sir Alain de Villequier to be, it became clear that he wasn’t there. We waited for him to come, Lord Gilbert, Lady Emma and I, and after a while the wait became uneasy, then embarrassing. For all of us; lords and ladies do not normally spend any length of time with lowly people such as I, and, as for me, I was steadily growing more and more aware of my dishevelled appearance. Edild and I might have tidied each other up sufficiently to approach my Granny’s grave, but standards in Lord Gilbert’s hall were considerably more elevated.

We all exchanged several furtive glances, and I knew they wanted rid of me as badly as I wanted to go. Finally, Lord Gilbert had had enough. He got up from Lady Emma’s couch, strode across the hall and launched himself through the doorway through which Bermund had disappeared.

With his departure, much of the awkwardness vanished. Lady Emma looked up at me and murmured, ‘Oh, dear.’ Then, to my surprise, she smiled.

I smiled back; she has that sort of face. No matter what mood you’re in — and just then mine wasn’t very good, given all that I’d been through since I got up — it’s hard not to be affected by Lady Emma’s smile. ‘I’m sorry I’m still here,’ I said. It was a daft remark, but Lady Emma was quite disarming and I’d said exactly what I was thinking.

‘It’s hardly your fault, Lassair,’ she said. ‘My husband asked you to stay, so that when Sir Alain arrives, you can take him out to where you found poor Ida.’

It was tactful of her to have said Lord Gilbert had asked me. I’d have said ordered or commanded was nearer the mark.

I looked at her, and I guessed by the sadness in her face that she was thinking about the dead girl. I wanted to turn her thoughts elsewhere, but I wasn’t quick enough. Before I’d had a chance to come up with some innocuous remark, she spoke again.

‘Did she — oh, I know I should not ask you this, but it’s all I can think about. Lassair, did Ida suffer?’

I met her eyes. ‘I cannot say, my lady.’ That was true; there had been no time to find out how the girl had died. By now Edild probably had a good idea, for she would not have wasted this long period of waiting by the body.

‘Could it possibly have been a dreadful accident?’ Lady Emma asked. ‘She might have tripped and fallen into the grave, perhaps banging her head as she fell. . Oh, no.’ Her face fell, and there was no need for either of us to say it: if Ida had met her death by accident, who had wrapped her in the shroud and replaced the stone slab over the grave?

I watched Lady Emma closely. I could see the distress rising in her. She was muttering under her breath, one hand clutching at her throat, the other on her belly. My impression was that her health was reasonably robust, but it doesn’t do to take any chances, especially when a woman is in the early stages of pregnancy. I reached down to the small leather bag that hung from my belt, mentally reminding myself of the small store of herbs that I usually carry in it. Yes; I had what I needed.

‘My lady,’ I said softly, ‘will you permit me to make a comforting drink for you? I have a remedy with me that is calming and promotes rest.’

She shot a look at me, and I had the impression that her first instinct was to refuse. Perhaps she wished to remain fully alert because she wanted to hear more news of Ida as soon as there was any. But then she slumped back into her pillows and nodded. She picked up a bell that was on the floor by her couch and rang it, sending the servant who quickly answered its summons to fetch hot water and a mug. I made up a mild sedative, and soon Lady Emma slipped into a doze.

I settled myself on the floor beside her, leaned back against the couch and let my head sink down on to the soft woolly blanket. Time passed, and in the still silence of the cool hall, I almost fell asleep myself.

There was a sudden commotion outside in the courtyard. The sound of a horse’s hooves, then loud male voices. I detected anger. Then someone hushed the speakers and I heard heavy footsteps coming up the steps. Getting hurriedly to my feet, I stepped forward to meet Lord Gilbert as he came puffing into the hall, Bermund at his side. Behind them was a man I had never seen before.

I studied him. He was a big bear of a man, tall and broad. He was younger than Lord Gilbert; around the mid-twenties, I guessed. His light-brown hair was worn long but, unlike many young men who followed the new fashion set by the king and his intimate circle, Alain de Villequier had neither flowing beard nor elaborate moustache. He wore a blue robe cinched with a handsome leather belt with a gold clasp and carried a short hunting knife in a scabbard at his side. He had been riding hard — hunting, perhaps, for the knife was stained — and his light cloak was thrown back. His face was rugged rather than handsome, the mouth wide, the light eyes crinkled at the corners. There was a vitality about him that was very attractive, and I guessed that he was a man whom people liked and who made friends readily.

His first words supported this; he swept down in a graceful bow before Lady Emma, who had woken up as the men entered the hall, and very charmingly apologized for having taken so long in reaching Lakehall. ‘As I have explained to Lord Gilbert,’ he added, ‘I took advantage of the beautiful morning light and went hunting.’ He gave her a rueful look, like a small boy caught stealing a pie, and she smiled at him and said he was forgiven.

I realized something else about Sir Alain: he was a flirt.

Then he turned to me. ‘This must be Lassair,’ he said.

He knew my name! That was a surprise, for I am never sure that Lord Gilbert does, even though he’s heard it several times. Sir Alain, on the other hand, had only been told of my existence a short time ago.

I bowed to him. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You discovered the body?’ His tone told me nothing; he sounded like what he was: a man given the task of investigating a death, whose personal feelings on the matter, whatever they might be, were irrelevant.

‘I did. She — the dead girl — had been wrapped in a shroud and placed in my grandmother’s grave.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘I had taken fresh flowers to place on the stone slab that covers the grave.’ I decided not to mention the prayers with which I had hoped to invoke the guardian spirits. This man was undoubtedly a Christian and, whatever his private sentiments, in his official role he had to follow the Norman line.

‘And you noticed that this slab had been moved?’

‘I did.’

‘So you looked down into the grave?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

I hadn’t expected the abrupt question. I tried to think back; what had been in my mind? ‘I believe,’ I said slowly, ‘that I feared whoever had moved the stone might have somehow harmed or damaged my grandmother’s body. She is but recently dead, sir, and I loved her dearly.’

To my surprise and shame, for I thought I was in control of myself, tears formed in my eyes. I lowered my head.

Sir Alain might have been a newly-appointed official whose responsibilities, presumably, included finding out how the dead girl had died, but still he had room for compassion. I heard a quick movement, and suddenly he was right beside me. He touched my shoulder and said quietly, ‘Nobody has considered your feelings, have they? We are all so preoccupied with this death that we have not spared a thought for the poor young woman who went to pray for her grandmother and instead made such a terrible discovery.’

I wiped my eyes, sniffed and said, ‘Thank you, sir, but I am all right.’

I looked up to find that he was studying me. ‘You will be as soon as we can send you back to your family,’ he remarked. Then he stepped away from me and said decisively, ‘Come with me now and show me where the grave is, then you may go home.’

I raised my chin and met his eyes. ‘Very well, sir.’

He went on looking at me for a moment, and I thought I saw the hint of a smile. Then he turned to Lord Gilbert, bowed deeply and, spinning round, strode out of the hall. I wondered if I ought to wait to be formally dismissed, but Lord Gilbert, obviously distressed, frustrated and bemused, waved an impatient hand and sent me on my way.

Out in the courtyard Sir Alain had already mounted. I stared at his beautiful horse. She was a bay mare, and she had a star-shaped mark on her brow. Her black mane and tail flowed free, and her coat gleamed with health. I was going to have to run hard to keep up with her, and my heart sank, for I had already covered quite a distance that morning and I was weary.

Sir Alain must have seen my face. He leaned down and held out his hand. ‘Come on, she can carry two, and you’re a slim little thing,’ he said.

I took his hand, and he swung me up behind him. I settled just behind the rear board of the saddle, frantically trying to arrange my skirts to preserve my modesty. He put his heels to the mare’s sides, and she sprang away, causing me to give out a yelp and fling my arms round Sir Alain. ‘No need to stop my breathing!’ he said with a laugh, and I eased my grip. Then I realized that the mare had settled into her stride — an easy, loping canter — and I no longer felt I was about to fall off. Embarrassed, very glad he could not see my hot face, I removed my hands from his firmly-muscled waist and held on to the back of the saddle.

I leaned forward to call out directions, and very quickly we had covered the ground and the stakes marking the walkway across to the island appeared in the distance. He drew rein as we approached, and I slid down off the mare’s back. He dismounted more slowly, gazing out across the dark waters of the mere.

‘What is this place?’ he asked. His voice was soft, almost awed.

‘It is an artificial island. It was built a long time ago as a safe place in times of threat. It is-’ But I had said enough. This was the secret place of my family, my kin, my ancestors. He might be charming and likeable, but he was still a Norman and therefore potentially an enemy.

‘Your grandmother is buried over there?’ He nodded over the water.

‘Yes. Shall I show you?’

‘Go on.’

I led the way across the planks. I could see Edild, standing quite still at the head of the grave. The young woman’s body, once more covered with the coarse linen, lay beside it. I wondered if Edild was in a light trance and thought I ought to warn her of our approach.

‘That’s my aunt Edild,’ I said loudly. ‘I went to fetch her as soon as I’d made the discovery, and she offered to wait here while I went for help. She’s-’

Edild turned to look at me. ‘No need to shout, Lassair,’ she said quietly. ‘I heard you coming when you were still some way off.’

‘Edild, this is Sir Alain de Villequier,’ I said, flustered. ‘Sir Alain, my aunt Edild.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ Edild said calmly, as if she greeted important Normans every day of her life.

‘Good day, Edild,’ Sir Alain replied.

She made a graceful gesture, indicating the grave. ‘That is where the dead young woman was placed.’ She pointed to the body on the grass. ‘My niece and I removed her from the ground so that we could unwrap the shroud and see who she was. We did not recognize her.’

Sir Alain knelt down in the grass and very gently folded the linen away from the dead face. He stared at her for some moments. His back was turned to Edild and me, and I could not see his expression. After a while he stood up, cleared his throat and said, ‘Her name was Ida. She was a seamstress in the employ of Lord Gilbert’s cousin, the lady Claude, who has recently come to our area and is staying at Lakehall.’

I’m not sure, but I thought I saw him pass a hand over his face before he turned around to us. I knew then that this dead Ida had cast her spell over him as well, just as she had done over Lord Gilbert and Lady Emma. He, too, had cared about her; he, too, would miss her.

Impulsively, I said, ‘She must have been such a lovely girl.’

He looked down, and I could not see his expression. ‘Why do you say that?’ His voice sounded gruff.

Because you’re all grieving over her death, I could have told him. But it wasn’t my place to make such an intimate remark, and instead I said, ‘I studied her face, and she looks like somebody who laughed a lot and brought sunshine into other people’s lives.’

He turned away from me and stared down at the dead girl. He looked at her for some moments. Then he said heavily, ‘She did. She-’ It was as if he, too, had suddenly recalled our relative positions in the world, for whatever he had been going to say, he bit it back. I thought he made an effort to control himself — I saw a sort of shudder go through him — and then he said curtly to Edild, ‘Well? Have you studied the body? Have you anything to tell me concerning how she died?’

Edild and I exchanged a quick glance — I could tell she was as taken aback as I was by Sir Alain’s abrupt change in demeanour — and then she stepped forward and crouched down beside the body. ‘I have,’ she said neutrally. She beckoned — to him, I believe, but I, too, took it as a summons — and Sir Alain and I knelt down either side of her.

My aunt began to speak, and straight away I felt calmer, for her voice had taken on the tone that it adopts when she is teaching me something new. I dare say she did it purposefully, for she must have sensed how unsettled I was by that morning’s discovery and she would have wanted to soothe me. It was only later that I realized she also wanted me to be fully alert so that I did not miss anything.

‘Death was by strangulation,’ she began, moving the long hair away from the dead girl’s neck with a tender hand. She pointed, and I saw the deep purplish-red mark around the throat. It had bitten deep into the soft flesh. Below it, the skin was white. Above it, the dead face was a different colour, as if stained with dark blood. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed before; I had, I supposed, been too busy staring at the features in that face made for fun and laughter.

‘What-’ Sir Alain coughed and tried again. ‘What was she strangled with?’

Edild pointed again. ‘A thin length of plaited leather, I believe. In some places there are the marks of a regular pattern. See?’

I spotted what she meant. Someone must have wrapped a plaited thong round the girl’s throat, strangled her and then removed it. Unless-

Sir Alain had had the same thought. ‘You have not found such a thing, I imagine.’ He sounded as if he already knew we hadn’t, and no doubt he realized Edild would have shown him straight away if she had.

‘No,’ she confirmed. ‘The killer must have taken his weapon away with him.’

‘And the shroud?’ He picked up the edge of the linen in which the body had been wrapped.

‘It appears to be an old piece of fabric,’ Edild said, ‘something previously used for a different purpose, for there are seams in it. It’s been torn so as to make a long strip.’

‘Did the killer bring it with him, knowing he would have need of it?’ Sir Alain said. ‘Or did he tear up his shirt and use that?’

Edild was smoothing the fabric. ‘It is too long for a shirt,’ she said. ‘My guess is that the killer prepared it earlier and brought it here, knowing he would have a body to wrap.’

Sir Alain did not speak. I wondered why. I was bursting with questions, but then I was not in the habit of trying to discover how people had met their death and perhaps he was; the things I was so desperate to know were probably clear as daylight to him.

‘He came here knowing he was going to kill her, then,’ I said, trying to prompt a reaction.

I got one. Sir Alain spun round to me and said sharply, ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because, although anybody might have a piece of plaited leather on them, not many people carry lengths of linen except their clothes, and Edild thinks there’s too much fabric in the shroud for a shirt.’

I sensed him relax. ‘Well reasoned,’ he said with a quick smile. ‘Yes, you speak with good sense.’

Then I had another thought. ‘Maybe Ida had the cloth with her!’ I exclaimed.

Both Sir Alain and Edild glared at me. Edild could be forgiven, for she did not know and must have thought I was being foolish. I would, however, have expected Sir Alain to see the relevance. ‘You just said, Sir Alain, that Ida was a seamstress,’ I said. ‘She was helping Lady Claude prepare linens for her marriage, so maybe she’d brought some sewing out here to do while she sat in the sunshine.’

‘But this cloth is old,’ Edild pointed out.

‘Yes, but she could have been using it as a practice piece,’ I said eagerly. ‘You know, perfecting some new stitch before she sewed it into the object it was intended for?’

‘Hmm,’ said my aunt. She did not seem convinced.

Sir Alain was about to speak but, too carried away by my own argument, I did not let him. ‘Perhaps this lady Claude is a perfectionist and very fussy about her linens, so Ida felt she had to make sure her work would be acceptable and had to practise on this old linen. Perhaps Lady Claude is-’

‘Your speculation is interesting,’ Sir Alain said, interrupting my flow of words. ‘However, we can readily test your theory. Edild, have you noticed any fresh stitching on the shroud?’

Edild gave me a glance in which pity and irritation were perfectly mixed. ‘No.’

Sir Alain turned back to me, eyebrows raised as if to say, Well?

‘Perhaps she hadn’t started yet!’ I cried desperately. ‘Perhaps she was just threading her needle when he jumped on her! Perhaps-’

But I had run out of possibilities. I don’t know why I was so keen to believe Ida had supplied the fabric for her shroud. It might have been because the alternative — that her killer had been so cold-blooded in his meticulous preparations that he had taken it with him — was just too harsh. For the second time that morning, I realized I was weeping.

My aunt made a soft sound and put her arms around me. I leaned against her, taking comfort from her warmth, her nearness and her love. She said, quite crossly, ‘Sir Alain, Lassair has borne enough. Please let me take her home, for there is nothing more that she or I can do here.’

I thought she had gone too far. Whatever a local justiciar might be, I was sure they did not permit the likes of Edild to speak to them so curtly and, in effect, tell them what to do. Possibly Sir Alain did not realize this, for, far from being angry, he jumped up, helped Edild and me to our feet and said, ‘Of course. I am sorry. Lassair — go home now, rest, and if I need to speak to you again, I will come to find you.’

I felt we ought to go before he changed his mind and got cross after all. I grabbed Edild’s hand, muttered, ‘Come on, then,’ and led her away.

I risked a glance behind me as we hurried back over the water. He was standing where we had left him, staring down at Ida’s body. His head was bent, and I thought his hands were clasped in front of him.

He looked as if he were praying.