Out of the Dawn Light

TWENTY

In a joyful, overwhelmingly relieved band, laughing, chattering, we made our way back to our house. I was skipping along hand in hand with Elfritha and Haward, both of them clutching on to me as if I was about to be wrenched away from them to face an even worse ordeal, when Edild caught up with us.

‘You feel no pain?’ she asked.

‘None!’ I cried jubilantly. ‘I could dance all night!’

She smiled briefly. I realized she looked exhausted. I detached myself from my brother and sister, saying I’d follow along presently, then stopped and faced my aunt.

‘Thank you,’ I said quietly. ‘I don’t know exactly what you and Hrype were doing as I walked the coals, but I do understand that I couldn’t have done it without you.’

Her smile widened. ‘Yes you could, Lassair. You believed in yourself and you did as you were told.’

Slowly I shook my head. ‘You did something,’ I insisted. ‘Something that exhausted the pair of you and made you sweat as if you’d just run a mile over rough country. And,’ I added, lowering my voice as I remembered, ‘it wasn’t just you — I thought I saw your guides. Yours was a silver fox and Hrype’s was a bear.’

For an instant her eyes widened and she muttered something, then her expression cleared and she said mildly, ‘I don’t think so, Lassair. It was probably just the excitement and the stress of the challenge.’

I held her eyes and I thought she sent me a silent message. I thought she said, You are right but these things are not to be spoken of.

I nodded, just once. Then she took my arm and we hurried after the others.

The next joy was when Hrype and Froya arrived, because walking between them, grinning sheepishly, was Sibert. He was still pale but he looked very different from the last time I’d seen him, in Lord Gilbert’s hall. Hrype must have taken him home as soon as he had been released and he’d had a wash — his fair hair was still wet — and changed his clothes. There were neat bandages on his wrists and ankles where the iron shackles had bitten into his flesh.

We all gave him a great welcome. My father had tapped a barrel of the best beer and we were rapidly making our way through it, so that already we were tipsy and loud. Sibert accepted congratulations modestly, his head lowered, and in time he made his way to me.

‘I didn’t think you’d have the courage to do it,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I could have done the same thing for you.’

I felt a little hurt. ‘Thank you wouldn’t go amiss,’ I remarked.

‘Oh, Lassair!’ Surprising me greatly, for he was usually so distant, especially in a physical sense, he opened his arms and embraced me in a hard hug. Just as quickly he let me go again. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You saved my life.’

Now I felt embarrassed. ‘You’ll just have to save mine, then,’ I said lightly, ‘then we’ll be even.’

We went on staring at each other. Neither of us seemed to know how to end the awkwardness, but then we heard a commotion and, spinning round, I saw Lord Gilbert standing in the doorway, flanked by several of his men.

We all fell silent. His face was grave and it was obvious he hadn’t come to add his congratulations and accept a mug of ale.

‘What has happened?’ My father’s voice was wary.

‘The gold crown has gone,’ Lord Gilbert said. Somebody gasped. ‘While Lassair walked the fire pit, my hall was left all but unguarded, for my wife and my son were tucked safely away in her chamber and everyone else was outside watching the ordeal. When the guards went to release Sibert, one of them noticed that the chest in which I had locked the crown while its ownership is decided had been broken open.’

‘I did not take it!’ Sibert cried out.

I smiled grimly. It was understandable, I suppose, for him to instantly defend himself, for he had only just been set free from Lord Gilbert’s cell and obviously didn’t want to be thrown back down there. As a general rule, though, it is unwise to protest your innocence before you’ve even been accused.

Lord Gilbert had turned to Sibert, and I heard him say, ‘No, Sibert, I know that. You could not possibly have done, for you were still under lock and key when the theft was discovered.’

‘Whom do you suspect?’ my father asked.

I knew. Before Lord Gilbert answered, I knew what he would say. I had seen Baudouin slip away and, although at the time I had been far too full of my triumph to think about where he might be going, now it was obvious.

‘Baudouin took it,’ I piped up.

‘Hush!’ my mother and my father said together, both turning to glare at me.

‘He must have done!’ I persisted. ‘Now that we all know Sibert didn’t kill Romain, the real murderer will have to be found and brought to justice and that could take ages, and meanwhile Baudouin’s desperate to get his manor back and he needs the crown to persuade the king to be merciful!’

Nobody spoke. Lord Gilbert and the men with him were staring at me. It was all so obvious to me and I couldn’t understand why they were prevaricating. ‘He — Baudouin — must have realized that he’d accused the wrong person when he said Sibert was a murderer,’ I pressed on eagerly. ‘That man Sagar can’t have been close enough to see who the killer was, but Baudouin was so desperate to bring someone to account for Romain’s death that he picked the obvious person, which was Sibert.’

There was a squawk of protest from Sibert and Lord Gilbert said, ‘Why was Sibert the obvious person?’

‘Because he was there!’ Really! ‘Well, he wasn’t there, not in the clearing when the murder was committed, but he’d recently been in the vicinity and Baudouin must have known that. He — Baudouin — was worried about Romain, aware he was planning something reckless to try to help win back Drakelow, and in order to protect him, Baudouin was following him. He probably saw me and Sibert and when Sagar said Sibert killed Romain, there was no reason for Baudouin to disbelieve him.’

‘Hmm.’ Lord Gilbert looked thoughtful. Then, as if suddenly tired of the whole perplexing matter, he said, ‘I do not intend to pursue Baudouin. The crown was, after all, found on his land, or what used to be his land, and I had all but decided to return it to him anyway.’ Lord Gilbert quite often showed a tendency to do the easy thing as opposed to the right thing; we had all noticed it. ‘My involvement in this sorry business,’ he went on grandly, ‘only came about because one of my people was accused of murder; wrongly, as it turns out’ — he flashed me a smile — ‘and now that this has been resolved, I am content to let a matter belonging to the manor of Dunwich find its eventual resolution in Dunwich.’

Did he mean Romain’s murder? He must do, but it hadn’t taken place at Dunwich.

I watched him, filled with the angry realization that he was far more concerned with his own peaceful, indolent, self-indulgent life than with seeing justice done. But he had been kind to me and I couldn’t find it in my heart to hate him for his weakness. Life was so complicated, I thought, quietly fuming, and human beings the most complicated things in it.

Nobody else seemed to find anything to reprove in Lord Gilbert’s decision and when a little later two of his servants showed up with another barrel of even finer beer, he was hailed as the finest lord a peasant ever had.

By nightfall we were all far beyond tipsy and I was starting to feel very tired as the drama and the excitement caught up with me. My mother, noticing, began shooing people away and soon just our family were left, wearily settling for the night.

I went outside to the jakes and on my way back in, heard a hiss from the shadows. Sibert stepped forward.

‘I thought you’d gone home,’ I said.

‘I did. Hrype needs to talk to us.’

‘Very well, then. I’ll just tell my parents where I’m going and-’

‘No, you mustn’t!’ Sibert looked strained. ‘Wait till they’re all asleep, then slip out and come to our house.’

‘But I’m tired and-’

‘Lassair, just do it!’ He sounded both impatient and scared. ‘Please,’ he added.

‘Oh, all right.’ I was excited, despite my protestations. ‘I’ll be along as soon as I can.’

In fact it was not long at all before I deemed it safe to leave. The beer and the festivities had caught up with my family and soon I could detect the familiar sounds of the adults’ snores and my siblings’ soft, deep breathing. I got up, slipped off the leather band that secures the door and crept out into the darkness.

I sprinted across the village and, reaching Sibert and his family’s house, tapped softly on the door. It was opened immediately by Froya and without a word she wrapped me in her arms. We stood for some moments and then, breaking away, she stared into my eyes and said, ‘You saved my son’s life. I am in your debt, Lassair, and if ever I may help you, you have but to ask.’

The emotion that pulsed through the little room slowly ebbed and, with a quick nod, she stepped back and sat down on a stool beside the hearth. Bending down — I could see the blush on her pale face and guessed she was as embarrassed as I was — she poked at the embers of the cooking fire and set some small flames dancing along the charred logs. Hrype, seated on a bench with Sibert beside him, watched her and then turned to me. ‘So, Lassair,’ he said with a smile. ‘You survived unscathed.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. I realized I had not spoken to him since my ordeal. ‘I should have thanked you before, when we were all busy downing the celebratory ale,’ I said, ‘but I did not see you again after you arrived with Sibert and Froya. Were you with the group outside in the yard?’

‘No. I did not stay.’

I remembered his exhausted face, the sweat of great exertion dripping from it and the knotty blue cords that stood out on his temple and snaked up his neck. ‘You’re not unwell?’ I asked anxiously. ‘It wasn’t too much for you? The ordeal, I mean.’

He laughed, but it was a kindly laugh. ‘No, no, I recovered quite quickly.’

‘Why did you not stay to join us in the celebration at our house, then?’

He reached down and picked up something from the floor; something that had been hidden by the folds of his long robe. ‘Because of this.’

He held it up high and the flames of the fire glinted on the smooth surface of the Drakelow crown.

I could barely believe my eyes. ‘You’ve got it!’ I stared at him. ‘How did you manage to take it?’

‘As soon as I knew you had survived the fire pit unhurt I left you in Edild’s care and slipped away to Lord Gilbert’s manor house. There was nobody about; everyone was still standing open-mouthed staring at your pretty feet.’

‘How did you know where it was?’ I demanded.

‘It called to me.’

I did not begin to understand.

‘But I thought — I mean,’ I stammered, ‘when I suggested to Lord Gilbert that Baudouin had taken it, he agreed with me and said he wasn’t going to do anything about it because he’d decided Baudouin ought to have it anyway!’

‘He has not got it and he must never take possession of it!’ Hrype said passionately.

I thought I understood. ‘It’s yours, isn’t it?’ I said eagerly. ‘Your ancestor made it — Sibert said so.’ I looked at Sibert to back me up but he said nothing. ‘You’re going to keep it, which is right as it surely belongs to your family, and-’

‘I will not keep it.’ Hrype’s almost savage hiss cut across my words. He said something else; it sounded like, ‘I do not dare.’

Without my volition I found that my gaze had slid from Hrype’s impassioned face to the crown that he still held up. I became aware of its power. It was humming quietly and the sound was waxing steadily stronger.

I was suddenly very afraid.

I said in a whisper, ‘What is it?’

And Hrype told me.

This is the story he told.

‘My ancestors were men of importance in our homeland,’ he began, ‘for among our number runs a strain of magic-workers, and the kings of old trusted us and depended on us. So it was that when the waters rose and our lands were flooded, the king who led us here to England took the precaution of surrounding himself with protective magic. My forefather Creoda was his close adviser, ever at hand to warn him of unsuspected perils and provide the means of dealing with them. Thanks to him, the king and the people settled safely in their new homes on the coast. The king built his great hall, the people settled nearby in their round houses and the land proved fruitful, so that the people prospered and the children grew healthy and strong. Creoda, whose invaluable place at the king’s side had won him both favour and wealth, asked for a parcel of land on which to build his own hall and when the king readily agreed, Creoda selected Drakelow, for he knew it was a place where the power that is in the land and the sea manifested itself with unusual force.’

‘That’s why they built the sea sanctuary there!’ I whispered.

‘Creoda did not build it,’ Hrype replied. ‘It was there years, centuries, ages before Creoda’s time.’

‘Yes, I know. I meant that the ancient people who built the sanctuary recognized the power.’

Hrype stared at me. ‘Yes,’ he said. He went on staring at me and then, as if coming out of some inner place of contemplation, picked up his tale.

‘The king and the people lived in peace and contentment,’ he said, ‘but then came the dread threat from the east, and in helpless horror our people heard tell of how the dragon-prowed Viking ships advanced out of the dawn light, grinding on to our shores and discharging their cargoes of ruthless fighting men. Settlement after settlement fell, the people cut down, the dwellings and the long halls burned, the wealth of the people plundered. Our king, fearing for the very existence of the new realm he had carved out for his people, called on Creoda and asked him what should be done. Creoda said there was a way to defend the king’s realm, but it involved great peril. “Do it,” said the king. “Whatever it takes, do it,” and he gave Creoda free rein, offering gold, offering men, offering a secluded place in which to work the magic.

‘Creoda did not need the men and he took only what gold he needed for his purpose. He went quite alone to his secret place and there he built a fire so hot that it turned solid metal into molten liquid. He put the king’s gold on to the fire and watched as slowly it melted. Then he used his magic arts and out of it he formed three crowns, putting into them the essence of his soul so that they turned into objects of power, each one bursting with strong enchantment. As he weakened — for he had used almost all of his strength and was now little more than a shadow — he spoke the words of the spell. Then, laying aside the crowns while they cooled, he wrapped his burned hands in clean cloth and lay down to sleep.

‘When he was partially recovered — and he never regained more than a small portion of his former vigour, having poured it into his creation — he rose up and returned to the king, seeking a private audience. “Behold what I have made for you,” he said, and as he unwrapped the crowns from their protective linen, for the first and only time their magical voices were heard in the king’s hall. The king covered his ears in abject fear and quickly Creoda replaced the linen wrappings.

‘Slowly the king recovered from his terror and asked, “What must I do with these dread objects?” “You must bury them on the shores of your land,” replied Creoda, “where their power will blend and combine to form a defensive shield that will repel those who would invade and rob you of what you have won.”

‘The king and his sorcerer talked long into the night as they pondered the best locations for the crowns, and at last the king made his decision. “One shall I bury here at Rendlesham,” he declared, “for here is my hall and my high seat, the heart and the centre of my realm. One you, Creoda, shall take with you to Drakelow, for your power is in these objects and it is fitting that one part of what you have freely given should remain close to you, hidden where its force shall guard my port of Dunwich. The third we will take north and bury at Bran’s Head, so that the northern shore of our realm shall also be defended from the men who come out of the east.”

‘It was done as the king decreed. Creoda and his king took a strong bodyguard and they went secretly and by night. Keeping to the ancient tracks along which run the lines of power, they went first to Bran’s Head, where with solemn ceremony and deep magic Creoda called upon the old gods and buried the first crown on the margins of the realm, where the land meets the sea and the forces are strong. Then they proceeded to Drakelow, and Creoda buried the second crown on his own land. Finally they returned to the king’s hall and on the long shore below Rendlesham, Creoda donned the horned headdress and, in the light of the crescent moon, buried the third crown. Then he took the fly-agaric potion and, with a winged horse and a goose to guard him, set out on his last and greatest spirit journey, using what was left of his magic power to spark the three crowns into everlasting life. Creoda, greatest of all sorcerers, had interred the crowns and it is not for any man to undo what he did.’

It was some time before I realized that Hrype had stopped talking. My eyes were closed and my mind was alive with images. I saw a magical flying horse with a woman on its back and she whispered her name to me: Andrasta. And there beside her was Epona riding her giant goose; my granny Cordeilla flashed across my inner eye and I recalled how she always called on Epona and her goose when she embarked on a tale, for Epona is the mother and patron of all storytellers. I saw the Goddess of the Sacred Grove, and she was holding out her sword arm straight and true as with the tip of her great weapon she blessed all those who accepted the challenge and fought, in whatever way was their particular talent, to protect the sacred homelands of the people.

Creoda had done that, and he was Hrype’s ancestor.

I opened my eyes and stared at him.

It was as if he had been waiting for me. Sibert sat immobile as stone and his eyes were still fast shut. Froya was hunched on her stool, her back bent as if under a heavy load.

I could have believed that Hrype and I were alone.

I felt his thought. It came at me like an arrow and as soon as I understood, it seemed to me that the awareness had been there all along.

‘The crown must go back,’ I whispered, my voice hardly more than a breath.

‘Yes.’

I hesitated, for I was tired and afraid. But he was relentless and I knew I must speak. ‘Must I take it?’

‘You must, and Sibert must go with you.’

‘Why?’ I asked. I sounded like a wheedling child.

‘Because it was you and Sibert who took it,’ he answered.

And all at once it made perfect sense.