Out of the Dawn Light

FOUR

I ought to have realized that Goda would become steadily more intolerable as her pregnancy went on. She was my sister after all and I’d known her my entire life. Had she ever shown the tiniest amount of courage in adversity? Had she just once endured discomfort of any kind with a saintly silence and a brave little smile on her lips? Of course she hadn’t. She was Goda and she always found something or someone to blame for her own suffering, even when that suffering had been brought about by nobody other than herself.

Well, she was suffering now because, either before or immediately after she married Cerdic, on at least one occasion she had made love with him. Unless he had taken her by force — unlikely because she’s a well-muscled woman with a fierce temper and a heavy right fist and he’s a gentle sort of a man — then she must have wanted the lovemaking and, not being an idiot, known that it could lead to conception. So, she’d brought it on herself. Nevertheless, she had to blame someone and that someone was me.

She made a hell of my life such as I had never experienced before (and not since, either; I don’t make mistakes like letting myself be used by people such as my sister anymore). The odd thing was that if just for a moment she’d stopped being so horrible to me, my sympathy would have come rushing back and I’d have looked after her willingly. You see, she really was in a bad way. As she entered the last couple of months of her pregnancy, she swelled up like a leather bag slowly and steadily being filled with water. The skin of her vast belly stretched and something in its structure must have broken, for long, dark-red lines began to snake across her white flesh as if there was something living in there. Well, of course there was — a baby, and a pretty large one at that — but that’s not what I mean. Goda has always been lazy and now that she had got so big she barely left her seat by the hearth. As June came, often she would not even get out of bed.

She was pale and, despite my ministrations with the wash cloth and the bowl of water, she was dirty and she stank. Her filthy hair was tangled and I could not get the comb through it, or rather, I could but she pinched my arm so viciously when I pulled at the tangles that I stopped trying.

Her favourite punishment was to box my ears. I usually tried to dodge so that she hit the left one, which she had already damaged. That way I might emerge from my time with her still with one good ear.

I don’t know what poor Cerdic made of it, although I can make an accurate guess. He was, as I’ve said, a good worker and there was always plenty for him to do. Goda was demanding, forever wanting to be brought something new for her house or some little personal present, and in a way that made it easier for him because to acquire the things she wanted he had to earn more money. She was quite capable of working that out for herself and so could not complain if her husband was out far more often than he was in. As far as she knew, he was off on a job somewhere.

If I knew different — and I had my ways of keeping an eye on what was happening around me — then I kept it to myself. Goda did not really deserve a man like Cerdic and in her present state she offered no inducement whatsoever for him to come home in the evening until after she was in her bed and snoring (with advanced pregnancy she had to sleep on her back and made a noise like a boar being throttled). No, I didn’t blame Cerdic for avoiding his wife. I only envied him from the bottom of my heart because that option was not available for me.

I fought self-pity all the time, and never more so than when Midsummer’s Eve was approaching. I remembered how, earlier in the year, I had calculated that the baby could have been born round about now and I would be released from my servitude with my sister and sent home to Aelf Fen. But nothing happened, other than that Goda tried to punch my face when I asked if I might go out to join the people of Icklingham in their midsummer celebrations.

I skipped out of the way and her angry, frustrated fist swung on empty air. And I went out anyway. As part of my instruction with Edild she had shown me how to brew up a mild sedative and it was now summer, a time when the plants, fresh, green and vibrant with life, are at their most potent. Perhaps I ought to have taken this into account more than I did, for the drink that I carefully prepared and fed to my red-faced, sweaty and heaving sister knocked her out as if she’d been poleaxed. For quite a long time I stood there staring down at her, all sorts of questions running through my mind. I’d used cowslips as my main ingredient but I’d added dill and just a tiny amount of hemlock, which Edild had frequently warned me was poisonous. And what about the incantation I had murmured as I worked? I thought I’d remembered the words correctly and in the right order, but I could have made a mistake. . But it was all right, Goda was still breathing, and I muttered a prayer of gratitude. I might not like her but I’ve never actually wanted to kill her, especially when she carried an innocent new life inside her.

It was twilight on Midsummer’s Eve. Goda was sound asleep and I had sufficient faith in my skills to know that she was very unlikely to wake before morning. Cerdic had not yet returned; I guessed he had gone straight from his work to his regular retreat in his cousin’s house on the other side of the village, where he’d probably stay till he thought it was safe to come home.

I slipped into the lean-to and hastily set about making myself as neat and tidy as time and circumstance allowed. I took off my gown and beat it hard with the flat of my hand until the dust came out of it in clouds. The woven fabric was soft and floppy with long wear and it had gone into holes in various places, but I was deft with a needle and the darns were all but invisible unless you looked really closely. My under-tunic was only two days on and still looked crisp and fresh where it showed in the neck of my gown. I fastened the laces down the sides of my gown, pulling them tight in an attempt to give myself some shape. I unwound my hair from its plait and brushed and brushed it till its smooth texture under my hand suggested it might be shining. Then I pinched my cheeks to put some colour in them, took Elfritha’s beautiful shawl from its hiding place under my bed and, having arranged it decoratively around my shoulders, went out into the softly falling darkness.

Midsummer is my favourite festival of all. Granny says I’m a midsummer person, born on the eve of the solstice, and that’s why I have an affinity with the season. I’m not entirely sure what she means but I think I agree. I wished, as I hurried through the gathering darkness, that I was home in Aelf Fen, because in our village we certainly know how to celebrate the Sun’s position high above us in the sky and the presence of the light in all its glory. But I wasn’t. I was in Icklingham, among people I hadn’t even known four months ago.

I need not have worried. They might not know me very well either but they knew who I was and what I was doing in their village. From the kindness and sympathy I received in such full measure that lovely night, I gathered the impression that they didn’t think much of my sister, and that was putting it mildly.

They had prepared a huge bonfire in a clearing on the edge of the village and they lit it as the first stars appeared in the sky. The clearing had been decorated with foliage, chiefly branches of oak since this was the supreme night of the Oak King and tomorrow he must begin to lose way before the coming of the dark and the Holly King, ruler of the winter solstice. For that reason, midsummer is always tinged with sadness for me, since from then on the light fades.

The sadness, however, was in abeyance for the moment. It was so wonderful to be out of Goda’s house and away from the sight, smell and even the sound of her — if she was awake she was nagging and sniping at me; if asleep, she snored and farted — that I would have enjoyed even the most modest celebration. There was nothing modest about Icklingham’s festivities, however. Soon I had a mug of ale in my hand, a garland of flowers on my head and a boy was shouting above the cheerful laughing, singing voices that the music would soon begin and who was going to dance with him?

I did. I danced with him, with several others — boys, girls, women, men — and then with the first boy again. He was spinning me round in a vigorous circle and I was just thinking that he wasn’t bad looking if you ignored the pimples on his forehead and the distinct lack of a chin when someone broke us apart, said, ‘My turn, I think,’ and I looked up into the handsome, smiling face of Romain.

I stared at him with my mouth open. His hair shone just as I remembered and his expensive garments, tonight covered by a worn cloak of indeterminate colour, stood out in this company of the lowly like a ruby on a midden.

‘You don’t live here!’ I gasped, totally lost for any more intelligent comment.

‘No,’ he agreed, dancing along with the rest, his hand tightly clutching mine and pumping it up and down as if he were drawing water. ‘But I’m sure you’re glad to see me, all the same!’

‘I am, oh, I am!’ I agreed fervently. ‘I’ve been looking after my sister — you know, the one whose wedding you came to.’

‘Oh — er, yes.’

Of course, I reminded myself, he didn’t know Goda, he was from Cerdic’s side. He was a friend of my brother-in-law, which, naturally, must be why he was here now. This put me in an awkward position. I hadn’t seen Cerdic at the feast and, as I’ve said, I had a pretty good idea where he was. But if I told Romain, for one thing it might reveal more about the state of my sister’s marriage than ought to be revealed to an outsider and for another, Romain might well go off to find Cerdic and therefore stop dancing with me.

I said nothing.

We danced on — he was very good, light on his feet and as practised in the steps of the old dances as any of the villagers — and presently I noticed that he had guided me to the edge of the clearing where the surrounding trees cast deep shadows.

Was this deliberate? Did he want to be alone with me in the darkness? Did he want to kiss me?

The thought was both thrilling and alarming. Nobody had kissed me like that before. I was young for my age — all my female relatives kept saying so — and my body was boyishly straight. The sensible part of my mind had already worked out that Romain must have something other than sex in mind when abruptly he stopped dancing, dragged me to a halt beside him and, ducking down beneath the trees, whispered, ‘There’s someone else here who wants to see you.’

My sweet and short-lived little fantasy of collapsing into Romain’s strong and manly arms as his firm mouth found mine gave a wave of its flirtatious hand and melted away.

I followed Romain through the undergrowth. I had no choice, for he had hold of my wrist and I could not break away. He moved quickly and, afraid that my beautiful shawl would be snagged on a bramble and spoiled, I said quite sharply, ‘Slow down!’

To my great surprise, for he seemed preoccupied and intent, he did. Then, after progressing more decorously through the thin woodland for perhaps another hundred paces, we emerged into an open space where a shallow stream ran over stones. Somebody was there, leaning against a tree. He stepped forward into the moonlight and I saw that it was Sibert.

We had not parted on good terms. I said rudely, ‘What do you want?’

He gave a guilty smile, just like Squeak when he’s been found out in some bit of mischief he thought he’d got away with. ‘Now, Lassair, don’t be unkind,’ he began, holding out his hands palm down and patting at the air as if by so doing he would soothe me out of my anger. ‘You-’

‘I thought you were my friend,’ I shouted, ignoring his protest, ‘and did you come to see me when I was told I had to come and look after Goda? Did you sympathize and promise that you’d come to visit me in my exile, if you were allowed to? Did you even bother to say goodbye?’

‘I-’

‘No you didn’t!’ I answered for him, at a considerably higher volume than he would have done. ‘You were barely speaking to me at Goda’s wedding and afterwards you — you — disappeared, and I didn’t know if I’d offended you or if it wasn’t just me and you were cross with the whole world, and you never gave me the chance to find out because every time I saw you, you ran away!’

I stopped, listening to the echoes of my furious words on the still air. Goodness, I hadn’t realized how much his defection had hurt me and now, oh, no, now I’d blurted it out and neither of us could be in any doubt at all.

I felt deeply embarrassed. I felt the hot blood flush up into my face and was very glad of the darkness. All cats are grey in the dark, they say, and hopefully, by the same token, all faces too.

After a moment Romain cleared his throat and said diplomatically, ‘Er, actually, Lassair, I’m afraid it’s all my fault.’

I spun round to face him. ‘All what?’ I demanded.

‘Um — Sibert’s preoccupation. His disappearance.’

Disappearance? I was puzzled. ‘You mean he left the village? He left Aelf Fen, with you, and that’s why I didn’t see him?’ No, that couldn’t be right, because I had seen Sibert once or twice, but he had refused to meet my eyes or speak to me.

‘No,’ Romain said. He took a deep breath and then went on, ‘I have asked Sibert to do something for — I should say, with me. We are’ — he paused and shot a glance at Sibert — ‘conspirators. Accomplices.’

‘Oh,’ I breathed. It sounded alarming. Intriguing. Exciting. I thought they had better explain. ‘What exactly do you mean?’

Again, Romain sent that quick glance at Sibert. I could have been mistaken — the only light, after all, was from the moon and the stars — but I thought I saw Romain give a tiny nod. Probably I did, because it was Sibert who spoke.

‘Romain and I have much in common,’ he began pompously, and I almost laughed because, as far as I was concerned, they could not have been more different and all that united them was their age, although Romain was maybe two or three years older. ‘You don’t understand,’ Sibert was hurrying on huffily, as if he’d sensed my reaction, ‘but it is the truth. We have decided to combine our efforts to achieve a certain clandestine purpose, and it is profoundly in both our interests to do so.’

He was speaking, but the words did not make much sense. Furthermore, they did not sound like Sibert’s natural speech. I’d never heard him use words like clandestine and profoundly and I was almost sure that, although Sibert was doing the talking, Romain had told him what to say.

‘So what is this great purpose?’ I asked, not disguising the sarcasm. ‘What is it going to gain and why’ — I really ought to have asked this first — ‘are you telling me?’

‘The purpose involves a search,’ Romain said smoothly. ‘I know the rough location where the search must be carried out and Sibert knows about the — er, the object of the search. It is quite possible, indeed likely, that we will find what we seek ourselves. However, Sibert has told me that you have a very particular talent, and so we thought it was worthwhile approaching you to see if you would care to help us.’

‘I’m a dowser,’ I said shortly. I was becoming tired of his flowery way of speaking.

‘Yes, I know.’ He gave me a beaming smile. ‘So, would you like to help us?’

My suspicions were growing. He was making it sound as if it would be quite useful to have me along, although far from essential. Yet he had started to sweat and the muscles of his jaw were working and I knew that a great deal depended on my answer.

I knew I was going to say yes. Whatever this business was all about, it was just too enticing to refuse. But I decided to make them wait.

‘What sort of help would you want?’ I asked, making my voice feeble and scared. ‘Finding something, I realize that, but where would I have to look? Here?’ I looked around me. ‘In Aelf Fen?’

‘Neither, exactly,’ Romain said cautiously. ‘You — in fact, Lassair, our purpose would necessitate a journey.’

‘A long journey?’ I was finding it hard to keep up the pretence of nervous little ninny, but I did my best. ‘Oh, I don’t know if I’d be brave enough for that.’

Sibert, I noticed, was eyeing me closely. I had better be careful.

‘Oh, not that long!’ Romain gave a very false-sounding laugh. ‘We have to go — er — to the coast.’

The nearest sea to where we stood was about thirty miles north. Eastwards, it was maybe forty-five or fifty miles. ‘Oh dear,’ I whispered, ‘that sounds a very great distance.’ I was thinking hard, for I urgently needed to know more about this business than they seemed prepared to tell me. ‘How long would I be away? I’m looking after Goda, you know, and I don’t think she would want me to leave her, especially now when the baby’s birth will surely be quite soon.’

‘She must not know where you’re going!’ Sibert said quickly. ‘You can’t tell anyone, Lassair!’

I certainly can’t unless you first tell me, I almost said. I stopped myself. ‘Then I suppose I would have to think of an excuse,’ I said, frowning as if this was going to be difficult.

‘Can you do that?’ Romain asked, unable to keep the anxiety out of his voice. ‘Can you tell a convincing lie?’ He didn’t know me very well.

‘Oh, I expect so,’ I replied innocently. I felt Sibert’s quick, suspicious glance. He, on the other hand, knew me much better.

‘Do you mean you’ll come with us?’ Romain said. He was standing right beside me now, almost breathless as he waited to hear what I would say.

I pretended to think. ‘If we must travel for as much as fifty miles, do this search for whatever it is and then come back again, we must surely be away for several days and-’

‘We shall travel fast,’ Romain interrupted eagerly. ‘The weather is fine, the roads and tracks are dry. We may be able to cover as much as twenty miles in each march.’

‘There’s plenty of daylight at this time of year,’ I added.

The two of them exchanged a look. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to travel after dark,’ Romain said.

I had a feeling he would say that. ‘Because all of this is so secret?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘Yes. So secret that you won’t be able to seek permission to make the journey. In fact, Sibert shouldn’t even be here now, which is why you had to meet him out here in the woods.’

Oh. Not only did I seem to have agreed to act as treasure-seeker for these two conspirators, but I was about to compound my potential misdemeanours by setting out on a considerable journey — to the sea! Oh, it was exciting! I’d never in my life seen the sea! — without the knowledge or agreement of the lord.

This should have made me come to my senses and say a courteous but very firm no. I was not quite sure what sort of trouble a girl of my age would land in if caught absconding from the manor without permission but I knew it would be grave. Very grave, and probably not only for me. But then I thought of Goda, moaning and sweating in her smelly bed. I thought of how furious she would be if — probably when — she discovered that I’d drugged her so that I could disobey her explicit command and go out to join in the Midsummer’s Eve celebrations. Life in her house was already miserably hard. How much more would I have to suffer when she heard how I’d tricked her?

As I prepared to give them my answer, I was already planning what I would say to my sister to justify the sudden urgent need to be away from her for perhaps as long as a week.

That was going to be the easy part.