‘We do,’ Rollo said.
‘Good.’ The big man nodded. Then, standing up, he said, ‘In that case, I’m going to help you.’
THIRTEEN
I was awake early the next morning. I’d been dreaming about Granny Cordeilla. She had a skillet in her hand and she said, Use whatever weapon is to hand! As the image receded, I smiled. She’d been a feisty little woman, my Granny Cordeilla, but, in the way of dreams, reality had been altered slightly. It was my mother, not my grandmother, who had once utilized a cooking implement to lay someone out.
Granny’s presence stayed with me as Edild and I began our day. Edild saw a series of patients, and she gave me a long list of tasks. Around noon, she was called to attend the birth of the carpenter’s wife’s first child. I stopped for a bite to eat, then went back to my chores. Now that I was alone, the sense of Granny’s presence intensified.
Whatever weapon is to hand … The more I thought about it, the surer I was that my granny hadn’t been referring to skillets or frying pans. I did have a weapon, of a sort; and it was very closely associated with Granny Cordeilla. Was that what she had meant?
Abandoning my chores, I took the shining stone in its bag out from its hiding place. Then I wrapped myself up in my shawl and, using the rear door, let myself out of the house.
There was really only one place to go. Closely associated as it was with both my grandmother and the shining stone – for the stone had lain hidden with her out there for many years – I struck off across the sodden ground towards the little island where my ancestors lie buried. I knew it was going to be hard going, but the flood waters had receded further overnight and at no point did I get wet higher than my knees. There was, however, no possibility of actually going across to the island; apart from the deep water all around it, only its summit broke the surface.
I made my way to a low rise on which stood a group of willows. Their branches grew thickly, sweeping down close to the ground, and once I had pushed my way within their circle, I was hidden from the casual glance. I found a reasonably dry spot among the roots of the largest tree, sat down and took out the shining stone.
I’d been anticipating the moment when I had a proper look into its depths purely because I wanted to, rather than at another’s request. I’d been both excited and curious, and I’d also been apprehensive. Now that the time had come, apprehension was the dominant emotion, swiftly escalating to fear.
I held the heavy stone in my palms, staring down into it. It was black; shiny, unrelieved black. It was dormant, inert. Nothing was going to happen; I’d-
But then it changed.
I’m not entirely sure what I saw in its depths. I saw vision after vision, one scene succeeding another in the blink of an eye. I saw myself, as I understood myself to be. I saw another me, and it felt as if the shining stone was drawing out of me aspects of myself that had always been there, had I but troubled to look. I had no idea how it was happening – it was as if the stone’s presence in my hands was somehow allowing me to see with far clearer eyes.
It seemed to be aware of my present concerns. It told me things; or, perhaps, it helped me to use my own knowledge, reason and wits to understand what had previously been hidden. It could be that, sensing I had a new and very powerful entity very firmly on my side – there was absolutely no doubting that – I had, for the first time in my life, the confidence truly to be myself; to trust my own judgement.
I leaned back, stretching my neck, shoulders and back, making myself relax, about to wrap the stone in its wool and put it safely away. But it hadn’t finished with me.
Out of nowhere, I saw those narrow eyes again. Now the fierce intent glittered out of them, and the features of the face clarified into an unreadable mask. This was a man intent on violence – of the most brutal, irrevocable sort – yet he was detached; whatever terrible act he was about to do, it would not be performed out of any deep emotion.
Who is he? I asked the question inside my head, praying the stone would answer. I saw a swift succession of images – the track leading out of the village; the drowned woman; Jack and me by the pool where she’d been found; the derelict monastery where we’d slept in the hay. Was this man her murderer? Had I been right when I’d felt his eyes on me, heard the whistle of the knife flying towards me to take my life?
I couldn’t bear any more. Swiftly I covered the stone with my hands, blocking it from my sight. I didn’t know what to do: should I stay where I was, hidden among the bare willows? Should I break cover and run as fast as I could back to the village? But the ground was waterlogged, and fast running all but impossible. He’d spot me instantly, and even my best speed would be no match for that silver blade …
Then I realized something. It might have been the stone, communicating with me; it might have been my own common sense, fighting to be heard, but, when I made myself stop to think, I noticed that I wasn’t afraid. Whoever it was, watching and waiting his moment, just then he was no threat to me. I was safe; but I wasn’t the only one who mattered.
I had to go …
I looked down at the stone. Did I trust it? Did I trust myself?
As if I was watching someone else, I saw myself put the stone back in its bag and stand up. I brushed down my skirts, wrapped my shawl around me and strode out from under the willows, setting off for the village at a steady pace that was nowhere near a panicky run.
I had my answer.
It was late afternoon when I reached the village. I’d been out for hours; far longer than I’d thought. I wondered if the shining stone somehow altered the perception of time. It seemed quite possible. I let myself into Edild’s house, and saw straight away that she was not back. I poked up the fire, building it up until I had a cheery blaze, then set water on to boil in order to prepare food. I was ravenous, and Edild would need to eat when she came in.
Presently there was a knock on the door. I got up, opened it and saw Jack standing outside. I felt a huge wave of relief. I’d known it would be him. ‘Come in,’ I said.
He did so, settling on the floor beside the fire and holding out his hands to the flames. ‘That feels good,’ he murmured. Then, raising his eyes to look at me, he said, ‘I came looking for you earlier. Nobody was at home.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Why did you want to see me?’
‘I thought you might have come with me again to help me look for Harald Fensman’s clan,’ he said. ‘I wanted-’ But then he stopped, and whatever he’d been about to add remained unsaid.
‘Did you have any luck?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘And you were going to talk to Lady Rosaria last night – did you?’
‘Not for long,’ he replied. ‘Lord Gilbert is very protective. A sheriff’s officer is not permitted to interrogate a lady.’ His tone was carefully neutral.
‘Do you think she’s recovering?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I can say, since I’ve never known what’s wrong with her. What do you think, healer woman?’
I made myself concentrate. It wasn’t easy, when other things were batting about in my head, clamouring to be said. All in good time, I told myself. ‘Undoubtedly she’s had some very bad experience,’ I said. ‘She, her baby son and her maid took ship from their home in northern Spain to Bordeaux, where they changed vessels and came up to Lynn aboard The Good Shepherd. The maid was very sick, and had to be helped ashore at Lynn. Lady Rosaria and her son then went on to Cambridge alone.’ I looked at Jack. ‘Can it be that the maid falling ill and perhaps dying was enough to cause Lady Rosaria’s state of deep shock?’
He shrugged. ‘What else is there?’
I thought for a moment. ‘Did she speak of her circumstances back in Spain? She mentioned her husband’s father, but was there anyone else?’