‘It’s a wizard’s house,’ I said softly. ‘I expect concealing it comes easily to someone like Gurdyman.’ I didn’t think my father heard; if he did, he did not acknowledge the remark. It was, I expect, implicit of things he didn’t really want to think about.
‘You’ll be safe in Cambridge,’ my father reiterated.
He was right. Without being aware of the details of how it was achieved — I wasn’t sure I wanted to know — I was quite certain, beyond any doubt, that no bearded stranger, even a giant one, would be able to harm me once I was under Gurdyman’s roof.
The fact that my father was apparently aware of this, too, suggested that perhaps he thought about arcane and magical matters rather more than I’d imagined.
Early the next morning, my father and I presented ourselves up at Lakehall. Lord Gilbert’s reeve, Bermund, greeted us — if opening the big door the merest crack and peering out with a look of deep suspicion qualifies as a greeting. Bermund may be secretive and withdrawn, unsmiling and a bit rat-like in his appearance, but he’s reasonable. Once my father had explained our presence, Bermund had a think, sniffed, then nodded curtly and opened the door a little wider. ‘You’d better come in,’ he said with obvious reluctance. ‘I will enquire whether Lord Gilbert is willing to receive you.’
I did not dare meet my father’s eyes, and I’m sure he felt the same. After a moment, Bermund returned and, without a word, jerked his head in the direction of the big hall. Lord Gilbert sat at a large table by the hearth, alone, a muddle of tattered and much-handled pieces of vellum spread out in front of him, a quill in his hand and ink all over his fingers. He looked up at us with a smile, as if any distraction from his task was welcome.
‘Good morning, Wymond!’ he exclaimed. ‘Eels thriving?’
‘They are, my lord,’ my father replied gravely.
Lord Gilbert turned to me. ‘And, er …?’
‘Lassair,’ I prompted.
‘Lassair, Lassair, yes, Lassair,’ Lord Gilbert said enthusiastically, perhaps hoping that repetition would at last commit my name to his memory. ‘Our apprentice healer!’
At least he recalled my profession. ‘It is time for me to return to my studies in Cambridge, my lord,’ I said quickly, capitalizing on the moment. ‘With your permission,’ I added respectfully.
‘Of course, of course,’ Lord Gilbert responded. ‘The more you know, the more use you are to your own community. Eh, Wymond?’ He turned to my father.
‘Indeed, Lord Gilbert,’ my father said. Then, his face intent, he went on, ‘My lord, I have come to ask your leave to escort my daughter to Cambridge. There have been certain attacks on members of my family, and I am concerned-’
‘Yes, yes, so I hear,’ Lord Gilbert interrupted. ‘Bermund has kept me informed, and I had half-expected you to come before now, Wymond. I am always here, when my village faces a threat!’
It was true, I reflected. Up to a point.
‘There is nothing I would ask for, my lord, except this one concession,’ my father said. ‘I would not risk my daughter’s safety by making her travel unprotected from here to Cambridge.’
‘And nor shall you,’ Lord Gilbert said grandly. ‘You have my permission to escort her, Wymond.’ Turning to me, he wagged an inky finger. ‘Take care that you work hard, child, so that you repay our faith in you!’
I bowed my head, pretending meekness, and muttered, ‘Yes, my lord.’ I kept my head down; I didn’t want Lord Gilbert to see my expression. I did not need a bumbling fool like him to tell me to work hard. Gurdyman would not give me the option of doing anything but my best, and the most vital stimulus of all was my own hunger to learn.
My father dug me in the ribs, and I managed a sincere-sounding, ‘Thank you, Lord Gilbert,’ as we turned and hurried out of the hall. Once we were out of the courtyard and on the track leading back to the village, my father leaned down and said quietly, ‘No need to antagonize him, Lassair. You and I both know you are a great deal cleverer than him, but there’s no need to tell him.’ I heard a smile in his voice, and glanced up to verify it. ‘Our masters hold the ordering of our days in their hands, be they worthy of the responsibility or not,’ he continued, ‘and there is nothing we can do about it. Be thankful, child, that Lord Gilbert has a wise wife, and enough sense to listen to her.’
My father was right, as he usually is. Lord Gilbert’s wife is Lady Emma, and I’m sure I’m not the only resident of Aelf Fen who appreciates that it is she who is responsible for the good things that happen to us. She agreed with my aunt when Edild suggested I should be trained as a healer; I’ve never known if Lady Emma spotted some latent talent in me, or if, knowing and trusting Edild, she was prepared to take her word for it. The latter, I suspect. Then, when the chance arose for me to study with my Cambridge wizard — not that anyone except Hrype, me and Gurdyman himself would refer to him as such — I’m all but certain it was Lady Emma who pointed out to Lord Gilbert the advantages that my new knowledge would provide for their family and the village.
It’s just as well, I suppose, that in addition to hinting at magic so potent that it makes me shake with fear, Gurdyman also instructs me on more practical matters. I like and admire Lady Emma, and it would not feel right to deceive her.
My father and I were back in the village. I ran inside our house to bid farewell to my mother, then I picked up the bag containing my few possessions. My father took it from me, swinging it up over his shoulder as if it contained no more than a handful of feathers. He gave me a smile. ‘Ready?’
Excitement bubbled up in me. ‘Ready!’
The day was fine, the going was easy, and we made good time. We picked up a ride for the long stretch that runs south-east of the Wicken peninsular, and, by the time we stopped at midday to eat our bread and cheese, there were only a few miles to go.
It was a rare delight to have my father to myself. Walking along side by side, we talked incessantly. He works so hard, and makes such strenuous efforts to care for and protect his family, that the deep, thoughtful side to his character is easily missed. A man like Lord Gilbert, for example, would doubtless think that his favourite eel catcher’s head is as empty of anything other than the basics of day-to-day life as his own. Not many people know of my father’s true nature, and I’m only thankful that I am one of them.
My father spoke of Alvela. I had assumed, since he had rarely seen his late sister and did not appear to have much to say to her when he did, that they had not been close; not in the way that he and Edild are. Alvela, I had always thought, was of the same level of importance as my father’s two elder brothers: all three kin, and therefore always linked to him through the blood, but not necessarily people with whom he chose to spend his small, precious amount of free time. To hear him speak of his youngest sibling — Alvela was marginally the younger of the twins — made me appreciate that love takes many forms. Through his eyes, I saw the nervous, tense woman I knew as my aunt as she’d been when a girl, worrying because she could not grasp things as quickly as her sister. I saw her as a young adult, secretly in love with the flint knapper who would become her husband, and desperate because she believed he hadn’t even noticed the self-effacing girl who adored him from afar.
I think that sharing his memories with me was my father’s way of grieving for her. My mother hadn’t liked Alvela — they just didn’t get on — and I imagine that my father’s tender reflections would have received short shrift at home. When finally he fell silent, I saw him wipe tears from his face. I gave him a moment to recover, then quietly reached out and took his hand.
Once or twice, as we walked and talked, I felt as if part of me was trying to catch my attention. Trying, perhaps, to warn me. I ignored it. I was with my big, strong father. No harm could possibly come to me when he was there to protect me.