The old woman cackled. Then, while I, too, was still chuckling, she said in a very different tone, ‘What do you want with Asfrior?’
I sensed she cared about her neighbour and was protective of her. I said quickly, ‘I mean her no harm. I heard that she had lost her husband and-’ I was floundering, for I did not want to touch on the highly sensitive matter of the pale youth — Gewis — and his mystifying secret unless I had no choice.
Fortunately, the old woman appeared to be convinced that I had no malicious intent towards her neighbour. ‘She’s not done well since her man died,’ she said.
‘How did he die?’ I asked. It might be relevant.
‘He was quite a bit older than Asfrior,’ the old woman said with a shake of her head. ‘Twenty years or so, I’d say, and when the lad was born some took Edulf for his grandfather. Asfrior weren’t much more than a girl, see.’
‘They were happy?’
‘That they were, or as happy as Edulf would ever be. He loved his young wife and his babe, no doubt of that, but he were ever a melancholy man, sad, brooding, as if something was eating at him.’
I thought about that. Could this something be related to the deadly secret? ‘Did he ever hint at what it might be?’ I asked tentatively.
The old woman slowly shook her head. ‘No, I can’t say that he did. There were hints that something had happened to his father — that’d be Gewis’s grandfather — and I once heard a whisper that he — the grandfather — had suffered some terrible fate. As for Edulf himself, though, I never knew what ailed him.’ Then the sharp eyes met mine. ‘Didn’t stop me speculating though.’
‘And what did you conclude?’
‘Didn’t like the life he led,’ she answered promptly. ‘Resented the hardships. Seemed to think he deserved better.’ Edulf, clearly, had got up her nose with his attitude. ‘Instead of appreciating what he had — good, hard-working wife, pretty little child, plenty of jobs to get on with and a fair reputation as an honest craftsman, for all that he didn’t have much flair — he sat around moping and complaining.’
‘Did he-’
But she hadn’t finished. ‘Course, he always looked too fragile for this world,’ she said critically. ‘That deadly white skin and the strange, pale hair made him look more like something from the spirit realm than a flesh and blood man, and he were so straw-straight and thin that you’d think a good easterly wind would blow him away.’
So my pale youth had inherited his colouring and his shape from his father. . Realizing that the old woman still had not said how he had died, I asked again.
‘He went off to work on some grand new building where they wanted nothing but the best craftsmen,’ she said with a disapproving sniff, ‘and that were a surprise in itself because, like I said, you’d get a satisfactory job out of Edulf but no more than that and he weren’t what I’d have called the best, nowhere near.’ Her eyes narrowed as she thought back. ‘Went off all in a lather and in such a hurry that he forgot his tools and Asfrior went after him with them. Next thing we know, he’s had an accident and he’s broken his neck.’
‘An accident?’ I felt a thrill of apprehension.
‘Story went he was perched up high on the scaffolding working on a carving and reached too far.’
It was utterly plausible and such accidents were common. Building sites were perilous places, and I had heard muttered dark tales out of the past to the effect that each great new construction had to have its human sacrifice. With an effort I brought my thoughts back to the present. I exchanged a glance with the old woman, and I had the clear impression that, despite the dangers inherent in a carpenter’s work, she didn’t believe the story of Edulf’s accident any more than I did. Whatever violent drama was being played out around Gewis appeared to have had its origin in the earlier generation: with his father Edulf. Or perhaps even further back, with his grandfather who had met a terrible fate. .
The old woman was chattering on, describing how Edulf’s body was brought back for burial and how his widow had been desperate in her grief. But I was barely listening. Asfrior still hadn’t returned — we would surely have heard her if she had, for the walls of the cottages were thin — and I was struck with the thought that I had sixteen miles to walk before nightfall. I stood up, thanked my old woman and, with a haste that was far from courteous after she had been so hospitable, made my excuses and left.
The cottage next door was, as I had expected, still empty. I wrapped my cloak round me and headed out of the village.
I had cleared the village and was walking fast towards the place where the ancient straight track branched off to the north when suddenly something caught at the edge of my mind. I pinned it down: it was a remark that my old woman had made, and I concentrated hard, trying to remember exactly what she had said. She had said she’d heard Asfrior early in the morning, getting ready to go to market. She’d heard sounds of movement then it was quiet. Yes, all that was unexceptional, but it wasn’t what had aroused my interest — and, I had to admit, my alarm. The sounds of movement were not all, and in my head I listened to the old woman’s words: Heard voices, see.
But Asfrior had been alone. Her husband was dead and her son, as I well knew, was in Ely. I saw those four burly men in my mind’s eye, and I heard again what one of them had said only an hour or so ago: It is safe now.
Dread filled my mind.
What should I do? Where should I look? I had seen him approaching the crossroads, and his remark suggested he had already done what he had come to do. I went over to stare down in the ditch on the right side of the path, still looking intently as slowly I walked back towards Fulbourn. When I was close enough to the village that anyone happening to look up could have seen me, I turned round, crossed to the opposite side and, still staring into the ditch, headed back to where I had begun the search.
I found nothing in the ditch. But, just before I reached my starting point, I became aware of the sound of carrion birds, cawing loudly and repeatedly. I looked up. In a small copse in the corner of the field before me I saw perhaps fifty crows, settling on the ground, pecking, fighting among themselves and fluttering up in the air, only to settle back down again almost immediately. They were so intent that many did not move away until I was all but on top of them.
They had already taken the eyes, and the pale face that gazed sightless up into the sky was bloody with peck marks. The blow to the head that must have killed her stood out big as an apple and dark against the smooth brow.
I turned and ran as fast as I can back to the village. I went to the baker and as soon as he saw me all thoughts of chancing his luck for another pinch fled. With nothing but concern on his friendly face, he said, ‘What is it, lass? You look terrible! Sit down, let me-’
‘There’s a body,’ I gasped. ‘A woman. She’s in the copse at the end of that field.’ I pointed.
‘Are you sure she’s dead?’
‘Yes! Yes!’ The living do not allow crows to peck out their eyes. I fought off the nausea as with my mind’s eye I saw her again.
The baker was already busy. He called out three or four names and other men materialized on the road. He muttered something and the group hurried away towards the copse. One slipped inside a house and returned carrying a hurdle. I followed behind.
When I caught up with them they were standing, heads bowed and caps in their hands, around the body. I already knew who she was and when one murmured, ‘Poor woman. Poor, sad Asfrior,’ I was not in the least surprised.
There was a long silence as the men absorbed the shock. Then one said, ‘Reckon she must have tripped and hit her head.’
The others nodded their agreement.
Two of the men leaned down to the body and gently put it on the hurdle. It didn’t look as if Asfrior weighed very much. Then they took up the ends and slowly bore her back to the village.