My guardians must surely be watching over me. The thought gave me so much comfort that, at long last, I felt able to leave the quayside and think about what I should do next.
FIFTEEN
As I was walking away from the quayside I heard someone call my name. I stopped, not turning round, for I knew who it was. I waited for him to catch me up then looked up at him and said, ‘Hrype. You are back then.’
‘Good day to you, Lassair.’
I thought he appeared dejected. ‘You did not find Sibert?’
It was quite gratifying to see the surprise in his eyes, for when I left him to set out for Fulbourn he had given no hint at what he was going to do. He managed not to ask me how I knew; instead, he said, ‘I went to the house where I dwelt during the rebellion, and I met a woman I knew. She was only a child when I was last here, but I remembered her. I worked with her mother. The woman — her name is Yorath — told me where to find her mother.’
‘She does not live here at Ely,’ I said absently. I remembered Yorath telling Sibert and me that the old woman lived somewhere out on the fens.
‘No.’
Hrype had, I guessed, just got off a boat from some other fenland settlement. ‘So you went to see this old woman to see if Sibert was there?’
‘Yes.’
Nobody can extract information from Hrype when he doesn’t want to give it. Nevertheless, I did not give up quite yet. ‘Why did you think Sibert would seek her out? Because she was here on the island with all of you when your brother was fatally wounded and now he wants to-’
He did not let me finish. ‘Lassair, enough.’
‘But-’
‘Enough.’
Just sometimes Hrype loses the tiniest edge of control and allows those close to him to see a pinhole glimpse of his awesome power. This was one of those times. I felt as if the sharp end of a whip had cut across my face, and I suppressed a cry at the sudden fiery pain.
He knew, of course he did. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. He put up his hand and very gently touched his fingertips to my throbbing flesh. It felt as if a block of ice was melting there, and the pain vanished.
So, I thought ruefully, I’m not allowed to ask about Sibert. It was hugely frustrating because it was the very thing I was desperate to know. My friend had gone off on a quest to find out about his past and, knowing him as I did, I was well aware he would be neither sensible nor cautious as he went about it. He was very likely to run into trouble and virtually certain to need someone to help him out. That someone ought to be me, but if I didn’t know where he had gone and what he was doing how could it be?
My one consolation was that Hrype knew Sibert as well if not better than I did. Would he, who of course knew all about the family’s past, have a shrewd idea of what it was Sibert was trying to find out? Yes, he would, and if Sibert looked like running into danger then Hrype would go to his aid.
Wouldn’t he?
It dawned on me as Hrype and I made our way back to our lodging that, if both he and Sibert had been off the island last night, neither of them could have crept into the room and stealthily gone through the contents of my satchel. I opened my mouth to tell Hrype about the intruder but something stopped me. Pride, probably. If he wasn’t going to share his anxieties with me, then why should I involve him in mine? He was evidently far more concerned with Sibert than with my pale monk. Well, I could deal with that; I would just have to help Gewis on my own.
When we reached our little room it became clear that Hrype had only returned to see if there was any sign of Sibert, for after a quick look round his face fell into a deep frown and his shoulders slumped in disappointment.
‘What will you do?’ I asked.
Hrype did not appear to have heard. He was staring down at the place where Sibert slept, eyes wide and fixed as if trying to read news of his nephew from the straw. Then, with the most cursory nod at me, he drew his cloak around him and swept out.
Slowly, I lowered myself down on to my mattress. I could still sense the echo of Hrype in the little room — it felt like a whirling wind — and I waited until it had settled and all was still. Then I thought about what I was going to do next.
I had already realized that it was up to me to help Gewis. The sensible thing would have been to decide, quite reasonably, that one sixteen year old girl on her own could do little or nothing against the sort of power that for some unknown reason was guarding him. If I was right, then whatever mystery surrounded him went back at least one and probably two generations. His grandfather had met an undisclosed but terrible fate; his father had died in a suspicious accident; his mother had just been murdered. In addition, two eel catchers had been killed because the men who held Gewis believed they were my cousin Morcar, who had witnessed them taking Gewis into the abbey. A young nun had been attacked because they thought she was the woman who had gone inside the abbey and actually spoken to Gewis.
I knew full well that I ought to pack up my belongings, admit that this was all far too big for me and set off for home there and then.
I didn’t. I would like to say that it was because I kept picturing the fear in Gewis’s eyes and because I wanted to be the one to break the news about his poor mother; I had a feeling none of his quartet of guardians would tell him. This might have been part of my reason, but it was not the driving force.
I had stumbled across a mystery and I knew I wouldn’t rest until I found out what was going on.
I sat there for a long time. Then, realizing that the afternoon was swiftly passing, I made myself eat, although I was too tense with excitement and apprehension to have much appetite. Then I cleared away the remains, took my platter and mug to rinse them, and put them back on the shelf. I unwound my hair, brushed it out and then plaited it very tightly and wound the braids closely around my head.
Sibert could only have taken a small pack with him, for the majority of his possessions were in their bag beside his mattress. I took out his spare hose and a jerkin — they smelt of Sibert, and for a moment I just stood there full of anxiety for him — and, stripping off my own garments, put them on. The hose were too long, for Sibert is quite a bit taller than I am, but I folded them over at the top and they did not look too bad. I fastened my own belt around the tunic. Sibert is slim, so it was quite a good fit. My knife in its sheath was on my belt; I touched it for luck. I drew on my boots and pulled a woolly cap over my tightly wound hair. Then I ran my hands down over my body from the crown of my head to my knees, trying to see myself as I would appear to others. Thankful in that moment for my boyish figure, I reckoned I would pass muster to all but the most intent stare.
I was ready. Now it was just a question of waiting for the right moment.
I judged it right. As the light began to fail I made my way to the marketplace and stood for a while observing the comings and goings in and out of the abbey. The working day was ending and most of the traffic was coming out. A few men and boys were still going in; a man took a load of timber ready for the morning; a lad hurried through the gates carrying a loaf of bread and a mug of beer, presumably supper for some man still busy finishing a tricky task. I took a breath, sent a silent appeal to my guardians and, imagining Fox pacing on soft pads beside me, his ears pricked and his luxuriant tail slowly swishing to and fro, I slipped in behind two older men arguing about a delivery of stone and found myself inside the abbey.
I had already decided where I would hide. There was a cemetery to the north side of the site of the new cathedral, and its margins were being used as a store for materials. There were piles of stone, some dressed, some raw, and quantities of timber lay in tidy stacks. I slipped behind a delivery of timber that reared up as high as my shoulder and crouched down to wait for darkness.