But she was Sibert’s mother, and it would have been unkind to say so. I smiled at him and said, in what I hoped sounded a reassuring tone, ‘No, I shouldn’t — just bring Edild.’ He still looked anxious so I added, trying to make a joke, ‘I don’t suppose that leaky old boat would hold three of you!’
He tried to smile back, but it was a poor attempt. Then he opened the door just enough to get through the gap, quickly closing it behind him.
Alone with my patient again, I knelt beside Hrype and tried not to think how long it was going to be before my aunt Edild arrived.
EIGHTEEN
They came for Gewis at dusk. All four of his guardians stepped into his cell, and in the first anxious moment he had the impression that they had taken pains to smarten themselves up. The dark robes had been brushed free of dust and food stains, and the men had washed their faces and hands. One of them still had damp hair.
The largest of the quartet indicated to Gewis to get up off his bed, then said, ‘Come with us.’
‘Where are we going?’ Gewis’s voice was little more than a squeak.
There was no answer. The four men fell into step around him and as they marched him along — he noticed with a hysterical desire to giggle that, walking two abreast, their broad shoulders brushed against the walls of the narrow passage — he heard the clink of metal.
His guardians were armed. In what must surely be a brazen flouting of the rules of the abbey, all four wore swords.
Gewis’s fear increased.
They emerged from the maze of passages and into the huge open space where the new cathedral was being built. Gewis risked a quick look. His eyes fastened on the ancient wall and from out of nowhere he felt a sudden surge of strength, as if someone had slipped in beside him and silently offered their support. It was a heartening sensation, and he welcomed it.
The guards escorted him through the abbey gate, the one in the lead giving a brief nod to the monk on duty there. Then they were out in the marketplace, quiet now with the day’s business over and only a few people still about, and they set off down a street leading off it.
Gewis suddenly remembered what the prior had said about the need for him to have more exercise out in the fresh air. So that is the explanation for this excursion, he thought. They have waited until now, when the town is settling for the night, to minimize the risk of my calling out to someone for help and. .
But he had guessed wrongly, for the guardian on his right had stopped in front of a stoutly built and well-maintained house a few yards along the street. He knocked on the door, which was opened almost immediately by a manservant dressed in good wool hose and a fine tunic. The servant inspected the four guardians, and then his glance fell on Gewis. His eyes widened, and then he looked away. With a jerk of his head he ushered them inside and firmly closed the door, putting a bar in place to secure it. Then he said, ‘Follow me, please.’
He led the way across a stone-flagged hall and then into a small room that led off it. A fire blazed in the hearth, and there were torches set in brackets on the walls. Two elaborately carved wooden chairs stood either side of the hearth. One was unoccupied and in the other sat a thin man dressed in a flowing gown of deep-red velvet that must once have been beautiful but now showed signs of long wear. He had grey hair that reached his shoulders and pale blue eyes. The flesh of his face was drawn tightly over the bones of his skull, and his hands on the arms of his chair were as skinny as claws. On the middle finger of his right hand was a heavy gold ring that bore a huge red stone. He sat straining forward as he stared at Gewis, giving him the air of a hungry bird of prey.
Gewis did not know who he was, although he thought he could guess. Instinctively, he feared him.
‘Gewis, how good it is to welcome you to this house,’ the man said, in a voice that tried too hard to cover desperate need with feigned friendship. ‘Come, sit by the fire — ’ he indicated the other chair — ‘and let us offer you food and drink. What will you take? Are you hungry? Do you prefer beer or wine?’
Gewis did not really want a drink, and he did not think he could have forced food down his dry, contracted throat. He noticed a pewter jug set down by the hearth and, from the steam rising from it and the delicious smell, thought it must be hot, spiced wine. ‘Is that wine?’ he asked.
‘Yes indeed,’ said the man, beaming, ‘fine red wine from France, sweet and spicy! Will you have some with me?’
‘All right.’
The man snapped his fingers and a servant appeared. He was a different man from the one who had opened the door. He bore a tray on which there were two silver goblets, which he filled from the jug and handed to his master and Gewis. Gewis looked at the goblet. It was old, and the lively, swirling decoration of stylized animals was, although worn, still quite clearly the work of a true artist. Gewis sipped the wine. He tasted ginger, cloves, cinnamon, honey. It was delicious. He took a second, larger sip and gulped it down, the sound of his swallow too loud in the room. He felt the heat rush into his face and dropped his head, embarrassed.
‘Drink, drink, my young friend!’ the man encouraged him. ‘The night is cold, and you have lived for many days on the adequate but basic fare of the monks.’
‘I have no complaints,’ Gewis said stiffly.
‘Good, that is good, but nevertheless I must apologize for the fact that we had to lodge you there.’ The man’s face wore an expression of regret that was like a parody. ‘Our only concern was for your safety, and-’
Emboldened by the wine, Gewis burst out, ‘Why must I be kept in safety? Who is it that threatens me?’
The man studied him for a long moment. Then he said, ‘Yes, it is time, I think for explanations.’ He glanced at the four guardians, who shuffled outside the room and closed the door. ‘Now then. First, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Edmund. I am known as Lord Edmund the Exile, for I have spent much of my life far from this land where my ancestors long lived and flourished.’ His face clouded as if with some bitter memory. ‘From afar my kinsmen and I have been forced to witness the rape of our homeland by our enemy. Always our minds and our hearts have bent towards England, but we are few, our bloodlines weak and diluted by time and ill fortune.’ He sighed, running a hand over his lean face. ‘We have maintained our purpose by our hope in the future. We prayed to the gods and to our forefathers that the day would come when one would step out of the shadows and lead us back to our rightful place. We observed, we recorded the crucial events, we saw our hopes raised and then dashed. Now the moment has come at last, and everything is being set in place for our triumphant return to glory.’ He beamed at Gewis.
I have no idea what he is talking about, Gewis thought wildly. Is all that supposed to mean something to me? He frowned in concentration, for the man — Lord Edmund — clearly expected him to comment. And slowly, emerging like a distant figure approaching out of the mist, Gewis remembered something.
He thought of his father, embittered, angry, struggling to complete a difficult piece of carpentry. He saw him throw down the tool, an expression of frustration on his face as he shouted at his wife cowering in the corner. Gewis saw the long days of his childhood and recognized the fear that had always hung about the house. He remembered his feeble, unsatisfactory conclusion: that somewhere, at some time, somebody had cheated his father, robbing him of something that would have allowed him and his family to lead a better, happier, wealthier, easier life. .
Was that what this was all about? Was this man, this Lord Edmund, at last going to reveal to Gewis the secret of his past?
Praying that he had guessed right, Gewis said, ‘What has this to do with me?’