Hrype could see in her face that she was at a loss. Nevertheless, she tried, and, quickly becoming absorbed in the challenge, soon had drawn a wiggling line that made abrupt turns here and there, passed swiftly-sketched trees and buildings, and finally ran off the edge of the parchment. ‘Aelf Fen is sort of there,’ she said, pointing to a place halfway across the table.’
Gurdyman smiled. ‘A good attempt,’ he observed, ‘although I fear your drawing would not help me find your village if I did not already know where it was.’
‘Oh.’ She looked downcast.
‘Do not be distressed,’ Gurdyman said brightly. ‘Many wise men are working on this problem, and not a few do worse than you, my girl.’
‘What is the destination that you are trying to illustrate?’ she asked, leaning against Hrype as she studied the manuscript, peering as she tried to make out the tiny writing and the details of the colourful little pictures.
‘Can you read?’ Gurdyman asked.
‘A little. My aunt is teaching me, as well as instructing me in the use of written letters.’
‘A sensible skill for a healer,’ the sage remarked. ‘You cannot, however, read that word?’ He pointed.
‘No.’
Hrype could: the word was Rus, and it was written over an area on the right hand side of the parchment. But then Hrype had the advantage of knowing what Gurdyman was trying to do.
Like Hrype’s own ancestors, Gurdyman’s forefathers had come from Sweden. Explorers and traders, they had manoeuvred their long ships south and east down the great rivers of the mighty, endless land mass that stretched apparently into infinity, encountering people who spoke different tongues, worshipped different gods, wore different dress, ate different food. They had sold the goods that their own lands produced in such abundance — chiefly furs — and brought back extraordinary objects unheard of in the homelands. Hrype’s own ancestor had brought the jade from which Hrype’s runes were made; Gurdyman’s uncle had brought the glorious, heavy silk shawl that he habitually wore. Gurdyman, with his quick, enquiring mind that ranged far and wide and recognized no boundaries, was attempting to translate the ancestral voyages into a form that could be read like writing on a page.
Hrype became aware that Lassair was trying to attract his attention. Turning with some effort from his fascinated study of Gurdyman’s work, he raised his eyebrows in im-patient enquiry. ‘If we go now we can be back by dark,’ she whispered.
He studied her for a moment, and he understood. She was upset because she had failed to find the answer she had gone looking for, and the talk of the journey to Aelf Fen had prompted the strong desire for home. ‘Very well,’ he said.
Gurdyman led them back along the passage to the door on to the alley. He, too, seemed to recognize Lassair’s dejection. Stopping beside the open door, he said, ‘I am sorry that I could not help you.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘It was good to meet you anyway.’
He bowed. ‘Thank you. We shall meet again.’
Lassair, apparently unable to think how to answer, merely nodded.
Hrype had followed her down the steps and was about to turn to take his leave when Gurdyman said thoughtfully, ‘What has Sir Alain to say on the matter?’
Hrype looked at Lassair, then said, ‘What matter?’
Gurdyman tutted. ‘The lad at Heathlands who made Ida pregnant.’
Hrype saw his own incomprehension mirrored in Lassair’s expression. ‘What would he know of the household there?’ he asked. ‘He didn’t know Lady Claude personally before she came to Lakehall. The idea, or so we understand, was for her to stay with her cousin Lord Gilbert while she met and became acquainted with her future husband, who had recently been appointed justiciar and was living close by.’ He shook his head. ‘Sir Alain de Villequier would not know any more about the servants at Lady Claude’s home than she chose to tell him, and I can’t imagine the two of them are so desperate for conversation that they have to discuss the staff.’
Lassair gave a little gasp. Gurdyman turned to her, his eyes twinkling. ‘And what has Lassair to say?’ he enquired.
‘We have made a false assumption,’ she whispered. ‘We all thought that Lady Claude went to Lakehall to meet her future husband. We believed that the marriage designed to unite the two families — first between Sir Alain and Lady Genevieve and, when that failed, Lady Claude — was arranged before the bridegroom had met either bride. That is not so, is it?’ She looked up at Gurdyman standing on the steps, her eyes wide.
‘No, it was not,’ he said. ‘Sir Alain was a frequent visitor at Heathlands. Before he was awarded his new appointment and went to live at Alderhall, his home was close to Thetford. He used to ride over regularly to play chess with Claritia, and usually he let her win.’
Hrype found himself saying their goodbyes by himself. Lassair, lost in her own thoughts, barely said a word until they were almost home.
THIRTEEN
One good thing about Hrype as a companion is that he’s content in his own thoughts and is about as loquacious as a door post. On the long walk home from Cambridge, he seemed to accept that I didn’t want to talk and so left me to the whirl of conjecture and suspicion that filled my head.
Sir Alain de Villequier had visited Lady Claude at Heathlands! To begin with, I was totally preoccupied with trying to decide how, and when, I had become so certain that the two had not met until she was staying with Lord Gilbert. Moreover, it was not only I who had been convinced. Hrype had been too, for he had just told Gurdyman that Lady Claude had gone to Lakehall to meet Sir Alain. Had Lady Claude said something that had allowed me to receive this wrong idea? I cast my mind back over the two occasions that I had met her, and I realized swiftly that she had not even mentioned her future husband except indirectly, when she had showed me the beautiful but sinister embroidered panels that would decorate the marriage bed. What about Lord Gilbert and Lady Emma? Again, I pieced together all that I could recall of their exchanges with me and came up with nothing.
But there had to be something. I knew it, and I could not cease worrying at the problem until I found it.
In the end the memory surfaced while I was thinking about a different matter. Breaking the long silence as we trudged along, nearing the end of our journey, Hrype asked me if, having seen Gurdyman’s attempt to represent a journey as a diagram on a piece of parchment, I now felt better able to do the same for the road from Cambridge to Aelf Fen. I had been fascinated by what Gurdyman had shown me, and for some moments Hrype and I discussed the extraordinary potential in what the sage was trying to do. Then we came to a place where the road forded a shallow stream and, once we were safely across and had replaced our boots to walk on, once again we lapsed into silence.
And out of nowhere I heard Sir Alain’s voice: When she knew she was to marry me it was arranged that she should come here to meet me and stay for these weeks before our wedding with her cousin, Lord Gilbert.
It was the day that Edild and I had laid out Ida’s body. Sir Alain had walked with us back to the village, and I’d thought it was because he’d wanted to repair the damage that Lady Claude had done by her apparently callous remarks about Ida, to the effect that she mourned her only as a skilled seamstress and not as a likeable human being. Now, thinking back, I realized the extent of my mistake. For one thing, the opinions of lowly folk such as my aunt and me mattered not a dried bean to the likes of Sir Alain de Villequiers. It would make no difference to him and his future wife what we thought of her. We were totally unimportant.