He dropped his face into his hands. ‘No, it wouldn’t.’ His words were muffled.
Suddenly I felt very sorry for him. I wanted to reach out and touch the bowed, defeated head, and with that urgent desire all my starry-eyed feelings for him came rushing back.
Why was I being so unkind to him?
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
He must have thought I was saying I was sorry about his misfortune in losing his inheritance. He looked up, gave me the shadow of his bright, beaming smile and said reasonably, ‘It’s not your fault, er, Lassair.’
It was, I believed, only the second time he had used my name since we had set out. But all the same it touched my heart.
He stood up and between us we got the mute Sibert to his feet. ‘We’re moving on,’ I said to him, giving his arm a squeeze. Then, because his continued silence and unresponsiveness was starting to worry me, I added, ‘Are you all right?’
What a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t all right. He had just seen what the new owners had done to his former home and clearly he didn’t like it. I didn’t blame him. When the rich and powerful men of the previous regime had built, they had taken into consideration the location and the nature of the surroundings, so that the long halls that they constructed grew, in time, almost to be a part of the landscape. They lived as their forefathers had done, within wood and wattle walls and beneath reed roofs, their pastoral way of life generally peaceful so that there was no need for extravagant defences. They were not like the Normans, conquerors and invaders who forcefully and violently imposed themselves, their way of life and their harsh rule on an unwilling, unwelcoming populous.
Poor Sibert. I could only imagine what the manor of Drakelow had looked like before Baudouin de la Flèche had rebuilt it to answer his own need. Sibert must have-
No. That could not be right. I had taken a wrong step in my reasoning, for surely the old Drakelow would have been replaced years ago, when Baudouin’s father was first given it not long after 1066. It was impossible for Sibert to have seen the original structure built by his forefathers, for he had not been born until seven or eight years afterwards.
Yet he had uttered that heart-stopping cry: What have you done?
What did it all mean? For the moment I could make no sense of it.
I fell into step beside him as we set off. I did not know where we were going and merely hoped that Romain had somewhere in mind where we could shelter overnight. Sibert, who claimed to know the area so well, was for the moment quite useless; I reckoned I would even have to take over his job of dishing out the food and drink. I felt so very sorry for him. I would have liked to take his hand but I held back, instead hoping to comfort him by my presence at his side.
We walked in the woodland for a while, then emerged into the open. Sibert raised his head and stared around him. ‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered, frowning, ‘it all looks so very different. I can’t — can’t-’ He gave up, his frown deepening.
‘Perhaps it’s a while since you’ve been here,’ I said kindly. ‘Places do change, you know.’
‘I was last here a little under two years ago,’ he said.
‘Well, perhaps — perhaps-’ But I was at a loss to explain how a location with which someone had once been familiar could have altered so drastically in two years. Instead I said bracingly, ‘Come on. I’m hungry, and you must be too. Romain seems to be leading us somewhere, so let’s hope it’s dry, out of the wind and provides us with somewhere comfortable to sleep.’
He glanced at me but it was as if his eyes slid over me as he continued his worried gazing around. I was about to start urging him again when all at once he jerked into action and staggered off after Romain.
I hurried after them.
EIGHT
We were all tired after the long hours of walking and, after our unnatural pattern of being awake for the night and asleep in the daytime, the prospect of settling down to sleep at the appropriate time was surprisingly good. We ate reasonably well before we turned in. Romain had gone scavenging and returned with a dry heel of bread, a large onion squashed on one side, a piece of mouldy cheese and some spindly carrots. I didn’t ask him where he’d found the food; all the items looked suspiciously like the leftovers from a market, usually abandoned for the dogs and the starving to clear up. Still, we were grateful, and cheese savoured by the bite of onion — even a squishy onion — was welcome after a diet that consisted mainly of spice bread.
I knew that Romain had money. I also knew why he could not stride up to some beautifully laid-out stall and purchase the best provender on offer: because around here his was a familiar face and we had come on a secret mission. For the time being, until we had succeeded in our aim, it looked as if we were going to have to go hungry.
I went to sleep quickly and slept profoundly; I don’t think I even dreamed. Then all at once I was wide awake. I lay quite still in the darkness — the sky was cloudy and there really was barely any light at all — and used my ears and my nose. I could hear the sea; or I guessed it was the sea. It was how I imagined waves beating on the shore in the dead of night would sound. I could hear Romain, who lay over to my right. He was fast asleep, breathing deeply and evenly and with a little click in the middle of each in breath, as if something were caught in one nostril. The leaves of the trees above us were moving restlessly in the breeze off the sea. The wind must have changed, I thought absently. I couldn’t hear the sea when I went to sleep but now I could, so the wind must have gone round from west to east so that now it was carrying the sound of the waves.
Then I heard stealthy footsteps. I stiffened in alarm and felt for the small knife I carry in a sheath on my belt. Not that it would have helped me much against an assailant, as it’s only as long as my hand and I would need a very lucky stab to reach a man’s vitals, but nevertheless holding its horn hilt gave me a tiny bit of confidence.
The footfalls were coming nearer.
Should I wake the men? Oh, but if I did and whoever was out there heard me, then he’d know where we were, whereas now there was a slim chance that he was out on his own business and not concerned with us.
I lay in an agony of indecision, the sweat of fear breaking out all over my body.
Moving very slowly, I turned my head to locate Sibert, asleep on my left. He wasn’t there. And as I realized who those terror-inducing footsteps belonged to, he crept into our little hideout and lay down under his cloak.
I was furious with him for scaring me so badly, which was not entirely reasonable as he had probably got up to pass water and that was nothing to do with me. But it happens like that, I find; when something deeply frightens or disturbs us, we need someone to put the blame on.
I was still fuming when Sibert spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Lassair? Are you awake?’
Several possible replies flashed through my head. In the end I just hissed back, ‘Yes.’
He rolled closer. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said, right in my ear and tickling me with his warm breath. I noticed that he smelt powerfully of onions, but then undoubtedly I did too. ‘Will you come out there with me’ — I sensed movement as he jerked his head — ‘so we don’t wake Romain?’
It was rather nice to be needed. I nodded, but of course he couldn’t see, so I whispered, ‘All right.’
He crawled away and, wrapping myself in my shawl, I followed. When we were out of our sleeping place we both stood up and on silent feet tiptoed fifty paces or so into the breeze. I was very aware of the sound of the sea. Sibert stopped and, taking my hand, led me to a shallow indentation in the ground where, as we sat down, we were sheltered from the wind.
‘Are we near the sea?’ I asked in a low voice.