I made myself think about that for some time. So, I thought eventually, I might lose my feet.
Sibert is about to lose his life.
If I lost my feet, I realized, Sibert would lose his life anyway because if I failed to heal, they would judge that God was rejecting me because I was guilty and an evil, worthless liar. I would not be believed when I insisted Sibert had not murdered Romain and my huge sacrifice would have been in vain.
But what if I did heal? What if, knowing that for once I was as innocent of lying as Queen Emma had been of adultery, God and all the good spirits put their protection around me and my desperate, hurrying feet and kept me from harm?
I sat there quite a lot longer. Then slowly I stood up. I desperately wanted to go home. I wanted to curl up in my safe little bed and turn my back on the hostile, frightening world. I needed my mother’s loving arms, her soothing voice. I wanted my strong, wise father. But both of them would forbid me to take this appalling test. I was their daughter, they cherished me, they did not want to see me suffer ghastly pain. Their reaction would be quite understandable.
They had not been there in the clearing when I yelled out to Sibert to knee Romain in the crotch so that, immobilized by pain, he had been unable to defend himself when his killer came for him.
They did not know that if Sibert was hanged it would be my fault.
If I failed, lost my feet to the fire and Sibert died, at least I would be able to console myself with the fact that I had tried.
I imagined life knowing that I had sat back while they had sent an innocent young man to his death. Then I imagined life without my feet.
I reckoned I knew which would be the harder to bear.
I went to my aunt’s house. She loved me too, or I was pretty sure she did, but she was not my parent and I thought she might be better able to distance herself and advise me dispassionately than either my father or my mother.
I nipped round behind the village and approached her neat, tidy and sweet-smelling little cottage from the far side. As I’ve said, she lives on the very edge of the village, preferring her own company and not being one to gossip at the pump. The bees were busy in the herb beds either side of her door as I hurried up and from the rear of the house I heard the tonk of the bell that hangs round her nanny goat’s neck and the soft clucking of her hens.
I tapped perfunctorily on the door and burst in. Edild was sitting on her wooden chair and she looked up and coolly met my eyes. On the low bench on the opposite side of the hearth sat Hrype and Froya.
I guessed, then, that she already knew.
She went on looking at me for a few moments and I had the odd feeling I sometimes get with her, that she’s creeping inside my mind to see what’s there. Then she said, ‘This is not good, Lassair.’
Froya went to say something, but Hrype put a gentle hand on her arm and she subsided. I glanced at her. She is very like Sibert, both of them tall, lightly built and very fair. Her bright sea-green eyes were not as lovely as usual, being red-rimmed and puffy with weeping. She had a dainty linen handkerchief in her hands, surely deeply inadequate for its present purpose, and her fingers worried at it ceaselessly, twisting it this way and that. Also like her son, Froya is one of those people who are just a bit too fragile for life and need looking after. I look after Sibert — or not, in fact, seeing the pass we had come to — and Hrype, I suppose, looks after Froya, as indeed a good man should, especially if his sister-in-law is a widow with a child to bring up.
I could not bear to look into Froya’s eyes for very long. There was an expression of anguished hope in them and I knew exactly what it was she was hoping for.
I turned back to Edild. ‘Queen Emma managed it!’ I burst out. ‘She didn’t even notice she’d walked over the red-hot metal!’
Edild gave a tut of impatience. ‘That’s just a story, child,’ she said. ‘Do you really think anyone would have had the temerity to make someone like Queen Emma do something like that?’
‘It was her son that made her,’ I mumbled, as if this made it more likely.
Edild did not even bother to answer that.
Then silence extended and they all looked at me. When I could stand it no longer I said, ‘I’m going to do it. I’ve got to, because it’s my fault Sibert’s in this position and I can’t live with my guilt if he’s — ’ I glanced at his poor suffering mother, who had emitted an anguished gasp — ‘er, if anything happens to him.’ Edild started to protest but I overrode her, briefly explaining my guilt. ‘So you see,’ I finished, ‘really I have no choice. If this is the only way to prove I’m telling the truth and Sibert is no murderer, then I’ll have to do what Baudouin demands.’
I could hear the drama in my voice and I’m sure I stood up a little straighter, raising my chin like the brave heroine I was. I fully expected one or all of them to say, Oh, no, Lassair, you can’t possibly do this frightful thing, it is far, far too much to ask of you, but nobody said a word.
I began to feel very frightened.
Then Hrype said, as calmly as if he were discussing how to cook some new dish, ‘I once saw it done. It is quite possible to do it and come to little or no harm.’
I wondered how little was little.
Edild was nodding. ‘I too have heard tell of people walking the fire and not suffering hurt. Tell us, please, Hrype, what you saw.’
He frowned into the distance for a few moments, his light grey eyes unfocused, as if assembling the memory. Then he said, ‘It was in the far north, when I was learning with the shamans.’ The far north of where? I wondered. And what were shamans? It did not sound like anything that happened or was rumoured to happen in my own land and I realized, with a shiver of wonder, that Hrype must mean the far north of the strange land far away over the sea and he must have travelled back to the place from which his people had once come. .
‘There was grave trouble in the community,’ he was saying, ‘for the Sun had withdrawn his strength and the waters of the cold seas were threatening to engulf the lands, so that the reindeer would no longer roam and the people would starve. The shamans held a great ceremony to honour the Sun and his element of fire. They built a vast fire pit and one by one a hundred shamans walked across the live coals. They chanted as they went, mixing their energy with that of the fire, sending their praise into the night sky where the Sun had withdrawn into the darkness. They gave everything they had as they prayed for healing for their community, and their sacrifice was rewarded. The Sun came back, the waters receded and the people grew healthy once more.’
He looked at me, a long look that I could not read. Then he said softly, ‘Not one of those hundred men and women suffered lasting harm. One or two were burned when a coal broke beneath their foot, but healers were standing by to help, giving comfort and relieving pain.’
After some time I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry. I swallowed and tried again. ‘How is it done?’ I whispered.
Hrype regarded me steadily. ‘By courage and by faith. Believe in what you are doing; believe that the task you perform is vital for the general good. Keep in mind that what you do is for the sake of others. Then your guides and helpers will come to your aid and protect you.’
‘I can have guides and helpers?’ I asked eagerly, then realized, feeling foolish, that he had been referring to the guardian spirits.
‘If you elect to do this thing, Lassair,’ came my aunt’s cool voice, ‘Hrype and I will assist you. We will walk alongside you on either side of the pit. We will encourage you.’
She meant it kindly, I knew, but it wasn’t their bare feet that were going to be on the coals.