Did he mean Romain’s murder? He must do, but it hadn’t taken place at Dunwich.
I watched him, filled with the angry realization that he was far more concerned with his own peaceful, indolent, self-indulgent life than with seeing justice done. But he had been kind to me and I couldn’t find it in my heart to hate him for his weakness. Life was so complicated, I thought, quietly fuming, and human beings the most complicated things in it.
Nobody else seemed to find anything to reprove in Lord Gilbert’s decision and when a little later two of his servants showed up with another barrel of even finer beer, he was hailed as the finest lord a peasant ever had.
By nightfall we were all far beyond tipsy and I was starting to feel very tired as the drama and the excitement caught up with me. My mother, noticing, began shooing people away and soon just our family were left, wearily settling for the night.
I went outside to the jakes and on my way back in, heard a hiss from the shadows. Sibert stepped forward.
‘I thought you’d gone home,’ I said.
‘I did. Hrype needs to talk to us.’
‘Very well, then. I’ll just tell my parents where I’m going and-’
‘No, you mustn’t!’ Sibert looked strained. ‘Wait till they’re all asleep, then slip out and come to our house.’
‘But I’m tired and-’
‘Lassair, just do it!’ He sounded both impatient and scared. ‘Please,’ he added.
‘Oh, all right.’ I was excited, despite my protestations. ‘I’ll be along as soon as I can.’
In fact it was not long at all before I deemed it safe to leave. The beer and the festivities had caught up with my family and soon I could detect the familiar sounds of the adults’ snores and my siblings’ soft, deep breathing. I got up, slipped off the leather band that secures the door and crept out into the darkness.
I sprinted across the village and, reaching Sibert and his family’s house, tapped softly on the door. It was opened immediately by Froya and without a word she wrapped me in her arms. We stood for some moments and then, breaking away, she stared into my eyes and said, ‘You saved my son’s life. I am in your debt, Lassair, and if ever I may help you, you have but to ask.’
The emotion that pulsed through the little room slowly ebbed and, with a quick nod, she stepped back and sat down on a stool beside the hearth. Bending down — I could see the blush on her pale face and guessed she was as embarrassed as I was — she poked at the embers of the cooking fire and set some small flames dancing along the charred logs. Hrype, seated on a bench with Sibert beside him, watched her and then turned to me. ‘So, Lassair,’ he said with a smile. ‘You survived unscathed.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. I realized I had not spoken to him since my ordeal. ‘I should have thanked you before, when we were all busy downing the celebratory ale,’ I said, ‘but I did not see you again after you arrived with Sibert and Froya. Were you with the group outside in the yard?’
‘No. I did not stay.’
I remembered his exhausted face, the sweat of great exertion dripping from it and the knotty blue cords that stood out on his temple and snaked up his neck. ‘You’re not unwell?’ I asked anxiously. ‘It wasn’t too much for you? The ordeal, I mean.’
He laughed, but it was a kindly laugh. ‘No, no, I recovered quite quickly.’
‘Why did you not stay to join us in the celebration at our house, then?’
He reached down and picked up something from the floor; something that had been hidden by the folds of his long robe. ‘Because of this.’
He held it up high and the flames of the fire glinted on the smooth surface of the Drakelow crown.
I could barely believe my eyes. ‘You’ve got it!’ I stared at him. ‘How did you manage to take it?’
‘As soon as I knew you had survived the fire pit unhurt I left you in Edild’s care and slipped away to Lord Gilbert’s manor house. There was nobody about; everyone was still standing open-mouthed staring at your pretty feet.’
‘How did you know where it was?’ I demanded.
‘It called to me.’
I did not begin to understand.
‘But I thought — I mean,’ I stammered, ‘when I suggested to Lord Gilbert that Baudouin had taken it, he agreed with me and said he wasn’t going to do anything about it because he’d decided Baudouin ought to have it anyway!’
‘He has not got it and he must never take possession of it!’ Hrype said passionately.
I thought I understood. ‘It’s yours, isn’t it?’ I said eagerly. ‘Your ancestor made it — Sibert said so.’ I looked at Sibert to back me up but he said nothing. ‘You’re going to keep it, which is right as it surely belongs to your family, and-’
‘I will not keep it.’ Hrype’s almost savage hiss cut across my words. He said something else; it sounded like, ‘I do not dare.’
Without my volition I found that my gaze had slid from Hrype’s impassioned face to the crown that he still held up. I became aware of its power. It was humming quietly and the sound was waxing steadily stronger.
I was suddenly very afraid.
I said in a whisper, ‘What is it?’
And Hrype told me.
This is the story he told.
‘My ancestors were men of importance in our homeland,’ he began, ‘for among our number runs a strain of magic-workers, and the kings of old trusted us and depended on us. So it was that when the waters rose and our lands were flooded, the king who led us here to England took the precaution of surrounding himself with protective magic. My forefather Creoda was his close adviser, ever at hand to warn him of unsuspected perils and provide the means of dealing with them. Thanks to him, the king and the people settled safely in their new homes on the coast. The king built his great hall, the people settled nearby in their round houses and the land proved fruitful, so that the people prospered and the children grew healthy and strong. Creoda, whose invaluable place at the king’s side had won him both favour and wealth, asked for a parcel of land on which to build his own hall and when the king readily agreed, Creoda selected Drakelow, for he knew it was a place where the power that is in the land and the sea manifested itself with unusual force.’
‘That’s why they built the sea sanctuary there!’ I whispered.
‘Creoda did not build it,’ Hrype replied. ‘It was there years, centuries, ages before Creoda’s time.’
‘Yes, I know. I meant that the ancient people who built the sanctuary recognized the power.’
Hrype stared at me. ‘Yes,’ he said. He went on staring at me and then, as if coming out of some inner place of contemplation, picked up his tale.
‘The king and the people lived in peace and contentment,’ he said, ‘but then came the dread threat from the east, and in helpless horror our people heard tell of how the dragon-prowed Viking ships advanced out of the dawn light, grinding on to our shores and discharging their cargoes of ruthless fighting men. Settlement after settlement fell, the people cut down, the dwellings and the long halls burned, the wealth of the people plundered. Our king, fearing for the very existence of the new realm he had carved out for his people, called on Creoda and asked him what should be done. Creoda said there was a way to defend the king’s realm, but it involved great peril. “Do it,” said the king. “Whatever it takes, do it,” and he gave Creoda free rein, offering gold, offering men, offering a secluded place in which to work the magic.