Without that kindly, caring invitation, I’m not sure I’d have had the courage to try.
‘It’s not broken,’ I said. Itnbrkn.
‘It’s not broken,’ said Jack. He frowned. ‘I did warn you not to go listening to the tale-tellers, but it wasn’t because I thought you’d get hurt.’
No, I thought. It was because he’d already heard that scary old legend, and didn’t want me to. I wanted to tell him that I’d had no option, since I’d been looking after my randy old man when the storyteller began, but given the state of my jaw, I’d never have made him understand.
He stood up, still staring down at me. ‘I must go,’ he said. I thought – I hoped – I detected reluctance in his voice.
‘Of course,’ Gurdyman said. ‘I’ll see you out. Don’t worry,’ he added, ‘I’ll look after her. I’ll let her off washing the crypt floor, just for today.’
I knew he was joking. I hoped Jack did, too.
There was an experiment that Gurdyman had to proceed with but, true to his promise to Jack, he insisted on my coming down to the crypt, where he made me comfortable on the bed down there, fussing round me with pillows, a soft blanket, cool water to drink and with which to bathe my face. I didn’t feel like eating, so I watched, amused, as Gurdyman absently worked his way through the contents of my basket, devouring my share as well. The pain in my jaw had eased considerably, but the swelling was severe. I’d have a huge bruise tomorrow.
I was deeply relaxed, enjoying the luxury of lying with my feet up, warm and cosy, safe with Gurdyman and entertained by watching him work. For long spells there was a peaceful silence down in the crypt, and I lay watching the candlelight play on the ancient walls.
Ancient walls. Old settlement…
Perhaps it was because for once my mind was idling, and not crammed with the day’s usual quota of things to learn, things to memorize, plans to make for the necessities of life, that something floated to the surface, and I understood how it was that Jack had known his way around the workmen’s village so well.
In all probability, he’d been born there.
He had told me, back in September, about his father, who had been a carpenter with Duke William’s army during the conquest of England. His father had worked on the construction of the wooden castles that William ordered to be built, whose purpose was to threaten the defeated foe with their looming presence and keep us under the Norman thumb. He had been sent here to Cambridge in 1068 and that was where he’d met Jack’s mother. It seemed highly likely that the family home had been in one of those lowly dwellings we’d passed. No wonder Jack had known about the chapel.
I dozed for a while, my mind rambling in that half-world between thoughts and dreams where the two flow easily into one another. I saw Jack as a boy, earnest, honest, protective of his mother; he’d told me he was only a boy when his father died. I saw his mother harassed, bullied, forced to do work that demeaned her. I saw Jack use his big fists to protect her. It’s too easy for a man to hit a woman.
I saw him leaning over her, his boy’s face full of distress at her hurts. The same expression he’d worn earlier, when he’d looked at me.
I wondered if he still lived in or near the workmen’s village. Had he perhaps restored one of the more sound houses? The one where he and his parents had lived, perhaps? I couldn’t remember if he’d mentioned any brothers and sisters… He’d said something about being the man of the family after his father’s death, but family could have meant just him and his mother.
I realized I’d very much like to ask him.
I was awakened by Gurdyman, gently shaking my shoulder. ‘Bedtime, Lassair,’ he said. ‘Up you get, and I’ll help you.’
I did as he bade, smiling to myself. Gurdyman can’t even climb the ladder up to my little attic without puffing and panting and going red in the face, so I very much doubted he’d have been able to shove me up it. Not that he needed to; all he was called upon to do was to watch from below, with obvious relief, as I clambered into my room.
‘Call out when you’re safely in bed,’ he said.
I hurriedly took off my outer gown and boots, then fell into bed. I sang out something that sounded like mminned!
‘Goodnight, then,’ came back Gurdyman’s retreating voice. He was already returning to his work.
Smiling, I turned over and went to sleep.
FIVE
I was awake very early, probably because I’d dozed and slept for much of the previous evening. My jaw was still sore and stiff, but my fingertip exploration suggested the swelling had gone down a little. I tried mouthing a few words, and was encouraged to think I stood a chance of making myself understood today.
I lay thinking about the dream I’d just had.
It was about Rollo. He stood up on a high promontory, looking down at a bay with deep blue water which sparkled in bright sunshine. There was an air of steely determination in his expression, as if he was making up his mind on a course of action he didn’t much want to take. He held a horse by the reins: a fine horse, big and powerful, with alert, pricked ears and intelligence in its face. It stood shifting from foot to foot, and in the dream I remarked to Rollo, You may not be eager to start but the same cannot be said for your horse.
Rollo smiled absently. Still he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Presently he sighed, and swung himself up into the saddle.
I wondered, as I lay reflecting, whether the strange and mystical process which operated my connection with the shining stone was also affecting my dream self. Or was it perhaps nothing more than my conscience, making images of Rollo turning away even as my interest in Jack Chevestrier deepened?
Did I want Rollo to turn away?
I had imagined, when I fell in love with him so swiftly and so thoroughly, that our future lay together. I’m not sure I envisaged marriage, although I once had a sort of vision of the child I would bear him one day. But it was a year and more since I had seen him, and Jack had held me in his arms only the previous day. Admittedly he’d had to do so in order to carry me home, but, no matter what the circumstances had been, I had found joy in being so close to his big strength.
Realizing that there was no point in distressing myself with my anxious and guilty thoughts, I decided it was time to get up.
Gurdyman was very kind and considerate, and would probably have let me spend an idle day had I not insisted I was fit to work. I could make myself understood now, more or less, and soon we were immersed in the astrological chart that he had drawn.
He didn’t let me go on working into the evening, however, sending me away and commanding me to sit out in the court and enjoy the last of the sun before retiring for an early night. I’ve no idea how he knew the sun was shining – you certainly couldn’t tell down in the subterranean darkness of the crypt – and perhaps it was just a lucky guess.
I sat in Gurdyman’s chair, eyes closed, feeling the sun on my face and thinking that in a little while I would prepare some broth. If I dipped my bread in it till it was soggy, I ought to be able to manage it. When I heard a knock at the door, I knew who it was. I had, I think, been expecting him.
‘Do you want me to come and look at another body?’ I said, forming the words carefully.
He understood. ‘There’s no real need,’ he said. ‘It is the same method of killing as with Robert Powl.’
‘I am willing to look,’ I replied.
He seemed pleased. ‘In that case, I’ll take you to see her.’
‘I’ll tell Gurdyman.’ I hurried off along the passage and down the steps, and quickly, before Gurdyman could ask any questions, explained where I was going and who with. He nodded, barely looking up.
The streets were not quite as deserted as they had been five days ago, but it was a good deal earlier and dusk would not fall for a while yet. We hastened round the foot of the castle hill and through the workmen’s village, and Jack led the way inside the chapel.