‘It is,’ Hrype replied. ‘Jack Chevestrier is not involved.’ He paused. ‘Not officially.’
Gurdyman’s face brightened. ‘Aaah,’ he said with a smile.
Hrype was silent for a while. Then he said, ‘She is back in Cambridge.’
Gurdyman’s smile vanished. ‘But I thought she had gone to Aelf Fen?’
‘She crept out of the village and returned to the town. She sought out Sibert and told him to inform her parents that evening, and the fool of a boy didn’t try to stop her and simply did as she asked. She didn’t want her family to think she’d disappeared and start worrying.’
‘But she is with Jack?’ Gurdyman demanded. ‘She’s safe with him?’
‘She’s with him, yes. Safe? I imagine so. As safe as anybody else in Cambridge.’
‘Sibert is not a fool,’ Gurdyman said after a short silence. ‘It might have seemed wiser to you had he informed Lassair’s kin straight away that she had gone, but he is not you, and he put loyalty to a friend above wisdom.’
‘He thinks a great deal too highly of her,’ Hrype said coldly. ‘She’s not for him. He could do far better.’
Hrype was staring into the hearth, watching the flames lick along a length of well-seasoned oak. Gurdyman studied him for some time. Then he said, his tone mild and quite without reproof, ‘You are surely wrong, my friend, when you say she is as safe as anybody else. Few people, indeed, know of her connection to me, but I fear that knowledge may have reached the attention of the very eyes from which it should at all costs have been kept.’
‘The Night Wanderer?’
‘Yes. It – he – knew about Morgan and poor Cat. They lived a quiet, self-contained life, and their true work was known to very few, yet that was no safeguard.’
‘You surely do not compare Morgan and Cat with yourself and the girl!’ Hrype protested. ‘She cleans for you, keeps house for you, and you share with her some of your vast store of medical and healing knowledge, but that’s all.’ He stared at Gurdyman, eyes blazing. ‘She is no Soror Mystica!’ he spat.
Gurdyman met his eyes calmly. ‘Oh, Hrype,’ he said sadly.
But Hrype ignored the gentle interruption. His mounting anger overcoming him, he hissed, ‘You have no need of any such assistance! You have always been alone, all the long years I have known you, an entity contained within yourself.’
‘I cannot-’ Gurdyman began, but Hrype overrode him.
‘Mercure works alone,’ he cried, thumping a fist against the floor for emphasis, his normally pale face flushed with fury. ‘He has no need of any girl apprentice. Morgan, I admit, was the exception among the three of you, for he had Cat, but at least he had good sense and chose for his adept someone of his own sex!’
Gurdyman studied him. Hrype, eventually finding the steady gaze uncomfortable, looked away. ‘The pairing is normally a male and a female,’ Gurdyman said mildly, ‘for both animus and anima should be present. Whilst it is true that the usual arrangement is for the master to be male and the pupil female, it is not always so.’
Slowly Hrype turned his head to meet the steady blue eyes. ‘What are you telling me?’ he said, his voice very soft. There was a note of apprehension in it; fear, almost.
‘Morgan lived a reclusive life,’ Gurdyman said, ‘and saw few people other than Cat and one or two like-minded souls, myself and Mercure included, although Mercure rarely ventures far away from the safety of his sanctuary here. It was always, therefore, quite easy for Morgan to present himself to the small portion of the world who ever saw him as he wished to be seen, not as he truly was.’ He looked expectantly at Hrype, like a teacher encouraging a promising pupil to come up with the right answer.
After a moment, a sudden explosive curse emerged from Hrype’s tight lips. Then he said, ‘Great gods, are you telling me what I think you are?’
And Gurdyman nodded.
The silence lasted for some time. Then, reaching out a hand and briefly touching Hrype’s shoulder, Gurdyman said, ‘Hrype, my friend, I believe you are allowing your misogynistic sentiments to get the better of your good sense and your intelligence.’ Hrype began an angry reply, but Gurdyman did not let him speak. ‘You do not like or trust women. This is not worthy of you.’
‘They give me little reason for affection or trust.’
One woman does, Gurdyman thought.
Presently he said, ‘If I may be allowed to say so, you live a wrong life, Hrype. Your heart is given to a woman whom you cannot love openly, and you live with one you do not much like but with whom you remain through a sense of loyalty. Have you never considered that both you and Froya, and probably Sibert, not to mention Edild, would all be happier if you confessed the truth?’
‘I cannot,’ Hrype said baldly. ‘Froya was my brother’s wife, and I lay with her when my brother was sick and dying.’ [3]
‘You bedded her once, at a time when both of you were in dire need of comfort.’ Gurdyman spoke softly. ‘When you told me, my instinct was pity for the pair of you, not accusation.’
‘You do not live in a small isolated village in which gossip is the sole entertainment,’ Hrype flashed back. ‘And if you believe the Aelf Fen villagers would treat such a revelation with compassion and generosity, it merely demonstrates how little you know of human nature.’
‘So let them gossip, let them point the finger of blame, let them amuse themselves saying how wicked you are,’ Gurdyman replied. ‘It will not last. And, perhaps, the worthier among them will balance their righteous indignation with the thought that you have remained true to your brother ever since by caring for his widow and her son.’
‘My son.’ The two words were barely audible.
Gurdyman sighed. ‘So I have long suspected,’ he said. Then, briskly, he went on, ‘Face the disapproval of your village, Hrype. Tell the truth, hold your head high, and weather the storm.’
‘I cannot.’
‘You must, my friend.’ Now Gurdyman spoke urgently. ‘You are living a lie, and poisoning your very soul.’
Hrype went as white as if a knife point had pierced his heart. He stared at Gurdyman for a long moment. Then, muttering an incoherent sound, he gathered up his boots and flung himself out of the house.
SEVENTEEN
‘Where are we going?’ I asked Jack as we set off. It was almost fully dark and, save for lights in a few of the taverns along the quayside, there were no signs of life.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jack replied. ‘As I told you this morning, I’m almost sure someone was watching Ginger and me when we went back for a second search of Osmund’s cell but, with all the drama over poor Ginger and his beating, I didn’t pursue it.’ He frowned. ‘To be honest, I forgot, which I shouldn’t have done, because I think it was important. Anyway, I’ve come up with a theory, which I think we ought to test.’
‘Right,’ I said, panting a little in the effort to keep up with him. ‘So what is this theory?’
‘We know that Ginger didn’t tell his assailants anything because he didn’t know about the key,’ Jack began. ‘But the men – or, rather, their master – must have suspected there’s another room somewhere belonging to Osmund, where he works in secret, and that’s what they were trying to find out about.’
‘Why-’ I said.
But Jack was in full spate. ‘It would have been very evident that there was nothing of value in Osmund’s cell, and wherever he did his work it wasn’t there in the priests’ house that he shared with other young clerics, under a very strict regime. Ginger and I were spotted going back for a second search, and the man behind the attack on Ginger surmised we’d found something; or, at least, our actions proved there was something there to be found.’
‘But-’
‘Ginger, even suffering the agony of a severe beating, went on insisting he had nothing to tell them,’ Jack went on relentlessly, ‘so what I’m pinning my hopes on is that they’ll conclude we really didn’t come across anything relevant, and so whatever there is to find is still there.’ He looked at me. ‘Did I make that clear?’