‘The rain has stopped,’ said Roger, squinting into the sky, where a brilliant rainbow was beginning to shimmer. ‘So I recommend we leave, because if anyone else comes up here I am not sure how we shall explain what has happened.’
Nor was Geoffrey.
‘I hate to say it, but Walter was right,’ said Roger as they neared Goodrich the following afternoon, glad to have left Estrighoiel and its warring inhabitants behind. ‘Ivar was evil, and he did try to summon demons from hell.’
‘He did try,’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘But he did not succeed. All he did was light a fire, throw some handfuls of coloured sand at it and mutter a lot of gibberish.’
Roger gaped at him. ‘But he called up that terrible storm — which seems to have destroyed crops as far as the eye can see.’
‘The storm was brewing long before he went to his cave,’ countered Geoffrey. ‘It was coincidence that it broke when we happened to confront him.’
‘If you say so,’ said Roger, unconvinced. ‘But you cannot deny that he was a selfish, wicked villain. He murdered Ivar Jorundsson to get the sky-stone in the first place, having coveted it for years. He must have killed Drogo, and he stabbed Leger after he had second thoughts about confiding in him. Then he dispatched Marcus because he was the priory spy. Why did he do that, Geoff? He felt no loyalty to his Benedictine brethren.’
‘Probably because he was afraid that a man who snooped might have the skill to learn the whereabouts of the sky-stone and the identity of Leger’s murderer.’
Roger nodded. ‘And Cadowan, Nest, Odo and his monks, Walter, Revelle and Pigot were innocent. However, I confess that I am disappointed that we could not find something with which to accuse Walter and his henchmen. I did not take to them.’
‘The feeling was mutual. But I am sorry we found no trace of Revelle to bury. He was a good man, and I do not like to think of him lying scattered down the cliff.’
‘Unlike Ivar — or whatever his real name was,’ said Roger. ‘Walter found his body.’
They rode silently for several moments.
‘Why do you think the sky-stone helped Nest but not Eleanor — a sweet child whom everyone liked?’ asked Roger.
‘I am not sure it did save Nest. She was probably stunned by her fall, then regained her senses when Ivar reached her and began to call her name.’
‘It cured you,’ Roger pointed out. ‘The arm Walter sliced through, and the fever.’
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘The injury must have been in my mind — I never removed my armour to look at it, so there is no evidence that it was ever there. And the so-called fever was the result of a poor night’s sleep.’
‘It was more than that, Geoff lad! Let me see your arm again.’
Geoffrey pulled up his sleeve to reveal a limb that was smooth and unblemished. ‘See? There was never any wound.’
‘You had a scar there,’ said Roger, pointing. ‘From the battle to take Jerusalem. And another below it from our adventures at Goodrich last year. But both have gone.’
‘They were fading anyway,’ said Geoffrey. ‘The sky-stone had nothing to do with it.’
‘You can think what you like,’ said Roger, kicking his horse into a canter. ‘But I know the truth.’
A few miles away, Revelle was also urging his horse forward, eager to put as much distance between him and Estrighoiel as possible. He smiled as he slipped his hand inside his tunic and felt the reassuring bulk of the sky-stone within. He had thought he was a dead man when the thunderbolt had blown him over the cliff, and he had been lying on the ground, sure his back was broken and his innards crushed. And then a miracle had occurred. The sky-stone had sailed through the air and landed next to him. He had managed to grab it, and within moments he had felt the strength surge back into his limbs.
Had it saved him, or had he just had the breath knocked out of him by the fall? He had dropped a long way — farther than Ivar, and he had been smashed to a pulp. No, Revelle thought, there was power in the sky-stone.
He felt a little guilty at making off with it, but it was for the best. There would never be peace between the castle and the priory if the sky-stone was in Estrighoiel, and he was doing them a favour by spiriting it away. It was not theft, but an act of selflessness — of taking upon himself a burden that was too great for them to bear.
He was glad to be away from Walter and was looking forward to seeing his cousin again. Even if Bishop Giffard could not find him a post, Exeter was said to be a fine city, and the Revelles were a powerful force in the area. It would be a good place in which to settle, and let the sky-stone keep him fit and healthy as he enjoyed the rest of what he hoped would be a long and happy life. And there were others who might benefit from the touch of the stone — an old aunt, crippled with pains in her back, and another cousin who was afflicted with fits.
Or would its effects be weakened if he shared it? Revelle clutched it tighter and decided he had better keep it to himself. After all, he needed all the good graces he could muster, given his sins. He smiled when he thought of Nest. He had almost had her that day in the woods, and it was a pity she had fallen before he could reach her. And then there was Drogo — he had rather enjoyed pushing him over the cliff so Walter could step into his shoes as constable. These were grave crimes, but the stone would save him. Would it not?
Historical note
Storms were always a part of medieval life, and they ruined crops on a regular basis. But the one on 10 August 1103 must have been particularly spectacular, because it was recorded by several contemporary chroniclers. It damaged the harvest so badly that starvation was widespread the following winter.
Odo was an early leader of the Benedictine Priory in Estrighoiel (Chepstow). It was founded by William fitz Osbern, who also built the first Norman castle there. William’s son rebelled against William the Conqueror in 1075, and Chepstow was taken from him in retaliation. It was held directly by the Crown until about 1115, when it was passed to the powerful (and loyal) de Clare family. There were several de Clare brothers, including Gilbert, Roger and Walter. The older two were present at the hunting accident in the New Forest that saw William II (Rufus) killed, leading to Henry I taking the throne. Their sister was married to Walter Tirel, who loosed the fatal arrow.
Act Two
North Devon, September 1236
The woman and the girl trudged wearily along the rough track in the gentle warmth of an autumn afternoon.
‘I’m feared that he will come back unexpectedly and follow us, mother,’ whined Gillota, the fourteen-year-old who was leading their only cow on a rope halter. ‘He’ll surely beat us and perhaps try to have his way with me again!’
Matilda Claper, strong in nature as well as in arm, tried to reassure her daughter. ‘Don’t worry, girl, Walter Lupus has gone to the Goose Fair in Tavistock. He’ll not be back home for three or four days — longer if he gets heavily into the drink.’
Only partly consoled by the thought of their manor lord being far away, Gillota trudged on. A large pack was strapped to her back, containing some food and all the clothes they possessed. In her free hand she dangled a wicker cage containing their tabby cat, a threadbare mouser with one ear shredded in many fights. In the cloth scrip on her girdle, she had five pennies and a cheap tin crucifix, the sum total of her possessions.
Her mother walked a few paces behind the skinny brown cow, a rope around her shoulders dragging a crude sledge of hazel withies lashed together with twine, piled with their bedding and a few cooking pots. Matilda was a handsome woman, dark-haired and slim — in fact, too thin for her height — but there was a sadness in her face that told of recent hard times.