For an instant the little nun’s face fell, and I thought she was about to cry. Then — and I am sure she saw my reaction — she reached out, took my free hand in both of hers and said, ‘No, no! Elfritha is unharmed.’ Then she beamed, so widely and so genuinely that it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. ‘God be praised,’ she added, and I muttered an Amen.
I was hardly aware of Hrype helping me away. One of the other nuns was shepherding us along, around the corner of the great church rising high above us and into a cloistered space on its right side, where the community were waiting. At first I couldn’t see Elfritha, and I thought wildly that there must have been a mistake and she was dead after all, but then there was movement in the still, silent group of black-clad figures: someone in a novice’s white veil pushed her way through and my sister took me in her arms.
While Elfritha and I were still tightly embraced, I felt hands on my arms and Hrype was pushing the two of us, none too gently, into a dark little corner where a narrow passage led off the cloister. ‘We mustn’t be seen talking together,’ he hissed.
Elfritha raised her head, an astonished expression on her face. ‘But-’ she began.
‘Hush!’ Hrype pushed us further along the passage. ‘Lassair, we must go. Arrange to meet your sister later, somewhere we shall not be observed.’
Elfritha was clinging on to me, tears streaming down her face. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Why can’t you stay? I hoped someone would come, Lassair, and I’m so glad it’s you, and I-’
I know Hrype well enough to appreciate that he wouldn’t have given his order if it wasn’t necessary; strange he may be (he is), but he understands about love, and he would not have separated me from Elfritha had he not felt he must.
‘He is right,’ I said gently to my sister, wiping her tears away with my fingers. ‘When can we meet? Are you free to come out of the abbey?’
She shook her head in puzzlement, then shrugged. ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. I’m often sent to collect flowers and plants for the herbalist, so I could say I’d been told to go out and gather something later on today. .’
I realized she would be in trouble if anyone uncovered the deception, and it touched me that she should put loyalty to me above obedience to her superiors. ‘Be careful,’ I warned her.
‘I will.’ She gave me a quick smile. ‘I’ll meet you this evening after vespers, on the path that leads down to the left of the quay — water pepper grows down there, and I’ll pick some. Don’t worry, Lassair, everything’s so confused at the moment that I’m not likely to be challenged. I can confess later.’ Her face clouded. ‘It’s horrible,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I keep picturing her-’
‘Later,’ Hrype interrupted firmly. ‘Come, Lassair.’
I gave Elfritha one last hug and turned away. Hrype grasped my hand and pulled me along, out into the crowd of nuns and their relatives in the cloister. He paused here and there, stopping on the fringes of several of the little groups. I guessed his intention was to confuse: had anyone been watching us, they would not have known which of the nuns was associated with us.
Why was he so wary? Was it because of this fanatical priest? No doubt he would tell me in his own good time.
Once we were outside the abbey gates, Hrype melted away. He was there beside me one moment, still in his crusty old man’s guise, and then when next I looked he had gone. I knew better than to try to find him. He would be back at the appointed time, I knew. I was not at all sure what ‘after vespers’ meant, so I would have to keep an eye on the abbey church and look out for the nuns emerging.
That, however, was not my main concern. I had undertaken to inform my family as soon as I knew Elfritha was safe, and now I turned my mind to how I should go about it. I went down to the quayside, planning to see if anyone might be heading off in the direction of Aelf Fen, but then I realized this wasn’t wise. Hrype was going to some lengths to keep our identity secret, and all his good work would be undermined if I sent a message straight to my family. Even if I persisted with the pretence of being no more than a close friend, I couldn’t send a message without naming my family and my village. It seemed prudent not to allow either to become known.
In any case, it was highly unlikely anyone would be going that way. Instead, I asked around to see if there was anyone bound for Cambridge, and soon I found a family of parents and two little children, returning to the town having ascertained that the husband’s nun sister was not the murder victim. They were, understandably, jubilant and readily agreed to my request. I told them where to find Gurdyman’s house and gave them this short message: please send word to the eel catcher that his daughter is safe.
Gurdyman knew what my father did for a living. He might not know which daughter the message referred to, but that didn’t matter; I would explain when I saw him.
The wife smiled at me. ‘You, too, have had good news, then,’ she said.
Not wanting to elaborate, I simply said, ‘Yes,’ then thanked them again and hurried away.
I watched the abbey from the shelter of my alders for the remainder of the afternoon. I saw the nuns file into church and then out again. I did not see Elfritha emerge, but that wasn’t surprising, for she was going on an imaginary, clandestine errand and would not wish to attract anyone’s attention. I slipped out of my hiding place and hurried along to the quayside.
I did not see her at first. I made my way along the quay, now deserted, and after perhaps a quarter of a mile, I heard someone whisper my name. Turning, I saw Hrype and my sister, concealed behind a stand of brambles, the brilliant green leaves of which shone in the dim light.
I went to join them. Hrype said solemnly, ‘Now, Elfritha. Please tell us who it was that died, and what happened.’
Elfritha thought for a few moments, and then began to speak. ‘The dead nun’s name was Sister Herleva,’ she said quietly. ‘She hasn’t — she hadn’t been at the abbey very long, only six months or so, but already we were good friends. She was young and light-hearted, and inclined to be silly. She was often in trouble for giggling, but she didn’t seem able to help herself. She loved life, and there was a radiance about her that made others happy just to be with her.’ My sister’s voice shook, and she took a steadying breath. ‘Three days ago — no, four — she didn’t appear for compline. That’s our last office, just before we go to bed. It wasn’t the first time she’d missed an office, and we didn’t think much about it beyond being sorry for her because she’d be in trouble again and have to do a more severe penance than last time.’ She paused, her eyes cloudy with sorrow. ‘But she wasn’t in her bed the next morning, and then we knew something had happened. The nun who comes round to rouse us saw the empty bed, and she turned away without a word and hurried off. Later we noticed that all the senior nuns were busy searching for Herleva, and then word went round that she’d been found.’ She gave a sob, quickly suppressing it. ‘She was lying behind the stable, and they discovered a big lump on the back of her head. Someone said there was patch of blood staining her veil. She was a novice,’ she added absently, ‘so her veil was white. There was a deep cut in her neck and a lot more blood and they — they’re saying there was a pool of vomit beneath her head.’
The poor girl. She must have realized what was happening, and her fear had brought that violent reaction in her guts. I found myself hoping fervently that the blow to her head had knocked her unconscious, so that there had been no awareness of the knife in her throat that took her life. If her assailant had hit her hard enough, it probably would have done. She might even have been dead before the cut; it depended on how much blood had come out of the wound. Edild had taught me that living bodies spurt blood from wounds, whereas it only seeps from someone whose heart has ceased to beat.