He had gone too far, and he realized it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. The big man slammed his mug down on the table and turned to glare at him. ‘What do you want to know that for?’ he demanded. ‘What are you, some sort of ghoul come to gloat over the bodies of the dead?’
‘No, of course not, I-’ Rollo began.
The man did not let him finish. ‘If you want a close encounter with her, you go and look for her,’ he said in a vicious hiss. ‘Go on up the coast to the north and call her.’ Abruptly, he laughed, a cruel, harsh sound. ‘You won’t need to find her, my lad. She’ll find you!’
Some of the other drinkers had glanced up at the big man’s loud voice and were looking over in Rollo’s direction. It was time to go. He shook out some coins to pay for his food and beer, then quietly made his exit.
Up the coast to the north, the big man had said. The day was sunny, and visibility was good, with no sign of any more fog. Rollo fetched Strega and, ignoring the fear and apprehension that growled deep inside him, set off along the coastal track.
Soon he had left all signs of human habitation far behind. The sea to his left glittered silver in the sunshine, and in the distance he could make out the sound of small waves flopping down on to the shore. He looked out over the land between him and the water, which, as he rode steadily north, changed from a line of low, honey-coloured cliffs into a steadily widening band of salt marsh. With a shudder, he remembered what the mate had said about quicksand.
After some time the path curved round to the right. Rollo realized that he had reached the northernmost tip of the land and was now going eastwards. He drew rein and looked around him. As far as he could see, there was not a soul about. The wide sands extended on ahead of him until, at a point he could barely make out, the land gave way to water and the sea began.
He did not like to admit it, but he was afraid.
He had come this far, he told himself. He had no choice but to go on. He was on a mission from the king, and he could not return to him until he had fulfilled it.
He turned Strega’s head towards the sea and set out across the uncertain ground.
To begin with, the going was quite good. He appeared to be following a well-used track, which had a gravelled surface and was elevated slightly above the surrounding marsh. Strega was nervous — he could tell by the slight sheen of sweat on her coat and the occasional shudder in her flesh — but her head was up and her ears pricked forward. He was thankful all over again for her sturdy courage.
He peered ahead, trying to make out where the sea began. He was in a strange place, half land, half water. The light, too, was weird; sometimes the sun shone down clearly, and sometimes it was as if its light was reaching him through a fine mist, or a veil. He did not let himself dwell on that.
After some time he glanced over his shoulder. He was horrified to see how far he had come out across the endless shore. The line of the higher ground was far, far behind.
He turned back to face the sea. Go on, he commanded himself. Go on, discover what lies out there, and then you can return to safety.
He put his heels to Strega’s sides, and she moved on reluctantly.
They went on for some time. The path had deteriorated, and now he had to think about every step the mare took. She, too, was worried; there was a tentative feel to her paces.
They came to a place where she stopped and would not go on. Rollo had been staring ahead, straining his eyes against the powerful light and trying to make out what was ahead. Now he looked down at the ground and was horrified at what he saw.
They were no longer on a path of any sort — at least, not one that he could make out. The horse’s feet were embedded in the salty, sandy mud. As he watched, the mud crept a finger’s breadth higher up her trembling legs.
He was suddenly aware of the sound of water. A slow, steady rushing filled his ears, and now he had noticed it, it was all he could hear.
Unless, carried on the gentle breeze, there was the sound of someone quietly laughing. .
He raised his head and looked out at the water. He stared, blinked a couple of times and stared again.
There could be no doubt about it.
The tide was coming in.
ELEVEN
My heart sank lower and lower as Hrype and I climbed the gentle slope up from the quayside at Chatteris to the abbey. I felt like lying down and howling, but that would not have done anyone any good. There was, however, a chance that if I managed to pull myself together, I might, as an apprentice healer, be able to help in the care of my sister.
I pulled myself together.
Something occurred to me which, had I not been so self-pityingly miserable, I might have thought to ask before. ‘Hrype?’ I said.
He looked at me kindly. ‘What is it, Lassair?’
‘How did you know that Elfritha was ill? Did someone from the abbey come to the village?’
‘Yes. They were directed to your parents’ house, and your mother very sensibly sent them on to Edild. Your mother is praying, every minute she can spare,’ he added gently, ‘but she knew full well that if someone was to be spared by Lord Gilbert to come and care for your sister, it had far better be Edild.’
I nodded. I could picture my poor mother, torn between the sense of asking Edild to go, and the longing of her heart to run to her sick daughter there and then.
‘And Edild told you, so you came here too,’ I said.
There was a slight pause.
‘She did,’ Hrype said eventually, ‘although not in quite the sense that you mean.’
‘But-’ I began, at first unable to understand in what other sense my words could be taken. I looked at him, and the expression in his strange eyes was enigmatic.
I understood. ‘You weren’t in Aelf Fen when the messenger came from the nuns, were you?’ I whispered.
He shook his head, a faint, private smile hovering on his lips. ‘No.’
‘Where were you?’
‘I was — a long way away.’
‘Then how did you know?’
His eyes met mine. ‘I heard her.’ He pointed to his head. ‘In here.’ Now his hand moved to hover over his heart. ‘And, more imperatively, in here.’
Yes. Hrype and my aunt loved each other, but probably only three people in the world were in on the secret, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone. As far as everyone else was aware, Hrype shared his home with his late brother’s widow and her son. Only five people knew that Sibert was actually Hrype’s son, the fourth and fifth being Edild and Sibert himself. He had only found out a year and a half ago, and, no matter how I hinted, he would never speak to me concerning his feelings about this devastating revelation.
Sibert’s mother Froya would not survive without Hrype, and all the village understood that. She had never got over the traumatic events of her past, and she depended on her brother-in-law for just about everything. They had been lovers just once, when both were in despair, and Sibert had been the result.
All the time Froya was alive, Hrype was bound by everything he held sacred to honour his responsibilities towards her. He might dream of leaving her to go and live with Edild, where his heart undoubtedly had already preceded him, but he would never do so.
It had been my privilege to witness Edild and Hrype together on a few occasions when they were away from the ever-open eyes of the Aelf Fen villagers. It was both a joy and an ache to watch them.
Yes. It came as no surprise to me now to learn that some mystical communication between them had allowed Edild to summon him when her need for him was suddenly so great. When word had come from Chatteris that Elfritha was very sick and perhaps dying, the sudden pressure on Edild to hurry away to the abbey and try to save her, bearing all the hopes and anxieties of my parents and my siblings, must have been vast. No wonder she had silently cried out for the man she loved.