‘Come in, Hrype.’ He stood aside to usher his guest inside. Neither his voice nor his manner displayed the least surprise. ‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting,’ he added as he led the way along the passage. ‘I was in the crypt and could not leave my workbench until a critical stage in my experiment was complete.’
‘I hope I did not disturb you,’ Hrype said politely.
‘No, no.’ Gurdyman waved a hand, indicating the little courtyard, sheltered from the cool breeze and warm from the sunshine spilling in and reflecting off the stone walls. ‘I was expecting you. Will you have some refreshment?’
Hrype realized he was ravenous. ‘I will, thank you.’
He watched as the sage fetched a tray of bread and cold, spiced meats, accompanied by mugs of ale, wondering how Gurdyman had known he was coming.
As if the wizard read the thought — he probably did — he chuckled and said, ‘There was nothing magical about it, my friend. Lassair’s sister is sick — how is she, by the way? I am sorry, I should have asked you that straight away. Only, I would guess by your demeanour that she is better?’
‘She is, thank you. Still very ill, but no longer on the point of death.’
‘I am very glad to hear it. As I was saying, I know that Lassair’s sister is sick, and Lassair had told me that her sister’s best friend was dead and had been poisoned. Given that in addition we have the case of the man in the fen, who was also poisoned, it was not particularly clever or astute to work out that, sooner or later, you would come to me.’ He paused, eyeing Hrype closely. ‘Once you had established the question, Lassair was not, I presume, available to provide the answer?’
Despite everything, Hrype began to laugh. ‘She has gone on a mission of her own,’ he said. He explained about the dream.
‘What can have taken her there?’ Gurdyman mused. ‘Have you any idea?’
‘There is a place of power off the north coast,’ Hrype replied. ‘It could be that the spirits have a quest for her. The summons was urgent, I understand.’
Gurdyman nodded. ‘Then she had, of course, no option but to obey it,’ he murmured. He met Hrype’s eyes. ‘We shall just have to manage without her.’ There was only light irony in his tone; he too, Hrype realized, had recognized Lassair’s worth.
‘She has a long way to go,’ Hrype said, ‘for she is still too subject to the influence of her emotions. Until she can govern her heart, she will always be unreliable.’
‘You are too hard on her, Hrype,’ Gurdyman countered. ‘She is yet young, and the power in her is strong.’
‘You are satisfied with her as a pupil?’ Hrype had first introduced Lassair to her mentor, and he hoped Gurdyman did not feel he was wasting his time.
‘Entirely,’ Gurdyman said firmly. ‘Now, have some more of this ale.’
‘I guessed,’ Gurdyman said as they finished the food, ‘that, having seen Lassair’s sister and learned what you could there, and in the absence of any opportunity to view the body of the dead nun, you would wish to hear all that you could concerning the body of the man found in the fen. Lassair has gone off on a purpose of her own, and so here you are, talking to me. Am I right?’
Hrype smiled. ‘You are,’ he agreed. ‘Please, tell me all that you can of the dead man.’
‘He was tethered on the fen margins,’ Gurdyman began, ‘somewhere over on the eastern edge of the wet lands, south of Lynn. The boatmen could not be more specific. They lost their way in the fog and had to make a turn in a narrow channel, and their guess is that it was there they picked up their extra cargo. The ropes that had bound the man became entangled somehow in the boat; perhaps in the steer board. Anyway, they unwittingly towed the corpse behind them all the way to the quay here at Cambridge, where someone spotted it bobbing along in their wake and raised the alarm.’
The eastern edge of the fen, south of Lynn. Hrype recalled how Lassair had seen such significance in that, believing it must be relevant because the little nun who had died was also from that region. He was not so sure; it could be no more than coincidence. ‘He had suffered the Threefold Death, I believe?’ he asked.
‘He had,’ Gurdyman confirmed.
‘A sacrifice,’ Hrype murmured.
‘You think so?’
‘I do. The signs are unmistakable. Who else would go to all that trouble? It was clear the murderer was easily able to overcome his victim, so why not simply hit him a bit harder on the head, or hold him under the water till he drowned? No; the details of the involved method of killing must surely point to a sacrificial death.’
‘So we are dealing,’ Gurdyman said slowly, ‘with a magician of the Old Ways.’ It was not a question; he knew it as well as Hrype did.
For a moment the sunny little courtyard felt cold, as if a cloud had covered the sun.
‘Why did he need to make a sacrifice?’ Gurdyman said after quite a long silence. ‘What is happening now, to make such a measure necessary? It’s not as if the Normans are a new phenomenon and, although many of us still resent their heavy-footed presence in our land, the time is surely not ripe for another revolt?’
‘I agree,’ Hrype said. ‘There is always dissent, and there always will be as long as people are alive who remember how life used to be. We may be more secure from the lawless ways of thieves and brigands under the new rule, and they tell us our shores have never been safer from attack than they are now, but this is still our land and they are still the invaders. I do not, however, sense that there is a major move at present to rise against them.’
‘So, if the sacrifice was not to appease the gods, and seek their aid and support in an attempt to throw off the new ways and return to the old, then what was it for?’ Gurdyman seemed to be thinking aloud, his voice soft and almost dreamy.
‘Sacrifices are made also in thanks for help already given,’ Hrype pointed out. ‘What if the killer had been required to carry out a mission fraught with danger and, having achieved his purpose, dispatched his victim in the old way in gratitude for his success?’
Gurdyman gave him a sharp look. ‘That is possible,’ he acknowledged. ‘I think, my friend,’ he added perceptively, ‘that you do not merely speculate.’
‘No,’ Hrype agreed. ‘As you surmise, I speak of events that have in fact happened. Or so I believe.’
Gurdyman settled back more comfortably in his chair, his refilled mug in his hand. ‘Tell me,’ he invited.
Hrype paused to gather his thoughts. Was he right? Had the runes led him to the correct conclusion? Or had he allowed emotion to creep in and influence him? Was he guilty of the same weakness that he had just accused Lassair of? Gurdyman was watching him intently; he had no choice but to go on.
‘We have two deaths, both carried out in the same distinctive manner, which, we surmise, makes the man and the young woman the victims of sacrifice,’ he began. ‘We also have the case of Lassair’s sister Elfritha, who was given exactly the same poison, possibly — probably — as a first step in a similar Threefold Death.’
‘How was the poison administered?’ Gurdyman asked. ‘And why did the killer not proceed with the next phases of the death?’
‘We do not yet know,’ Hrype replied. ‘The girl is too weak to speak, and I would guess that it will be some time before Edild risks asking such distressing questions.’
‘And dangerous ones,’ Gurdyman said softly. ‘If the poisoner is still at large and has access to Elfritha, he will not wish her to expose him. He may well try to prevent that by attacking her again.’
Hrype nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I worked that out too,’ he said. ‘Edild has been offered the help of one of the infirmary nuns. If the two of them are always present in the sick room, I do not see how the murderer will be able to do anything to harm their patient.’