He knew without even having to think about it that this was indeed the beginning.
He lay down again. She sensed his movement and turned on to her side, facing away from him. Her breathing settled down again, rhythmic and deep, and he realized she hadn’t woken up.
He curled his long body round behind hers, arm around her slim waist, legs drawn up and pressed to hers. For a while, her nearness aroused him, but he told himself that now was not the time. Besides, he was still very weary. Soon he fell asleep again.
It was daylight when I woke up. I lay looking out at the thin sunshine in the glade beyond our shelter, and I knew from the quality of the light that it wasn’t long after dawn. I was blissfully comfortable, for Rollo’s blanket beneath us was thick and soft, and the animal skin had kept the ground chill from penetrating. I was warm, too, for not only were we covered by my own blanket, but also his arms were around me and his body was pressed against my back. I sighed with pleasure, relaxing against him.
As I grew more fully awake, the reality of my situation dawned on me. I was lying naked with a man I barely knew! Yes, I loved him, and I was fairly sure he loved me. The fact that I’d heard him when he called out to me, even though he was far away, told me that, in some great pattern that humans are not meant to understand, he and I were bound together.
Nevertheless, we were virtually strangers to each other, and the fact of our sharing a bed without a stitch on was out of necessity, not desire. Well, I desired him then, without a doubt, and I could tell it was the same for him, for all that he was still asleep.
It would happen, and I knew it. One day, probably quite soon, we would fulfil our destiny and become lovers. The day was not that day, however; every instinct told me so. Carefully removing his arms — not without several pangs of regret — I crept out of our lair and, gathering up the bundle of my folded clothes, stepped out into the glade and got dressed.
I had just finished brushing and braiding my hair — quite dry now — and was putting on my coif when I felt eyes on me. Bending down to look back inside the shelter, I saw he was propped up on one elbow, watching me with a smile on his face.
His eyes ran over me, from my head to my feet and back again, taking in the fact that I was dressed. I thought he murmured, ‘Shame.’ Then he unfolded his own clothes, and I turned my back to give him privacy.
I felt him come and stand behind me. He put his arms round me — already they felt familiar — and he said, right in my ear, ‘You came to find me, and you saved my life. I am now bound to you, by ties of indebtedness and also by ties of love.’ Then he turned me to face him and, as if putting a seal on his words, gently kissed me on the lips.
It was the first time he had spoken to me of love; the first time any man had done so. Glad, so very glad, that it was Rollo, I lifted my chin so that I was looking into his eyes. ‘As I am to you,’ I whispered.
We stood for some moments, not speaking, not moving, simply absorbing each other. It felt as if we were enchanted, as if that little glade among the pine trees was a place of magic that had bestowed its gift on us.
With a sigh, he broke the spell.
‘We should get going,’ he said, and the obvious regret in his tone made me want to sing. ‘There is much I have to tell you, my love, and a task that I must complete.’
‘Let me help,’ I said, without even a pause to think. I didn’t care what his task was. It would be dangerous — of course it would, for yesterday the forces ranged against him had had him at their mercy, on the point of death. I wanted to share the danger. Just at that moment, I was so exhilarated, so full of joy, that I’d have died with him if he’d asked me to.
He was watching me, his dark eyes intent. ‘I am reluctant to ask you,’ he muttered, ‘but I have the feeling that I’m not going to be able to fulfil my mission without your help.’
‘I will do anything,’ I said softly.
He made a sound in his throat, half anguish, half a moan of happiness. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘That is why I don’t want to involve you.’
‘I can take care of myself,’ I said gently. ‘Remember who it was who got us away from the storm at the end of the path?’
He smiled grimly. ‘I’m not likely to forget.’
We studied each other for some moments. I was pretty sure I knew what he was thinking. It must have come hard, for a man such as he to face the fact that a skinny village healer could do something he couldn’t do, and that, in truth, he still had need of her assistance.
In the end he gave a sigh, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop the grin spreading over his face. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
It was not what I was expecting, but I was, very. ‘Starving,’ I said.
‘Me too.’ He reached down for my hand, gave it a squeeze and released it. ‘Let’s pack up and head off for some place where they’ll serve us breakfast. I’ll treat you to anything and everything you fancy — ’ he patted a purse at his waist and I heard the chink of coins — ‘and when we’ve eaten all we want, I’ll tell you why I’m here and what I have to do. What do you say?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
SIXTEEN
Gurdyman leaned back in his chair, kneading the flesh of his brow as if his head hurt. Watching him, Hrype would not have been surprised if it did. The intense concentration he had brought to bear on the matter, and the awful, underlying sense of urgency spurring them both on, were enough to give anyone a headache.
‘If the man at Chatteris isn’t Father Clement,’ Gurdyman said heavily, removing his hand, ‘then who is he? And if we are right in our conclusion that the dead man is Father Clement, then what was he doing over in the eastern fens? Was he killed at the spot where he became entangled with the boat, or did the murderer take the body there because it was a fitting place for his sacrifice?’
Hrype gave a brief sound of frustrated irritation. ‘Too many questions, Gurdyman,’ he said shortly. ‘I can give no answers other than useless speculation.’
Gurdyman smiled. ‘Your speculation is never useless, old friend,’ he murmured.
Hrype barely heard. ‘It would be quite possible for anyone with a boat to have done the killing in one place and then transported the body to the spot where it was found,’ he said slowly, ‘but my heart tells me it was not done like that.’ He hesitated, trying to catch the nebulous impression that so convinced him and put it into words. ‘From what you have told me, I have a picture in my mind of a body, naked and suffering the marks of the Threefold Death: the stab to the neck, the garrotte, the drowning. In his stomach are the remains of his last meal; the powerful substances that rendered him unconscious have done their work all too well. The killer forces hazel stakes into the soft ground at the fen edge, lashing his victim to them with honeysuckle ropes. This was not so much a killing, Gurdyman, as a performance, done for the benefit of the only witnesses.’
‘The spirits. The gods of the place,’ Gurdyman said softly.
‘Yes. Our killer was making an offering to them because he wished something from them; perhaps because, having already been granted whatever he had asked for, he was giving thanks. Either way, this performance would have been enacted in its entirety in the place where the body was found.’ He added, with quiet conviction, ‘I am quite certain of it.’
Gurdyman nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I, too, see it that way,’ he agreed.
‘So, let us ask the question again,’ Hrype said. ‘Why was Father Clement over on the east side of the fens?’ Abruptly, he stood up, moving to the side of the sunny courtyard so that he could look up into the sky. ‘Not long past midday,’ he murmured. ‘If I leave now, I should be there by noon tomorrow.’
Gurdyman got to his feet. Stiff after sitting still for so long, he pressed a hand to the small of his back. ‘It is a long way,’ he said. ‘I will pack some provisions for you.’