He knew. He understood what Hrype was. .
‘I went to Crowland,’ the impostor said. ‘Father Clement had already left. He had been summoned by his bishop, to speak to him before he took up his new appointment. Accordingly, he had gone to Bishop’s Lynn, where I followed him. He stayed with the bishop for a day and a night, and the following morning he set out for Chatteris.
‘He did not get far. I waited until we were well away from the little town, with the last of the dwellings far behind us. I waited until the track ran down close to the water; we had not long crossed the Nar, and the great Ouse meandered along to our right. I caught up with Father Clement and, in the guise of a lonely traveller eager for a chat and a bit of human company, I engaged him in conversation. We walked for some miles, and then I suggested we share my pot of gruel while it was still warm.’
Even if I could have spoken, I do not think I had words to say. I stood spellbound, unable to look away from the black-robed figure before us.
‘He died easily. There was no pain, for the draught I gave him rendered him drowsy. He was smiling as I killed him. I tethered his limbs to hazel stakes and gave him to the salt marsh. Then I came to Chatteris. I discovered quite soon that the little nun was called Herleva, that she was a chatty soul who loved to giggle. Not very bright, but affectionate and popular. She had a friend, a slightly older girl who was also a white-veiled novice. The two spent as much time together as they were allowed, and it was clear that there was a deep friendship between them.
‘I thought I was safe. Six months had passed, Herleva seemed happy and content, and it appeared there was nothing in her new life to remind her of the events that happened as she was leaving the old one. I was about to slip quietly away, when something happened. Herleva’s friend had a visitor; her sister, I believe, although I did not meet her, or even see her myself, so I cannot be sure. But this young visitor was learning to be a healer. She was being taught other skills, too; I hid carefully and sat unobserved, listening as she whispered to her sister the nun, telling her of the wondrous things she was learning.
‘She left, and the nun went to seek out her friend Herleva. She told her with awe in her voice of the things her sister had just been speaking about. I knew what was going to happen. I wished I could stop it, but I could not. I moved my position slightly so that I could observe the two of them. I can see them now: Herleva’s frown, the downturned mouth, the disgruntled expression as she realized that her best friend’s visitor had left a deep and lasting impression. She was jealous.
‘The temptation, it seemed, was too much for her. “I once saw magic too,” Herleva said, in a tone of such self-importance that you would have thought she had performed the magic herself. “It was just before I left home to come here,” she went on in her light little voice. “I’d been up by the sea, saying goodbye to some of my favourite spots. I saw that a storm was brewing, and I took shelter in a hedge. I saw the storm grow and burst. I saw a fleet of ships that perished. I saw hundreds of men drown, screaming as they died. I saw the man who stood alone up on the shore and made the magic happen.”?’
He paused, running a hand over his face. Then, his expression oddly ironic, he said, ‘She might have been about to say more, to utter the words that I dreaded to hear. She didn’t. But I dared not take the risk; I had to act. She was sent out here, to tend the donkey in this field down by the water. I followed her. I said, “Cold this morning, Herleva.” I held out my flask. “Here, have a sip of this. It’s gruel, and it’s hot.”?’ He glanced at us: Rollo, Hrype, me. As if to exonerate himself, he muttered, ‘She suffered no pain.’
I sensed a mighty, silent protest form itself in Hrype and burst out of him. The impostor felt it too; he staggered back a pace or two.
Quickly, he recovered. ‘She might have told her friend of her suspicions! I couldn’t risk it. I sought out her friend — her name is Elfritha — and I said I was making a new mixture to warm and comfort the cold and hungry poor who flock to the abbey for aid, and asked her if she would be so kind as to sample it and tell me what she thought. “You have a friend, or perhaps a relative, who is a healer, I believe?” I said.
‘?“Yes, I have,” she agreed readily, blushing and smiling with pleasure at being able to help. “My sister is apprenticed to our aunt, whose reputation is widely known in the fens around our home village.”?’
I felt a pain like a knife in my guts. It was all my fault! If I’d kept my mouth shut and refrained from boasting of my latest knowledge before my sister, then she wouldn’t have told Herleva, and Herleva wouldn’t have been driven to try and do better with an even more fantastic tale of her own. Herleva would still be alive, and Elfritha would never have been poisoned. And, even worse, my beloved sister had actually bragged about me, her very words making her more suitable to test out the false Father Clement’s foul draught!
He was shaking his head. ‘I do not know why she did not die,’ he mused. ‘The draught was made in the same way as that which killed her friend and my predecessor.’ He shot a look at Hrype. ‘What do you say, cunning man? Any suggestions?’
Hrype, with the power of speech returned, sounded hoarse. ‘Elfritha is both sister and niece to healers,’ he said, and his voice was icy with hatred. ‘She has been given healing remedies since she was a child. It was your misfortune, false priest, to give your poison to someone who was used to the deadly ingredients, and so better able to withstand their impact.’
The impostor nodded, as if the explanation made sense. ‘You are probably right,’ he said.
He was concentrating intensely on Hrype. I wondered if that meant he had identified him as the main threat. I hoped so, for that would mean he was less concerned with Rollo and me. I tried once more to look at Rollo, and this time I managed it. He, too, was staring at me. He mouthed something, but the movements of his lips were so subtle that I did not pick it up. I concentrated on him, so fiercely that my head began to ache in protest. I bent all my mind to his, and then I knew what he wanted me to do.
I wasn’t sure if I could. Turning my head slightly was one thing, but what I had to do involved far more than that. But we had to do something, and quickly. This man before us, dressed in his priest’s robes, had already demonstrated that he had power, and it was highly likely that he had already sent out a summons to his storm-raising friend. We might just be able to overcome him alone, but if both faced us, we’d have no chance.
I tested myself. I tried to bend my knees, to let my shoulders slump. I managed both, after a fashion. Then I took a big breath and let my entire body go slack. I fell, in what must have looked exactly like a faint, and found myself lying on the damp ground.
He was distracted, as Rollo must have known he would be. Not for long, but it was enough. The moment his fierce, intense attention slipped away from Rollo, Rollo raised his sword and leapt on him, flattening him so that he lay on his back, and then quickly straddling him, the point of his sword to the man’s throat. Hrype was only the blink of an eye behind him, dropping to his knees beside the black-clad figure.
I thought Rollo was going to kill him. So, I believed, did Hrype, for he reached out and took hold of Rollo’s sword arm. ‘You cannot,’ he said. ‘In the eyes of the world, and, far more importantly, in the eyes of the church, this man is a priest.’
‘Those who knew the real Father Clement will testify that this man is no such thing!’ Rollo’s voice was hot with furious protest, and he wrested his arm out of Hrype’s grip.