Out of the Dawn Light (22 page)

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Authors: Alys Clare

BOOK: Out of the Dawn Light
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‘
No!
’ I leapt up, stamping my foot for emphasis.
Lord Gilbert actually chuckled. ‘As I observed, didn’t I? A spirited girl!’ he said over his shoulder.
I
knew
there had been someone else in the room! I cursed myself for not having tried harder to see if I was right. My skin prickling with apprehension, I stared into the shadows at the back of the hall where I had supposed that the hanging concealed a door. Slowly, as if he was reluctant to show himself, a man walked forward into the light.
I stared at him and his intense dark eyes under their strongly marked brows stared right back. The lines of his face were pronounced and he had deeply etched grey circles under his eyes. His mouth was no more than a thin, hard line. He was, I reminded myself as I tried not to recoil, a man in mourning, for he had just lost his nephew and his heir.
It was Baudouin de la Flèche.
My fear came racing back, multiplied a hundredfold. It had been scary enough nerving myself to face Gilbert de Caudebec, and I knew his reputation as a benevolent lord who did not harry and bully his peasants and his tenants like many Normans did. Baudouin de la Flèche was a very different matter; I had no logical reason to be so frightened of him but I was. I tried to tell myself that his fearsome expression was undoubtedly the result of his grief – some people, especially men, adopt anger as a way of dealing with the pain – but it did little to reassure me. As I stood there forcing my knees to hold firm and stop shaking, commanding myself not to do as I longed to and turn and flee, I knew he brought with him danger. Terrible danger.
He smiled, a ghastly expression that I detected had not a jot of sincerity in it. Then he said – and his light, cheerful tone, like his smile, was so incongruous and so clearly forced that I was amazed Lord Gilbert did not spin round to stare at him – ‘You did indeed, Gilbert, and
spirited
barely describes our young visitor adequately.’ He moved closer, and I forced myself to stand firm. ‘I would say also that it is very brave, for a little village girl to stride into her lord’s hall and contradict him so forcefully!’ He laughed, a short
ha!
which sounded unpractised, as if he did not do it very often. ‘But sadly,’ he went on, his face falling in mock sympathy, ‘we already know the truth.’ He turned to Lord Gilbert. ‘Is that not so?’
‘Yes, yes!’ Lord Gilbert beamed. ‘The young man, Sibert, tried to make us believe this highly imaginative tale, of you accompanying him and Romain de la Flèche to Drakelow, and even as he did so we all doubted that he was telling the truth.’ He broke off, looking at me closely. ‘How old are you, child?’
‘Fourteen.’ My midsummer birthday seemed months ago.
‘Fourteen,’ Lord Gilbert echoed. ‘But you look so much younger, like a little girl who has yet to bloom into womanhood and still needs the security and protection of her family.’
I seethed with silent fury. If only he knew, fat, condescending pig that he was!
‘Little village girls do not go on illicit, unauthorized journeys half across the country,’ Lord Gilbert stated flatly, and there was a worrying note of finality in his voice. ‘In addition,’ he added, smiling at me, ‘as soon as Sibert made this claim – that you were with him all the time and would vouch for the fact that he committed no murder – I sent men to find you, as you know, but also to question your kin.’
Oh, no! I had caught myself in my own trap! I had lied so convincingly that everyone had believed me.
‘Your sister and her husband repeated the account you gave of your week of absence from their house,’ Lord Gilbert went on, ‘in such detail that there can be no doubt they were telling a true story. In addition, my men spoke to your aunt, with whom you were staying, and she verified the fact that you never left her house.’ He eyed me with sudden interest. ‘You are skilled as a healer, I am told?’
He stared at me expectantly and I had to answer. ‘I’m learning,’ I admitted grudgingly.
‘Good, good,’ said Lord Gilbert. ‘I must remember that. I have a pretty young wife and an adorable baby son, did you know that?’
‘Er—’
He did not wait for me to answer. ‘They are in fine health at present,’ he said, smiling happily, ‘but my wife will be reassured to know we have a young healer close at hand in case of need.’
He was patronizing me and I hated it. If he or this wife of his had wanted a healer they’d have sent for Edild, not me. He was being kind because he was sorry for me. I’d come on a silly, childish mission to try to save my friend by spinning a ridiculous yarn than nobody in their right minds would credit, and he had dismissed me out of hand. Now he was trying to comfort me. In a minute he’d be offering me a sugar cake, as if I were an infant who had fallen over and banged her head.
If my fury and my shame had not been so violent, I might have realized that it was actually quite decent of him. Many lords would, I am sure, have sent me packing with a scolding and possibly a thrashing to remind me not to tell lies.
Perhaps he did not wish to jeopardize the eel supply.
Baudouin had been silent during this hopeless exchange with Lord Gilbert. He had circled me – I had sensed his presence behind me and had found it deeply unnerving, my skin crawling in response to his proximity – and now he went to stand beside Lord Gilbert’s chair. I looked at him. He – or more likely one of Lord Gilbert’s servants – had brushed down his dusty tunic and polished his boots, and now he could be seen for the wealthy, powerful man that he was. Observing my eyes on him, he smiled faintly, as if to say, look well, child. Admit you stand no chance against me.
He wants justice, I thought. He is in desperate need of somebody to blame for Romain’s death and he will settle for Sibert. He will not rest till Sibert hangs for the murder of Romain.
I quaked under his black stare but I made myself hold his glance.
You might once have been rich and important,
I said to him silently,
but that time has gone, for you have lost your manor. I don’t know why you claim that Sibert killed your nephew but there has to be a reason and I shall find out what it is and save my friend.
I don’t know if he perceived my thought. If he did, he made no visible sign. But then I felt a horrible sensation – it was if a wave of heat from a huge, uncontrolled fire had just hit me. I flinched and his smile twisted until it was a look of pure evil.
I suspected, for all I hoped it was not so, that I had just made an enemy.
FIFTEEN
 
I
had told them at home that I was going back to Goda’s house and as I left Lord Gilbert’s manor, my face still burning from my humiliation, I thought I might as well do just that. I had nerved myself to do the one thing I could think of to save Sibert and I had failed, miserably and utterly. Lord Gilbert had all but patted me on the head and told me to go away and play. Baudouin de la Flèche had revealed himself to be a truly frightening man. But then, I reminded myself, trying to be fair, he had just lost his nephew and heir and perhaps was not in his right mind. Thinking of him in his lonely grief I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
I really didn’t want to go back to Goda’s house but I could not think of anywhere else to go. If I turned up at home I’d have to explain, and my failure still bit too deep for me to have any desire to talk about it. So, slowly, reluctantly, I plodded wearily off down the road to Icklingham, thinking as I did that never had the miles seemed so long.
The day had become hot and I stopped by a stream to splash my face with cool water. I was straightening up again, preparing to attack the last leg of my journey, when I heard a rustling sound in the bracken behind me.
For no apparent reason, I was afraid. I stood quite still, only my eyes moving as swiftly I looked round, both for the source of the sound and for a hiding place or escape route. There was nowhere to hide – I was standing on a low bank above a watercourse that wound between low bushes and skinny alders – and the only place to run was on down the track to Icklingham.
I listened, my ears straining, but the sound did not come again. It was probably an animal, I told myself. A bird pulling at a worm. A stoat whipping round into the safety of its hole.
I did not succeed in reassuring myself at all. I knew that the sound had somehow been too big for a small, innocent creature. I was all but sure it had been made by a human.
I thought suddenly, someone killed Romain. It wasn’t Sibert, no matter what this mysterious witness says, no matter how much Baudouin wants to believe that it was. I knew the truth and I realized with a cold shiver of horror that, other than Sibert, I was the only living soul who did. It was in this unknown somebody’s interests to ensure that my version of events did not gain credibility and one sure way of doing that was to silence me. Permanently.
I leapt across the stream and ran as fast as I could towards Icklingham.
 
Goda received me with slightly more animation than she usually managed. It was not, after all, every day that her sister managed to involve herself in a murder. After the initial questions, however, Goda’s attitude changed and soon she was screeching at me for bringing the family into disrepute. It was a relief to go outside into the warm sunshine to collect vegetables for our meal.
She found plenty of tasks of varying degrees of distastefulness for me to do for the remainder of the day. She was quite clearly making a point, that I had done something reckless and silly – she never specified what, exactly, since she didn’t know – and must be punished. I accepted it, doing whatever I was ordered efficiently and without complaint. I too felt I needed to be punished, and far more severely than anything my sister could come up with, for I had failed my friend and he would probably hang.
As the long day at last descended into evening, it was all I could do to keep back my tears.
 
I finally got Goda settled for the night. She had been complaining of aches and pains all afternoon, but then she always complained about something and I did not take a lot of notice. I knew she must be near her time but, other than making sure I knew where to go for the midwife when the moment came, there was little else I could do.
I went to sit outside on the narrow little bench in front of the house. Presently Cerdic came home; he had developed to a fine degree the knack of knowing when his wife was asleep and only creeping into their bed when she was snoring rhythmically and all but impossible to wake. Since he was up and out of the house in the morning before she woke, I wondered if these days they ever exchanged as much as a word. Certainly, it seemed highly unlikely they would exchange anything else.
He saw me on the bench and nodded a greeting.
‘She’s asleep,’ I whispered.
We both listened in silence for a moment to her snores. ‘So I hear,’ he whispered back with a grin.
On an impulse I patted the bench beside me and after a brief hesitation he sat down. We did not speak for some time – it really was a lovely night, clear skies and a glowing, golden moon – and then he said tentatively, ‘Do you think she’ll be better when the baby’s here?’
I did not know how to answer. What exactly did he mean by
better
? She’d be less immobile and useless, probably, and there was a slim chance she’d remember that she was a wife and it was her duty to keep the house clean and tidy and get a meal ready for her hard-working husband when he came home at night. Her temper might improve marginally once she was no longer fat, sweaty and uncomfortable. But she would still be Goda.
I thought very carefully and then said, for he was stuck with her and it would do no harm to give him some hope, ‘Lots of women feel quite differently about – er, about things once they have a baby to cherish. She’ll have a big, strong child,’ I went on, my confidence growing, ‘that’s for sure, and that’ll be a joy. She’ll nurse it and it’ll thrive, and she’ll be happy and I’m sure she’ll try to be a good mother.’ I was going too far and I knew it when I heard myself say
she’ll be happy
, for I’d never known my sister when she wasn’t discontented and moaning abut something.
But then miracles did sometimes happen.
I had said enough; more than enough.
Cerdic seemed content, however. After a time he said, ‘Ah well, better get to bed, I suppose.’ He stood up, looking down at me with a wry smile. ‘Thanks for coming back,’ he added. ‘She’d never say so but she needs you.’
As I watched him let himself quietly into the house and close the door, I reflected that it was probably all the appreciation I was ever going to get.
I sat on for some time and I was only prompted to thinking that I too should go to bed when I realized I was growing cold. I wrapped my lovely shawl more tightly around me and stood up, heading for the jakes.
On my way back to my little lean-to an arm was thrown around my throat and before I could cry out a hand was pressed tightly over my mouth. My alarmed heart started banging against my ribs and, as in a flash I was transported back to the cliff above Drakelow where the same thing had happened, my instant thought was:
Sibert! It’s Sibert!
Something about my assailant must have added to that impression – a smell, or the feel of the skin on the hand clamped to my lips – for, despite my fear when I had heard something in the undergrowth, now, as the initial shock faded, I was not scared at all.

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