Mist Over the Water (28 page)

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Authors: Alys Clare

BOOK: Mist Over the Water
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‘His body was brought home for burial?’
That was the strange thing, Gewis reflected; it had puzzled him at the time, but, in his shocked and grieving state, he had not thought to question the voice of authority . . . ‘No. The priest came to see my mother and he told her that my father had been buried in the place where he died. It was summer,’ he added, as if trying to excuse the actions of others, ‘and the priest said the burial had to be done quickly before . . . er, before—’
‘Yes, yes, quite so,’ Lord Edmund said quickly. ‘And you have visited your father’s grave?’
‘No.’ Gewis hung his head. ‘My mother tells me repeatedly that we shall make the journey soon.’
‘But the day has not yet come?’ Lord Edmund persisted.
‘No.’
There was a short silence. Gewis felt deeply ashamed for, although he could not honestly say that he had loved his father, what sort of son was he that he had never knelt at the graveside and offered prayers to speed his father into heaven?
Lord Edmund seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Do not berate yourself,’ he murmured. ‘Try as you might you would not find the place where your father lies buried, for it is not there to be found.’
‘Not . . . What do you mean?’ Gewis was half out of his chair, horrified. How could there be no grave?
‘Calm yourself,’ Lord Edmund said soothingly. ‘There is no grave because those who murdered your father wanted no place where his supporters might make a shrine. They would have no hallowed spot where people would flock to uphold his memory.’
Gewis slowly shook his head, his incomprehension rendering him dumb.
‘Tell me, Gewis, was your father a good carpenter?’
‘No. He only got the plain work that other men didn’t want.’
‘Quite so. And—’
‘When he was called away for that special job he forgot his tools, and my mother had to go after him with them,’ Gewis added. ‘He’d only gone a couple of miles down the road, which was just as well because Mother didn’t know where he was bound, and if he’d got any further she might not have found him.’
‘I see,’ said Lord Edmund. ‘And just why, Gewis, do you think that a carpenter of your father’s standard would have been chosen to work on that grand new structure?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gewis admitted. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘It makes no sense because it did not happen,’ Lord Edmund said gently. ‘Your father was tricked, Gewis. His enemies needed to draw him away from his family and his village, for they wanted no witnesses. They made up this fiction of the new building as an excuse for your father to go with them, but all along they had told him a different tale.’
‘What was it?’ Gewis whispered.
‘Ah, Gewis, this is so sad,’ Lord Edmund sighed, ‘for they were clever and they played on your poor father’s secret dreams of glory. They told him they had come to restore him to his rightful place, but that in order to do so he must travel with them to some unspecified destination. That, of course, is why he did not take his tools when he left; he believed that, far from going to work on a building, he was at last going to receive the honour he had always known was his due.’
Oh, but it makes such sense!
Gewis thought. His father’s lifelong resentment and barely suppressed anger at his lowly station in life would be explained perfectly if, all along, he had believed he deserved something far better.
Was it true? Could it really be that his father had been an important man? Somebody had wanted him dead, it seemed, and that somebody had succeeded. ‘Who killed him?’ Gewis demanded. ‘Why did he have to die?’
‘He was killed by his enemies,’ Lord Edmund repeated. ‘They had grabbed power in the land and a man such as your father threatened them, for while he lived there was always the chance that men would rally to his cause.’
‘
Who was he?
’ Gewis shouted.
But Lord Edmund shook his head. ‘Not yet, Gewis. First, I must explain my involvement in your affairs.’ He paused, his eyes unfocused. Then he said, ‘I have, as I told you, lived most of my life abroad, for my father served in the household of a prince in exile who, with his brother, was sent out of England apparently for his own safety but in reality so that he could be quietly killed. He received help, however, from an unexpected source and, by a circuitous route and through the kindness of strangers, eventually he and his brother settled in Hungary. His brother left no descendants, but my father’s prince married and had a son. This boy was still a child when my prince made his attempt to take the inheritance that was his due; an attempt that led to his death.’ Lord Edmund paused, momentarily covering his face with his hand. Then, with an obvious effort, he continued. ‘The prince’s son grew to manhood, and we had high hopes of him, for he was of the blood and he was ambitious. However, he failed us. Instead of accepting his part in the continuing struggle, he threw in his lot with the enemy. He is lost to us.’
‘Is he dead?’ Gewis was absorbed in the tale.
‘No, he lives, as far as we know. He supported Duke Robert of Normandy in the attempt to take England from King William, and when it failed he fled to Scotland, where his sister is wed to the king. Now they say he plans to fight abroad.’ Lord Edmund shrugged. ‘He is, as I say, no more a concern of ours.’ His look of disdain said more than his words.
‘So . . .’ Gewis let his mind run back over all that he had just heard. ‘You lead a faction that opposes the Normans and that—’
‘Hush!’ Lord Edmund hissed urgently, looking around him anxiously. ‘Do not speak such things, even in private, for there are spies everywhere and they are ruthless!’ Leaning closer, he murmured, his voice barely audible, ‘Agents of the Conqueror killed your father, and they will not rest until they have killed you too.’
‘Me?’ Gewis cried. ‘What have I to do with this?’
‘You are your father’s son,’ Lord Edmund replied. ‘The role that was planned for him is now for you to fulfil. How old are you?’
‘Fifteen, I believe.’
‘Fifteen. Yes, yes, quite old enough.’ Lord Edmund was beaming again. ‘We shall take you from here to the secure place where our supporters will be gathering, and there we shall reveal to you the full story.’
I do not want to go
, Gewis thought. He did not understand – how could he, when this wily, devious man with his insincere smile and the hunger in his eyes refused to explain? – but every instinct was commanding Gewis to have nothing to do with him.
I must escape
, he decided. He stitched on an eager smile and said, ‘That is wonderful news, and I am in your debt for all that you are doing for me.’ Lord Edmund inclined his head in acknowledgement, his face full of smug satisfaction. Gewis put his goblet to his lips and pretended to take a long pull of wine. Then, carefully placing it on then floor, he put a hand to his stomach and muttered, ‘Oh dear.’
‘What is the matter?’ Lord Edmund demanded.
Gewis made a rueful face. ‘I am not used to such excellent wine,’ he admitted. ‘I apologize, my lord, for I have been a glutton and supped far too freely.’ He gulped air and then burped loudly. ‘Sorry.’
Lord Edmund was watching him warily. ‘Are you not well?’
‘I’m fine, I . . . Oh, no!’ Now he was retching, his hands up to his mouth.
‘Do not throw up here!’ Lord Edmund exclaimed, distaste evident in his tone. ‘The privy is in the yard – down the passage and straight in front of you.’ He waved a hand.
Gewis retched again, more violently. ‘Thank you, my lord . . . Oh,
oh!
’
‘Hurry, lad!’ Lord Edmund urged.
Gewis leapt up and lurched for the door, flinging it open and pulling it to behind him. He heard voices from down the passage. That way, presumably, was the kitchen area and beyond it the yard. There was no sign of either his guardians or either of the servants. With any luck the voices were theirs and all six men were ensconced in the kitchen grabbing a bite of supper.
On light feet Gewis raced the other way, across the hall to the door. He shoved the bar out of the way and opened the door just enough to slip through the gap. He emerged into the darkness, closing the door as soon as he was clear. The longer they thought he was still in the house, the better.
He ran along the alley to the market square. There was the abbey, directly in front of him. Torches flared high in their brackets either side of the gate. Careful to keep in the shadows, Gewis crept around the square until he was on the opposite side to the street where the guardians had taken him. A series of narrow, dark alleys led off in a generally downhill direction, presumably towards the water. Gewis knew he had to get away, and the only way was by water. He set off down the alley that crouched beneath the abbey wall.
He ran down its full length and at the end found that he could go no further. The water was lapping at his feet, and there was no way across. In the darkness, the scene lit only by the moon, he probably would not have made out any sign of a causeway, even had there been one.
I must wait for the daylight
, he decided. He looked around for somewhere to hide, but nothing suitable offered itself. He was resolving to creep back to the abbey wall and crouch against it when he heard the sound.
At first in his panic he thought they were chasing after him. Then he realized that the sounds were coming from the wrong direction and that they were not running footfalls but faint splashes.
Somebody was approaching by water, carefully working the oars to make as little noise as possible.
Gewis stood in the shadows and waited.
Presently, a dilapidated boat appeared. It was quite small and in the stern there was a rough framework that supported a tattered awning. A young man was rowing and there was one passenger, a woman dressed in a dark cloak, the hood pushed back to reveal reddish-gold hair closely braided. She was tense with anxiety, biting her lips incessantly. A frown creased her high forehead.
The young man deftly manoeuvred the boat until it bumped gently against the bank, then leapt out and secured the painter to a post. He leaned down and held out his hand to the woman, who took it and followed him out on to the land. She carried a large leather satchel that appeared to be heavy. The young man offered to take it from her but she shook her head, clutching it to her.
Gewis had been craning forward to watch the pair and, although he did not realize it, his head and shoulders were out of the shadows and the moon fell on his bright hair. The young man looked up – he seemed to be searching for the track – and caught sight of Gewis. With a soft exclamation, he hurried forward.
Gewis cursed himself for his carelessness. He turned, about to flee, but – his voice low and urgent – the young man called out to him.
Gewis stopped. Slowly, he turned round.
The young man was right behind him. He was slim, quite tall and had long fair hair. The flash of recognition came swiftly. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ Gewis whispered. ‘You came into the abbey looking for rats.’
The young man’s face was haggard as if from some deep, abiding sorrow, but now he grinned briefly and said, ‘Yes. I was actually looking for you.’
Gewis studied him. The woman had come up to stand behind the young man, and Gewis was aware of her watchful presence. He felt no threat from either of them; besides, what choice did he have? He could try to row away in their boat, but he had no idea which way to go and would probably end up drowned. If he stayed where he was then Lord Edmund’s men might find him.
He stared into the young man’s eyes. ‘Have you somewhere to stay?’ he asked.
‘Yes, we are on our way to . . . Yes,’ he replied. Gewis noticed the quick glance he exchanged with the woman.
‘I am being followed by men whom I do not trust,’ Gewis said. ‘If I come with you will you hide me?’
The young man reached out a tentative hand and Gewis took it. ‘We will,’ he said. ‘I am called Sibert, and this is Edild.’ The woman nodded to him. ‘Come with us,’ Sibert added, ‘and we will help you.’ Still grasping Gewis’s hand, he led the way along the bank and then up a narrow alley. He turned, grinned at Gewis and said, ‘We have, as I just told you, been looking for you. We will not let you down.’
NINETEEN
I
was so relieved to see Edild that it was a moment before I noticed who else Sibert had brought with him. When I realized it was the pale youth, I thought I must be dreaming and that his unexpected appearance was just one more facet of this extraordinary night.
Edild was already on her knees beside Hrype, her anxious eyes taking in every aspect of his condition, one hand on his forehead. She uncovered the wound on his chest and, calling to me for a light, inspected the stitches. She glanced up at me, and I saw from her expression that I had done all right. Then she said, ‘Is there water boiling?’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘Good.’ She reached out for her satchel, unfastening the straps and quickly laying out ingredients.
I could not contain myself any longer. ‘Is he going to live?’ I whispered.

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