Read Music of the Distant Stars Online

Authors: Alys Clare

Music of the Distant Stars (21 page)

BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars
2.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Pitying her, he said, ‘If the suggestion is that it was this unknown lover who killed her, his reason being that he had cause to fear the revelation of her secret, then should we not ask whether any of the other servants accompanied Lady Claude from Heathlands to Lakehall?’
Lassair flashed him a beaming smile. ‘Yes!’ she breathed. ‘Yes, of course, he loved her, and he’d have wanted to be with her, so he’d have—’ But then her face fell. ‘Lady Claude wouldn’t take a male servant,’ she said dully. ‘Would she? I mean, what would he do for her that Lord Gilbert’s staff couldn’t do? She only took Ida because she was such a good seamstress. She didn’t even take a personal maid, or if she did, nobody’s told me, and I tended her when she was unwell so I’d have probably met or heard about any maid then.’
Hrype watched as she shouldered her disappointment. He understood why this mattered so much to her, and he wondered if she would confess her interest to Gurdyman. It would depend, he mused, what impressions she was forming of the sage . . .
Favourable ones, it appeared. ‘My brother is in love with Derman’s sister, Zarina,’ she said suddenly, addressing Gurdyman. ‘Derman’s the—’
‘The simpleton accused of murdering Ida,’ Gurdyman supplied. ‘You said.’
‘Derman’s run away,’ Lassair went on, undeterred by the mild irony, ‘which might be a good thing, since Zarina says she can’t marry Haward – my brother – because she doesn’t want to impose Derman on my family, but the problem with that is that she really cares about him and she won’t be happy all the time he’s missing and she’s so worried about him. So you see—’
‘You must discover who really killed Ida, so that Derman may be exonerated and return home and Zarina’s fears for him will cease,’ Gurdyman finished smoothly. ‘Whereupon she will realize she was wrong in permitting the existence of her brother to come between her and Haward, and they will marry and be as happy as you have seen them to be.’
Lassair’s mouth dropped open. ‘You –
how did you know?
’
Gurdyman laughed delightedly. ‘I did not know, I guessed,’ he corrected her. ‘You have a set of runes in your satchel, unless I am much mistaken, and they resonate with your power. You have just revealed what is uppermost in your mind: over and above your determination to find out who killed the young woman and her unborn child, you want your brother to be happy because you love him dearly. Therefore, I concluded that what drove you to consult the runes was your overwhelming desire to know if all will end aright for him.’
‘The runes showed them together,’ Lassair whispered. ‘They were laughing, and they were devoted to each other.’ Gurdyman nodded. ‘Was that true? Did I read it right?’ she asked him.
Gurdyman said gently, ‘The runes are enigmatic, Lassair. It is very often the case that we consult them and end up less than satisfied, for reading is in itself a complicated business and one which takes many, many years to learn.’ He glanced at Hrype, his bright eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘Hrype here is a rune master,’ he said, ‘and if he is prepared to teach you, you are fortunate indeed.’
‘She shows some promise,’ Hrype allowed.
‘In this case, however,’ Gurdyman went on, ‘I believe that a simple question received a simple answer.’
Lassair went on staring at him. ‘You mean—’ she began.
But he shook his head. ‘Do not ask me,’ he said with sudden firmness. ‘It is between you and the spirits who guide you; I will say no more.’ Hrype watched as she slumped down on her seat, a small frown of perplexity on her face. Then Gurdyman got to his feet, took Hrype’s arm and drew him over to the small table beside his chair. Unrolling the manuscript, he spread it on the larger table, and Hrype, staring down at it, recognized what it was.
‘You have done it!’ he exclaimed.
‘No, no, for I cannot claim to have produced anything other than the vaguest of outlines,’ Gurdyman said. ‘It is here in my head –’ he tapped the bald dome of his skull – ‘but I am unable to find a satisfactory way of expressing what I see in my mind in a visible form.’
Lassair’s interest was piqued. Hrype saw her quietly get up and lean over to look at the manuscript. ‘What are you trying to do?’ she asked.
Gurdyman spun round to her. ‘You travelled here to Cambridge from Aelf Fen this morning, did you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then think, if you will, of the line made by your feet as you journeyed. Think of the land over which you passed, the streams and rivers that you crossed, the hamlets, villages and towns you passed.’
‘Ye–es.’
‘Now, imagine I asked you how to get from here to Aelf Fen. What instructions would you give me?’
She closed her eyes and said, ‘Leave your house, turn right, then left, then right again, then – oh, several more lefts and rights until you emerge into the street. Go on past the big stone houses, past the quays and over the bridge, then go right, and on through the outskirts of the town till you—’
‘Yes, that will do,’ Gurdyman interrupted smoothly. ‘Now, Lassair, instead of telling me, draw it for me.’ He smoothed out another piece of manuscript – it had clearly been a practise piece and was fluffy from erasures – and held out his quill.
Hrype could see in her face that she was at a loss. Nevertheless, she tried, and, quickly becoming absorbed in the challenge, soon had drawn a wiggling line that made abrupt turns here and there, passed swiftly-sketched trees and buildings, and finally ran off the edge of the parchment. ‘Aelf Fen is sort of there,’ she said, pointing to a place halfway across the table.’
Gurdyman smiled. ‘A good attempt,’ he observed, ‘although I fear your drawing would not help me find your village if I did not already know where it was.’
‘Oh.’ She looked downcast.
‘Do not be distressed,’ Gurdyman said brightly. ‘Many wise men are working on this problem, and not a few do worse than you, my girl.’
‘What is the destination that you are trying to illustrate?’ she asked, leaning against Hrype as she studied the manuscript, peering as she tried to make out the tiny writing and the details of the colourful little pictures.
‘Can you read?’ Gurdyman asked.
‘A little. My aunt is teaching me, as well as instructing me in the use of written letters.’
‘A sensible skill for a healer,’ the sage remarked. ‘You cannot, however, read that word?’ He pointed.
‘No.’
Hrype could: the word was
Rus
, and it was written over an area on the right hand side of the parchment. But then Hrype had the advantage of knowing what Gurdyman was trying to do.
Like Hrype’s own ancestors, Gurdyman’s forefathers had come from Sweden. Explorers and traders, they had manoeuvred their long ships south and east down the great rivers of the mighty, endless land mass that stretched apparently into infinity, encountering people who spoke different tongues, worshipped different gods, wore different dress, ate different food. They had sold the goods that their own lands produced in such abundance – chiefly furs – and brought back extraordinary objects unheard of in the homelands. Hrype’s own ancestor had brought the jade from which Hrype’s runes were made; Gurdyman’s uncle had brought the glorious, heavy silk shawl that he habitually wore. Gurdyman, with his quick, enquiring mind that ranged far and wide and recognized no boundaries, was attempting to translate the ancestral voyages into a form that could be read like writing on a page.
Hrype became aware that Lassair was trying to attract his attention. Turning with some effort from his fascinated study of Gurdyman’s work, he raised his eyebrows in im-patient enquiry. ‘If we go now we can be back by dark,’ she whispered.
He studied her for a moment, and he understood. She was upset because she had failed to find the answer she had gone looking for, and the talk of the journey to Aelf Fen had prompted the strong desire for home. ‘Very well,’ he said.
Gurdyman led them back along the passage to the door on to the alley. He, too, seemed to recognize Lassair’s dejection. Stopping beside the open door, he said, ‘I am sorry that I could not help you.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘It was good to meet you anyway.’
He bowed. ‘Thank you. We shall meet again.’
Lassair, apparently unable to think how to answer, merely nodded.
Hrype had followed her down the steps and was about to turn to take his leave when Gurdyman said thoughtfully, ‘What has Sir Alain to say on the matter?’
Hrype looked at Lassair, then said, ‘What matter?’
Gurdyman tutted. ‘The lad at Heathlands who made Ida pregnant.’
Hrype saw his own incomprehension mirrored in Lassair’s expression. ‘What would he know of the household there?’ he asked. ‘He didn’t know Lady Claude personally before she came to Lakehall. The idea, or so we understand, was for her to stay with her cousin Lord Gilbert while she met and became acquainted with her future husband, who had recently been appointed justiciar and was living close by.’ He shook his head. ‘Sir Alain de Villequier would not know any more about the servants at Lady Claude’s home than she chose to tell him, and I can’t imagine the two of them are so desperate for conversation that they have to discuss the staff.’
Lassair gave a little gasp. Gurdyman turned to her, his eyes twinkling. ‘And what has Lassair to say?’ he enquired.
‘We have made a false assumption,’ she whispered. ‘We all thought that Lady Claude went to Lakehall to meet her future husband. We believed that the marriage designed to unite the two families – first between Sir Alain and Lady Geneviève and, when that failed, Lady Claude – was arranged before the bridegroom had met either bride. That is not so, is it?’ She looked up at Gurdyman standing on the steps, her eyes wide.
‘No, it was not,’ he said. ‘Sir Alain was a frequent visitor at Heathlands. Before he was awarded his new appointment and went to live at Alderhall, his home was close to Thetford. He used to ride over regularly to play chess with Claritia, and usually he let her win.’
Hrype found himself saying their goodbyes by himself. Lassair, lost in her own thoughts, barely said a word until they were almost home.
THIRTEEN
 
O
ne good thing about Hrype as a companion is that he’s content in his own thoughts and is about as loquacious as a door post. On the long walk home from Cambridge, he seemed to accept that I didn’t want to talk and so left me to the whirl of conjecture and suspicion that filled my head.
Sir Alain de Villequier had visited Lady Claude at Heathlands! To begin with, I was totally preoccupied with trying to decide how, and when, I had become so certain that the two had not met until she was staying with Lord Gilbert. Moreover, it was not only I who had been convinced. Hrype had been too, for he had just told Gurdyman that Lady Claude had gone to Lakehall to meet Sir Alain. Had Lady Claude said something that had allowed me to receive this wrong idea? I cast my mind back over the two occasions that I had met her, and I realized swiftly that she had not even mentioned her future husband except indirectly, when she had showed me the beautiful but sinister embroidered panels that would decorate the marriage bed. What about Lord Gilbert and Lady Emma? Again, I pieced together all that I could recall of their exchanges with me and came up with nothing.
But there had to be
something
. I knew it, and I could not cease worrying at the problem until I found it.
In the end the memory surfaced while I was thinking about a different matter. Breaking the long silence as we trudged along, nearing the end of our journey, Hrype asked me if, having seen Gurdyman’s attempt to represent a journey as a diagram on a piece of parchment, I now felt better able to do the same for the road from Cambridge to Aelf Fen. I had been fascinated by what Gurdyman had shown me, and for some moments Hrype and I discussed the extraordinary potential in what the sage was trying to do. Then we came to a place where the road forded a shallow stream and, once we were safely across and had replaced our boots to walk on, once again we lapsed into silence.
And out of nowhere I heard Sir Alain’s voice:
When she knew she was to marry me it was arranged that she should come here to meet me and stay for these weeks before our wedding with her cousin, Lord Gilbert
.
It was the day that Edild and I had laid out Ida’s body. Sir Alain had walked with us back to the village, and I’d thought it was because he’d wanted to repair the damage that Lady Claude had done by her apparently callous remarks about Ida, to the effect that she mourned her only as a skilled seamstress and not as a likeable human being. Now, thinking back, I realized the extent of my mistake. For one thing, the opinions of lowly folk such as my aunt and me mattered not a dried bean to the likes of Sir Alain de Villequiers. It would make no difference to him and his future wife
what
we thought of her. We were totally unimportant.
I also realized – far more significantly – how very clever he had been. Subtly, skilfully, he had slipped in that innocent little comment and thereby removed himself from the list of men who had known Ida at the time she became pregnant and, horrified at the news that she bore a child, might have had reason to dispose of her.
BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars
2.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Recycled Citizen by Charlotte MacLeod
My Private Pectus by Shane Thamm
STEPBROTHER Love 1 by Scarlet, I.
A Planned Improvisation by Feinstein, Jonathan Edward
Momentary Lapse by Toni J. Strawn
Crossing by Gilbert Morris
The Rock Jockeys by Gary Paulsen
Touch of the Camera by Anais Morgan