Alys Clare - Blood of the South

As if it had thoughts and emotions.

As if it were alive.

Without my volition, my hand went to the place beside the bed where I keep the shining stone. I watched myself pick it up – I noticed how reverently I handled it – and place it carefully inside my satchel.

Behind me I heard Gurdyman murmur, ‘Well done.’

It was a vast relief to find myself outside in the bright, fresh air of early morning. It was the next day; Jack hadn’t wasted any time. Putting the memory of that disturbing scene with Gurdyman right to the back of my mind, I strode off through the maze of lanes and emerged on to the wide street that leads up to the Great Bridge.

Jack was waiting on the far side. Beside him, the veiled woman sat on a beautiful bay palfrey. She had fastened her high-collared cloak tightly around her throat, and pulled its generous hood up over her headdress and veil. Her dark eyes seemed to be fixed on some point in the distance, as if she was determined to disassociate herself from the proceedings. Since those proceedings were entirely for her benefit, I thought this a little arrogant.

Jack was talking to a tall, slim man dressed in dark garments, a cloak slung back across his shoulders. Whether from choice or necessity, his head was bald. His lean face was pale, and his close-set, narrow dark eyes were shadowed by heavy brows drawn down in a thunderous frown. He was speaking rapidly, gesticulating, and seemed to be issuing orders. As I reached the group, he looked up and saw me. He leaned close to Jack to say something more, his mouth right up close to Jack’s ear, then he spun round and, with a whirl that revealed the luxurious lining of his cloak, marched away. He turned briefly to spit on the ground and give Jack a final glare. I turned to Jack, about to ask who the man was, but Jack’s expression was equally forbidding and I lost my nerve.

Mattie stood beside the lady’s mount, the baby in her arms. I smiled at her. ‘Are you coming with us, Mattie?’

‘No,’ Jack said curtly. Then, his expression softening, he added, ‘Well, not if you’re prepared to carry the baby.’

I’d carried heavier loads between Cambridge and Aelf Fen. ‘I’ll manage,’ I said grumpily. Great lady or not, it seemed a bit hard that, although the veiled woman was mounted, it was going to be me, walking on my two feet, who would have to carry the child.

‘… should be here very soon,’ Jack was saying.

I came out of my sulk and asked, ‘What was that?’

‘I said, the other horses should be here soon,’ he repeated.

‘Other horses?’

‘Yes,’ he said. Then, as I still must have looked blank, he went on, ‘Mine – he’s having a new shoe fitted – and one from the sheriff’s stables. For you,’ he added.

‘For me?’

He grinned. ‘Of course. How do you usually get to your village?’

‘I walk.’

‘Well, you can’t walk carrying a baby.’

My spirits rose. I love riding, and only wish that the chance to do so came my way more often. And today I was going to ride a horse from the sheriff’s stables! We all knew Picot didn’t stint himself, so this wasn’t to be some sway-backed old nag not capable of more than a resentful trot.

Then something occurred to me. Whoever was bringing my horse was also bringing Jack’s. Was he coming with us? I had imagined that his involvement would end with explaining to the veiled woman what was planned for her, finding her a horse and sending us on our way. I hadn’t thought he’d travel out to Aelf Fen with us; didn’t he have duties that kept him in the town?

He was looking at me as if waiting for my thoughts to run their course. Then, leaning close and speaking quietly, he said, ‘I am concerned about our mysterious veiled lady, and I sense that there is much going on that we do not know.’ He paused. ‘I may be wrong, but I will not risk your safety.’

‘What about hers?’ I whispered back.

His mouth twisted down in a wry grimace. ‘Whatever trouble she may be in, she has probably brought it on herself. You, on the other hand, are involved purely because you wish to help.’

I’m not sure how I would have answered that. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. There was a clatter of hooves on the road leading from the bridge, and one of Jack’s deputies appeared, leading two horses. One was a grey gelding, its pale, silky mane and tail catching the light breeze, its wide, dark eyes eager and interested. It went straight to Jack, and he put his face to its nose, quietly murmuring its name, which sounded like Pegasus. It was clearly his horse; without doubt, he was its man.

My horse was a black mare. She was small and neatly made, with lines that suggested excellent blood. I stepped up to her and gently patted the graceful curve of her neck. She gave a low whicker.

‘Her name’s Isis,’ Jack said. My delight must have been obvious, and he was smiling at me. ‘Mount up, and Mattie can hand the child to you. Then -’ he glanced up at the sky, where the clear light of morning was slowly being overtaken by gathering cloud – ‘we’d better be on our way.’

We were lucky with the weather. September was marching on and we weren’t far from the equinox, which so often brings violent storms. Although rain threatened for most of the journey, however, we didn’t receive more than a brief shower, during which the veiled woman insisted we sheltered in a copse of fir trees. The lady didn’t want to get her finery wet.

Jack Chevestrier had packed food and drink, and we stopped when the sun was at its zenith to consume it. The baby – Leafric; I was trying to remember to whisper his name to him as I tended him – had been asleep in my arms, soothed by the smooth pace of my lovely horse, but woke hungry when we stopped. Mattie had fed him before we left, and had prepared soft bread sops soaked in her milk for the journey. Leafric was reluctant at first, but, driven by increasing desperation and catching the familiar smell of Mattie, finally ate. I cleaned him up as best I could, then put him back in the cradle I had fashioned for him from my shawl. He burped, blinked his eyes a few times, then fell asleep again.

By early afternoon, we were close to Aelf Fen. I was amazed at how much faster the journey was achieved on a good horse. We were taking the veiled lady to Lakehall, the residence of Lord Gilbert and his wife, Lady Emma; nowhere else in Aelf Fen was suitable for a noblewoman. Jack, apparently, knew of Lord Gilbert. I wondered if he was aware that, while a basically kind man, Lord Gilbert carries the fat of over-indulgence, is indolent and not very bright, and that the brains of the family rest, along with a good heart, with Lady Emma.

As my mind leapt ahead to riding up to Lakehall and presenting our foreign companion, I hissed to Jack, ‘We don’t know her name!’

Jack frowned. ‘I’ve asked her, but she’s reluctant.’ As if making up his mind that he’d had enough of her nonsense, he drew rein, waited until the veiled woman came up beside him, then said firmly, ‘Madam, we shall shortly arrive at the house of Lord Gilbert de Caudebec, who we hope will welcome you as his guest. Lord Gilbert will help you locate your kinsmen.’

She studied him with her usual cool-eyed stare, but made no reply.

‘You have so far refused to reveal your name, and, out of courtesy to a stranger, I have not pressed you,’ he went on. ‘Now I must insist. You cannot be presented to Lord Gilbert as an anonymous foreigner, and, in addition, he will need to know your family name if he is to help you.’ He paused, and I had the sense he was controlling rising irritation, if not anger. Then he said abruptly, ‘Speak, please, madam.’

The veiled lady gave an over-dramatic sigh, and in a tone of resignation, as if she was being forced to accede to a totally unreasonable demand, said grandly, ‘I am Rosaria Dalassena, widow of Hugo Guillaume Fensmanson.’