Alys Clare: Land of the Silver Dragon

We settled down to eat, and for a while were too busy with our food to talk. Then, as the platters gradually emptied and the sounds of knives and fingers scraping against wood ceased, my father said, ‘Let’s hope there are no more such incidents in Icklingham, or anywhere else for that matter. The intruder must have realized Goda saw him, and could describe him, so maybe that will have persuaded him that it’s in his best interests to get as far away as he can.’

There were several murmurs of agreement.

‘Has any action begun to find the killer and bring him to justice?’ my father went on, turning to me.

‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘I was busy tending Goda, and did not think to enquire.’

My father smiled understandingly. ‘You probably had your hands full,’ he observed. ‘Still, I bet they’ll have organized some sort of a search by now. They’ll find him and deal with him, and that’ll be that.’

If only we’d known.

Next morning, I woke up in my usual place in my aunt Edild’s house, my father having walked me back there after supper. Despite his confident words, he must have been less sure than he made out that the vicious intruder was now far away.

Since Edild and I work together, the decision was made some years back for me to live with her. At the time when I moved in, it relieved some of the pressure on the family house, then accommodating my parents, my three brothers and me, not to mention my beloved Granny Cordeilla, although she was tiny and didn’t really take up much room. She died, two years ago, and we all miss her very much. Often I see her, sitting in the corner of the room where her little cot used to stand. Invariably she gives me a smile, her deep, dark eyes crinkling up. Her smile could always light up even the dullest day.

As Edild and I ate breakfast, I told her in more detail what had happened in Icklingham, having only provided the briefest outline the previous evening and concentrating on the news that Goda was not badly hurt. Not one to gossip or speculate, now Edild listened in silence, nodded, then suggested we ate up and got on with our day’s work.

We dealt with the usual crop of minor hurts and seasonal ailments — for some reason, half the village seems to develop sore throats and runny noses as soon as the weather warms up — and I found that having my hands and my mind fully occupied drove yesterday’s disturbing incident out of my thoughts. It was thus something of a rude shock when, as dusk was falling and we were tidying up after the last of our patients, Hrype arrived on the doorstep and said quietly, ‘There’s been another attack.’

Edild took one look at him, then grabbed his arm and drew him inside, closing and barring the door. Clearly, she did not want to be disturbed by some latecomer demanding the services of the healer. She sat Hrype down beside the hearth, took his hands in hers and, turning to me, told me curtly to prepare one of her restorative drinks. Torn between handing him the remedy as quickly as I could and giving the two of them a few private moments to mutter together (they have long been lovers, a secret known to only the three of us) I opted for speed.

If ever a man needed a restorative drink, it was Hrype. He looked exhausted, and the deep frown line between his brows suggested some serious anxiety. Edild waited till he had finished his drink, then she said, ‘Tell us what has happened.’

She sat down on the bench beside him, once more holding his hand. I crouched on the floor at his feet. Looking from one to the other of us, he drew a breath and said, ‘I was over on the western side of the fens, and I heard a rumour that there has been violence at Chatteris.’

Chatteris is the abbey where my sister Elfritha is a nun. The previous year, there had been trouble there; a nun had died, and my beloved sister had also come close to losing her life.

And now this!

Hrype was leaning down towards me, his silvery eyes intent on mine. ‘No harm has come to Elfritha,’ he said. He must have seen doubt in my expression, for he took hold of my shoulders and said firmly, ‘Lassair, hear me! Elfritha is quite all right.’

Slowly I nodded, and he let me go.

‘Is anyone else hurt?’ Edild asked. I admired the control in her voice.

‘Two nuns were thrown to the ground. One has a broken arm and the other has slight concussion,’ he said. ‘It appears that someone broke into the abbey very early this morning, when the nuns were at prayer, and ransacked the dormitory. The two who were hurt had returned to their cells after prayer, where they disturbed the intruder in the middle of his search, and they had the courage to challenge him. He was a huge man, tall and brawny, and very fair-skinned.’

‘You said the nuns interrupted his search,’ I said, a chill of fear making me shiver.

Hrype looked at me. ‘Yes. The sisters said he seemed to be hunting for something, for he had turned over the nuns’ cots, ripped open the straw mattresses, and strewn their bedding and their few personal possessions all over the floor.’

‘It’s the same,’ I whispered. ‘It’s like at Goda’s house, yesterday.’

A glance passed between Hrype and my aunt, and I heard her muttering to him. I remembered that he hadn’t been in the village yesterday, or, if he had, he’d kept well out of sight. He did not know about Utta’s death.

My mind seemed to be behaving oddly. Instead of facing up to this new worry, I found myself puzzling over how it was that Hrype can come and go pretty much at will. None of us are meant to leave the village without Lord Gilbert’s permission, but somehow this rule does not apply to Hrype. When he’s in the village, he looks just like the rest of us, performing his work alongside the other villagers with nothing to distinguish him. He has a talent for blending in with his surroundings, and with the people around him, that is truly exceptional. I suppose that it’s the very ordinariness of his appearance that aids him, for if he seems exactly like everyone else, nobody looking on would be able to tell if he’s here or not. It would be like the addition or removal of one tree in a forest.

I don’t know why Hrype absents himself so frequently. I have my own ideas on the subject, but they are only vague. He is far too fearsome a man for anyone to dare to ask him. When he stops being a lowly peasant and stands straight and proud in his true skin, he appears tall and lordly; you could almost believe him to be the descendant of kings. As if all this were not enough, he is also a very powerful magician.

My aunt’s voice brought me out of my reverie. ‘… better ask Lassair, since it was she who went to care for Goda,’ she was saying.

I looked up at Hrype. His eyebrows went up in a silent question.

‘Goda said it looked as if the intruder there was looking for something,’ I said. ‘She reckoned that her mother-in-law got killed, and she herself injured, simply because they were in the way.’

Hrype nodded. ‘Whatever this man wants, he wants it very badly,’ he observed.

Edild’s face creased in a frown. ‘You are assuming the two intruders are one and the same,’ she said.

Hrype turned to her, his expression kind. ‘I think they must be,’ he said gently.

‘But …’ My aunt’s protest stopped before she could utter it. ‘Of course,’ she whispered, her horrified eyes turning to me.

‘Yes. It was the area of the dormitory where Elfritha sleeps,’ Hrype murmured.

And then I, too, understood. I also understood why they were both looking at me with such anxiety.

The intruder had just broken into the places where two of my sisters lived. One person was dead, three injured. Unless this fearsome man had already found what he was after — which didn’t seem likely, since proceeding to Elfritha meant he obviously hadn’t got whatever it was at Goda’s, and Elfritha surely didn’t have anything anyone could want — then he would go on with his violent attacks.