Alys Clare: Land of the Silver Dragon

‘Haward is second in age after Goda, followed by Elfritha,’ Edild said. ‘Yet no intrusion has occurred at his home.’

And I came after Elfritha, followed by Squeak and little Leir …

Hrype stood up. ‘I shall go to Wymond and Essa’s house immediately to warn them, and Lassair shall come with me,’ he announced. Turning to me with a smile, he went on, ‘Your father is a big, tough man, Lassair. He is also fiercely protective of his children, and you and your two younger brothers will be safe under his roof. I’ll suggest that Haward and his family move back into the family home, for the time being anyway. There’s safety in numbers, and it would take a desperate man to force his way into a house where there were two grown men and a pair of fierce boys.’ My little brothers would have been delighted at the description.

Hrype swung his heavy cloak around him and headed for the door, raising an eyebrow at me. Reluctantly I got to my feet. The prospect of a night — or, more likely, several nights — crowded in with all my family back at home was not very appealing. Much as I love them, I had become used to the peace and calm of Edild’s little house. Hrype was looking quite determined, however, and it did not seem that I had any choice.

Later, trying to get to sleep, I wondered suddenly if this giant’s interest in my family was restricted to my generation, or if Edild too was in danger. She was all alone, and -

Then I understood, as if I had just been told, that she wasn’t alone. Nobody outside my family knew that Hrype was back in the village, and we would keep it to ourselves. For this night at least, Hrype could sleep not where his conscience dictated — in the home of his late brother’s frail and dependent widow — but where his heart lay. With Edild.

We were lucky, in a way, for our house was ransacked while there was nobody within to get in the giant intruder’s way. It must have happened some time in the late afternoon. I was working with Edild; my father and Squeak were out on the water studying the movements of the eels; Haward had taken Leir out to the higher ground, where Haward was working that day; and my mother had gone to help Zarina with the washing.

I was the last to return home, and by then my capable mother had dried her tears and was already rearranging all her precious domestic possessions while my father set about repairing the broken leg of Leir’s little stool. Haward and Zarina were looking on helplessly.

‘I’ve offered to help,’ Zarina whispered as I went to stand beside her, ‘but your mother says it’s best if she does it all herself as she’ll never be able to find anything if anyone else tidies up.’

I suppressed a smile. My mother defended her right to be solely in charge of her own hearth like a she-wolf protecting her den full of helpless young.

My mother had stopped in the middle of rearranging the straw-stuffed mattress and bedding on Squeak’s cot. She was holding up a woollen blanket, displaying a large hole in one corner. ‘Why did he have to do that ?’ she demanded furiously, poking her finger through the hole. ‘It’s nothing more than spiteful, wanton destruction!’

I agreed with her. Whatever the intruder had been hunting for, it would hardly be hiding within the weave of a blanket. I was suddenly very glad that the precious shawl that Elfritha made for me hadn’t been lying around waiting for similar treatment. I went over to my mother, gave her a hug and took the blanket out of her hands. ‘I’ll darn it,’ I offered. She eyed me dubiously. ‘Yes, I know you’d do a better job, but you have enough to do.’

She gave me a swift smile, then returned to restoring order to her wrecked home.

When we finally sat down to eat, the house looked much as it had done before. That was the advantage of everything you possessed being old, worn and mended; one more repair didn’t really make much difference.

My father had asked all of us to check through our own small sum of belongings, to see if anything was missing. As one by one we all reported that nothing had gone, his expression went from puzzlement to fury.

‘Then he’s caused us all this work and distress for no reason,’ he muttered. His light eyes narrowed, and, as his right hand closed into a huge fist, I reflected that I wouldn’t want to be in the intruder’s boots if my father ever caught up with him. This phantom stranger might well be the giant that he was claimed to be, but then my father was scarcely small.

I studied him as, still muttering under his breath, he returned to his food. My father is the middle child of the five who were born to my Granny Cordeilla and her husband. I never knew my grandfather, for he died before I was born, but apparently he was a quiet, mild man, hard-working and steady. My granny, or so they say, had been a sparkling, enchanting girl, full of magic and mystery, lively as a tree-full of starlings, and everyone fervently hoped that early marriage to a steady but dull fenland fisherman would calm her down and keep her out of mischief. Knowing my granny, I doubt very much that it did.

She bore her husband two sons, Ordic and Alwyn, both of whom were made in their parents’ exact mould: slender, dark, and not very tall. In their temperament, however, the little boys were faithful copies of their father. A few years passed, and Granny’s third child was born: my father, Wymond, in whose blood ran the echo of his three huge uncles, Granny Cordeilla’s brothers. To complete her family, Granny bore twin girls, my aunts Edild and Alvela.

Everyone always says parents don’t have favourites, and I dare say that’s true. You would have had to be blind, however, not to see the truth: Granny Cordeilla might well have loved all five of her sons and daughters equally, but there were without doubt two with whom she preferred to spend her time. Edild was one, for she and Granny were so attuned that they rarely had need of words. My father — my big, strong father with his sea-coloured eyes — was the other. When Granny became too old and frail to manage on her own, nobody even thought to ask which of her children she would go to live with. We all knew.

My father’s voice broke into my reverie. We’d all been virtually silent as we ate, even Squeak’s usually high spirits squashed by the prevailing mood of depression. As one, we turned to look at my father.

‘I can’t for the life of me think what we’ve got that he’d want!’ he said, echoing Goda’s sentiments of two days ago. ‘We’ve got no treasures, no store of coins, no valuable possessions, no mighty sword or shield handed down from father to son from the glory days!’ He glanced around, looking slightly sheepish. It was as if only now, as the echo of his words faded away, did he realize how loudly he had spoken. ‘We’ve only got what everyone else like us has, and yet two of my daughters’ dwellings, and now our own family home, have been searched as roughly and as thoroughly as if we possessed the riches of King William himself.’

Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Zarina, newest member of our family, cleared her throat. Quietly and, I thought, tentatively, she said, ‘You do have treasure, Father.’ I love the way she calls her father-in-law father . She once told me her story, and it was very sad; her own father had been a terrible man, and I’m glad she has found a better one. Her eyes going from my father to my mother and back, she whispered, ‘You’ve got a house full of love. That’s the best treasure of all, believe me.’

My father looked embarrassed for a moment, then reached for Zarina’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

Squeak gave a noise that sounded like someone trying not to be sick. Haward leaned over and lightly cuffed him.