Alys Clare - The Way Between the Worlds

‘I do,’ Hrype agreed.

‘He did not, in truth, wish to leave us,’ Ingulphus said, his voice breaking on the words. ‘He had requested an audience with the bishop — this was back in the final months of last year, October perhaps, or early November — where he intended to plead his case for remaining here at Crowland. Not that he held out much hope,’ he added with a rueful smile. ‘He promised to let us know, as indeed he did: not very long after he had gone, we learned he was bound for Chatteris. Then later, as I said, we had word that he was settling into his new life ministering to the nuns.’ He shook his head in bemused misery. ‘But now you are telling me that was a falsehood, sent by this impostor, and that in truth poor Father Clement never got there. .’

Hrype was torn between respecting the abbot’s raw new grief and pressing on to find out what he had to know. He waited a short while, then said, ‘My Lord Abbot, where does your bishop reside?’

He realized as soon as the words were spoken that he should have said the bishop; the implication that he might be Ingulphus’s man but he certainly wasn’t Hrype’s was rather obvious.

The abbot, fortunately, had other concerns. His mind clearly still on his late colleague, he said vaguely, ‘He’s one of the new men brought in from Normandy by our King William. His name’s Herbert of Losigna, and originally he came over here to be bishop of Ramsey. Then Thetford fell vacant, and he came here to us.’ As if only then recalling the question, he added, ‘He is building a fine new church and a dwelling for himself at Lynn, which men are taking to calling Bishop’s Lynn in his honour.’

Hrype felt a moment’s violent exaltation. The trail was becoming clear. .

He became aware of Ingulphus’s eyes on him, their expression hard. ‘I am thinking about this man at Chatteris who pretends to be Father Clement,’ Ingulphus said, and Hrype could sense the abbot’s anger, although it was tightly controlled. ‘The fact that he has taken my friend’s place suggests strongly to me that he may also have taken his life.’

‘I am inclined to agree,’ Hrype murmured.

Ingulphus studied him for some time, and Hrype had the definite impression that he was being sized up. ‘I believe I trust you,’ the abbot said. ‘I dare say you have reasons of your own for pursuing the business of this murder,’ he went on shrewdly, ‘but the fact remains that, whatever they are, your present desire coincides with mine. You wish to see the killer brought to justice and Father Clement’s death thereby avenged.’

‘I do,’ Hrype agreed. He hesitated, then said, ‘Your priest was not the only victim. The killer also murdered a young novice at Chatteris and poisoned another.’

Ingulphus gasped, muttering a swift prayer for the dead girl. ‘But the second one is still alive?’ he asked anxiously.

‘When last I saw her, she seemed to be a little improved.’

‘I shall pray for her,’ Ingulphus announced. ‘As I shall for the souls of my friend and the young nun.’

There was a short silence. Then Ingulphus said, ‘Will you stay the night here? The day wears on, and you would not, I am sure, wish to be caught in the marshes once the light fails.’

‘I would gladly accept your hospitality, but-’ Hrype began.

‘Such as it is,’ the abbot put in.

‘-but I am filled with urgency, and I sense that there is not a moment to lose,’ he finished.

Ingulphus watched him, compassion in his face. ‘There is so much that you do not tell me,’ he mused. ‘You are a man of deep secrets, my friend, and I sense something very alien in you.’

The words sounded like the prelude to an attack, yet, even with his highly efficient defences fully alert, Hrype felt no threat. On the contrary, he had rarely sensed such well-being flowing towards him out of a man who had been until very recently a stranger.

‘I am many things,’ Hrype said carefully. ‘By my own lights, I am not evil.’

‘ Evil ?’ The abbot gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Indeed you are not. But come, if you are resolved upon going, I will take you across the water in our little boat.’

They walked together away from the ruins of the abbey and down across the foreshore. Leading the way off to the left, the abbot pointed to a small rowing boat. The two of them dragged the craft down to the water and got in, Ingulphus taking up the oars. In a short time, they were gently bumping up against the bank on the far side.

Hrype got out, turning to say farewell.

Ingulphus was studying him again, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘May I ask you something?’ he said, and the tentative quality of the question was surprising in a man of his status.

‘Of course.’

‘Would it offend you if I said I will pray for you?’

Several answers flashed through Hrype’s mind. He had formed an opinion of men of the church — soundly based, in his view, and uncompromising. Yet there was something about this Ingulphus. . From out of nowhere came a quiet voice, echoing in Hrype’s head: all gods are one god, and behind them is the truth .

And it had been a long time since he had met a man quite like Ingulphus of Crowland.

He bowed his head. ‘I would be honoured.’

Then he shouldered his pack, swirled his cloak around him and strode away.

Rollo and I had drifted eastwards to find our shelter under the pine trees, and now we set off back towards the fens. We seemed to be on a different track from the one I’d come out on, although it was difficult to tell, for there were many barely-visible animal trails leading along the ridges that had built up like frozen waves behind the foreshore. We veered slightly inland, and presently emerged on to a proper road, simultaneously dragged out of our magical solitude and back into the world of living men and women.

The road was busy with traffic of every kind, from single pedestrians, most of them carrying loads of varying weights and sizes, to huge, overloaded ox carts lumbering along right on the crown of the road and holding everyone up. After only perhaps a quarter of a mile, we came to a crossroads, where another track ran roughly north-south and intersected with the one we were on, going east-west.

As soon as I set foot on the track that came up out of the south, I knew it for what it was. Involuntarily, I stopped, quite unable to go on.

Rollo, beside me, spun round to look at me, his face full of concern. ‘What is it?’ His voice was so low that nobody but I could have heard.

I shook my head, incapable of putting into words the huge emotions that were coursing through me. He took hold of my arm and led me to the side of the road; by pure chance, the place where we sat down on the grassy bank beside the crossroads happened to be on the east-west stretch rather than the north-south. Immediately, the fierce sensations abated and I was able to speak.

‘The road coming up from the south is a greenway,’ I said, my voice rather shaky. I knew he would not know what that meant, so I made myself go on. ‘It’s difficult to explain, but there are certain tracks which have always been used: some for reasons of practicality, perhaps because they run along higher ground and so keep relatively dry; some because they are power paths which link places where the forces in the earth are particularly strong. I can-’ No: that would be too boastful. ‘The paths emit a sort of vibration — ’ it was the best word I could think of, yet it did not begin to describe the extraordinary feeling that had so recently fizzed and sparkled up through me — ‘and some people can sense it.’

He nodded. ‘And you are one of these people.’

‘I’m only-’