Alys Clare - The Way Between the Worlds

The sacristan was over by the church, busy sweeping the path leading up to the iron-studded wooden door. He had a barrow beside him on which lay a heavy spade; perhaps his next job was to dig another grave. It was clear that he had seen us, and presently he put down his broom and came to pass the time of day.

‘There are a lot of fresh graves,’ Rollo remarked once we had exchanged greetings and the sacristan had observed that it was warm for the time of year. ‘Are they all casualties of the September storm?’

‘Every one,’ the sacristan said heavily. ‘Most of them pulled dead out of the sea and strangers to us, but there’s quite a few of our own too, caught up in the floods and drowned or struck by lightning. Three of them struck, there were!’ His eyes were round with amazement. ‘Three! And I’ve only heard tell of one other, and I’ve always doubted that tale because it was my cousin’s husband that told me, and he’s famous for exaggerating a story when it suits him.’

I was getting a clearer picture of this storm. To the image of huge seas and an icy north wind, I now added thunder and lightning. Which was very strange, as the weather lore I had learned ever since I was a child suggested you did not normally have thunderstorms with a very cold northerly wind.

‘There were drowned horses, too,’ the sacristan was saying. ‘They disappeared very quickly, I can tell you.’ He put a finger to the side of his nose. ‘People are hungry, and there’s good meat on a freshly-dead horse.’ He fell silent, clearly thinking back. ‘Some of the creatures made it to shore, mind,’ he went on. ‘Seems horses swim better than men.’

‘What else came ashore?’ Rollo asked. I was not deceived by the light tone; this question was, for some reason, important.

‘Oooh, let me see, now.’ The sacristan frowned. ‘Sacks of supplies — good food and drink it had been, before it was all spoiled by the salt water, although much of the bacon and preserved meat found good homes, it being salty already, as it were.’ He chuckled at his own small wit. ‘There were crates of fighting gear, too. Arrows, bows, flints and steels, stuff like that.’ He shrugged. ‘Being a man of God, I don’t know about those things,’ he added piously.

Rollo was staring down at the long lines of graves, but I did not think he was seeing them. His attention was far away.

The time was ripe, I decided, for him to tell me what this was all about. I said a courteous farewell to the sacristan, wished him good luck with his day’s toil and, taking Rollo firmly by the arm, led the way out of the graveyard and back to the road. When we were safely away from the village and sufficiently out in the open to be able to spot anyone approaching, I stopped, selected a low, grassy bank beside the track and sat down, pulling Rollo down beside me. I dug in my leather satchel for my flask of Edild’s special restorative for travellers, offering him a sip and taking one myself. I think he already knew why we had stopped, for there was a wry smile on his face.

I looked at him and said, ‘Now, if you please, explain to me what we’re doing here.’

Rollo had already gone through it in his mind and had a fair idea of how he would tell her all that she so richly deserved to know. Consequently, he was able to start speaking almost immediately.

‘I had no idea, when this whole business started, where it would lead,’ he said. ‘It began, I suppose, at the beginning of last year. The king was off in Normandy, and it was feared that the Scots in the north would take advantage of his absence and organize an invasion into English lands.’

He studied her face. She was clearly listening intently, but he could not read her expression; it was almost as if she had deliberately arranged her features so as to give nothing away. She knew of his involvement with the Norman ruling power; he had told her of his allegiances when they first met. He had remarked lightly then that he would pass on a comment of hers to the king, and she had laughed, thinking he was joking. One day — one day quite soon — he would have to enlighten her. He was fearful, though. She had told him that her family were Saxon, and that the Norman rule was inimical to them — and that was putting it mildly. He was afraid that, once she knew how close he was to the king, she might discover she could not — no. He would not let himself even think it.

‘The king needed people up on the border country to keep watch for signs of any advance by the Scots,’ he ploughed on. ‘If anything should happen, William needed to know about it as soon as possible, and word would be sent to him via the chain of messengers that he has set up all over the land. It’s amazing,’ he added, ‘how fast a message can travel, for each man covers only a short distance and so his horse is fresh and fast.’ But he was digressing. ‘The king was right to be apprehensive, for in early summer last year, King Malcolm led his forces into England, pushing down south of the Forth river and penetrating deep into English-held territory. As soon as the Scots king’s intention became clear, the message to the king was initiated and sent on its journey over all the long miles from England’s northern border to Normandy.’

‘So King William came rushing back to defend his territory.’ Her tone was neutral; he had no idea what she was thinking.

‘Yes. He crossed back to England in August, bringing his army with him, and immediately set about organizing his forces for the expedition into the north. He was, they say, quietly furious at the thought of King Malcolm and his men encamped on English soil, apparently doing nothing but waiting for him to get up there and face them.’ He paused, gathering his words. ‘King William elected to send his great force north in two different ways: one army going overland; one sent by sea, up the east coast to the Scottish border.’

Watching her closely, he saw a sudden flare of excitement in her eyes. She understands , he thought.

‘The king was riding at the head of his land-army, and in due course he met King Malcolm, and peace, of a sort, was negotiated between them. King Malcolm agreed to swear allegiance to King William, and in return William undertook to restore to Malcolm the towns he had held under the rule of William’s father, the Conqueror, and in addition pay him twelve marks every year.’

‘A far more advantageous arrangement for King William than for King Malcolm,’ she remarked, ‘for William not only achieved his purpose of getting the Scots king out of England, but he also gained him as a vassal. King Malcolm left the confrontation only with a couple of promises.’

Astute of her, he reflected, to have instantly seen to the heart of the matter. ‘King William returned south,’ he went on, ‘but not without first making some further arrangements regarding the border.’ He paused, for what he was about to tell her was confidential. Should he go on? His head said no, but his heart and all his senses were full of her. She had just saved his life; did that not give her the right to share some of his secrets?

‘King William is very aware that last year’s treaty with the Scottish king was an insubstantial thing,’ he went on, speaking fast before he could change his mind. ‘In the long term, the solution is to fortify the border lands, and before he can set about doing that, he needs to know the number and the quality of those forces that may be ranged against him. He therefore placed eyes and ears-’

‘Spies,’ she put in coolly.

‘Very well. He put spies, then, in the border lands which he plans to take later this year.’ The king would have long since received Rollo’s information concerning Carlisle, and doubtless he was already sending his conquering forces up to the north-west, if not riding with them himself. But there was no need to say so.