Alys Clare - Music of the Distant Stars

We hurried along after the last stragglers, panted up the slight rise to the church and found a place on the edge of the silent crowd. The priest was just finishing his prayers for the dead girl’s soul, and at his feet the linen-shrouded corpse lay in the freshly-dug grave. It was a beautiful evening, and the westering sun was casting long shadows from the stumpy trees around the graveyard, illuminating the watchful faces with a soft, golden light. Somewhere nearby a chaffinch was singing, the fluting notes ending in a repetitive little phrase that seemed to say, too young to die!

Immediately behind the priest, on the highest ground, stood Lord Gilbert and Lady Emma, their heads bent. Lady Emma’s lips moved as she added her own pleas to those of the priest. Lady Claude stood beside her, very pale, her mouth compressed as if to hold back the tears. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her eyelids were puffy. I felt a stab of compassion for her; it did not look as if my sleeping draughts were helping very much. On the far side of Lord Gilbert and a little behind him, Sir Alain de Villequier stared out over the assembled villagers. I noticed that Lady Claude kept shooting him anxious little glances, and I was touched that she seemed to be trying to draw strength from him. Perhaps, despite those terrible embroidered panels and her tight features that spoke eloquently of rigid self-control, there was a chance that their marriage would be happy. .

I thought back to Brandon, going over everything that Sibert and I had learned. Was Alberic here, watching as the body of the girl he loved was buried miles from her home? Suddenly filled with the conviction that he was, I copied Sir Alain and began scanning the crowd for an unfamiliar face, only to realize pretty quickly that it was an impossible task, for there were dozens of strangers present. I guessed everyone who had a friend or relative in Aelf Fen had heard of the mysterious death of a young seamstress and come hurrying over to witness the burial. Part of me wanted to shout at them, tell them to get back where they belonged and not be so ghoulish. Then, reflecting on how rarely anything at all exciting happened in most people’s dull and monotonous lives, I relented. After all, they weren’t doing any harm. Villagers and outsiders alike were standing listening respectfully to the priest’s endless prayers, and one or two even had tears on their faces. As for Ida, if any part of what had made up the living girl was present and watching the proceedings, then she would surely be gratified that so many had come to see her off.

Still, the presence of so many strangers meant that Alberic could very well be here among us and no one would know.

I wondered if Sir Alain was also searching the faces for the stranger that might be Alberic and feeling similarly frustrated. Then I realized that, unless he, too, had heard the invisible singer, followed the trail of Ida’s life back to her village and found out about her lover — which was unlikely because if he had, our informant would have told us — he didn’t know of Alberic’s existence. Just as I was wondering if I ought to tell him, something else occurred to me. If Sir Alain wasn’t looking out for Alberic, who was he hoping to see in the crowd?

The answer came quickly: Derman.

Oh, oh , but it was just what poor, simple Derman would do! He must surely be in torment, hiding away from his sister, his home and everything that made up security for him in a cruel world. If somehow he had managed to find out that they were burying the girl he had loved this evening, then he would undoubtedly have been drawn back to say his farewell to her, no matter the danger to himself if he were to be spotted and apprehended. Did he even understand that there was danger to him? He must have done, I reasoned, for why else had he run away?

I let my eyes wander along the rows of silent people. Derman is big and bulky — I suspect he is very strong — and quite hard to overlook. I saw my parents, standing with Edild on the edge of the crowd. Squeak and Haward were with them, standing either side of Zarina. I thought suddenly that the two of them looked defensive; Haward had his arm round her waist. But there was no sign of Derman.

The priest had finished at last, and the gravediggers were starting to heap earth down on top of the shrouded body. I did not want to watch. I grabbed Sibert’s hand, said, ‘Come on!’ and, hurrying through the villagers and the strangers as they milled about on the track and began to think about turning for home, caught up with my family. I reached out to grab Haward’s arm — he was nearest — and he spun round, his face angry and his hand clenched in a fist.

Then he saw it was me. ‘Oh. Hello, Lassair.’ He called out to my father and asked him to take his place at Zarina’s side. Then, his hands on Sibert’s and my shoulders drawing us close, he jerked his head in the direction of the slowly-dispersing crowd of villagers and said quietly, ‘They’ve t-taken against Zarina. They say her brother’s a k-k-killer and ought to be hanged for what he did.’

‘But they don’t know yet that he did anything!’ I protested.

‘Hush!’ Haward glanced around hastily to see if anyone had heard, but the people closest to us were muttering avidly about the priest, his prayers and likely span of the dead girl’s sojourn in purgatory. ‘You know what they’re l-like,’ he said bitterly. ‘Derman was seen near the island — ’ I thought it very restrained of him not to add that it was I who had seen him there — ‘and now he’s run away. As well as that he’s simple, and he and Zarina are strangers, and it all adds up to his guilt.’

‘They’ve been here since Lammas last year!’ I said. ‘They’re not strangers any more.’

Haward sighed. ‘Yes, they are. And they’re different .’ He did not need to elaborate; I knew what he meant. Dropping his voice, he muttered, ‘We’ve got to find Derman and warn him. If he returns to the village they’ll very likely take him out and st-st-string him up.’

I imagined the scene. A group of strong village men, stirred to violence by gossip and righteousness, setting out to avenge a girl they hadn’t even known, when their real motive was to hound the outsider, the man who was different , and be rid of him once and for all. Poor Derman. Poor Zarina — she must be terrified.

‘Still no sign of him?’ Sibert was asking.

Haward shook his head. ‘No. Sir Alain has organized search p-parties — most of the village men and b-boys were summoned — and they’ve been out most of the d-day. Nobody’s reported anything that might lead to Derman.’

With the image of a local gang bent on murder still vivid in my mind, I wondered if somebody had seen something but, preferring village justice to Sir Alain’s kind, had kept quiet. Would this man, whoever he was, even now be spreading the word to the others? Wait for darkness, then we’ll creep out of the village and I’ll lead you to him. We’ll show him how we deal with murderers!

It was horrible. It was also all too easy to imagine. I looked ahead to where Zarina walked between Squeak and my father, her head up, her back straight, her eyes fixed on some object in the distance. I thought I heard the sound of angry bees buzzing and, as I looked around, I could see the villagers getting their heads together, murmuring and shooting furtive glances at the woman they would shun because she was the sister of a simpleton who they had decided was a murderer.

It just wasn’t fair.

‘I’ll go and sit with her for a while,’ I said, overcome with the urge to give her my support. ‘She won’t want to be alone with just old Berta for company.’ The washerwoman Zarina lodged with was highly likely to be first in the line of those denouncing Derman, for all that he’d lived under her roof and uncomplainingly done far more than his share of the rough and heavy work.