Alys Clare - Out of the Dawn Light

To begin with she had seemed cowed and afraid, and he was sure that just for an instant as they stood there looking down on Dunwich, before she brought herself under control, she had leaned in closer to him. As if she desperately needed his kindly touch to reassure her that everything was all right.

But it had only been fleeting. Now she had edged a clear pace or two away from him and she had raised her chin in that gesture he had seen in her once before.

He wondered, just for an instant, if he had underestimated her.

‘Come on,’ Romain said abruptly.

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strangely harsh in the awed silence. He had suddenly realized that it was not wise to remain here looking down on Dunwich, for both his young companions seemed affected by the sight.

I have to keep control, he thought. He did not know exactly what he feared; perhaps it was better for his peace of mind not to put it into words.

He turned to his right and led the way at a smart pace southwards along the narrow track. They had kept away from all the main thoroughfares so far and this was not the moment to alter that prudent habit. Presently the path entered the welcome shade of a band of woodland. So much the better, he thought. The trees are in full midsummer leaf and they will give us excellent cover.

They did not have far to go. Drakelow lay two miles to the south of Dunwich and they would be in woodland most of the way. Romain had thought long and hard about this final phase of their journey, debating endlessly with himself whether they should go to the manor house first or to the shore. In the end he had settled on the manor house, although he was still not entirely convinced that this was the right decision.

A mile to go. The familiar landmarks were succeeding each other in swift succession now. Soon the house would come into view.

Half a mile. He risked a glance at Sibert. The boy was frowning, staring about him as if he were confused. Of course he was confused. He had not been here for several years and much can happen in that time.

They were close now, so very close. The woodland was thinning and here and there were the scars of recent timber extraction. So many trees had been felled. . Should I speak now? Romain asked himself, his heart beating fast. Would it be better to forewarn him?

The decision was taken out of his hands. Sibert gave a sort of groan — a dreadful sound of anguish and pain — and began running on down the path.

‘ Stop! ’ Romain yelled.

Sibert ran on.

Romain raced after him, pain from his blistered heel stabbing like a nail, but violent emotion had put wings on Sibert’s feet. Romain was aware of the girl’s light footfalls as she flew along the path behind him, but his attention was all on Sibert.

He caught up with him at last but it was too late. Sibert stood on a low rise at the very edge of the tree line, staring down at the great wounds that cut across the landscape like the scars of violence on a beloved face.

In the centre of a broad open space totally denuded of the softening trees rose a brash new building. To be accurate, it was a series of buildings, the group dominated by a squat, square tower topped with crenellations that stood on the summit of an earth mound. As befitted a structure designed as the last defence for the inhabitants, the tower had no windows and the single door was stoutly made of oak and bound with iron. It was surrounded by a palisade of stakes, their tops sharpened to savage points. A gated opening in the palisade led to steps leading down to another enclosed area in which there was a large thatched house and a semicircle of smaller buildings, including barns and a smithy. One or two people could be seen in the lower yard and smoke came from the roof of the large thatched building.

Sibert turned to Romain and the power of the emotion coursing through him had so twisted his features that he looked like someone else.

‘ What have you done? ’ he bellowed. ‘Where is my house?’

There was a sharp exclamation from the girl but Romain ignored her. He put out a calming hand, catching Sibert’s sleeve, but Sibert flung him off. ‘Sibert, be calm and I will explain,’ he said. Sibert had bunched his hands into fists, his whole body gathered as if to strike. ‘Please!’ Romain pleaded. ‘Hear what I must tell you!’

Tears collected in the boy’s wide eyes. Romain watched in horrible fascination as slowly they spilled over the lower lids and slid down the boy’s dirty face. Beside him, he heard the girl give a low moan — of pity? — and she moved a step closer to Sibert.

Sibert drew back, and the hand that the girl had tentatively put out to him fell by her side.

Straightening his back with a touching gesture of pride, Sibert said, ‘Go on, then. Say what you have to say.’

It was Romain’s only chance. He knew he must get it right.

‘Come back into the shade,’ he said gently, ‘for although the afternoon is passing, it’s still hot out here in the sunshine. Come — yes, that’s right!’ He made his voice light and encouraging, for the youth had slowly and reluctantly begun to move. ‘We’ll sit down here by the side of the path, and you will be told what you ask to know.’

He sat down, indicating a patch of grass beside him. Sibert lowered himself on to the ground, and the girl did the same. She was watching him intently, he noticed uneasily, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Romain waited for a few moments, taking a few calming breaths, and then, well aware that he had their full attention, he began to speak.

‘Before us lies the manor of Drakelow,’ he said, ‘which was awarded to my grandfather Fulk de la Flèche by William the Conqueror in recognition of my grandfather’s contribution to the victory at Hastings in 1066. My grandfather was a wealthy and influential Norman nobleman,’ he added, unable to keep the bragging tone out of his voice, ‘and he supplied the Conqueror with a band of well-armed, well-drilled fighting men, many of whom did not live to enjoy the fruits of the victory. Fulk de la Flèche’s prize was a fine one, for he was awarded extensive lands on the coast, close to a thriving port where the produce of the estate could be taken away by sea and sold for a handsome profit, and the lands themselves were fertile. Naturally, the king’s largesse was not entirely without self-interest, for in a newly conquered land it was to his advantage to have his own supporters installed in castles and fortified manors so that they could come to his aid in the event of rebellion.’

‘Like Hereward,’ the girl piped up. ‘He led a rebellion from Ely.’ Romain started with surprise. Caught up with his tale, he had all but forgotten her presence, and he was astounded that an ignorant village girl would speak with such authority of matters surely so far removed from her sphere.

‘Yes, like Hereward,’ he agreed, turning to beam at her. He had become so accustomed to the shy blush that flooded her face as she diffidently returned his smile that it was remarkable now because of its absence. Instead the clear grey-green eyes stared levelly back at him and he thought he saw the corner of her wide mouth turn down in a swift wry quirk.

Again he was struck by the faintly alarming thought that he did not really know her very well. .

But there was no time for that now. ‘So, my grandfather was given the manor of Drakelow, everything and everyone in it,’ he said, taking up his tale. He sensed Sibert’s sudden tension, as if he were about to speak, but, not wanting to be interrupted again, he hurried on. ‘Fulk had brought with him to his new home his wife, my grandmother Mathilde, who was like him of noble Norman blood, and their two sons, Baudouin and Athanase, who at the time of the Conquest were fifteen and fourteen. Baudouin, I am told, had pressed to be allowed to ride with his father into battle but the most that my grandfather permitted was that he might be a part of the reserve troops, and in the end he was never in any great danger. In due course the family settled in their new home and the younger brother, Athanase, wed the daughter of another Norman. Her name was Amarys and she was my mother.’ He paused, but it was purely for effect. ‘My birth was difficult and my mother did not recover from it. She died in 1071, a few months after I was born.’