Alys Clare - Out of the Dawn Light

They must have encouraged Sibert to come and look at his ancestors’ home. When he returned from each visit, did they increase the pressure on him? Did they present a future when he might win it back for them? Oh, but if they did, how cruel, for what could a slimly built youth do against the might of the ruling Norman lords, especially the one who now owned Drakelow?

Only, of course, he didn’t own it. This Baudouin de la Flèche had been kicked out of his grand manor and his strutting new castle, just as Sibert’s forefathers had before him.

Which appeared to open up all sorts of possibilities. . and all at once I had a flash of understanding and I believed that I knew Romain’s mind. At the same time I perceived the major flaw in the argument that he must have employed to win Sibert’s help.

I made myself sit very still and I relaxed the muscles of my entire body, from my feet to my scalp, just as Edild had taught me. It worked, as it always does, and the nervous tension dissipated. I knew I could not return to Romain and Sibert until I had regained control. I breathed slowly and gently — in. . out. . in. . out. . and finally I was ready.

I stood up, brushed down my skirt and wrapped Elfritha’s shawl around me, for the afternoon was over and evening was approaching, bringing a lowering of the temperature. Then I strolled back until I stood before Romain.

‘I had hoped, when I first set eyes on that rather crude habitation before us, that you would offer us accommodation there tonight,’ I said. His head shot up and I noticed that he was eyeing me warily. Good. ‘But, of course, if it isn’t yours, I suppose you won’t be.’ I gave a little sigh. ‘I shall have to say goodbye to my images of a good, hot meal, some of that fine French wine you spoke of and a luxurious night’s sleep in a warm, snug bed on a goose-feather mattress.’

He had the grace to lower his eyes.

‘I suppose we had better move on,’ I continued. ‘You won’t really want to be found loitering in the vicinity, will you, Romain? Under the circumstances, it would hardly be wise.’

He dropped his face into his hands. ‘No, it wouldn’t.’ His words were muffled.

Suddenly I felt very sorry for him. I wanted to reach out and touch the bowed, defeated head, and with that urgent desire all my starry-eyed feelings for him came rushing back.

Why was I being so unkind to him?

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.

He must have thought I was saying I was sorry about his misfortune in losing his inheritance. He looked up, gave me the shadow of his bright, beaming smile and said reasonably, ‘It’s not your fault, er, Lassair.’

It was, I believed, only the second time he had used my name since we had set out. But all the same it touched my heart.

He stood up and between us we got the mute Sibert to his feet. ‘We’re moving on,’ I said to him, giving his arm a squeeze. Then, because his continued silence and unresponsiveness was starting to worry me, I added, ‘Are you all right?’

What a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t all right. He had just seen what the new owners had done to his former home and clearly he didn’t like it. I didn’t blame him. When the rich and powerful men of the previous regime had built, they had taken into consideration the location and the nature of the surroundings, so that the long halls that they constructed grew, in time, almost to be a part of the landscape. They lived as their forefathers had done, within wood and wattle walls and beneath reed roofs, their pastoral way of life generally peaceful so that there was no need for extravagant defences. They were not like the Normans, conquerors and invaders who forcefully and violently imposed themselves, their way of life and their harsh rule on an unwilling, unwelcoming populous.

Poor Sibert. I could only imagine what the manor of Drakelow had looked like before Baudouin de la Flèche had rebuilt it to answer his own need. Sibert must have-

No. That could not be right. I had taken a wrong step in my reasoning, for surely the old Drakelow would have been replaced years ago, when Baudouin’s father was first given it not long after 1066. It was impossible for Sibert to have seen the original structure built by his forefathers, for he had not been born until seven or eight years afterwards.

Yet he had uttered that heart-stopping cry: What have you done?

What did it all mean? For the moment I could make no sense of it.

I fell into step beside him as we set off. I did not know where we were going and merely hoped that Romain had somewhere in mind where we could shelter overnight. Sibert, who claimed to know the area so well, was for the moment quite useless; I reckoned I would even have to take over his job of dishing out the food and drink. I felt so very sorry for him. I would have liked to take his hand but I held back, instead hoping to comfort him by my presence at his side.

We walked in the woodland for a while, then emerged into the open. Sibert raised his head and stared around him. ‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered, frowning, ‘it all looks so very different. I can’t — can’t-’ He gave up, his frown deepening.

‘Perhaps it’s a while since you’ve been here,’ I said kindly. ‘Places do change, you know.’

‘I was last here a little under two years ago,’ he said.

‘Well, perhaps — perhaps-’ But I was at a loss to explain how a location with which someone had once been familiar could have altered so drastically in two years. Instead I said bracingly, ‘Come on. I’m hungry, and you must be too. Romain seems to be leading us somewhere, so let’s hope it’s dry, out of the wind and provides us with somewhere comfortable to sleep.’

He glanced at me but it was as if his eyes slid over me as he continued his worried gazing around. I was about to start urging him again when all at once he jerked into action and staggered off after Romain.

I hurried after them.

We were all tired after the long hours of walking and, after our unnatural pattern of being awake for the night and asleep in the daytime, the prospect of settling down to sleep at the appropriate time was surprisingly good. We ate reasonably well before we turned in. Romain had gone scavenging and returned with a dry heel of bread, a large onion squashed on one side, a piece of mouldy cheese and some spindly carrots. I didn’t ask him where he’d found the food; all the items looked suspiciously like the leftovers from a market, usually abandoned for the dogs and the starving to clear up. Still, we were grateful, and cheese savoured by the bite of onion — even a squishy onion — was welcome after a diet that consisted mainly of spice bread.

I knew that Romain had money. I also knew why he could not stride up to some beautifully laid-out stall and purchase the best provender on offer: because around here his was a familiar face and we had come on a secret mission. For the time being, until we had succeeded in our aim, it looked as if we were going to have to go hungry.

I went to sleep quickly and slept profoundly; I don’t think I even dreamed. Then all at once I was wide awake. I lay quite still in the darkness — the sky was cloudy and there really was barely any light at all — and used my ears and my nose. I could hear the sea; or I guessed it was the sea. It was how I imagined waves beating on the shore in the dead of night would sound. I could hear Romain, who lay over to my right. He was fast asleep, breathing deeply and evenly and with a little click in the middle of each in breath, as if something were caught in one nostril. The leaves of the trees above us were moving restlessly in the breeze off the sea. The wind must have changed, I thought absently. I couldn’t hear the sea when I went to sleep but now I could, so the wind must have gone round from west to east so that now it was carrying the sound of the waves.