Alys Clare - Out of the Dawn Light

If my fury and my shame had not been so violent, I might have realized that it was actually quite decent of him. Many lords would, I am sure, have sent me packing with a scolding and possibly a thrashing to remind me not to tell lies.

Perhaps he did not wish to jeopardize the eel supply.

Baudouin had been silent during this hopeless exchange with Lord Gilbert. He had circled me — I had sensed his presence behind me and had found it deeply unnerving, my skin crawling in response to his proximity — and now he went to stand beside Lord Gilbert’s chair. I looked at him. He — or more likely one of Lord Gilbert’s servants — had brushed down his dusty tunic and polished his boots, and now he could be seen for the wealthy, powerful man that he was. Observing my eyes on him, he smiled faintly, as if to say, look well, child. Admit you stand no chance against me.

He wants justice, I thought. He is in desperate need of somebody to blame for Romain’s death and he will settle for Sibert. He will not rest till Sibert hangs for the murder of Romain.

I quaked under his black stare but I made myself hold his glance. You might once have been rich and important, I said to him silently, but that time has gone, for you have lost your manor. I don’t know why you claim that Sibert killed your nephew but there has to be a reason and I shall find out what it is and save my friend.

I don’t know if he perceived my thought. If he did, he made no visible sign. But then I felt a horrible sensation — it was if a wave of heat from a huge, uncontrolled fire had just hit me. I flinched and his smile twisted until it was a look of pure evil.

I suspected, for all I hoped it was not so, that I had just made an enemy.

I had told them at home that I was going back to Goda’s house and as I left Lord Gilbert’s manor, my face still burning from my humiliation, I thought I might as well do just that. I had nerved myself to do the one thing I could think of to save Sibert and I had failed, miserably and utterly. Lord Gilbert had all but patted me on the head and told me to go away and play. Baudouin de la Flèche had revealed himself to be a truly frightening man. But then, I reminded myself, trying to be fair, he had just lost his nephew and heir and perhaps was not in his right mind. Thinking of him in his lonely grief I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

I really didn’t want to go back to Goda’s house but I could not think of anywhere else to go. If I turned up at home I’d have to explain, and my failure still bit too deep for me to have any desire to talk about it. So, slowly, reluctantly, I plodded wearily off down the road to Icklingham, thinking as I did that never had the miles seemed so long.

The day had become hot and I stopped by a stream to splash my face with cool water. I was straightening up again, preparing to attack the last leg of my journey, when I heard a rustling sound in the bracken behind me.

For no apparent reason, I was afraid. I stood quite still, only my eyes moving as swiftly I looked round, both for the source of the sound and for a hiding place or escape route. There was nowhere to hide — I was standing on a low bank above a watercourse that wound between low bushes and skinny alders — and the only place to run was on down the track to Icklingham.

I listened, my ears straining, but the sound did not come again. It was probably an animal, I told myself. A bird pulling at a worm. A stoat whipping round into the safety of its hole.

I did not succeed in reassuring myself at all. I knew that the sound had somehow been too big for a small, innocent creature. I was all but sure it had been made by a human.

I thought suddenly, someone killed Romain. It wasn’t Sibert, no matter what this mysterious witness says, no matter how much Baudouin wants to believe that it was. I knew the truth and I realized with a cold shiver of horror that, other than Sibert, I was the only living soul who did. It was in this unknown somebody’s interests to ensure that my version of events did not gain credibility and one sure way of doing that was to silence me. Permanently.

I leapt across the stream and ran as fast as I could towards Icklingham.

Goda received me with slightly more animation than she usually managed. It was not, after all, every day that her sister managed to involve herself in a murder. After the initial questions, however, Goda’s attitude changed and soon she was screeching at me for bringing the family into disrepute. It was a relief to go outside into the warm sunshine to collect vegetables for our meal.

She found plenty of tasks of varying degrees of distastefulness for me to do for the remainder of the day. She was quite clearly making a point, that I had done something reckless and silly — she never specified what, exactly, since she didn’t know — and must be punished. I accepted it, doing whatever I was ordered efficiently and without complaint. I too felt I needed to be punished, and far more severely than anything my sister could come up with, for I had failed my friend and he would probably hang.

As the long day at last descended into evening, it was all I could do to keep back my tears.

I finally got Goda settled for the night. She had been complaining of aches and pains all afternoon, but then she always complained about something and I did not take a lot of notice. I knew she must be near her time but, other than making sure I knew where to go for the midwife when the moment came, there was little else I could do.

I went to sit outside on the narrow little bench in front of the house. Presently Cerdic came home; he had developed to a fine degree the knack of knowing when his wife was asleep and only creeping into their bed when she was snoring rhythmically and all but impossible to wake. Since he was up and out of the house in the morning before she woke, I wondered if these days they ever exchanged as much as a word. Certainly, it seemed highly unlikely they would exchange anything else.

He saw me on the bench and nodded a greeting.

‘She’s asleep,’ I whispered.

We both listened in silence for a moment to her snores. ‘So I hear,’ he whispered back with a grin.

On an impulse I patted the bench beside me and after a brief hesitation he sat down. We did not speak for some time — it really was a lovely night, clear skies and a glowing, golden moon — and then he said tentatively, ‘Do you think she’ll be better when the baby’s here?’

I did not know how to answer. What exactly did he mean by better ? She’d be less immobile and useless, probably, and there was a slim chance she’d remember that she was a wife and it was her duty to keep the house clean and tidy and get a meal ready for her hard-working husband when he came home at night. Her temper might improve marginally once she was no longer fat, sweaty and uncomfortable. But she would still be Goda.

I thought very carefully and then said, for he was stuck with her and it would do no harm to give him some hope, ‘Lots of women feel quite differently about — er, about things once they have a baby to cherish. She’ll have a big, strong child,’ I went on, my confidence growing, ‘that’s for sure, and that’ll be a joy. She’ll nurse it and it’ll thrive, and she’ll be happy and I’m sure she’ll try to be a good mother.’ I was going too far and I knew it when I heard myself say she’ll be happy , for I’d never known my sister when she wasn’t discontented and moaning abut something.

But then miracles did sometimes happen.

I had said enough; more than enough.

Cerdic seemed content, however. After a time he said, ‘Ah well, better get to bed, I suppose.’ He stood up, looking down at me with a wry smile. ‘Thanks for coming back,’ he added. ‘She’d never say so but she needs you.’