Kate Sedley - The Wicked Winter

He ran towards the house, almost tripping over his feet in his hurry.

Jasper stared after him with a thoughtful look, which gradually settled into one of avid and ill-contained curiosity.

My own interest was also aroused and I turned back to speak to him.

'Your friend seems in a mighty rush,' I said. 'Where's he come from?'

The groom started a little at the sound of my voice.

'Where's Hamon been?' I repeated.

Jasper hesitated, then shrugged. 'I know where he's supposed to have been; to Cederwell Manor with a present for Sir Hugh. He was sent there by my lady just on the dinner hour. At least that was the excuse.'

'What do you mean, the excuse?' I asked him.

Jasper blinked once or twice in confusion before again lifting his shoulders.

'I meant nothing by it. I was just talking for talking's sake, the way you do sometimes.' He looked me up and down. 'Hadn't you best be going? It'll be dusk pretty soon.' I agreed, but reluctantly. My nose, like Dame Judith's, was twitching with the desire to know more, but there was no way that I could reasonably stay. And then suddenly I realised that the answer to the mystery might well lie at Cederwell Manor, if that was indeed where Hamon had been … But of course that was where he had been! Ursula Lynom had sent him after Sir Hugh with the silver and mother-of-pearl buttons. They were a gift for him, just as her mother-in-law had predicted they would be. I bade my companion a cheery 'God be with ye!' and set out once more on my way.

Leafless trees, like so many hobgoblins, crouched against the leaden-grey sky and every now and again a snowflake floated down, to lie for a moment before gradually dissolving into the iron-hard ground. But soon they would begin to pitch.

The snowstorm which had threatened for the past few days was now upon us and I must get into shelter before the hours of darkness. I quickened my step, my pack considerably lighter than when I set out from Bristol two weeks earlier.

I reached the end of the Woodspring road and the junction with the main pack-horse track almost before I realised it, my mind busy with the events of the day since leaving Ulnoth's dwelling that same morning. And, upon that thought, I found myself once again drawing abreast of the boulder house. On impulse, I stooped and went inside, calling out, 'Ulnoth!'

For a few seconds, standing there blinking in the gloom, I could not see him, and had just decided that he must have gone to attend to his snares when a slight shuffling noise sounded from the furthest corner.

'Ulnoth!' I repeated.

He crawled forward. 'Chapman,' he said with such a note of relief in his voice that I immediately grew suspicious.

'Who did you think it was? Have you had another visitor?'

He shook his head a little too vigorously. 'No. No. Ulnoth frightened.'

'Why? If no one's been here, who or what is there to be scared of? Have you seen something from your doorway?'

'No, no! Nothing.'

I suspected him of lying. Clearly something or someone had upset him, but however hard I probed, he refused to say any more. I did what I could to calm him, settling him in the farthest recess of the house, in the embrasure cut into the bank, and gave him some water. When he stopped trembling I offered, 'I'll stay with you if you wish. Spend the night here.'

But he did not want this, giving me a shove which almost caused me to lose my balance. For the second time I realised that he was stronger than he looked.

'Go. You go,' he muttered.

'Very well, I shall. I must be on my way at once if I'm to reach Cederwell Manor before dark.'

Suddenly, he started to moan, rocking backwards and forwards and muttering to himself, 'Death. Death. Death.'

'What about death?' I demanded. And then, when he did not answer, 'Whose death, Ulnoth? What are you trying to tell me?'

But not another word could I prise from him however long and patiently I tried. At last, when he turned his back to me, hunching in on himself, I realised that I could ill afford to waste more time. I squeezed his thin shoulder and gently called his name, but still getting no response I left.

Straightening to my full height outside the entrance I paused for a moment, wondering if I ought to return and press him further as to his meaning; but, several flakes of snow settling just at that moment amid the folds of my cloak, I decided that I must go forward without more delay. Ulnoth had made it plain that he did not want my company.

By the end of what I calculated to be another hour, and when I judged that Cederwell Manor must soon be coming into view, it was snowing with a gentle persistence that might not in itself have boded ill, but for a freshening wind blowing in from the sea. Every moment the smell of salt and fish grew stronger, and I knew that I must be very close by now to the Severn estuary. The land on the left-hand side of the track, which had originally fallen steeply away, was levelling out with each succeeding furlong of ground I covered, while on my right, the cliffs now soared above me. This was partly due to the fact that the track, which followed the high ground all the way from Bristol, was descending towards the shore.

Thick brakes of scrub had begun to replace the wind-bitten trees.

Then, in front of me, I saw the outhouses and barn of the manor, above which rose the chimneys of the house itself, nestling back against the face of the towering cliff behind it.

Turning my head I noted, some hundred yards or so to the left and standing well clear of the homestead, a round tower, three, or maybe four, storeys high.

And on the path ahead of me walked a solitary figure who, although his back was towards me, was immediately recognisable.

I lengthened my stride.

'God be with you, Brother Simeon,' I called. 'I think we are bound for the same destination.'

The friar slowed to a halt and turned to face me. For a moment puzzlement deepened the lines between his brows.

'We've met somewhere before,' he said, then the frown cleared. 'Bristol. That was it. You and your mother were at the High Cross. Afterwards, she provided me with an excellent meal.'

'My mother-in-law,' I corrected. I had by now caught up with him and we continued to walk together. 'You've been summoned to Cederwell Manor.'

His head came round sharply. 'And how do you know that?'

'Four days ago, quite by chance, I met two men who were searching for you on the orders of their mistress, Lady Cederwell. She had urgent need of you, they said. A miller and his wife, who'd kindly let me eat with them, directed them south, to Woodspring Priory.'

Simeon nodded. His steps were beginning to flag and he leaned heavily on his staff as though he could barely keep himself upright. He looked even frailer than he had done in Bristol, his face gaunter, his body thinner, his black Dominican robe and cloak more travel-stained and tattered.

Only his eyes burned with the same fanatical zeal, the driving force which gave him the will-power to carry on with his mission.

'I have indeed come from that direction. The men you speak of did not find me until I was nearing my destination, and I told them that first I had to fulfil my promise to Abbot Hunt of Saint Augustine's Abbey in Bristol, to preach to the prior and his canons.' He added darkly, 'It seems that morals have grown lax amongst the brothers, and it needed someone to warn them afresh of the terrors of hellfire and eternal damnation; of the peril to their immortal souls if they continued with their sinful ways; to remind them that, under secular law, such malpractices would condemn them to the fire.'

'But what of Lady Cederwell?' I prompted.

'I said that I would be with her as soon as possible. As you say, her need of me seemed to be so great that one of her messengers offered to take me up and carry me to Cederwell there and then. But, "God's work will not be hurried," I told him. "It must proceed at His pace and in His good time. I shall come to your mistress on my own two feet when He wills that I shall do so, but not before, even if it means that Lady Cederwell must wait a week or so." However, with the Almighty's help, my words had such a powerful effect upon the monks of Woodspring that I was able to leave them after only three days, and I set out before first light this morning in the certain knowledge that Father Prior would have no more trouble with them. I have been walking steadily ever since, stopping for neither meat nor drink.'