Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

Nodding, Cecily turned away. Her heart was heavy as lead. Philip had to be somewhere. A baby so young—a newborn who could not even crawl—could hardly get lost on his own. If only Adam had not gone to Winchester that morning—but, no, what was she thinking? Adam must never know the full extent of her concern for Philip…and in this crisis she must remember that, friendly though Brian was, he was Adam’s man, not hers. She must conceal her deep concern from Brian. She could allow herself to appear worried, but not frantic…

But someone must have seen something. ‘Has anyone spoken to Edmund?’

‘Not seen him this morning, my lady.’

‘I thought not.’ Her eyes were drawn back to the cookhouse. Grey smoke was puffing out through the vent in the thatch, blending with a line of dark clouds blowing down from the north. How odd. She had not seen Edmund either. Driven by blind instinct, she picked up her skirts and headed for the cookhouse.

Lufu was on her knees, raking out the bread oven. As Cecily entered she kneeled back on her haunches and wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smearing it with streaks of ash. ‘I told that Brian I’ve not seen Philip,’ Lufu said, jaw jutting.

Cecily said nothing, merely held the girl’s gaze. Lufu knew something about this, she’d swear…

Dropping the ash rake, Lufu got to her feet. ‘I didn’t see him, my lady—honest. Not seen him since yesterday evening.’ She wiped her hands on her skirts and crossed her arms under her bosom.

‘Tell me why I don’t believe you.’

Lufu turned to the workbench, muttering.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘How can I say why you won’t believe me?’ Lufu demanded, swinging round. ‘I’m telling the truth. I haven’t seen that baby since last night!’

‘You may not have seen Philip, but you know where he is.’ Silence. ‘Don’t you?’ More silence. Cecily hauled in a breath. ‘Lufu, this is my brother we are talking about. A tiny baby. One who was born early and who needs all the care he can get.’

Silence.

‘Edmund has him, hasn’t he?’

Lufu put her hand to her brow, drawing another streak of ash across it. She picked up a wooden spoon from the bench; she put it down; she recrossed her arms.

‘Lufu, for pity’s sake!’

‘All right! Edmund has him. But he’s safe, my lady. Edmund wouldn’t hurt your brother. He is the rightful Thane of this place, and that’s what they want.’

They? Cecily shut her eyes. Lufu must mean Judhael and the Saxon resistance. ‘The rightful Thane,’ she muttered, and opened her eyes. ‘I am his sister, Lufu. Thane Edgar’s daughter. What did they think I would do to him?’

Lufu shrugged. ‘He’s got another sister—one who’s loyal.’

Stung, Cecily caught her breath. ‘Emma? Emma’s looking after him?’ Lufu mumbled something that sounded like assent. ‘That’s a mercy, but Philip needs a wet nurse too.’

‘They know that. Don’t worry, my lady. Philip of Fulford will come to no harm.’

‘No harm! My brother is stolen, to be used as a pawn in some power game, and you tell me he’ll come to no harm! Would that I had your confidence.’

Lufu hunched a shoulder.

‘Tell me where they’ve taken him.’

A muscle twitching in her jaw, Lufu fiddled with a knife on the workbench. Praying for patience, Cecily waited.

‘He’ll be fine, my lady. Don’t you fret.’

‘Lufu, for the love of God! Where is he?’

Lufu whirled. Tears gleamed on her lashes, witness to the struggle going on inside her. ‘Up on the Downs. Seven Wells Hill. Near the Old Fort.’

Seven Wells Hill. Cecily let her breath out. She had never been there, though Cenwulf had talked about it. Miles from the nearest dwelling, high on the Downs, Seven Wells Hill was the site of an ancient earthworks which had been a ruin even before the time of the Romans. It was a desolate place, apparently—weatherbeaten and abandoned, home to skylarks and buzzards, but not much else.

‘Philip will be safe enough with your sister.’

‘Judhael is behind this, I take it?’

‘Aye.’

‘Who took him? Edmund?’

‘Aye. What will you do, my lady?’

Cecily thought rapidly. She knew exactly what she was going to do. But she was not about to trust Lufu with that knowledge—not when the girl had stood to one side while her brother had been abducted from the place that offered him the most security. And, yes, Philip was far safer in Fulford—even though Fulford had been taken over by Adam’s troops. Better that than be carted off to some Godforsaken encampment in the back of beyond, even if he was with his own countrymen. But this was not the time to dwell on such ironies.

Cecily shrugged lightly, and kept the panic out of her voice. ‘Do? What can I do save wait for my lord to return from Winchester?’ And keep everyone so busy that their heads will spin and they will have no energy left to wonder what I am really about.

The stack of fuel by the fire had already dwindled since yesterday. Luckily. She looked pointedly at it. ‘Lord knows there’s enough to do to keep the Hall running without me interfering in the men’s affairs. To begin with, the log store by the stables is almost empty. Harold and Carl can help me replenish it, else this winter will be miserable indeed. And then…’ Cecily slanted a sidelong glance at Lufu to make sure she was listening ‘The slaughtering is almost done, so you can make a start with the smoking and salting. Matty and Sigrida will lend you a hand. Matty’s mother too, if the miller can spare her. I’ll ask Evie if she’ll help. It might take her mind off her woes. And if that work’s too heavy for her, you can set her to packing the apples in straw. And when Brian has finished in the practice field he can set the men to work digging latrines.’

‘New ones?’

‘Yes. They should have been moved a couple of months since. We must get them dug before the ground gets too hard.’

Waving an airy hand, Cecily picked up her skirts and sailed out of the cookhouse to tell Gudrun—the only person here she could trust—that Philip was with her sister. That done, she would set everyone to work before riding to Seven Wells Hill. She would fetch Philip back herself. She had no choice. Wat would accompany her, as her groom. He might be simple, but he would know the way.

Inside, she was in knots.

The trail wound on through a thicket of yew. Cecily turned in her saddle, but already Fulford was lost to view. She kicked Cloud on, and shot a glance at Wat. Wat smiled happily across at her, blissfully ignorant of the urgency of their mission.

The way got steeper; the path narrowed. Brambles and briars snatched at the ponies’ legs. Spiders’ webs sparkled in the bushes, dewdrops trembling on their filaments.

‘Wat, you are sure this is the right way?’ Cecily asked, drawing her cloak—Adam’s cloak—more securely about her. Without rousing suspicion, she had not been able to bring much in the way of provisions. Philip’s blanket was currently stowed beneath Cloud’s saddle, and she’d sneaked a frugal lunch of bread and cheese and a flask of ale into her pack. A couple of russet apples. But that was all. They could not afford to get lost. They could not afford to spend the night in the open.

Wat nodded vigorously. ‘Right way. Up hill. Then no wood. Then Gunni’s hut. And…and…’

Cecily remembered. Gunni the shepherd was Lufu’s sweetheart. His hut on the edge of the Downs marked the halfway point to Seven Wells Hill. Or so Cenwulf had told her, in that other life, before Duke William had brought his army to England. ‘And after the hut,’ Cecily said, finishing Wat’s sentence for him, ‘Seven Wells?’

‘Aye, Seven Wells.’ Wat’s expression clouded, and he fingered the dagger at his belt, perhaps not as carefree as Cecily had assumed. ‘Cec take care at Seven Wells.’