‘Oh.’ She was right. Whatever had I been thinking?
Hrype reached out and took Edild’s hand. He muttered something — it might have been, Don’t crush her enthusiasm — and turned to me.
‘You reason well,’ he said. ‘Yet, as Edild implies, you have not thought your idea to its conclusion.’
‘I-’ I began.
He held up his hand. ‘I have a suggestion.’
I looked at him, feeling both excited and apprehensive. ‘Yes?’ I prompted.
‘You recall, no doubt, that it was I who told you both about Lady Claude and Sir Alain’s background?’ Edild and I nodded. ‘And you will also recall the source of my information.’ It wasn’t a question; he knew we’d remember.
‘Your wizard friend Gurdyman,’ I said.
‘Quite right,’ Hrype agreed. ‘He is, as I told you, an authority on the history of the great Norman families. It is, as he is wont to say, a wise man who strives to comprehend his enemy. His knowledge of the de Caudebecs, the de Sees and the de Villequiers is, as I told you, extensive, although whether it extends to the number and nature of the male indoor servants at Heathlands, I cannot say.’
I smiled. I thought he was making a joke.
‘We will,’ he said, rising to his feet, ‘just have to go and ask him.’
He was looking straight at me, an enquiring look on his face.
‘You’re asking me?’ Me came out as a squeak.
His smile broadened. ‘Yes, Lassair. Will you come to Cambridge with me and speak to my wizard?’
There was only one answer. ‘Yes.’
There was plenty of time during the night for me to regret my impetuosity. Cambridge was half a day’s walk away; perhaps a little less now, when the weather was good and the roads and tracks correspondingly dry and firm. Hrype and I might well have to stay overnight with this wizard friend of his, which was quite alarming enough a prospect, but in addition we’d be travelling away from our village without Lord Gilbert’s knowledge or permission. For the same reason that Sibert and I couldn’t reveal that we were going to Brandon or why, Hrype would have to keep our mission to Cambridge a secret. Still, I comforted myself as I tried to make myself relax into sleep, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d left the village without permission, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
No. What really alarmed me about the morning’s mission was the prospect of a day or more with Hrype. I’d done that before too — travelled on my own with him, I mean — but I’d been quite a lot younger. I’d been scared of him then. Now, when I knew quite a lot more about him, that fear had not receded. If anything, it had increased. I couldn’t say tomorrow, Sorry, Hrype, I’ve changed my mind, and I’m not coming. You just didn’t say things like that to Hrype. Besides, it hadn’t escaped my notice that he could perfectly well have gone to consult this Gurdyman by himself. He didn’t need me there with him to ask the right questions.
There had to be something else. Was there some element in this mission that presented a chance for Hrype to further my studies into his own particular type of magic? It was perfectly possible, considering we were going to visit a wizard. What would the new lesson be? I could barely dare to think. .
That was the real reason why I couldn’t sleep.
Edild woke me as the dawn was lightening the sky, to a chorus of birdsong so loud that I was amazed I’d slept through it. She must have known how nervous I was, but she made me eat and drink, reminding me I had a long walk ahead. While I washed and dressed, she packed up food and a flask of water and set them ready by the door. I checked in my leather satchel to make sure I had my basic kit of remedies — you never know when someone’s going to call on a healer — and I also packed my wash cloth and my shawl. The nights could be chilly, and I had no idea whether or not I’d be back in my own bed that night.
There came a soft tap on the door. Edild opened it, and Hrype looked in. Seeing that I was ready, he nodded and said, ‘We’d best be on our way before curious eyes look out to see us.’
I slipped out of the house and, side by side, we set off for Cambridge.
We reached the town shortly before midday. I had no idea what to expect. I’d been to Ely, and I’d seen the port of Dunwich from a distance, but Ely had struck me as a random collection of buildings round an abbey and, as I said, I hadn’t had the chance to see Dunwich at close quarters.
Cambridge was a revelation.
As we’d walked along, Hrype had told me that the town had been occupied before the Romans had come. For ages now the town had held a market that was famous in the area and a great attraction to local tradesmen and their customers. The Vikings had sacked, burned and destroyed the town, only to have the irrepressible residents build it up again even better than before. It had burned again only three years ago, when holding out for the Duke of Normandy against King William. The first King William — our present king’s iron-fisted father — had built a castle on the north of the town’s river, up on a specially constructed earth motte, and on the south bank of the river there were extensive wharfs for the barges bringing goods to Cambridge from far and near. A sturdy bridge spanned the water, busy with a variety of traffic, from heavy carts to fleet-footed lads weaving in and out of the throng. There was a definite air of purpose and general busyness. Many of today’s townsfolk were, according to Hrype, very prosperous.
We crossed the bridge, and as we entered the maze of narrow, crooked streets, my eyes were wide open in wonder. There were so many houses — most of them timber-framed, although some of the smaller ones were mud-brick — and all had thatched roofs. The evidence of the fire three years ago was still visible, although it looked as if the townspeople had been as swift to rebuild as they had been in Viking times, and many of the dwellings were clearly new. There were even one or two big houses made of stone, most certainly the dwellings of the very rich, for everyone knew stone had to be imported into the fens, where we have none of our own. The buildings huddled together shoulder to shoulder, all but blocking out the daylight. The only open space appeared to be where there was a church. We passed one that had a tower reaching up into the wide sky, and Hrype said it was dedicated to St Benedict and had been built by the Saxons.
Hrype led the way down a dark little alley that dived off between an imposing stone building and a smaller, clay-walled house. The entrance to the alley was concealed by a wood-roofed stall that jutted out from the smaller house. A very large woman stood behind a trestle table inside the stall, from which she was selling pies and loaves of bread. Busy yelling out mouth-watering descriptions of the food on offer, she barely glanced at Hrype and me as we slipped past her.
The alley went dead-straight for about five or six paces, then turned abruptly to the right. We were now in an even narrower passage, with the rear wall of the clay house on our right and another, similar dwelling on our left. We twisted and turned down several more alleys and, although I tried to memorize the turnings this way and that, I soon realized that I was lost. Presently, we came to a set of steps leading up to a stout, iron-studded wooden door set in a graceful stone arch. Hrype sprang up the steps and tapped on the door. Nothing happened for what seemed like a long time. Then the door opened just a crack and a pair of keen eyes peered out.
‘Hrype!’ cried the owner of the eyes. The opening widened enough to admit us, and swiftly we were ushered inside.
The passageways had been quite dark, shaded as they were by the buildings on either side. The light out there, however, had been bright in comparison to the interior of this house, and for some time, as my eyes adjusted, I could barely make out anything except vague shapes. We were led down a corridor and, lacking my sight, my other senses seemed to sharpen as if to compensate. I could hear two distinct sounds, one of which was a sort of fizzing, as if something were sizzling in hot fat over a fire. The other was the steady breathing of the person leading the way down the passage.