‘With Lassair gone, you could not ask her about the appearance of the dead man in the fen either,’ Gurdyman added. ‘And so you came to me.’
‘Yes. Will you describe him to me?’
‘I will. He was a man of medium height and build, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was thin, almost emaciated, with long, skinny arms and legs. He had a mark around his neck, which at first I believed to have been left by the garrotte that broke his neck, although I came to think subsequently that it was more likely caused by the habitual wearing of something heavy around his neck, for the indentation looked old, and the result of long practice.’ His eyes on Hrype blazed. ‘And he had the marks of a whip across both shoulders.’ He raised his right hand, miming the flicking of a whip over his shoulders. Left, right. ‘Had someone else beaten him, the marks would have been quite different. I have seen the back of a man who has been whipped,’ he added, his face grave.
‘The description fits the man I encountered at Crowland,’ Hrype said quietly. ‘It all fits: the colouring, the physique, the emaciation that resulted from rigorous fasting. The marks of the flagellum, I suggest, make it all but certain.’
Gurdyman nodded. ‘Yes, I agree. So, my old friend, if Father Clement’s body is now in the custody of the sheriff, awaiting burial, who is the man at Chatteris?’
‘He is a killer,’ Hrype said. ‘Three people were somehow in his way, or perhaps represented a danger to him. He did not hesitate to murder two of them, and he tried to kill the third.’ He met Gurdyman’s eyes. ‘The question is, why?’
FIFTEEN
We clung to each other, crouching down as close to the ground as we could, pressing our bodies against the cold, wet sand. There was no shelter. All we could do was suffer the furious onslaught and hope that in time it would lessen.
It didn’t.
The wind was screaming and howling; the rain was like handfuls of small stones flung hard at us from close at hand; the temperature seemed to have dropped so far and so fast that it was as if midwinter had broken out in the middle of spring. Rollo was shivering so violently that I could hear the chattering of his teeth, and I was scarcely any less cold.
Whatever force was out there, it did not want us anywhere near.
It was magic: fierce, angry magic.
The swift succession of events had shocked me deeply. I felt assaulted by the dark power opposing me, shaken to my core at the way it had robbed me of my ability to see the safe path. It was, I am ashamed to say, some time before my mind woke up and began to organize a response. You are not helpless, a stern voice seemed to say inside my head. You have weapons of your own. Use them!
I sent out a thought to Fox, hoping and praying he was still close. I caught a flicker of russet brown as he flicked his tail. Then, still clutching Rollo, deliberately I put him out of my mind; to do what I was about to attempt, you have to clear your thoughts of everything else, and that was going to be difficult when the most vital part of everything else was holding the man I loved in my arms again. It would have been better to let go of him and move a short distance away, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to be that strong.
It was a new skill. Hrype had told me about it some time ago, but as a teacher he doesn’t have Gurdyman’s patience, and it was my present mentor who had slowly and steadily increased my confidence. Believing you can do something, he always says, is three-quarters of the way to doing it.
I might be helpless, and Rollo all but unconscious, but there was another with me who surely was not: I was attempting to put my own awareness, my own consciousness, into Fox; or, I suppose, make myself become him. It amounts to pretty much the same thing. Under Gurdyman’s tuition, I had become much closer to my animal guide, discovering, to my intense delight, that once I was in the light trance state, I was gaining the ability to see through Fox’s eyes, scent with his acute sense of smell — this could at times be quite alarming and sometimes downright nauseating — and, perhaps most crucially, share his vivid perception of approaching danger.
As yet I was not very good at it, but I was going to try. I made myself relax, deepened and slowed my breathing, and closed my eyes. I sent my thoughts out to Fox, and he, friend that he is, accepted me. After a time — I have no idea how long it takes — I slid quietly into him.
With the part of me that still crouched on the ground clutching Rollo, I was aware that Fox was trotting away, nosing back along the safe path that he could see as well as I once could. I felt a sort of wrench as he disappeared into the fog. But, in some unfathomable way that I did not begin to understand, part of me was going with him. And through his bright brown eyes with their golden lights, I saw what I had hoped and prayed to see: the storm, if that was what it was, only pounded down on the place where Rollo and I lay, at the end of the safe path.
I called Fox back to me and withdrew myself from him, thanking him, thanking the wise guardian spirits that had made our link possible. He stayed close, or at least I thought so. There was no need now for me actually to see him, for his job was done. I now knew that I would only be walking blind for a short distance, just until we came out from beneath the storm, and Fox had shown me where to put my feet. Once we were free of the malignant power beating down on us from out of those deadly black clouds, I would be able to guide us again.
‘We must get away from here!’ I shouted to Rollo. Even though I yelled right by his ear, he barely heard me, for the wind and the hard rain had reached a cacophonous climax.
‘It’s not safe!’ he yelled back once I’d made him understand. ‘One slip and we’ll be in it!’
‘No we won’t because I’ll be able to see the path!’ I screeched.
There was a moment — a precious moment that I knew would live with me for ever — when he looked right into my eyes and gave a small nod. It was as if he was saying: I remember your uncanny ability, and I will put myself in your hands.
Without letting myself think about the awesome responsibility, I struggled to my feet, pulling him with me. He was very weak, and when he picked up his heavy pack and slung it over his shoulder, he staggered. I tried to take it from him, but he would not let me. My heart sank a little as I realized how tough it was going to be to get all the way back along the path.
But there were other dangers to overcome first. I pushed him behind me, pulling his arms round my waist and holding them there with mine; I wanted him to follow me so closely that he would be putting his feet exactly where mine had been. Then I slipped back into my trance state and set off along the exact route that Fox had shown me.
One step, two, three, then Rollo and I got into a rhythm and we were moving swiftly back along the path. I counted almost fifty paces, and then quite suddenly the pulverizing rain stopped, the temperature shot up and the fog rolled itself up and disappeared.
I stopped. Ahead of us was the salt marsh, and I begged the spirits to show me the safe way back. Some benign ancestor must have been with me, for straight away the snaky line of the path lit up as if it had been set on fire. It was so brilliant that I was quite sure Rollo could see it too, and I turned my head and cried, ‘Look! That’s the way we must go!’
His blank stare told me he could see nothing at all.
I did not let that affect me. I felt jubilant, invincible. With my eyes fixed on the shining track, I stepped forward. We were walking under a clear blue sky, and the welcome, blessed sun was beating down on our backs.