The hermit gazed deep into her eyes and their separate worlds merged for a second to banish all contradiction. Both were lonely outcasts. Both would be spurned on sight, yet both could be forgiving to those who spurned them. Both worshipped a deity that was older than time itself and beyond the scope of common imagination. Both followed their own twisting paths to a higher state of being that could be attained only in painful isolation.
When the moment passed, the contradictions came back to push them apart forever, but the man made one last gesture of contact.
Pointing up the hill, he beckoned Emma to follow, then he trudged off slowly on bare feet. She picked up the silver coins and did as he wished, keeping a few yards behind him and ordering her dog to stay at her heels. The hermit reached the blasted yew tree and gave it a rueful glance before cutting off into the undergrowth. He stopped beside a depression in the ground that was carpeted with ivy. He jabbed his finger at the spot, then raised it up to point in the direction of the town. Emma was perplexed and no wiser when the man made the identical gestures again.
The dog needed no second invitation. Its nose scented something under the ivy and it became very agitated. Emma tried to shoo it away, but its interest was too strong and it began to burrow into the ivy with its front paws. Her own curiosity was now aroused and she found a stick to slide under the covering so that she could lift it up. The hollow was deeper at the centre and she could see some sort of tarpaulin there. Her dog darted under the ivy to grab at it with his teeth, but she caught it by the collar and dragged him back. When she put her stick under the tarpaulin to raise its edge up, she was astounded by what she saw and she realised at once why the animal had been so frantic. It took all her force to subdue it and she had to use both hands to pull it away.
Emma could now interpret the hermit’s gestures. He wanted her to report what she had found. Unable to do so himself, he was asking her to take the message on his behalf. He had made an important discovery that he had no means of passing on. To go to the town would be to break his own cover, and he would never do that. He belonged to Savernake now and was at one with its mysteries. She was to be his emissary. She could pass on his findings without disclosing either his existence or his whereabouts. Emma would be praised and the hermit would be safe.
She turned to thank him, but he had stolen away minutes before and run back to his clearing in the valley. While Emma waddled off with her dog and her basket, the man was sitting in the clearing with the new piece of sandstone between his knees, using primitive tools to chisel it to shape and holding it up from time to time to catch the sun. When the final stone had been properly dressed and sunk into position, his circle would be complete.
Gervase Bret flicked through the documents until he found those that had a bearing on the case. He read the Latin with consummate ease and nodded his approval. Leofgifu watched him without any regrets about what she had done. When her father was alive, she was excluded from all knowledge of his business dealings and had to pick up what she could from casual remarks and inferences. Now that she had inherited his property and his wealth, she could do as she wished with all that had been his. Wulfgeat would have been disgusted to see a member of the king’s household searching freely through his papers. His Saxon blood would have curdled. But Gervase was no typical Chancery clerk and his affinities with the English were just as great as his loyalties to the Normans. When Leofgifu stumbled on charters that referred to land disputes around Bedwyn, she only dimly appreciated their import, but she was happy to show them to someone who might make more profitable use of them. As he read his way avidly through the terms of a document, Gervase came to see why Wulfgeat had spoken up so bravely for the vanquished King Harold. He gathered together a small pile of charters.
“May I borrow these?” he asked.
“What are they?”
“Weapons.”
“Against whom?”
“Vultures.”
“Take them,” she said. “I know they will be safe.”
Gervase gave her a smile of gratitude. Her request had surprised but delighted him and he had rushed to the house to see her again.
Pleased to find her so self-possessed once more, he was thrilled when she gave him unlimited access to her father’s papers. Wulfgeat’s history and motives were now much clearer in his mind.
“How else may I help?” she offered.
“By speaking to Hilda.”
“She wishes to see you on her own account.”
“It is the boy I need to question.”
“Cild?”
“Persuade her to send him alone to me.”
“Hilda will not do that.”
“She may if you ask her, Leofgifu.”
“The boy is her stepson. She must protect him.”
“Remind her that he stole the key to the mill.”
“Can she not be present while you interview him?”
“I ask you as a favour.”
“What do you want from him?”
“A name.”
Leofgifu nodded, then went out. He could hear her ascend the creaking stairs and enter the room above her head. There was a discussion with Hilda that became quite heated for a while, but it produced a result. Footsteps came down the stairs and Hilda walked into the room, her hands firmly on the shoulders of Cild. She stood him in front of Gervase, then hesitated. The boy turned to plead silently with her, but she steeled herself to walk away. Gervase waited until he heard the door open and close, then he spoke.
“I will not hurt you, Cild. I am trying to find out how and why your father was killed. Will you help me?”
The boy glowered at him but said nothing.
“Let me be frank,” said Gervase softly. “We have been to the mill and found your rope. We have been to the mint and found your way in. We have been to the yew tree and found your snake. We know a lot about you already, Cild.”
The boy’s cheeks flushed with guilt and he lowered his head.
Gervase used gentle words that slashed like knives. Cild was in pain. He had thought he was safe, but Gervase Bret was dragging him back into a past that was littered with horror for him. The sight of the gory Wulfgeat came up to fill his mind and his stomach heaved.
Gervase did not browbeat. “You have done wrong,” he said calmly,
“but only because you were too young to know any better. You were led cruelly astray. Help yourself by telling the truth. It is the only way forward, Cild. If you lie to me, I will know. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” muttered the boy.
“Did you break into the mint?” Cild shifted uneasily and Gervase applied more pressure. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take an impression of the die?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give it to your father?”
“Yes.”
“Did he pass it on to someone else?”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
The boy lapsed back into a watchful silence. Gervase saw the insolence in his gaze and hardened his voice.
“We know about Wulfgeat,” he stressed. “You put that snake in the sack so that it would bite him. He was your father’s enemy and you wanted him dead. Murder is the most serious crime of all, even when it is only plotted. Can you hear what I am saying to you, Cild?”
“Yes.”
“You must hold nothing back.”
“Yes.”
“Did your father have an accomplice?”
“Yes.”
“Did they share the money between them?”
“They did.”
“Was it someone from Bedwyn?”
“It was.”
“Who?” The boy moved from foot to foot again as Gervase gave him no respite. “Who was the man, Cild? Tell me.”
“I do not know.”
“Who?”
“I do not know.”
“Who!” demanded Gervase. “Who!”
“My father would not say!” he cried out in despair.