By Sylvian Hamilton (35 page)

Farewells
were said with promises to meet again. Straccan had shared Soulis's
letters with Blaise who, taking the journey in easy stages, was
riding with an escort of two men for Roxburgh and King William. Sir
Miles would return to Durham. Straccan, Bane and Gilla would journey
home by the Great North Road, and once Gilla was safe, Straccan would
find King John.

They
had put their heads together about Hob who stood forlornly by the
kitchen door, watching the comings and goings the loading of pack
pony and mule. Blaise, not yet mounted, called to him.

'We
all have good cause to thank you, Hob. And none of us wants to leave
you. What do you want to do? Listen, and tell me. You can stay here
and live with your grandsire, if that is your wish. In any event I
will see he is paid a pension; he will not go cold or hungry ever
again. Or you can go to Sir Richard's home in England, and he will
treat you as a son. Or, would you like to come with me? I will take
you, after I've seen the king, to the priory at Coldinghame, where
you can learn the healing arts from Brother Alan. He'll welcome a
young helper. They are gentle folk at the priory. But the work won't
be easy. It will take years to learn.'

Hob
was smiling and crying all at once; tears ran down his face and
dripped off his chin and he was nodding so hard he sprayed tears in
all directions. He seized Sir Blaise's hand and kissed it.

'Well,'
Bane said, 'that seems settled.'

Gilla
was crying too, and she hugged Hob. Til miss you,' she said. 'I won't
forget you. I love you, Hob.'

Straccan
put his hands on the boy's shoulders. Hob had grown, surely, in just
this past week: he was taller and broader. 'I owe you my daughter's
life. I could never thank you enough if I spent all my days trying.
My home is yours whenever you want it, and I am your servant if ever
you need me.'

'Where's
Sir Miles?' Larktwist asked. He was to accompany the young knight on
his journey south, until his calling waylaid him. Just then Miles
emerged from the hall and stood on the steps above them, looking
down.

'Sir
Blaise,' he called. The old man looked questioningly at him. Miles
ran down the steps and across the yard to Sir Blaise's stirrup.

'Sir,'
he said, all in a rush, for he'd rehearsed it and must get it out
before his nerve failed. 'Sir. Master, you spoke of your nephew who
died, he that was your pupil. You said there was no one now to whom
you could pass on your learning.' Miles stared at the foot in the
stirrup, not daring to raise his eyes. 'Sir,' he said again,
gathering courage, 'I have no parents, no kin save my Uncle Hoby your
friend, no holding, no wife or sweetheart. What I mean is, Sir, if
you need another student, well, will I do? I will serve you with all
my heart and learn to ... to watch and guard, if you will teach me.'

Blaise
leaned down and embraced him. 'I won't ask if you've thought this
over,' he said. 'I see that you have. You must go and tell your
uncle—you can ride that far with Sir Richard—and then,
when you're ready, join me at Coldinghame. God be with you, boy.'
Blaise, his escort and his baggage, and Hob, nervous but proud on a
Skelrig pony, rode out of the gate and took the Roxburgh road.

A
stable man brought Straccan's party their horses. Now, at last, they
turned their heads towards home.

Chapter
39

A
few fishing boats and two bigger trading vessels moved sluggishly at
anchor on the ebbing tide. Crewmen lounged on decks for none could
sail as long as the onshore wind pinned them there. Gulls wheeled and
screamed above, smoke streamed westward from the chimneys ashore, and
more gulls picked along the smelly tideline of weed and dead
shellfish.

On
the shore sat a few ragged abjurers, criminals condemned to exile but
unable to afford a passage oversea, out of reach of justice. Slowly
starving, they picked the shoreline as eagerly as the gulls, and ate
them too, when they could catch any. From time to time one or more
would wade into the water, skinny arms raised in pleading, to wail in
vain at the men aboard the trading vessels. Those who could pay
bought passage to France, Flanders or Holland; but these penniless
leftovers had no hope of safe exile; they must stay on the beach
between land and sea until they starved to death, and good riddance.

The
hulk Mary Maid was old and small, and looked every inch the smuggler
she was. Her crew hadn't expected to put to sea today, or tomorrow
either, not with this relentless southeaster.

When
the woman came aboard seeking passage to France the skipper eyed her
up and down, not that he could see much of her in that all-enveloping
cloak; she might be young or old, but she was certainly female and
therefore bad luck. He spat contemptuously over the side and refused
to take her, until she put a purse in his hand. Then he peered inside
and changed his mind. His crew began to argue, but he was the
skipper.

While
they argued, the wind changed.

A
howl rose from the abjurers, seeing vessels suddenly preparing to
sail. They surged into the sea, screeching and praying; one even
grabbed at a dangling rope that had no business to be there and tried
to haul himself aboard the Mary Maid. It took several blows with a
boat-hook to knock him back into the water, where he floated face
down and bleeding. His fellows in adversity took no notice of him.
It was every man for himself. The Mary Maid headed southward, sail
taut.

There
was a tiny shelter on deck, made of hides tacked on a wooden
framework, and the skipper ushered the woman inside, out of sight.
His men stared enviously at his disappearing back and grinned at one
another, but after a few moments he backed out again, pale and
cursing, and laid about him with a rope's knotted end to make them
pay for his embarrassment.

Inside
the shelter the woman sat still as an image, but her lips moved
silently as if she was praying.

The
water ran murmuring along the sides, and the wind blew the Mary Maid
steadily down to where the Tweed joined the true sea, and the heaving
swell grew strong.

Through
a gap in the hides, sunlight struck into the shelter. The woman
stirred, drew from her belt pouch a flattish piece of grey
translucent quartz and angled it towards the light. Shaking back the
hood of her mantle, she stared intently into the crystal, seeking her
enemy.

Kneeling
at the streamside, sunlight hot on her back, Janiva was washing her
shift, turning it in the water and beating at a stain with a flat
stick. Smooth multicoloured pebbles seemed mere inches below the
surface, but here at this deep pool her arm's full length could only
just reach them. She sat back on her heels, wringing the water out of
the garment. The blue-jewelled flash of a kingfisher caught her eye
as it rose from the water clasping a tiny silver fish in its orange
beak.

She
felt suddenly cold. The light had changed--she looked up the sun
still shone but its disc was cold and white, dead as the full moon.
The water, a moment before alive with sunlight, now looked grey, cold
and hard. Like stone.

She
leaned over the pool, curious, off-guard, reached out a hand to touch
the grey gleaming surface—and was caught.

Julitta
drew in her breath sharply, staring at the face, small and distinct,
in the crystal's smoky heart. A woman, and young to have such power!
There she was at last, the meddler: the lowborn interfering trull
who'd released that bone-pedlar Straccan from the spell which would
have rid them of him and, worse, somehow warded his brat from the
power of the master and thereby brought all their plans to ruin.
Because of her, Arlen and many others would die. Because of her,
Julitta had lost everything, all she had striven for, and must flee
into exile to wait on King Philip's coffin-cold mercy.

In
the crystal, Julitta looked into her enemy's eyes.

In
the water, Janiva looked back at her, tranced.

'Mistress
Janiva! Mistress!' The forester's worried face filled her vision.
Janiva was lying at the pool's edge, soaked and cold as ice. She
coughed, gasped, and turned to vomit water into the grass.

'Tostig,'
she said weakly. 'What happened?'

'You
fell in. Lucky I came by! I pulled you out. Are you all right?'

'I
fell?' She sat up, shivering hard.

Tostig
threw his cloak around her. 'Well, sort of. You were kneeling on the
edge. I called to you, and you just seemed to lean forward and fall
straight in. Did you faint, Mistress?'

She
remembered looking into stone-cold grey water, into stone-cold green
eyes that numbed her mind and will. Wanting to resist, not able to
resist. What had happened? Tostig took her hands and pulled her to
her feet.

'Faint?
I suppose I must have,' she said, her voice as unsteady as her legs.
'Tostig, please help me home.'

Julitta
closed her fist round the crystal, gripping it so tightly in her fury
that its edge cut her flesh and blood oozed through her clenched
fingers. The wind dropped and the sail hung limply for a few moments
as her concentration shifted, then filled again. 'I've not done with
you, slut,' she said softly. 'I almost had you. I know you now.
Threefold I curse you. All that you are, all that you have, all that
you love you shall lose!' She let her blood collect in her cupped
palm, and in blood on the crystal wrote the rune of destruction.

Chapter
40

Larktwist
left them at Alnwick. They were riding past the castle when a
beggar-child snatched at Larktwist's reins and mouthed something at
him, the others didn't hear what. He nodded, gave the child a coin
and turned to his companions. 'I must leave you here,' he said. 'I
won't say it's been a pleasure exactly but it's certainly been
interesting. No hard feelings, eh, Sir Miles? Sir Richard? Master
Bane, here's the dice I promised you.' He handed Bane a small
wood-shaving box. 'Perhaps we'll run into one another again, one of
these days. God be with you all!' And he was gone, into the crowd at
the castle gate, round a corner, out of sight. Miles said, 'I suppose
he's gone to report on our business to whoever's paying for the
information.'

'It's
a living,' said Bane, tolerantly. The little box was in his pocket,
and he patted it affectionately.

They
parted with Miles at Durham, where they stayed for two nights as
guests of Sir William Hoby before setting off again. 'Miles,
brother,' said Straccan, 'you have my love and gratitude all life
long, for your help and your company. We wouldn't have got through
without you. You know where I live; come whenever you will. My home
is yours. God's blessing go with you.'

Shawl
was not on their road home, but that's where they went next.
Straccan's horse lasted just long enough to reach the manor before it
went lame. He led it, limping, into Sir Guy's stable to be left until
called for. Sir Guy and Lady Alienor, who had never met him, greeted
him cheerfully and offered their hospitality. Visitors, with their
news and gossip, were a breath of life and their welcome was assured.

'Thank
you, Sir Guy, My Lady, you are very good. We will be glad to sleep
under your roof tonight, but first I have to see a friend.'

As
he left with Gilla, Alienor nudged her husband. 'He's going to see
Janiva,' she hissed.

'Is
he? How on earth do you know that? Still, seems a nice enough fella.'
Sir Guy tugged thoughtfully at his earlobe. 'Old Duffy St. Obin was
a friend of his father.'

'He
was?' Lady Alienor's eyes were bright with interest. 'Tell me about
him, this Straccan.'

Sir
Guy settled back comfortably. He prided himself on genealogy. Knights
and barons knew all about one another's antecedents, good and bad.
Most of them were related to some degree, by marriage or blood, and
reckoning kinships was a popular pastime during winter evenings.
'Well, let me see. His father was William Straccan; he was killed on
crusade--didn't have any property—his father Draco supported
King Stephen and lost everything, of course, when FitzEmpress took
over. Draco's name was FitzEstraccan; goes back to some Breton fella
called Estraccan de Something who won lands serving Rufus. This
Straccan's father dropped the Fitz bit and just called himself
Straccan.'

'Yes,
yes,' said Lady Alienor impatiently, 'but who is he? Has he any
property?'

'Oh,
he's rich enough. Went on crusade. Came back with money. Bought
property from the abbey near ... where is it?' He drummed his fingers
on the arm of his chair and screwed up his face with the effort of
memory. 'Dieulacresse! That's it.'