The Rufus Spy

by Alys Clare

  ‘See, our William is angry with Malcolm because the king believes it’s up to him, not Malcolm, to arrange a marriage for Malcolm’s daughter Edith. And she’s a spirited lass, by all accounts, and not a one to welcome a man telling her when and whom to marry, be that man her father or her king or both.’ He frowned, momentarily having confused himself. He’d been drinking freely, and had reached the state of inebriation where you keep repeating yourself and get cross and red in the face when people contradict you. Rollo seemed happy to let him ramble on, and I guessed that maybe one utterance in a dozen might just be helpful.

  ‘So Malcolm in turn has taken deep offence at William’s cold refusal to meet him and talk it all over until Malcolm does right by him, by which he means he wants Malcolm to bend the knee, apologize and promise to be a better boy in future.’ He hiccupped. ‘It’s a stalemate, that’s what it is.’ Lord Edwin nodded sagely. ‘That’s what I say: a stalemate.’ He seemed to be rather pleased with the word, repeating it several times in a variety of voices and then falling into a fit of giggling.

  ‘So you believe King William will amass a force of men and go north to meet the threat?’ Rollo asked.

  ‘No,’ Lord Edwin replied. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’ Watching Rollo, I saw him suppress a smile. ‘Doesn’t need to go himself, does he?’ Lord Edwin went on. ‘He has good, loyal, fighting men in the north who are more than capable of dealing with Malcolm’s border raiders, foremost among them …’ He ground to a halt, his face the picture of perplexity, and raised a hand to scratch his head. ‘Now what the devil’s the man’s name?’

  Rollo and I waited.

  ‘Mobray!’ Lord Edwin shouted triumphantly. ‘Robert Mobray, Earl of Northumbria! He’ll be the man for this task, you mark my words, and he’ll protect William’s borders for him from this threat, just see if he doesn’t.’

  ‘So where, do you think, is King William?’ Rollo asked quietly.

  ‘Gloucester.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  But Lord Edwin was busy yelling for more wine – the jug had emptied itself into his goblet – and didn’t answer.

  We all had our goblets topped up once again – Rollo and I had drunk little, although our caution hadn’t held our host back – and I guessed he was as sober as I was. Then Lord Edwin raised his cup to Rollo. ‘You look like a man who can fight,’ he pronounced. ‘You should go north and offer your sword to what’s his name, the Northumbrian fellow. You’ll be welcome up there.’

  Rollo smiled. ‘I should be glad to add my own small contribution to the fight,’ he said smoothly. ‘Before I can proceed to the border lands, however, I must escort Lady Sybil safely to her sister’s house.’

  ‘Her sister?’ Lord Edwin looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared. ‘Ah, yes, you told me earlier. The lady who is to have a child. And you’re going to help, bless your kind heart!’ He turned to me, picked up my hand and dripped a wet, clumsy kiss in my palm. I was very glad I wasn’t seated near enough for him to kiss me anywhere else. ‘Once that has been achieved, however,’ Rollo was saying, ‘then I will ride north.’

  We lay side by side in the luxurious bed. The room was lit only by the soft glow of the dying fire, and the near-darkness was comforting.

  I sensed the proximity of his strong, lean body. I could even have told myself I felt his warmth, but in truth the bed was wide and we were an arm’s length apart.

  I didn’t know whether I wanted him to turn and take me in his arms or fall swiftly asleep and leave me alone.

  I felt very, very sad.

  After a while he said, in a very quiet voice, ‘I’m sorry that he died.’

  So lost was I in the confusion of my own miserable thoughts that, initially, I didn’t understand.

  ‘I’m not surprised, though,’ Rollo went on. ‘I know how skilful you are, and it was obvious you’d do everything within your power, but I saw with my own eyes how badly wounded he was, and how he bled. You mustn’t blame yourself, Lassair, for—’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  Rollo fell silent.

  For what felt like a very long time, neither of us said a word.

  Eventually it was he who made a move. He reached out and took my hand. Then, softly, kindly, he said, ‘I was afraid you’d think me unkind and callous – and over-preoccupied with saving my own skin – because I didn’t ask you about him straight away. I thought, you see, that your presence in Aelf Fen meant he was dead. When I saw how you looked – how deathly pale, how sick and tormented – I believed it served to confirm my assumption. Then I didn’t know how to speak of him without upsetting you further. You agreed to do as I asked and help me – set out with me on this journey – and I thought you welcomed the chance to get right away from your memories.’ He gave my hand a squeeze. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  My face was wet with tears. I didn’t know whether I was weeping for Jack, who I had abandoned and from whom I’d withheld a very important truth, or for Rollo, shocked into accepting one reality when for quite a long time he’d believed in another.

  ‘I’m sorry, too,’ I managed to say. ‘I should have explained.’

  ‘He – you—’ Rollo stopped and began again. ‘He’s better, then? Recovering? I’m only saying that because you’re not with him. Because you’d felt it was safe to leave him and return to your village.’

  ‘He’s going to be all right.’ I couldn’t elaborate. If I let myself think about Jack, by himself in that isolated little house, dumped back in his lonely life, still far from recovered from a wound that would have killed most men, I knew I’d break down completely.

  Through the waves of my own misery, I was aware of Rollo, tense beside me. I could tell his state of mind from the way he was holding my hand. I had utterly failed to tell Jack the truth he had the right to know; was I going to fail as abjectly with Rollo?

  I wasn’t ready to speak of the lost baby, but I owed him as much of an explanation as I could manage.

  ‘Rollo, I don’t really know how I feel,’ I said after another long silence. ‘About Jack or about you, I mean. You’re right, in a way, when you said you thought I’d come with you to get away from my memories. It’s not precisely that, but more that I undertook to help you because it was better than staying in Aelf Fen and not knowing what to do with myself.’

  ‘Thank you for being so honest,’ he murmured. I sensed he was smiling. But then, in a different tone, he said, ‘I can tell you’ve been unwell. I won’t ask’ – I must have made some small sound – ‘but I would like to say that, given that you’re obviously in pain quite a lot of the time, I appreciate your company all the more.’ He gave my hand a final squeeze and then let go of it. The bedclothes rustled as he turned on his side, away from me. ‘And, much as I’d like for us to go back to being the lovers we once were, I understand that a lot of time has gone by during which I failed utterly to contact you, and also that, with no promises made, you were free to love another.’

  Once again I was at a loss for words.

  I thought he was settling for sleep. But, as I too turned on my side and snuggled under the covers, he said very softly, ‘None of which means, of course, that I shan’t be doing my utmost to persuade you to come back to me.’

  I woke to daylight, and to the sight of Rollo seated beside the hearth, expression intent, apparently deep in thought.

  I felt awkward about referring to our conversation of the previous night. Fortunately, it seemed that he did too. After wishing me good morning and asking how I’d slept – soundly and uninterruptedly – he said, ‘I’ve been working out what to do.’ He got up and came to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning close and speaking very softly. ‘I believe there’s an opportunity here that will assist us. If I, or in fact we, can persuade Lord Edwin and his household that we really are going north, there’s a good chance that the men who are after me will find this out and set off after us. We won’t be going north, of course, because Lord Edwin told us last night with utter certa
inty that the king’s in Gloucester.’

  ‘And you believe him?’ I wondered why he’d take the word of a garrulous drunk.

  He smiled, and I guessed the same thought had occurred to him. ‘Well, he’s not the first person who’s told me that. And overall it makes sense. King William isn’t likely to set out on a costly campaign when he’s confident someone on the spot can achieve the same end.’

  ‘So where will we go?’ I demanded.

  ‘We,’ Rollo replied, ‘will head for Gloucester, where I shall achieve my purpose of reminding my king how valuable I am to him, and hope to put myself under his protection until this present danger is past.’

  I sank back into the pillows. Gloucester. I had only the vaguest notion of where it was and how long it would take to get there; even less idea of what on earth I was to do once we’d arrived.

  But then, I reminded myself, nothing in this world was certain, and there was little point in getting anxious about something that might not happen.

  Heartened by that thought, I shooed Rollo off the bed and got up.

  SEVEN

  We didn’t go anywhere that day, for the atrocious weather forbade it. As we ate our breakfast the wind increased to a howl, and even from inside the hall we could hear the rain drumming down on every external surface. Stepping to the doorway to look outside, we saw a solid curtain of water.

  ‘Stay here!’ Lord Edwin shouted happily above the fury of the elements. I’d already come to the conclusion that he didn’t receive many visitors. Since he was a man who clearly enjoyed company, that must be hard. ‘We’ve food and drink aplenty, and I’d welcome your company on a day when nobody will venture out of doors unless he has to!’

  It was a good chance to put into practice our plans to mislead the household. Rollo sat in the hall with Lord Edwin and questioned him at length about the best routes north (although, I suspected, he probably knew the roads better than Lord Edwin). And I too did what I could. Returning to my room in the early afternoon on the pretext of resting in preparation for setting out the next day, it wasn’t long before the skinny, sharp-eyed maid came sidling in, offering to brush my hair, wash out some small linens or scrub the mud from my boots. Accepting the last as the least intimate task, I slipped into the role of bored woman engaging in a cosy domestic conversation in order to help pass the long hours of a wet afternoon. I told her all about my imaginary sister and the sister’s confinement, adding quite a lot of details garnered from tending other first-time mothers to enliven the story. I made sure to describe my sister’s husband’s beautiful house, close to the fine city of Lincoln, and, making my face droop with dismay, said how I dreaded the long miles on the road north, especially at a time when the weather seemed to be so uncertain.

  The sharp-eyed maid lapped it all up, prompting me with a well-judged question whenever my narrative slowed. I had no idea whether she was simply a gossip or whether she was in the habit of extracting information from her master’s guests in order to use it somehow to her own advantage. I did, however, rather suspect the latter. There was something about her that put my senses on alert, and I have learned to trust those senses since they seldom let me down.

  And in addition, when I’d hurried back to the guest chamber the previous evening to fetch a piece of cloth to tuck in my sleeve – the fire was smoking and making my eyes water – I’d caught the skinny maid going through my bag.

  Rollo and I set out next morning.

  For some time we rode in silence. The day was fine so far, and Lord Edwin had sent us off with a good breakfast inside us and food and drink packed in our saddlebags. He had been so reluctant for us to leave that it had actually been quite hard to get away.

  A weak, pale sun was shining muzzily behind the clouds and from its position in the sky I saw we were heading almost due north. The road was narrow and quite winding, but in reasonable repair. It clearly wasn’t the great road north, however. I wondered how long we would ride before turning off it.

  ‘Rollo, are we going northwards all day?’ I asked eventually.

  He spun round to frown at me, his brown eyes dark with some emotion I didn’t understand. ‘What? No, of course not.’

  ‘So when do we turn south for Gloucester?’

  ‘South-west,’ he corrected absently. ‘Soon.’

  I was rapidly running out of patience with his brooding silence. ‘You can share your thoughts with me, you know,’ I said coolly. ‘I’m here to help, remember?’

  He gave an exasperated sigh. It seemed my questions were interrupting some deep thought process. ‘I’m being followed by a man or men who wish to kill me,’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘The purpose of my repeated statements to Lord Edwin and his household to the effect that I’m heading north is to persuade my pursuers that I am somewhere that I’m not. If I leave the north-bound route too soon, anyone keeping an eye on my progress will see straight through the ruse. I will change direction, but only when I—’

  ‘Me, my, I!’ I cried. I couldn’t stop myself and the angry protest burst out of me, far more shrilly that I’d have liked. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Rollo, there are two of us!’

  Fury flashed up in his face and I thought for a moment that he would retaliate. But then it was gone. He even managed a faint smile. ‘Two of us, yes,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s very rare for me to travel with someone else. If I forget, and revert to planning just for myself, I hope you’ll understand and forgive me.’

  Then he turned the brown gelding’s head and rode on.

  It was easier said than done to find a south-westwards turning off our road, or indeed, for quite a long time, any turning at all. We were deep in the countryside now, sometimes woodland, sometimes arable, and the late autumn day appeared almost empty of people. Much of the land to our left was low-lying and waterlogged, with not even the suggestion of a safe way through. I was far from my own home ground now, and I didn’t dare trust to my skill to find us one.

  It was not until well after midday that we finally left the north-bound road. For some time we made good progress in our new direction, for the track was good and, again, very little used. We passed wagons, carts, horses, people on foot, but never in great numbers.

  The misty morning and its feeble sunshine gave way to a gradual build-up of heavy cloud, at first bright, fluffy white but soon turning to ominous greys and black. The rain began, and straight away our progress slowed right down. Soon it was clear that a terrible storm was coming, and we were riding straight into it.

  Rollo turned to me. ‘It’s not safe to go on,’ he said over the howling of the wind. ‘I’ve no idea where we are but I think we should stop at the first dwelling we come to and beg shelter.’ I nodded my agreement. My face was so cold that I wasn’t sure I had the mobility in my jaws to speak.

  The light began to fade. It might have been simply the effect of the ferociously lowering clouds, or it might have been evening creeping on; I’d lost track of the time. By now I was starting to feel very afraid. I could hear thunder in the distance, and huge forks of brilliant light were striking the ground ahead of us. I’d have gladly crawled into the meanest, dirtiest, most tumbledown barn if one had presented itself. Anything would have done, to get out of the rain and give the illusion of shelter.

  We didn’t find a barn but we did find a monastery.

  It barely warranted the name. It consisted of a very small, timber-framed and reed-thatched dwelling – a hovel, really – with a tiny chapel beside it. It stood a little back from the track, and it was sheltered from the prevailing wind by a small copse of alder and willow. A path wound away through the trees, behind which could be made out a long, low structure that looked like stabling.

  Rollo dismounted and ran up to the timber-framed house. The door opened, revealing a tall, thin-faced, black-clad monk. There was a brief exchange, then the monk nodded and pointed down the path through the trees. Rollo hurried back to me. ‘They’ll take us,’ he panted. ‘Gather up what you need and go in
– I’ll see to the horses and then join you.’

  I didn’t need more than what was in my leather satchel, and that I always carry slung across my body. As well as my healer’s materials, I’d also packed my favourite shawl and the shining, magical, mysterious scrying stone that I inherited from my forebears. Leaving the larger bag attached to the saddle, I slid off the mare’s back, my legs so cold that they were numb. Rollo put out a hand to steady me. ‘I hope they have a fire,’ I said, my teeth clattering.

  His mouth turned down. ‘So do I, but I’m not expecting it.’

  I grabbed my cloak around me and made for the door. It opened as I reached it and a dark-clad arm reached out and drew me inside. I stood dripping on the step and looked at the community.

  It consisted of three monks: the thin-faced man who had just admitted me, a lad of no more than twelve or thirteen, and, propped on a pile of dirty blankets in the far corner, a very old man. His vacant expression and wandering, blank gaze suggested he was senile.

  ‘Come to the hearth,’ the thin-faced monk said. There was no welcome in his voice. ‘You should try to dry your outer garments and your boots, for if you do not, you risk sickness.’

  His tone suggested that if I was so foolhardy as to do that, it would be entirely my fault and he certainly didn’t welcome that outcome as it meant he’d have to look after me till I was better.

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied with as much grace as I could. I stepped forward to the hearth, where a reluctant fire glowed. As I advanced, the lad drew back, an expression of dismay, or perhaps fear, on his face. He’d obviously been taught already to avoid women. Undoubtedly the thin-faced monk was drumming into him that my sex was the devil’s instrument, put in men’s way to tempt them from their purity.