Out of the Dawn Light (9 page)
Read Out of the Dawn Light Online
Authors: Alys Clare
I returned to the dell, sat down and looked around me. We were on a sort of heath, bracken and heather mostly, and there were no more signs of life up here now than there had been at first light. I stared up the track, first one way, then the other. There was nobody about.
Sibert was asleep, on his back. Romain had turned away. With a small stab of pain, I remembered how I’d opened my eyes soon after we had settled down last night to see him looking at me. I had risked a smile – how lovely it would have been if he had lain down beside me and we had slept side by side – but instantly he had looked away. I tried to excuse him – he’d probably been embarrassed because I’d caught him watching me. He was that sort of man – courteous, mannerly – and it was probably against some code of manners that existed among his kind to make approaches to young girls when you happened to be camped out with them in the wilderness.
All the same, I wished he had been bolder. I would not have turned him away.
Sibert woke and sat up, stretching. He smiled at me – the first time he had done so for I couldn’t remember how long – and said, ‘Hello, Lassair. Did you manage to sleep?’
‘Yes. Very well,’ I replied.
Our voices woke Romain. He came up to consciousness more slowly – probably he was used to a gentle awaking, perhaps with some manservant bringing him a reviving drink and a bowl of water to wash his face and hands – and for a moment or two he looked puzzled. Then his face cleared and he too smiled. There was an air of excited happiness among the three of us; any fears we might have had last night had gone. The sunshine and a good long sleep had thoroughly revived us and after a bite to eat and a drink, we were ready to resume our march.
Romain knew that he was the weak one out of the three of them but, as the eldest, the instigator and the leader in every other respect, he could not allow his fallibility to show. As afternoon turned to evening and the total of the miles steadily augmented, he watched the slowly lowering sun and reflected that so far on this journey, at least they had not had to bed down to sleep in the Fens.
Romain’s mistrust of that mysterious marshland region was profound and he had only gone there out of desperate need; the Fens were where Sibert was to be found. As far as Romain was concerned, once this business was over he never intended to set foot there again.
He had once been told by an elderly family retainer who came from the Fens that once, long ago, an ancient horse-loving people had risen up against the invading armies from the hot south. They had fought ferociously under their red-haired queen and burned the towns of the newcomers to the ground. But the military might of the incomers proved too strong and the people were defeated, their proud queen taking her own life by poison before she could suffer the humiliation of capture. The remnants of that once-great people, leaderless, disorganized, had scattered and fled. Many of them, according to the old servant, had sought refuge in the one area where the newcomers barely troubled to venture: the Fens. And their ghosts – perhaps even their descendants – were still there . . .
Romain had believed he was too mature and sensible to go on being scared by a tale told by an old man to entertain a little boy. Reality proved different. But then, Romain reminded himself as he trudged on, buoyed up by the happy thought that tonight he was far from that dread region, that original childhood impression had been fed and kept alive by what he learned of the Fens as he grew to adolescence and manhood. Raised as he had been on the coast, where the wind blew fresh off the wide grey sea to the east, he had been all too ready to accept the horror stories of that dark, unknown inland place. Malign creatures inhabited the pools and the bogs, and they would entice a traveller along what seemed to be a safe path, only to create a strange white mist that swirled and billowed so that a man could not see where he was placing his feet. Then he would find himself tumbling into the stinking black mud, clouds of stinging insects round his head, leeches and eels sucking and biting at his legs. If the threatening water did not get you then sickness would, for ague and quinsy were rife and if you risked eating the bread, then the poisonous mould that grew on the crust would drive you to terrible visions that drove you out of your mind. Frightful, abominable creatures lived hidden in the Fens, from the terrible monsters that swam in the deepest, most secret waterways and lived on human blood to the nimble elves who were so successful at hiding themselves that a man only knew they were near when he felt their elf-shot pierce his skin. It was said that there were dragons, too, living in their barrows deep underground where they guarded their treasure hoards with their fearsome weapons of claws, spiked tails, vicious jaws and deadly fire.
Romain was less afraid of the dragons than of the other Fenland inhabitants. To an extent he was familiar with dragons, and familiarity had driven out some of the fear.
Not all of it; but he would not allow himself to think about that.
It was fully dark now. His feet were hurting badly and he could tell from the unpleasant wetness inside his right boot that the blister on his heel must have burst. He knew he must stop, for if he didn’t there was little chance of his marching even one mile in the morning.
He glanced at his two companions, mere shapes in the darkness, for clouds had blown up across the moon. The girl still walked with a spring in her step, although he had an idea that she was deliberately making herself look fresh because somehow she sensed his eyes on her. She had, he had noticed with some apprehension, certain talents that were not given to most people, and a highly developed awareness of others seemed to be one of them. Sibert, a few paces ahead, was trudging with his head down. He had not spoken a word for some time, not since they had stopped at a river crossing for a sip of ale. Back then – it seemed like hours ago – he had said the river was the Alde and that they had about another fifteen miles to go.
Oh, God, Romain thought, please let him have been right, for we must have walked five miles at least since then, which would leave just ten to cover tomorrow. For now – abruptly he made up his mind – I cannot walk another step.
‘We’re stopping,’ he announced, his voice suddenly loud in the damp night air. ‘There’s a stand of pine on that rise to the left. We’ll settle there and sleep for a while.’
Sibert and the girl followed him, neither speaking. They found a dry patch of ground where three trees stood close together and the slippery pine needles made an aromatic bed. They each stretched out in their own chosen place and Sibert gave them large slices of his spice bread and several mouthfuls of beer. Then he assumed his sleeping position on his back and soon his gentle snores suggested he was asleep.
Romain eased off his boots and then untied the strings that held up the hose on his right leg. He rolled down the fine wool and then winced in pain as he got to his heel, where the blood and the fluid from the huge blister had begun to dry in a crust, sticking the fabric to his raw skin. What should I do? he wondered. Peel it away? Put a dressing on the wound? He did not know how.
He sensed movement beside him. The girl said softly, ‘Have you got a blister?’
‘Yes.’ There was no point in being proud and denying it.
But she made no remark about the youth and herself being better walkers than he. Instead she reached in the pouch at her waist and soon he smelt lavender.
‘Pull your hose off the raw skin and press this on to it,’ she commanded, handing him a pad of some soft fabric that was damp to the touch.
He did as he was told, expecting it to hurt like fire. It didn’t. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed.
‘It’s lavender oil, both soothing and cleansing,’ she said. ‘Before you put your boots on tomorrow, I’ll give you some alcohol to rub into your feet. I carry a small bottle of it in my pack,’ she added with a touch of pride. ‘It’ll harden the skin.’
‘Thank you,’ he said.
He hoped she would now go back to her sleeping place. He was grateful, very grateful, but now he felt embarrassed by her nearness.
She said, ‘You must have taken the journey over to the Fens in easy stages.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘How did you know?’
‘Your feet are not used to long marches.’ He could tell from her voice that she was smiling. ‘Still, if you keep this up, they soon will be. Good night.’
She crept away and he lay down in the darkness. There was now only a gentle throbbing from his blister and he sent her his silent but profound gratitude.
When we woke up after the second night of our journey, I had the feeling that we were close to the sea. I could not have said how I knew, never having experienced the coast before, but there was a new quality in the light over in the east. I got up, stretched and, hearing in the utter silence the sound of running water, went to find its source.
We had crossed a river last night – fortunately there was a little wooden bridge – but this was much smaller, nothing more than a stream. Still, the water looked clean, running bright and fast over pebbles, and I could see fish in it. I bent down and drank greedily, splashing my face to wake myself up, then washing my hands and feet. The water was cool but not cold and very refreshing.
I was thinking about Romain’s blister. The best thing, I decided, was not to disturb the dressing I had placed over it in the night but instead bandage it to his foot, to make sure the raw flesh was protected from the rubbing of his boot. Yes. That would be best.
I was deliberately forcing myself to think about the practicalities of how to make a man with a huge blister comfortable enough to walk another ten miles. I did not want to go on thinking about how I had held his naked foot between my hands and gently, so gently, touched his soft skin. The remembered sensations had kept me awake long after he and Sibert were asleep. They had disturbed me in the night and they threatened to the same now in the day.
There was something different about our little company this morning and I detected it as soon as I rejoined them. The men were awake and already busy, Sibert with setting out food and drink, Romain with getting his boots back on. Before he attended to his right foot, I rushed forward to fix the dressing over his blister.
When I had finished I packed up my small bag and wound Elfritha’s shawl around my waist. The day was already too hot for me to wear it. I watched the two men, trying to work out what had changed.
Romain was pale; perhaps from nerves, for we were surely now close to the climax of our mission. He stood a few paces out from the shade of the fir trees staring out towards the east, where we would shortly be going. He was frowning and chewing at the inside of his cheek. But nervousness was not the main emotion I sensed in him: what I felt emanating from him in powerful waves was a restless, barely contained excitement.
Sibert’s mood was very different. I know him well – or I thought I did – and he had always been subject to steeper ups and downs than most of us. This morning he was clearly uneasy, and I could hear him muttering to himself. His frown made a crease like a knife cut between his eyes. Out of nowhere I felt a stab of sympathy for him, so sharp that I almost gasped.
What was the matter? Why was he not as excited as Romain? This mission concerned them both, or so I had been told. Why was Sibert not as thrilled as Romain at the thought of nearing its completion?
I stilled my thoughts and, relaxing, opened my mind to him as Edild had taught me. Straight away his distress flooded into me and I knew why he looked as he did.
He was afraid. He had assured Romain – older, tougher, more important, influential and powerful and infinitely wealthier – that he could lead him to the general location of this thing that we had come so far to find. Now the moment would soon be at hand when he would have to substantiate his boast and he did not know that he could.
I’ll help you, Sibert, I said silently to him. All you have to do is tell me where to look. I can’t scour the entire coast but if you narrow it down, I’ll find your treasure.
My urgent reassurance could not have reached him. As we set off shortly afterwards, he looked like a man on his way to the gallows.
Around noon, to judge by the height of the sun, we passed through a broad band of forest. I was surprised, for what I had been told of the coast (by Edild, of course, my best and favourite teacher) suggested shingle or sandy shores and short, wiry vegetation tough enough to withstand off-sea breezes and salt in the air. Yet here we were, walking in woodland.
The trees thinned out and as we emerged into the sunshine, for the first time in my life I saw the sea. I stopped dead – just then I couldn’t have moved to save my life – and stared. I heard myself go ‘
Oh!
’, but it was quite inadequate. There were no words to describe what I was feeling.
Oh!
’, but it was quite inadequate. There were no words to describe what I was feeling.
We were on a low sandy buff and I could see a large town in the distance below us. That in itself was quite awe-inspiring for someone who had lived her whole life in a small Fenland village. The greater wonder lay beyond.
The sea, restless under a light breeze that blew from the east, was like a huge sheet of beaten silver. It stretched from as far as I could see to my left to equally far to my right, and I had the sudden sense that we were nothing but a small outcrop in a vast watery world. Something in the sea called out to me, so that there and then, as I absorbed the effects of my first glimpse of it, I wanted to run towards it, give myself to it. It was just so
big
. Endlessly big, and the long line of the coast, stretching almost due north–south, seemed a feeble and inadequate defence against its might.
big
. Endlessly big, and the long line of the coast, stretching almost due north–south, seemed a feeble and inadequate defence against its might.
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