Music of the Distant Stars (36 page)

Authors: Alys Clare

BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars

4.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

We never found out whether Sir Alain’s face-saving version of the events at Aelf Fen that summer was accepted. We heard no more of it – nor, indeed, of him. I was sorry, in a way; he was a likeable man, and we could have done worse in a local officer of the law. Especially since my aunt and I knew his most carefully-guarded secret . . .

He went away, and he didn’t come back. Lord Gilbert seemed more than ready to forget all about Lady Claude and her seamstress. The summons to return to Lakehall and give my account of what had happened the day Claude died never came. We concluded, my aunt, Hrype and I, that Lord Gilbert, too, might have known more about what had been going on than he wanted to reveal.

I do not know what became of poor Alberic. I never saw him again after that day I encountered him beneath the oak tree and, for a while, I assumed he had returned to Brandon. He hadn’t. Sibert was sent to the village on some business of Lord Gilbert’s, and he reported that Alberic’s little house was standing empty. I like to think he went away from the scene of his unhappiness and settled elsewhere, finding a measure of contentment, but it isn’t very likely. With the death of Ida, his hope had died too, and when I look into my heart, I sense he is dead.

Our return to normal life was helped and hastened on its way by a happy family event: Haward and Zarina were married. They do say that we value a wonderful gift even more when we have feared we would never receive it, and such was the case with my brother and his new wife. Joy seemed to shine out of them, as everyone who witnessed them on their wedding day agreed. My brother, straight-backed and handsome in his best tunic, was so relieved, so proud, that as he spoke his promise to take Zarina to be his wife, to love her and honour her, his stammer disappeared, and it has not come back. As for Zarina, she looked so beautiful that she might have been a spirit out of the blessed realm, her golden skin glowing and her eyes full of magic.

They moved into my parents’ house, and there they will stay until Haward can build them a little place of their own. I have a feeling that day won’t be very long in coming. Zarina is pregnant, although she does not yet know it, and I think the three of them will want to be on their own.

The picture that I saw in the runes has proved to be right.

As for me, I am forging ahead with my studies. New roads are opening up before me, and I am both excited and apprehensive. Hrype has spoken to me several times about Gurdyman and the drawings he is trying to make to show the route to faraway places; for some reason the two of them believe I may have an aptitude for the work Gurdyman is trying to do, and there are suggestions that I should go to Cambridge to study with him.

I worry about leaving my home and my family, and also about where such studies will take me. I worry, absurdly, that if I leave Aelf Fen to go to Cambridge, Rollo may come back and not know where to find me.

That, I know, is foolish. If –
when
– Rollo comes back, he won’t let a little thing like half a day’s journey keep him from me. I wonder what he and Gurdyman would make of each other?

Sometimes I can’t sleep. Then I pick up my bag of runes, slip outside into the night and, once I am far away from the sleeping village, light my little fire and see what the stones can tell me. I still suffer afterwards, although I am learning how to lessen the effects. Perhaps that’s something Hrype will help me with, once I pluck up the courage to ask him.

Tonight is such a night, and I sit here alone in the darkness looking back at the village. My fire has died down, and I shall not replenish it, for soon I shall return to my bed. I look up into the sky. It is autumn now, and if I wait a little longer I shall see the Huntsman over in the south-eastern sky: his belt shining like precious jewels, and his faithful hound at his feet.

I love the stars. I heard them singing, one summer night, or I thought I did. I still remember Alberic’s beautiful, heartbreaking lament for Ida. When I visit her grave, on his behalf, wherever he is, I sing it to her.