The sound of a child crying in fear roused Ivy as she was drifting off to sleep. She sat up and pulled back the covers. It sounded neither like Eadric nor Edmund, and for a few moments she wondered if she had misheard and the sound was actually a cat crying in the garden beyond her bower.
Then footsteps beyond the door, in the main part of the house, and Ivy knew Gudrun had risen and that it must be Goldie who had cried. Goldie was sharing the bed with Ivy’s boys. She waited a few moments to hear if one of them would call for her, but all became silent.
Ivy lay down again in her soft bed. Guiltily. Gudrun was sick and much older than Ivy, and sleeping on a straw mattress by the hearthpit. The right thing to do would have been to give the older woman Ivy’s bed, but she couldn’t. Crispin wouldn’t allow it.
Ivy’s eyes came to rest on the long tapestry hung against the wall, with its complicated pattern of dragon heads and bird claws. When Ivy had had this room built on to the main house, two years ago, she and Crispin had ordered a secret door. Hidden from the outside by a blackberry hedge and from the inside by this tapestry. A knock in the night meant Crispin wanted her and he had been explicit the evening Ivy had taken Gudrun and Goldie in: Do not give her your bed. I may have need of it myself.
Ivy could have argued the case. But things had been so tense between them since Wengest’s snub …
She pulled the blankets back again and rose, opened the door to the main living area and peeked through. Gudrun was sitting up on her blankets, staring at the fire.
‘Is all well?’
‘She had a nightmare,’ Gudrun said with an apologetic smile. With her hollow face lit from below by firelight, she looked like death itself. ‘She sleeps now. Sorry to wake you.’
‘It’s no matter.’ Ivy looked at her bed behind her, then padded out across the rushes on bare feet to sit by Gudrun. ‘What does she dream of? With Edmund it’s always the chickens escaping the coop and pecking his face.’
Gudrun sighed. ‘She dreams of Willow.’
‘Nightmares?’
‘You don’t know how your sister became.’
‘I do a little. She was very cross when I burned the chapels. But I have learned to control my temper since then.’ Crispin had been clear on that: her emotions governed her too readily.
‘I lived with her. I saw what she did to the poor child …’ Gudrun looked back over her shoulder to the curtain that separated the children’s beds from the room. ‘Her name is not Goldie.’
‘What is it then?’
‘I will never say it, because I cannot risk it being heard or repeated. I have no doubt that Willow searches for her. No doubt at all. She wants that child more than she wants … anything.’
‘So why did you take her away?’
‘Willow was cruel to her. Disappointed she was a girl. In Maava’s view, women cannot rule. So when Goldie was born, she started to believe that one day the child would simply wake up and be a boy. Every day she was a girl goaded Willow into crueller and crueller behaviour. Praying for hours on end while kneeling on stone, until the poor child’s knees were bloody. Chastising her if she smiled. Pulling out her eyelashes because they made her so pretty.’
Ivy flinched.
‘She is my granddaughter. I could not bear to see her suffer so.’
‘Your granddaughter. Do you mean, because you were married to Æthlric?’
But already Gudrun was shaking her head. ‘Wylm was her father.’
‘Wylm?’ Their stepbrother.
‘I don’t know why he did it. He took that knowledge with him to the grave.’
Ivy couldn’t imagine Willow having sex with Wylm – or anybody really.
‘When Willow left for a journey to the north, to make a pact with Hakon, I took Goldie and ran. We travelled at night and hid in the day and the child’s severe upbringing meant she could endure anything. Then we settled for three lovely years in a village in the north of Thriddastowe, and nobody knew who we were, and we got by. I did a little farm labour and Goldie helped in the kitchen at the local alehouse.’
Ivy marvelled at this. Her boys could do nothing useful. They had never needed to.
‘But then I got sick, and when it became clear I would not recover, I set out to find you.’ Again her eyes went back towards the children’s bed, and her voice dropped low. ‘You are the closest person in the world to her by blood now. You and Willow shared a womb, but you do not share a zealous cruelty. I am a trimartyr, and look forward to meeting my creator. But the Maava I obey would surely not condone what she has done.’ Then, almost to herself, ‘Surely He wouldn’t.’
Ivy sniffed. ‘I don’t think the gods, whatever their names, care much about any of us. They are too busy being godlike. Why would you care whether or not a king had a cock if you could make lightning?’
Gudrun laughed despite herself. ‘Spoken like a true heathen.’
‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I’ve always thought so. And here what’s inside poor little Goldie’s pants has got Willow into such a lather of nonsense.’
Gudrun pulled her mouth down into a frown. ‘It’s not nonsense, Ivy. It’s madness. Dangerous madness. You do understand that, don’t you?’
Willow, her twin, was dangerously mad. Ivy let the thought settle for a few moments.
Gudrun sighed, leaning back on the straw mattress. ‘My back hurts so much. A tired pain. Only death can stop it. It’s grim.’
‘I should leave you to sleep,’ Ivy said, mention of death and sickness instantly stirring away her comfort.
‘No, stay a little. There is more to tell, more you must know. She calls Willow the crow mother.’
‘The crow mother?’
‘The raiders call her the Crow Queen. One time in the alehouse where Goldie worked, drunken men were telling tales of the cruel north. Now, who knows how much of it is true and how much exaggerated, but they said she killed her victims by slitting them open from behind and pulling their lungs out through their backs.’
Ivy reached a hand for the ground, as though it could stop her from falling into the horror.
‘Goldie ran home to tell me, crying and shaking. In her little mind, the Crow Queen of these tales and the woman she remembers as her mother are now the one monster. And that is the monster she has dreamed about ever since, a monster of blades and blood. So you see, you must never let her fall into Willow’s hands.’
Ivy reached for Gudrun’s fingers, which were cold despite the fire. ‘I won’t, I promise,’ she said. ‘She will be protected here. We have a standing guard and I will raise her alongside her cousins, and no man shall ever find out who her mother is. The boys’ nurse is away visiting her sick sister, but when she returns I will instruct her to treat Goldie as though –’
Her promises were interrupted by a tapping noise coming from Ivy’s bedroom.
‘What’s that?’ Gudrun asked.
‘Probably the wind,’ Ivy said, climbing to her feet. ‘You should rest. You look tired and you must save your energy.’
Gudrun nodded and rolled onto her side. ‘I shouldn’t keep you awake either. There will be more chances to speak before I …’ She finished her sentence with a sigh, and closed her eyes.
Ivy returned quickly to her room and closed the door behind her. As quietly as she could she lifted the tapestry. Crispin had already opened the door and stood in the threshold smiling at her in the dark.
‘My lady.’
That smile. It was the end of her. ‘My captain,’ she whispered. ‘You’d best not come in. Gudrun is still awake.’
He grabbed Ivy’s arm and yanked her outside into the cold night air, closing the door. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he said, and the words were so unexpected that she didn’t mention the blackberry thorn that had grazed her skin.
‘An apology? For what?’ The list was long.
‘Rowan has run away and Wengest has gone looking for her. So you see, his failure to visit was nothing to do with us, or with how unevenly you are running Sæcaster. You do not need to worry. It was not your fault.’
Ivy felt cheered by this news, and especially by Crispin’s gentleness, which was always welcome. ‘Well then. Run away? From what?’
‘I was around her age when I married Guthmer,’ Ivy said, to herself really, as Crispin didn’t care. He was nuzzling at her neck and massaging her breasts through her nightgown.
‘It’s been a long time since we stripped off outside together,’ he said.
Ivy put her hand in his hair as he descended down her body, ruching up handfuls of her nightdress and tracing his warm lips over her belly and thighs. She closed her eyes and tried to enjoy his attention, but then a light mizzle began to descend and even Crispin had to admit defeat.
He stood up, laughing, and kissed her with the taste of her on his mouth. ‘Goodnight, my lady. How long are the visitors staying? It’s been nearly a week.’
‘Gudrun intends to die here and leave the child with me.’
‘Ah. All three of them will be of an age to be sent away to school then.’
‘I hadn’t –’
He silenced her with a kiss. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, then dashed off as the rain began to hammer down.
Ivy ducked back inside and pulled off her nightgown, which was now damp. She hung it over the back of the chair and climbed into bed naked. Her body was full of confused impulses. Desire, overlaid with fear. Why was there so much fear with Crispin now? It never used to be like that. He was her beloved; she was silly not to simply speak to him about it. In her mind, she started to form the sentences that she could use, but knew she never would. It kept her from sleep for a long time.
A little hand shook her awake some time later. Ivy opened her eyes. Morning light struggled through the cracks around the shutters. Usually she was up at dawn, but she had slept late, kept awake by ill thoughts the night before. Edmund, her littlest boy, stood at the side of her bed looking at her with round eyes. She was aware she was naked, and pulled her covers up to her neck.
‘Edmund?’ she said sleepily. ‘What is the matter, precious?’
‘Gudrun won’t wake up and we can’t find Goldie.’
Ivy’s skin prickled with gooseflesh. ‘Eadric!’ she called, struggling to sit up and keep her breasts covered.
‘Is Gudrun all right?’ Edmund asked.
‘Don’t you worry. I have a special chore for you and your brother.’
Eadric appeared at the door. ‘Mama,’ he said. ‘Goldie is gone.’
‘Take Edmund and run to the hall,’ she told him. ‘Find Captain Crispin and tell him to come immediately.’
He nodded, took Edmund’s hand and ran off. She heard the door close and leapt out of bed, quickly pulling on a linen underdress and pinning a warm day dress over it. She didn’t bother with her hair or even with the pot. She went to Gudrun’s side and lowered herself to her knees.
‘Gudrun?’ she said.
No answer.
Ivy didn’t want to touch her. She sobbed once, a sob of fear rather than grief. With a hesitant hand she reached out, touched her shoulder.
Cold as stone.
Goldie must have found her first and run. Ivy thought about the wharf, the water … The child had to be found quickly.
Ivy returned to her room and finished her morning routine, emerging in time to see Crispin arrive with the boys trailing him.
‘Gudrun has died,’ Ivy said.
He nodded perfunctorily. ‘Would you like me to organise a preacher to come for her prayers?’
‘No, Crispin. I have another task for you. Goldie has run off and I want the city guard to find her. Look everywhere in the city and around, but do start down near the water.’
‘My lady, the city guard is trained for more important business than finding little girls. Surely you and the boys can take care of that task.’
‘But I want her found quickly. She could drown.’
Crispin looked at her, wordlessly, expressionlessly, and she knew he was thinking, What did it matter? Ivy hadn’t even known the girl existed a week ago. But he wouldn’t say it in front of the boys.
‘She is family,’ Ivy said forcefully. ‘My stepbrother’s child.’
‘And you are determined to be a mother to her?’
‘No. I simply want her kept safe. It is the right thing to do.’
Crispin raised an eyebrow. ‘You are no expert on “the right thing to do”,’ he said, but then the tension between them seemed to slide away and he continued, ‘I will get my men on it. I will have her back to you within an hour, I’m certain.’
The boys watched him go. Edmund, as always, followed him with adoring eyes. Crispin had not yet noticed how thoroughly her younger boy was under his spell. Eadric, old enough to sense tension between his mother and the captain, was wary of Crispin, and would not be left alone with him.
‘Mama, I think we should help with the search,’ Eadric said.
‘Good idea. Take your brother and go to all the places you ever played with Goldie. Every tree you climbed, every alleyway you chased a cat down. Off with you.’
Ivy pulled on her own cloak and slipped out the secret door of her bower. A thorough search around the house, in all the hedges and behind every tree. No sign of her. Ivy was in no hurry to return to the dead body in the house, and she headed out to the town square and down towards the wharfs. She could already see Crispin’s guards combing that area, so she ducked her head into a few of the chapels, alerting the preachers that the little girl might appear. Then she headed towards the far edges of the walled town, and she thought about how Goldie was already so hardy and capable. If she’d got out of Sæcaster, they wouldn’t find her. Perhaps that would be for the best. Ivy needed an uncomplicated life, and Goldie was a complication. If Ivy could be sure she was safe and well, she’d be able to let the girl go a bit more easily. It wasn’t that Ivy didn’t like her niece: she was a sweet little thing. But she felt far from maternal, as Crispin had suggested.
Ivy made her way down the cobbles, checking in hollows in the wall and gaps between houses. She went a little further to the remains of an old chapel, one she’d had burned four years ago when she took charge of the city. While others had been rebuilt – some with Ivy’s own money to say sorry, and some by the trimartyrs in the city themselves – this one was located near abandoned buildings and left roofless. Lichen had taken it over, and birds had nested in the beams.
She heard soft crying.
She rounded the empty threshold and saw Goldie sitting on the damp floor with her legs straight out in front of her, crying into her hands.
‘Goldie?’ Ivy said softly.
Goldie looked up. ‘I came to look for Maava to ask Him a question, but He doesn’t answer me.’
Ivy crouched in front of her. ‘Gods never do. What did you ask Him?’
‘If there was any way I could have Gudrun alive for a few more years until I am old enough to look after myself.’
‘Once somebody is dead they are dead forever, I’m afraid,’ Ivy said, feeling the chill weight of the words. ‘But I can look after you until you are old enough, my dear.’
‘And yet we are related. I am your aunt. The boys are your cousins. They think you are great fun and would love to have you stay with us.’
She smiled a little. ‘Really?’
‘Of course. I would too.’
Goldie’s smile faded. She looked around uncertainly. ‘I feel lost in the world.’
Ivy pulled her to her feet and folded her in a hug. ‘Everyone does from time to time.’
Goldie allowed herself to be held and sobbed against Ivy’s ribcage. Ivy rubbed her back and said, ‘There now,’ and her heart ached for the poor little thing.
Then Goldie stood back and looked up at Ivy with big eyes and said, ‘Will the crow mother find me?’
Ivy shook her head. ‘I promise she won’t. She cares nothing for me and the city has withstood her army before.’
Goldie seemed to consider these words for a moment before nodding once, decisively. ‘Then I shall stay,’ the girl said, as though she had ever had a choice.
A windy day in Marvik was a special kind of misery. It wasn’t the cold so much as the movement, the swirl and suck of the cloudy sky. Willow, as always, tried to embrace the hardship, but had to admit that praying in the stone chapel on the hill, with no fire and a loose shutter, was probably more hardship than was necessary. The pines around the chapel roared, and at first she didn’t hear Hakon call her.
Then, faintly, ‘Wife!’
Willow rose and went to the door of the chapel, peering out curiously. Hakon stood there, his straggly beard blown sideways in the wind. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m praying.’
‘Come to the hall,’ he said again, and turned to stalk away.
Willow shut the door of the chapel behind her and followed after him, gulping the wind and failing to pull her cloak close about her.
She’d had a stone staircase cut into the path up to the chapel after slipping in mud one autumn and cracking her wrist so she couldn’t lift a sword for months. But these too were now slippery with moss because they rarely saw the sun. She took her time on the way down, and Hakon was waiting patiently at the front of their mountain hall. He opened the thick, carved doors and ushered her in.
‘To the throne room,’ he said.
She went ahead of him, down the narrow torchlit passage, and found a man standing in the throne room. He was rudely dressed in the manner of the Ærfolc, with a chequered cape pinned over one shoulder and rough breeches. Atop his head he wore some kind of head dress fashioned of twigs.
‘Why is this heathen in my throne room?’ Willow demanded.
Hakon closed the door and took his seat on the heavy wooden throne on the riser at the back of the room. ‘Come sit,’ he said to Willow. ‘And listen.’
Willow joined him on her throne. His was carved with crows and triangles; hers was scarred from being bashed against the wall. ‘Unless this man has come here to accept the holy triangle, he is unwelcome. He is dangerously unwelcome.’
The man smiled at her. ‘All gods are one god,’ he said. ‘We believe in the same thing, merely under a different name.’
‘You come here and insult me with these lies? With this –’
‘Wife!’ Hakon roared. ‘Listen.’
Willow fell silent, held her tongue.
‘My name is Rathcruick of the Gwr-y-Derileor. We live in the woods.’
‘Which woods?’
‘All and any. The woods behind the woods. We are rarely seen.’
Willow looked to Hakon, who pointed one long finger at the man and said, ‘Keep talking. Tell her what you told me.’
‘We share an enemy,’ he said. ‘Your sister, Bluebell, ruler of Ælmesse. She nearly has Renward of Bradsey under her thumb, and the tribes are looking to follow him. Soon she will have the entire west of Thyrsland, and our Ærfolc ways will be erased entirely. My tribe and I could simply fade into the forest and never return, only I thought of a great trick we could play.’
‘A trick?’ Willow said. ‘I am not interested in tricks.’
‘Not even if we trick her into giving up Blicstowe to you?’
The words struck Willow in the heart. Blicstowe. If she took Blicstowe, she would be placed to take all of Thyrsland as she had promised Maava she would. I am sorry, she said to Him in her head. I am sorry I must stoop to heathen help. But she knew He wouldn’t care. As long as the job was done. As long as the promise held.
Willow leaned back in her throne. ‘My apologies,’ she said. ‘I am listening now.’