“Oh, dear God.”
It was a tiny whisper from the stall where Lady Agnes was hiding. Wolf squeezed past the shifting barrel-belly of a shaggy grey pony and found her crouching underneath its nose. It snorted nervously as Wolf held out a hand and pulled the girl to her feet. She picked straw from her dress with trembling fingers.
“Did you hear what he said?” Wolf asked. She didn’t answer.
“Did you hear what he said?” Wolf’s voice rose, and the pony yanked at the halter rope.
“Of course I heard. I’m not deaf.” Lady Agnes bit off the last word and buried her white face in the pony’s mane. Wolf realised she was shivering from head to foot. “Steady,” she whispered, more to herself than to the pony. “Steady, oh, steady.”
Wolf looked at her. She was a girl, and the abbey had taught him nothing about girls. Also, she was a high born lady. He had thought of her as almost a different species. Now, for the first time, he realised she was simply a person his own age — a person who had just heard something terrible about her dead mother. He had no idea what to say to her. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he mumbled. “Someone’ll come in and find you.”
“I can visit the stables if I want,” she said, through chattering teeth. “Anyway, this is my p-pony.”
Wolf was sure that if Lady Agnes wanted her pony, it was the job of some stable lad or groom to fetch it out for her, but he didn’t say so. “It’s a nice pony.”
“She’s a mare. She’s c-called Douce Amie.” Lady Agnes took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I should like to go, now. Th-thank you for—” She turned away as if staying with him any longer was unbearable. But this time Wolf didn’t mistake her cold courtesy for pride. Her face was raw with shock.
“Wait!” he said impulsively. “Shouldn’t we talk?”
“What is there to talk about?”
“Everything — what you just heard—”
“I wasn’t supposed to hear it.” Lady Agnes sounded bleak. “It was you he was talking to. I disobeyed him. I w-wanted to see the elf-girl. Serves me right.”
“But what about your mother? What if the elves—”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Your father does.”
“Because of dreams!” She clutched her head as if it ached. “Not all dreams are true.”
“But some are.” Wolf pressed the point. “What if he’s right? What if your mother’s still alive — and in terrible danger? Don’t you want to find out? Didn’t he tell you any of that before?”
“I hardly know my father!” The words stung like a whip. “My mother and he were these famous lovers; he made all those songs for her; then she died and he went off to the Holy Land and left me with the nuns. He wishes I’d been a boy! He never talks to me; he’s never even told me what he did on the Crusade. And then you come along — and you’re a boy — and he tells you everything, even his dreams! Why should I talk to you? I don’t want to have anything at all to do with you. Do you understand?”
She tried to push past him. Wolf thrust out his arm to bar the way.
“I’ve got two brothers,” he said hotly. “My father held a poor manor from Lord William de Braose. He didn’t need three sons. I was the youngest, so he gave me to the abbey. He told me we were going to leave an offering. He gave me money to hold for the abbot. I thought the money was the offering; I was proud to be trusted with it. But he meant me. I was about six years old. I haven’t seen any of my family since. I can remember how the edges of the coins dug into my palm. But I can’t remember my father’s face.”
Lady Agnes shot him a stricken glance.
“He’s dead now, anyway,” Wolf stormed on, “and my brothers have the manor. They don’t want me back. Nobody wants me. Nobody ever asked me if I wanted to be a monk. And I’m not going to be one any more. So don’t tell me I’m better off than you, Lady Agnes of La Motte Rouge. You belong here. I’m a runaway clerk, and your father will throw me out unless I can be useful.”
He stopped, his heart galloping.
Lady Agnes lifted her chin and looked away. Her lips pressed together. Silent tears fled down her face.
Wolf saw, and cursed himself. She was upset already, and he’d made it worse. Now she would hate him more than ever. Why can’t I keep my temper? Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut?
“Please help me!” he blurted in desperation.
“What?” croaked Lady Agnes.
“Please,” Wolf begged, “help me with Elfgift. You heard what Lord Hugo said. I’ve got to teach her to talk. And I don’t know how. You came here because you wanted to see her. Can’t we look after her together?”
“How can I,” said Lady Agnes bitterly, “when my father has forbidden it?” She drew her veil forward to shield her face, and heaved a shuddering sigh. “I wish I could go back to Our Lady’s In-the-Wood.”
“The convent? Why can’t you?”
“Because I’m going to be married. On Saint Stephen’s day. The day after Christmas.”
She spoke in such a flat voice, Wolf wasn’t sure what to think. She seemed very young. But noblewomen often married young, and one thing he did know about girls was that they all wanted to get married. He pulled his mouth down. “I see.”
“It will be all right. Only—” Her fingers twisted and jerked at a golden strand of straw. “Only I so wanted to do something first.”
“Do something? “Wolf was totally out of his depth.
“I was sure the elf-girl was sent here. As an answer to my prayers. Mother Aethelflaed at the convent says women can be just as brave and holy as men. I prayed so hard to have some good work to do, something worthwhile.”
“But you can,” said Wolf. “I don’t know how to even begin teaching Elfgift to talk. At the abbey, if you don’t learn your lessons, they beat you.”
“You wouldn’t beat Elfgift?” Lady Agnes exclaimed.
“No, I wouldn’t. It does no good. But what shall I do instead? Can’t we talk about it? If you have any ideas, I can try them out.”
“It would be you doing it, not me. Father won’t let me help.”
“Yes, well…” If Hugo believed he had lost his wife to the elves, Wolf could see why he would want to keep his daughter safe. “I suppose he thinks Elfgift’s dangerous. But you would be helping, all the same.”
She said suspiciously, “You don’t care about Elfgift. You just want my father to make you a squire.”
Wolf was stung. “I do care! Of course I want to be a squire. But I’ll help Elfgift too, if I can. It was me that got her out of the mines. It was horrible down there,” he added. “No one should have to live in a place like that.”
Lady Agnes swallowed. “I’m sorry. I was being unfair. And I didn’t know. About your father, I mean, giving you away.”
Wolf scratched his neck, flushing. “S’ all right. I don’t usually talk about it.”
“I don’t either. I — I’ve never talked like that to anyone before.” She added, “Though I don’t blame my father. Going on the Crusade was much more important than staying with me. I do know that.”
She held out a stiff hand: he knew now it wasn’t pride but shyness. “I’ll help if I can, Wolf.”
“Thank you! My lady,” he added politely, catching her eye. After a moment, a ghost of a smile danced between them.
“All right.” Lady Agnes gathered up her skirts. “Let’s take a look at Elfgift.”
“I must be quick. I told Angharad I was going to the chapel.” Lady Agnes leaned over the hurdles. “Elfgift! “she called. “Oh, the poor little thing!” She turned a flushed, indignant face to Wolf. “How could anyone think she’s dangerous? Look at her, cowering in the straw like a prisoner! She’s terrified. We can’t keep her in here.”
“We can’t let her run away,” Wolf pointed out.
“Perhaps some kind of harness…” She bit her thumb reflectively. “At the convent, some of the nuns had little dogs. They taught them tricks by rewarding them with bits of bread dipped in milk, or little pieces of meat. We could try that.”
“What — teach her tricks?”
“It’s not so different! She’s got to trust us.”
They stared at the huddled shape in the straw. A hen that had been pecking up grain in the mangers suddenly appeared on the partition between the stalls. It poised there, lifting its yellow feet and turning its head this way and that, before tipping itself clumsily into Elfgift’s stall with a whirr of wings.
The straw exploded. Bright-eyed and wild, Elfgift threw herself on top of the hen. There was a deafening squawk and a fountain of feathers. With a shout, Wolf vaulted into the stall to prise the hen from Elfgift’s clawing fingers. He wrenched it free, and it flapped hysterically over the barrier and ran drunkenly away, cackling in terror.
“Poor little thing?” Wolf asked, breathless. Downy feathers were still rocking through the air.
Lady Agnes began to laugh. “She’s like a tiger!”
“Like a hunter,” said Wolf. Elfgift sat panting lightly, watching the falling feathers with sharp eyes. She snatched one out of the air, licked it up with a quick dab of her tongue, and spat it out again.
“Elfgift?” Wolf stretched out his hand. Elfgift growled.
“Try her with food from the pan,” said Lady Agnes, watching fascinated.
Wolf picked up the pan of broken bread and scraps. Screwing up his nose, he stirred his fingers around in it. “What a mess. Sopping wet bread and porridge. Here’s a piece of meat. Elfgift…” He drew out the name slowly. “Look — meat. Lovely meat.” He waved the gristly morsel between his fingers.
Elfgift watched him. She didn’t come closer, but she didn’t try to hide.
“She needs better food than this,” said Wolf, turning in disgust. “Ouch!” He leaped like a frightened hare. As soon as his attention had wandered, Elfgift had clawed the scrap out of his hand with one swipe. She bolted into a corner and ate it.
“That’s it, then!” Lady Agnes was laughing again. “We can tame her with food.”
“Tame her, maybe.” Wolf felt despond settle into his heart. “But how can we get her to talk?”
“We’ll do it,” said Lady Agnes gallantly. “One thing at a time. Listen, I must go before someone sees me and tells my father. Wolf — come to me in the solar after the noon meal. We can talk there.”
With a lively backward glance she whisked out. Wolf watched her go, and shook his head in wonder. She was so different from what he’d thought.
“And so are you,” he told Elfgift, turning to look at her where she crouched, her long fingers splayed out in the straw. She drew back her lips, showing her small, sharp teeth. But Wolf thought she wasn’t as scared as the night before. To seem less of a threat, he sat down in the straw with his back against the barrier. “Can you talk?” he asked, only half joking. “It would save so much trouble, if you can.”
What language did the elves speak? Bronwen and the kitchen servants must have tried Welsh already. He remembered the White Lady last night. Latin?
“Veni nunc, Elfgift, ad me,” he tried. “Come to me now, Elfgift.” She cocked her head a little: obviously she could hear. No understanding showed in her face. But he didn’t think she was stupid.
He sat still, hoping she would begin to get used to him. It was peaceful at first, listening to the horses munching their hay and swishing their tails. Then his legs began to cramp. Sharp bits of straw pricked through his woollen robes. He shifted position, conscious of Elfgift watching him with the alert, terrible patience of a cat. The livid red side of her face was turned to him; the whites of her eyes had a wet, opal gleam to them, and the dark pupils were fixed on him. As he moved, she flinched; and the sharp, jerky movement made him jump in turn. “It’s all right,” he said uneasily, to himself as much as to her. What was she exactly? Elf, or changeling child? Child or elf? He wasn’t afraid — at least, not afraid she would attack him. It was just that she was so strange.
He began talking quietly. “I’m Wolf. You mustn’t be scared of me. And your name’s Elfgift. What do you think of that, Elfgift? Is it a good name? Do you like it?”
Elfgift cocked her head. He thought he heard a faint growl.
“I’m Wolf; that’s me.” He spoke in a steady, soothing monotone. “You’ve got to be good, Elfgift. You’ve got to learn to…” Suddenly exhausted, he found himself yawning,” … talk…”
He tipped his head back against the barrier and closed his eyes, humming softly. It was easier than talking. One half-remembered tune meandered into another. After a while, a lullaby floated out of his memory.
“Lullay, my little young child,
Sleep and do not cry:
Your mother and your father
Watch at your cradle side.
And there they will abide.
“Lullay, my little young child
Sleep, and do not fear:
You are your father’s pride.
You are your mother’s dear.
And both of them are near…”
Wolf sat with lowered head, motionless. Where had that come from? He hadn’t heard it in years, hadn’t even known he remembered it — but the song came with a memory of warmth and enfolding love. For a moment he felt bitterly lonely. He opened his eyes — and Elfgift sprang backwards with a sharp rustle of straw. Wolf yelped. She had crept to within a couple of feet of him.
“Elfgift…!” He knelt, stretching out his hand. But he’d thoroughly startled her, and she wouldn’t approach. “Don’t be frightened. You like music? I’ll sing it again.” Self-consciously he settled back against the barrier and half hummed, half sang the tune over. He didn’t look at her directly, but kept an eye on her. She didn’t venture closer, however. “You are your father’s pride, you are your mother’s dear” sang Wolf — and someone came into the stables.
He shut up at once.
Whoever it was didn’t stop at any of the stalls but came walking with a quiet, purposeful tread right along the row to the end. Hot with embarrassment, Wolf kept his head low, hoping he hadn’t been overheard.
A shadow fell over them both. Wolf heard slow breathing. The person, whoever it was, was standing by the barrier, looking over the top of Wolf without seeing him.
Elfgift shrank into the straw. Wolf didn’t move. It was too late to stand up; and perhaps in a moment or too the man — he was certain it was a man — would go away.
Slow moments passed. The man standing above him gave a sharp sigh. Goosebumps rushed across Wolf’s skin. Then the makeshift barrier of hurdles and fence posts creaked. The stall darkened even further. He’s climbing in! Wolf scrambled up.
“God’s bones!” The man yelled as if a ghost had risen from the straw. He clapped a hand to his barrel of a chest, gasping.
“Rollo! “Wolf recognised the dreadfully scarred forehead.
“God’s bones! It’s the clerk.” Rollo’s shock turned to rage. “What are you doing lurking there, you scarecrow?”
“Looking after Elfgift, like Lord Hugo told me. What are you doing?” Wolf’s voice rose. He pointed. “What’s that?”
Rollo glanced down at the long, business-like knife in his right hand. He stuck it into the sheath on his belt. “Nothing!”
“You were going to kill her!”
“I wasn’t,” Rollo shouted.
Wolf stumbled further into the stall, out of arm’s reach. “What else were you doing, creeping in here with a knife in your hand? I’ll tell Lord Hugo!”
“Calm down! I wasn’t going to hurt her! I wanted to touch her with the blade, that’s all, because—”
“Because what?”
“Because it’s cold iron.” Rollo glowered at Wolf. “Cold iron! The fairies can’t stand the touch of cold iron, right? Everyone knows that.”
“You wanted to test her?” Wolf said slowly. “Find out if she’s really an elf?”
“I thought she might fly away through the roof,” Rollo said. He craned his neck to see into the back of the stall. “There she is, brrr, the uncanny thing. Come on, boy. It’s your fault she’s here. I never heard any good come of keeping a changeling. And it’s put maggots into Lord Hugo’s head I thought he’d forgotten about. Let’s try it.”
“Maggots?” said Wolf blankly.
“Notions — fancies!” said Rollo impatiently. “Get out of my way.”
“No!” Wolf stood his ground. He didn’t think touching Elfgift with iron would make her fly through the roof, but he would get into trouble if she did. And what if it was a trick — what if Rollo just wanted to get close enough to stab her?
Rollo grimaced with frustration, rubbing his thick hands over his face. “See here. Lord Hugo’s helped you, right? Brought you home off the moor, taken you in?”
Wolf nodded warily.
“Well, if you want to help him, you’ll get rid of the elf-girl. As soon as possible!”
“Why?” Wolf demanded.
Rollo hesitated. “Lord Hugo— look, it’s none of your business, but when his wife died, seven years ago, he was half crazy with grief. Then he took the Cross, and that seemed a good idea at the time. Nothing like keeping busy, is there? So off we went to the Holy Land.”
“You went too? What was it like?” Wolf couldn’t help asking. He imagined proud walls, and long banners streaming on the bright wind.
Rollo eyed him. “What was it like? Four years of bad food, filthy water, rats and disease. I lost six teeth. And it didn’t do Lord Hugo any good, either. He started having dreams — nightmares, really — that’d wake him up in a cold sweat.”
“He told you about his dreams?”
“Why not? What’s strange about that? A man can’t keep many secrets in a tent, or on shipboard. ‘Rollo,’ he said to me once, ‘it’s my Lady Eluned who comes walking into my sleep. And sometimes,’ he says, ‘it’s as if she’s alive, dancing on the moors or in the woods. And sometimes I see her in a great hall, surrounded by people. And I wake,’ he says, ‘and I know she’s dead.’
“Well, that was bad enough. We set off home. Then one day on the road, I think it was somewhere between Poitiers and Tours, we fell in with a whey-faced, gangling strip of a fellow riding on a mule. I forget his name, Breton or Flemish, something outlandish I could never get the hang of, but he was a jongleur — wandering from place to place, singing and juggling, and telling tales. He kept up with us for a few days. He made my lord laugh, and we all thought that had to be a good thing. But if I’d known what he was going to do, I’d have stuffed that jongleur head-first down a well and drowned him!”
“Only told Hugo some story about a dead woman coming back,” Rollo growled. “God knows why he picked that one, out of all the tales he knew. He told it well. Too well. Well enough to give you the shivers. Next morning he was off, mule and all. I’ll see you again one day, he said, but we never did see him again. After that, my lord was very quiet. Very quiet. You could see him thinking about the tale he’d heard. More than thinking. Brooding on it, know what I mean? And now you come along with your elf. I reckon I know what Hugo thinks. He thinks his dreams are telling him his lady isn’t dead after all. He thinks the fairies have got her. He thinks he could go down into the mines and look for her.” Rollo jabbed a finger at Wolf. “Am I right?”
Wolf nodded, subdued. “But, Rollo. Dreams like that have to mean something. Maybe it’s all true.”
Rollo gave him a hard stare. “Maybe. His lady was a strange one anyway, to my way of thinking. Always up in her chamber, reading out of thick books. I’ve never been up there myself, but the maids tell me she painted magical signs on the walls. She was a foreigner, too — a Welsh princess from Powys with a white face and black eyebrows and long, black hair. I like blonde girls, myself. But she cast a spell over Hugo, all right.
“But, if Hugo goes down into Elfland, what’s the odds he’ll ever come out? He’s the best master I’ve ever served. So what if his wife died? Other wives die, and their husbands get over it. There’s no shortage of women, and I never met one it was worth risking your immortal soul for, which is what Hugo will do if he meddles with elves. You seem to be a sensible lad, even if you are a clerk. So off you go for a walk now, and I’ll do what I came to do, and if the elf’s not here when you come back, well, she’ll have flown away home, and everyone’ll be much happier. Right?”
Wolf bit his lip. Rollo made it sound like straightforward common sense. And he could use a friend in the garrison. All I have to do is walk away. He’s not going to hurt her. Only touch her with iron…
And you believe that, do you? added a more cynical voice in his mind.
Elfgift was burrowing in the straw at his back. He turned, and she looked up at him, pin-points of light glinting in her eyes. It was true that there was something eerie about her. But she’d trusted him. She’d crept up close while he was singing. And she was managing to keep him between her and Rollo — as though she sensed danger, as though he was her shield.
Wasn’t that enough?
“Well?” said Rollo. “You don’t want to spend your time nannying a thing like that, do you? Off with you.”
“No!” said Wolf recklessly. And as soon as the word was out, his spirits soared. Like an eagle casting itself into the air he flung himself into his element. Freedom — seizing life by the scruff and shaking it — no more dithering about, wondering what to do—
“No!” Almost joyfully he looked Rollo in the eye. “Lord Hugo told me to look after her. I’m not going for any walks. Get out! And if you come back — if anything happens to Elfgift, or if she’s hurt, or disappears — I’ll tell Lord Hugo everything you said!”
He braced himself. If he’d spoken like that to Brother Thomas, he’d have got a blast of cold rage followed by a thrashing. Rollo breathed hard and his fists knotted, but he controlled himself. Contemptuously he said, “A boy’s threat. Do you think I give a damn if Hugo’s angry, so long as he’s safe? All right, have it your way — for now. But you’d better look after that elf well, Master Clerk. Elves are no better than demons. And if any harm comes to Lord Hugo through her, I’ll hold you responsible. I’ll see you both hanging from the same tree!”