Halewyn walked beside Wolf, leading the mule. Its plate-sized feet chopped and splashed through the mud. From the corner of his eye Wolf was aware of Nest, walking with Bronwen a few paces to the rear. Before they were halfway up the lane, the rain came on harder, and many of the folks from La Motte Rouge caught them up in a rush for the gates. Bronwen and Nest were swept up in the crowd. Hand in hand they ran past Wolf and Halewyn and disappeared together up the lane.
“Look out, Gwenny — the Black Sow’s after ye!” bellowed Roger Bach, lunging at Gwenny and tickling her. The girl screamed, between laughter and terror. She tore herself away and dashed after Bronwen. The mule laid back its ears and kicked.
“Softly, Beelzebub. Softly, my friend.” Halewyn stroked the mule’s damp nose.
“You call your mule Beelzebub?” Wolf was glad of the distraction.
“Why not?” said Halewyn blithely. “It’s a very good name for a mule. He’s a stubborn, disobedient old thing, aren’t you, Beelzebub?”
Wolf bit his lip on a shocked smile. He looked sideways at Halewyn. To ride so far on All Hallows’ Eve! To name his mule after the Devil! He must be afraid of nothing.
They came to the gate. Stephen le Beau stepped forward sharply, barring the way with his spear. “Who goes there?”
“It’s all right, Stephen! This is Halewyn. Don’t you remember him? He’s a jongleur, he’s met Lord Hugo, in France I think it was…”
Rollo came past them then, and Wolf saw him give Halewyn a grim, unsmiling glance. But Stephen’s face was already splitting into a welcoming grin. “You! Course I remember you. You told us that story about the priest and the fleas. Never laughed so hard in me life!” He clapped Halewyn on the back, and chuckled as Halewyn pretended to stagger under the blow. “I’m on guard tonight. You’ll stay for a while, won’t you? I don’t want to miss the fun.”
“Till Christmas, if I’m welcome,” Halewyn promised.
“Take your mule to the stables.” Stephen raised his voice. “Is that everyone?” he shouted to the last-comers. “Everyone in? Lend me a hand, Walter, let’s get the gates shut.”
They ran the heavy gates shut and slid the huge bar across. Stephen patted it.
To Wolf’s surprise he took a deep breath and rattled off some ragged rhyme:
“Heaven defend us all this night
From ghosts and every wicked sprite.
Open Heaven gates and shut Hell gates
And keep us safe and sound. Amen.”
“Amen!” chorused Walter.
“That wasn’t a proper prayer!” Wolf exclaimed as he and Halewyn walked away with the mule.
Halewyn looked at him queerly and laughed, showing the pointed tips of long dog-teeth. “It wasn’t, was it? But it was very quaint, and it makes them feel safer, so where’s the harm? Is this the stable? All barred and bolted, I see. Excellent practice. There’s no use barring the stable door after the horse has gone, is there?” He watched while Wolf undid the bolts. “This isn’t your job, surely, Brother — what’s your name?”
“Wolf,” Wolf grunted, heaving the door open.
“Brother Wolf?” Halewyn sounded delighted.
“Just Wolf. And no, Madog’s the stable boy. But I don’t mind. I’m often in and out of here, because—”
He hesitated, not sure whether to mention Elfgift.
“Because— ?” Halewyn prompted. Outlined in the stable doorway, he and his mule looked very alike — black silhouettes with long donkey-ears. Then Beelzebub shook his wet head till his ears and harness rattled.
“I look after — someone,” said Wolf.
Halewyn touched a fingertip to his lips in a mimicry of thought. Then he pointed at Wolf. “The elf-girl!”
“How do you know about her?”
“How do I know? It’s all around the countryside! Ooh, is she in here? Is this where you keep her? Let me see the elf-girl, do. Just a peek!”
He dropped Beelzebub’s reins and advanced into the stable, craning his neck.
“No,” said Wolf.
“Oh, why?”
Wolf didn’t know why. “It’s dark, and she’s probably asleep.” In fact, he could hear an abrupt crackling in the straw that suggested Elfgift was wide awake.
Halewyn was listening, head cocked. “That’s her, isn’t it? Show, show, show!” As if in agreement, Beelzebub stamped on the cobbled floor with his metal-shod hoof.
“Get out of the way then,” said Wolf, flustered. “Let me go first!” He pushed in front of Halewyn and walked down the row to the last stall, calling quietly to Elfgift. It was so dark he could barely see his hand in front of his face, and he wished he’d brought a lantern. Halewyn was treading on his heels.
“She’s here, but you won’t be able to see much—”
Wolf almost jumped out of his skin. With a crack and a cascade of sparks, Halewyn struck a light. A sulphurous, yellow, smoky flame licked up. Elfgift’s face gleamed half pale, half red, with huge startled eyes. She threw up a shielding arm and recoiled, screaming.
“Put that out!” Wolf yelled. He spat on his fingers, reached for Halewyn’s taper and pinched it out. “You don’t bring an unguarded flame into a stable, you fool!” He stamped out a glowing spark on the floor, shuddering as he thought of the heaps of dry straw surrounding them, the wooden stalls, the thatched roof. “Do you want the place to go up like a torch?”
“There’s a thought.” Halewyn sounded contrite but amused. “Truly I am a fool. I’m sorry.”
“All right,” Wolf growled. “There’s an empty stall here. Put the mule in it, and let’s go.” While Halewyn unharnessed the mule Wolf lingered, stretching out his hand. “Elfgift? It’s all right.” He’d been a fool to let Halewyn near her: the sudden appearance of his donkey-eared cap must have terrified her. “It’s all right,” he repeated soothingly. “Go to sleep again.”
Small fingers crept out of the darkness and clung to his. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, and hummed the lullaby tune under his breath. “Lullay, lullay little one. Sleep and do not fear…”
And a moment later, out of the dark Elfgift hummed it back in a soft, hoarse voice that got inside his head and made his teeth buzz. And his skin popped up in goosebumps. And she didn’t get the tune exactly right. But he clenched his teeth together and hung on to her hand. They were communicating. Elfgift and he were saying goodnight!
After a while she let go and he heard her curling up in the straw. He waited to be sure she was settled, then went out and rebolted the door. Halewyn stood in the glimmering drizzle, hanging his head so extravagantly that the donkey-ears on his cap drooped.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. He pounded his thin chest. “Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Anything you’d like me to do in penance? Turn a somersault? Do three cartwheels across the yard, dodging the puddles? Sing a song standing on my head?”
Wolf couldn’t help laughing. “No, it’s all right. Just remember, flames are dangerous in stables and barns.”
“Oh, I will. I’ll be very, very careful.” Halewyn perked up. “At least I saw her,” he said buoyantly. “And now, take me to your leader.”
Wolf shepherded him across the dark yard. Halewyn was fun.
The Hall was hot and bright and smoky, and full to bursting. It was clear that everyone had heard of Halewyn’s arrival. Even the kitchen servants had squeezed in: Herbert and Bronwen and Gwenny. Argos came threading his way through the throng. He welcomed Wolf, but when he saw Halewyn he drew his lips back and growled, and his narrow hackles stood up like a scrubbing brush.
“Hush!” Wolf chided, pushing him aside.
Hugo was seated on the dais at the end of the Hall, magnificent in his chequered cloak. When he saw Halewyn he sat forward eagerly — and Wolf remembered what Rollo had said about the Crusades. How could Hugo look like that, when he had killed helpless prisoners? The perfect knight, he thought bitterly. The crusader.
Nest was seated beside her father. She had thrown on a clean white veil, and though her eyes sparkled more than usual, no one would guess she had just run up the lane hand in hand with a kitchen maid. Wolf was miserably thankful she hadn’t overheard Rollo’s bloodstained story.
Halewyn jogged Wolf’s arm. “What are you glowering at? Watch me now, and learn how to make an entrance.” He stepped forward with a flourish. “Greetings to you, noble lord, and to you, fair lady, and to everyone here, gentles and good folk all.”
“God be good to you,” Hugo said, smiling. “I well remember how you pleased us with your songs and tales, Halewyn, that time we were fellow travellers on the road through Anjou.”
“My noble lord is gracious.” Halewyn made another deep bow, adding softly as he straightened, “I promised you then I should see you again!”
And there were three batons in his right hand, like slender clubs. He tossed them up and began to juggle. He moved forwards, surrounded by a spinning halo. At the edge of the hearth he caught them and plunged them into the fire. They must have been dipped in pitch. He drew them out flaming, and danced across the floor, brandishing them at the crowd.
“Real fire, lords and masters. Mind your beards! Mind your long hair, maidens and wives!” With laughter and screams they scrambled away from him. Then Halewyn’s hands flickered, and up went the firebrands, tumbling through the air in a brilliant fiery circle. He moved towards the dais, throwing them higher and higher. Wolf was breathless. How did he always manage to catch the handles and not the flaming ends? At last, in front of Lord Hugo and Nest, Halewyn caught the firebrands. He brought them to his lips and extinguished them — it almost looked as if he sucked the flames away. He knelt on one knee and bent his head till his ass’s ears almost touched the ground.
Wolf clapped till his hands stung. Still kneeling, Halewyn put a hand to his heart. Next moment a flower was in his hand, a rose with delicate crimson petals. Humbly, timidly, as if he was afraid she would not take it, he held it out to Nest.
“For the beautiful lady.”
Nest was taken by surprise. She coloured and glanced at her father. Angharad was tutting, but Hugo nodded. Nest took the flower. Then she flinched and dropped it into her lap. A moment later she was softly sucking her finger.
Wolf winced in sympathy. But Hugo was speaking. “Well done and welcome! I’ve sent for ale, bread and meat to refresh you after your journey. While we are waiting for it, talk to us of your travels. Where have you come from, and what brings you here tonight?”
“Thank you, lord.” It went without saying that Halewyn would tell any scraps of news or gossip he had picked up. He perched himself on a stool near the edge of the dais. “I’ve lately come from Wenford…”
Wolf pricked up his ears.
“…where I stayed with the monks at St Ethelbert’s.” Halewyn was using a clear, formal style so that his words carried right across the Hall. “And there, to visit the abbot, came young Godfrey fitz Payne of La Blanche Land. I think his chaplain had died and he came to ask the abbot to appoint him a new one, which the abbot willingly did. There was talk of you, lord, since they said he is to marry with the lady your daughter —” here he bowed to Nest “— at Christmas. And hearing your name I remembered how I’d had the good fortune to meet with you on the road to Tours, and how you were pleased to laugh at my jests and listen to my poor songs, and I thought I would be glad to see you once again.”
Wolf didn’t attend to Hugo’s reply. Halewyn’s seen Lord Godfrey! He turned quickly to look at Nest, and she was already staring at him, her eyes huge. We’ve got to get him alone and ask him questions!
Food was brought, and Halewyn ate and drank. Then he opened his pack and brought out a small, box-shaped harp. He tested the strings. Everyone hushed, and Wolf sat up. He hoped, for Halewyn’s sake, this wasn’t going to be the tale of the dead woman that had upset Rollo.
It wasn’t. First Halewyn sang part of the old story of Count Roland, who rode out to battle with the Saracens, laughing and tossing his lance into the air so that the white pennant whipped and curled against the blue sky. Wolf drank it up. This was the way a hero should behave!
Then Halewyn sang a drinking song that got everyone swaying and stamping their feet and trying to sing along. It got gradually faster and faster, till at the final chorus everyone tripped over their tongues and burst out laughing.
Wolf didn’t quite forget his anger with Hugo, but he tucked it away for later. He had never had so much fun. Halewyn sang a few more songs and then rested. The household sat around the fire, telling ghost stories.
“…stand by the chapel door at midnight, and you’ll see…”
“…a thing like a badger without a head…”
“…a wheel of fire, bowling down the hill…”
“Two hundred years ago,” old Howell was saying placidly to anyone close enough to hear, “a pilgrim returning from the Holy Land discovered a mountain with a cleft in the rocks. Through the cleft he saw flickering flames, and heard the groans and cries of tormented souls. On hearing this story, the Abbot of Cluny appointed the feast of All Souls, so that prayers would be said for all the dead who have existed, or ever will exist, from the beginning of the world to the end of time…”
Wolf gazed into the miniature fairylands and hells of the fire. Heat chased across the embers, trembling from violet to scarlet, flowering into golden sparks when a log settled and fell. He picked up a stick and drew in the ashes.
Bronwen and Walter were talking about Halewyn.
“He must have ridden over Devil’s Edge to get here,” Walter marvelled. “Tonight, of all nights!”
“Did you hear or see anything strange, Master Halewyn?” called Bronwen, and everyone turned with a pleasurable shudder, thinking of the awful sights that might be met with on the mountain on All Hallows’ Eve. “Walking fires?”
“The Wild Host,” said Geraint, “the Devil with his hounds?”
“The Black Sow?”
But Halewyn shook his head. His smile was as wide as a friendly dog’s. “I saw nothing stranger than myself.”
Across the fire, Nest beckoned. Wolf got to his feet.
“Hush!” she whispered. “Look at this. Look!” She held out the rose Halewyn had given her, a ruff of crimson petals around a cluster of yellow stamens. He breathed a sweet, ecstatic scent.
“It’s pretty.
“It’s real!” Nest’s whisper was intense. “A real rose! Where did he find it? We don’t have any roses growing here.”
“At the abbey they do,” said Wolf. “He’ll have brought it from there.”
“In October?”
She was right. Even at the abbey, roses were rare, exotic flowers, carefully nurtured by Brother Osmund the herbalist. And they only grew in summer.
“I thought it would be silk or paper,” Nest whispered. “But it’s real. And when I took it from him, look what it did…”
“Pricked you,” said Wolf, looking at the thorny stem.
“No, it burned me. I’ve got a blister, look! As if I’d picked up a spark!”
“That’s impossible. Wait, I know.” Wolf’s face cleared. “He was juggling firebrands. A spark must have fallen on the rose as he passed it to you.”
“Yes, but—” Nest stopped. “Maybe,” she said, frowning. “But in any case, how could he carry a rose with him on a journey? It would never survive, Wolf.”
As if to emphasise her point, one crumpled, silky petal suddenly shook to the floor. With a haphazard rush, the others followed. They lay on the rushes like splashes of blood. Nest was left holding the stalk. She looked almost ready to cry.
“Oh… but it was beautiful. Nobody ever gave me a rose before.”
“May there be many roses in your life, my lady!” Halewyn appeared at her elbow. Nest darted him a suspicious look.
“How did you do it?” Wolf asked, pointing to the petals. “Where did you find a rose at this time of year?”
Halewyn looked at him. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes.”
“So can I!” Halewyn’s eyes were so mischievous, and his cap was so ridiculous, and he had such a funny way of putting his head on one side, that although Wolf felt foolish, he laughed too.
“All right. But — but Lady Agnes wants to ask you something.”
Halewyn looked expectantly at Nest. Stiffly, reluctantly, she nodded. “Lord Godfrey of Blanchland.” Her voice was nearly inaudible. “You saw him?”
“Certainly,” said Halewyn promptly “He stayed for nearly a week and went to Mass each day.”
Nest’s eyes could have burned holes in him. “What was he like?”
“He was very fine. He wore stockings striped in red and blue. He had a scarlet tunic and a mantle lined with spotted ermine.”
“I don’t want to know about his clothes! Is that all you can remember?”
Halewyn gave her a delicate glance. “Alas, I was never close to the young lord. I never heard him speak. I could only admire him from a distance.”
“But gossip about him must have been flying all over Wenford,” Wolf burst out. “You must have heard something. Whether he’s kind, or merry, or generous to the poor…” He stopped as Halewyn sent him a warning glance.
Nest whitened, and the hope died from her eyes. “I see.” She snipped off the words like little pieces of unwanted thread. “Thank you.”
Snip! Snip! Wolf eyed her anxiously.
Lord Hugo clapped his hands and called, “It’s late! Master Halewyn shall give us one more song. And then we will bid one other good night.”
Halewyn picked up his harp but held it loosely for a moment, as if thinking. Then he knelt on one knee and held out the harp to Hugo.
“Will you not sing, my lord?”
There was a sharp intake of breath all around the Hall. Hugo looked very startled. Then his mouth shut hard. He shook his head.
Halewyn seemed unperturbed. “Then you must make do with my poor voice once more. A love song!” he called out, glancing at Nest. “A love song for a fair lady!” He bowed to Hugo and sat down, bending his head over the harp, plucking a handful of notes like a shower of raindrops. He began to sing:
“When all the spring is bursting and blossoming…”
Nest’s eyes flew wide open. “Wolf!” she whispered.
“What?”
“This is the first song my father made for my mother!”
Halewyn sang:
“When all the spring is bursting and blossoming,
And the hedge is white with blossom like a breaking wave,
That’s when my heart is bursting with love-longing
For the girl who pierced it, for that sweet wound she gave.”
Wolf stole a quick glance at his lord. Hugo’s face was as hard and expressionless as it might look one day in the chapel, carved in stone on his own coffin. Halewyn had chosen this song as a compliment, of course — and yet, to sing it in Hugo’s own Hall, in the place where it had been written, for the wife he had loved and who had died—
Halewyn’s voice rose into the rafters, unbearably sad and clear:
“And I hear the nightingale singing in the forest —
Singing for love in the forest: ‘Come to me, I am alone…’
Better to suffer love’s pain for a single kiss
Than live for a hundred years with a heart of stone.”
The song ended. Nobody breathed. Halewyn lifted his head. “And may each one of us dream tonight of his own beloved!”
Hugo’s chair went back with a loud scrape. He stood, and the household rose with him, watching warily, not daring to clap or applaud till they saw how he reacted.
“That was well sung,” he said thickly.
With a tingle of relief, Wolf joined in the clapping. But the evening was over. With hurry and bustle the servants set about preparing the Hall for bed. Candles were blown out; chairs and benches were cleared away; mattresses laid on the floor. In the middle of the turmoil Halewyn sat on his stool, stowing his harp away with a curious, half-hidden smile.
“Goodnight,” Nest said to Wolf. Her eyes were on Halewyn, and she was frowning. Wolf watched her slowly climb the stairs to the solar, her long skirts drifting after her step by step. Halfway up she looked back, hesitating, but Angharad was close behind her and impatiently waved her on.