Brother Thomas stood as if shocked at his own success, his hand still half raised. Then he fell to his knees.
“Praise be!” He bowed his head.
The snow came on thicker.
At Nest’s feet, the hob stirred. “Gone!” it said in a stunned voice. “After all this time. Gone forever. Gone!”
“Gone!” voices echoed. Men were joining Brother Thomas, kneeling beside him in the snow.
“Praise be!” Brother Thomas cried loudly. “Praise for this miracle! Men of La Motte Rouge, it is no wonder that you have been troubled by such creatures. See the wickedness of your priest, Howell? See how the succubus, the evil spirit, followed him like a lamb following a shepherd? Oh deliver us from evil shepherds who live with concubines against the law of the church!”
“That’s a lie,” Geraint shouted. “Howell and Hunith have been married this forty years!”
“Forty years of sin!” Brother Thomas rolled his eyes to Heaven.
Roger Bach dropped clumsily to his knees and held up his clasped hands. Stephen le Beau copied him. Some of the Frenchmen from Blanchland also knelt, but the Welsh were drawing aside, with dark looks and upset voices. Across the windswept space of the yard, Nest saw Wolf standing slack-jawed beside Halewyn. He wasn’t laughing now.
“The poor creature!” mourned Howell, standing shakily by the corner of the Hall, his knuckles to his mouth. “The poor, poor creature. She never did any harm. And now she’s gone!” Geraint put a sheltering arm around him.
“You know what else has gone?” said the hob bleakly to Nest. “The luck of this place. The luck of the lord.”
“Join me in prayer!” cried Brother Thomas. “Pray that I shall be your shepherd, until the bishop appoints you a new one. Pray that I shall unlock the elf-girl’s stubborn tongue, so that your lord may bring his wife home out of the vile durance of the elf-kingdom. Pray…”
“How do you know that?” Hugo demanded.
You told him! Nest thought fiercely. After that song tonight do you think there’s anyone who hasn’t worked it out? She waited for Brother Thomas to explain. Instead, kneeling in the snow, he flung his arms wide. “God told me!” he exclaimed. “God has sent me here to help you!”
“How?”
Brother Thomas rose to his feet. He was as tall as Hugo, and just as impressive in his long black robe. Surrounded by the upturned faces of the kneeling men, he looked like a stern saint sent to chastise sinners. It was probably how he saw himself.
“Give me the elf-girl,” he said with harsh confidence. “I will make her talk.”
Wolf stood shocked in the cold wind at the other side of the yard.
It had been great, at first. Sneaking out with Halewyn, crouching in the darkness, gleefully watching Brother Thomas stride towards the chapel for the night prayers —as Wolf had known he would. “It’s easy to frighten people in the dark,” Halewyn had said with a glinting eye. Close by in a corner of the yard, Morwenna lay on her side in the mud, lapped in black shadows, snoring gently. Halewyn undid a brooch from his tunic — a brooch with a long, sharp pin. He passed it to Wolf. “Stick her with this.”
“Quick!” Halewyn hissed, and Wolf jabbed with the pin. Poor Morwenna had leaped up and careered across the yard, squealing with pain and shock. And Brother Thomas had screamed — and jumped the wrong way. Morwenna knocked him down. And then Brother Thomas began yelling about pigs and devils, and Halewyn had whispered, laughing, “If that’s what he wants, let’s give him pigs and devils!” And with a snap of his fingers, a whole farrow of little black shadows scattered out across the yard…
And Wolf had been filled with furious delight. It had been so funny to see Brother Thomas cowering in the chapel doorway with an arm over his face. Wolf had a sore crease across his stomach from trying to hold in the laughter. And then the White Lady had come walking across the yard — and it had all gone wrong.
“Give me the elf-girl!” Brother Thomas drew himself up like a tall, black pillar. “I will make her talk!”
“No!” Wolf ran into the torchlight, snatched Hugo’s hand, and dropped to his knees on the frozen ground. “No, lord, don’t! He’ll burn her! Don’t let him hurt her!”
“Insolent boy!” Brother Thomas fixed a blistering glare on Wolf. Spit glistened on his pale lips. “Worthless, quarrelsome, lazy little troublemaker!”
Hugo tore his hand free from Wolf’s and laughed — a fierce, mad laugh. He looked dangerous in the torchlight — a sort of monster. One side of his body was black, the other half splashed with colour. His breath curled out into the freezing air and the flames lit it to gilded clouds. “Wolf? Wolf isn’t insolent. He just hasn’t learned the meaning of fear — have you, Wolf?”
“Don’t let him touch Elfgift! “Wolf shouted.
“Splendour of God!” Hugo roared at him. “If he thinks he can make the elf-girl speak, why shouldn’t he try? You haven’t been doing so well!”
“I’ve been doing better than you think! She can’t talk, but she understands what we say—”
“Does she?” Hugo’s eyes were narrow slits. “Why haven’t you told me that before?”
Wolf lost his head. “Because she’s only little. And she can’t talk, so she can’t tell you anything. And she’d think you were taking her back forever.” A terrible illumination came to him. “It’s true, isn’t it? You don’t just want her for a guide. You think you can exchange her for Eluned.” He choked. “You’re a—”
Rollo grabbed Wolf by the ear and hauled him yelping to his feet. “You insolent young jackanapes, don’t you speak to Lord Hugo like that!” He turned to Hugo. “I’ll sort him out, sir.” And he dragged Wolf away. With that pinching, agonising grip on his ear, Wolf had no choice but to go with him, bent almost double.
“Let go! Let me go! I’m not afraid of Hugo!”
Rollo let go Wolf’s ear, grabbed his shoulders and slammed him against the Hall door. Wolf’s head hit it with a crack. He bit his tongue. Salty blood filled his mouth. Rollo’s face swam close to his.
“Then it’s time you were,” Rollo breathed. “What did he say to you? ‘Wolf doesn’t know the meaning of fear?’ Are you proud of that? You young fool!” He held Wolf for a moment longer then released him. Wolf stared at him, panting.
“I saved your skin back there,” said Rollo, “and you’re not a bit grateful, are you? Get it through your thick head: here on his own land Hugo can do anything he wants. Mostly, he doesn’t. Mostly, he’s a reasonable man. But about Lady Eluned he isn’t reasonable at all. And you want to get in his way? Fear is useful, Wolf. It tells you when to run.”
Wolf wiped his mouth. His tongue was immensely sore. But he saw, with great surprise, that Rollo liked him. How had that happened?
He said in a muffled voice, “He’ll let that beast burn Elfgift. And he’ll give her to the elves.”
“That’s what you think,” Rollo grunted. “Hugo’s never used torture yet.”
Wolf couldn’t help himself. “No? But he’s killed innocent people. You told me so yourself.”
Rollo’s gaze was level and hard. “I’ve killed them too, Wolf, but you’re not upset with me. You think about that. Now, I’ve wasted enough time on you. I’m going in.”
He shoved the Hall door open and vanished into the warmth. Wolf loitered on the doorstep, shocked and miserable. The snow pattered on his face and shoulders. A hand tapped his arm.
“Wolf, it’s me!”
He whirled. Nest appeared out of the darkness like a ghost. “What have you and Halewyn been doing?” she demanded. It sounded like an accusation. Wolf pulled away.
“Getting back at Brother Thomas. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
Lights were bobbing towards them. Everyone was coming in.
“The hob says you shouldn’t trust Halewyn. The hob says—”
He hunched his shoulders. “Well, too late. I have! Goodnight, Nest.”
“Wolf, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” he said in a raw, breathless voice. “What’s right? Didn’t you hear your father? He’s going to let that — that brute — hurt Elfgift. He’s—”
“No he isn’t! Of course he won’t, not when he’s had time to think. He’d never hurt Elfgift! He won’t!”
The snow swirled between them like pale curtains. “Yes he will. He’s a soldier; he’s killed plenty of people in his time. Why should he care about hurting one more?”
“How dare you!” Nest’s voice rose and cracked. She swept past Wolf into the Hall and turned. Trickles of melting snow slid out of her hair and dripped to the floor. “I’ve got no time for you when you’re being so stupid!” Her dark eyes flashed. “You’d better listen. There’s something wrong about Halewyn. Don’t trust him. He’s not safe! And I’m trying to tell you: the hob says to ask—”
The door pushed open behind Wolf. Nest had only time to hiss, “Have you ever seen Halewyn without his cap?” Without waiting for a reply she whirled away.
In came the rest of the men: Hugo and Lord Godfrey and Brother Thomas, Geraint and Roger and Halewyn, all powdered with snow and stamping their feet. Argos came snaking in past their legs. Wolf flung himself down on his mattress and pulled the blanket over his head to escape notice. Hugo went off upstairs. Lord Godfrey settled into a rather grand four-poster bed that had been set up on the other side of the room. The others made themselves comfortable, and Halewyn lay down on a mattress beside Wolf’s Wolf turned on his side to look at him. Through the dim rosy gloom of the firelit Hall, Halewyn winked.
Anger shot through Wolf. After everything that had happened, Halewyn could treat it as a joke?
“I thought you said you could help!” he whispered bitterly. “But you’ve made everything worse!”
“Have I?” Halewyn’s voice was cold as a draught across the floor. “Before you go blaming me, think. Who destroyed the White Lady? Brother Thomas. Who said Elfgift ought to be burned? Brother Thomas. If I bring out the worst in people, is it my fault? I gave you what you wanted. I give everyone what they want.”
“But I didn’t want any of those things to happen.” He saw Halewyn was laughing silently. “It’s all gone wrong!”
“What did you expect from the Lord of Misrule?” said Halewyn. “You wanted revenge, and I gave it to you. You had it, and you enjoyed it. Was it my fault, what happened next?” He rolled on to his back and folded his arms behind his head.
Wolf clenched his fist and thumped his own forehead in desperation.
Somehow it steadied him. For the first time since Lord Godfrey rode in under the gateway — had it really only been hours ago? — he stopped obsessing about Brother Thomas. He began to worry about Halewyn, instead.
Halewyn had arrived on All Hallows’ Eve, riding a bad-tempered mule called Beelzebub. He had met Hugo before and told him the tale of the dead woman who came back. He had handed Nest a flower that burned her fingers. He had sung songs that kept Hugo’s mind fixed on love and death. And tonight he had terrified Brother Thomas with an illusion of little black dancing piglets, hellfire squirting from their triangular eyes and laughing jaws.
He peered through half-closed eyes at Halewyn, who appeared to have dropped off to sleep.
Wolf found he was thinking very clearly indeed. He saw that he had liked Halewyn too easily. For a pleasant smile and a joke, he’d managed to ignore all these strange things. As for Elfgift, Wolf remembered how reluctant he’d been to let Halewyn see her, the night he arrived. Elfgift had screamed. And she’d been wary of Halewyn ever since.
Wolf began to feel like a frightened swimmer being swept along in a strong current. He had an awful feeling about where it was taking him.
What had Nest been saying? Don’t trust Halewyn, she’d said, there’s something wrong with him. And a message from the hob: Have you ever seen Halewyn without his cap?
What was that supposed to mean? Wolf lay thinking. Halewyn’s cap. A close-fitting hood, really, with cloth donkey-ears sewn on. Had he ever seen Halewyn without it? No, he didn’t think so. Not from the very first time Halewyn appeared at the All Hallows’ fire, and everyone mistook him for a horned—
Very cautiously, Wolf sat up.
The fire was burning low. Great shadows reared up the walls. Hardly breathing, he leaned over towards Halewyn, praying that the straw wouldn’t crackle.
Halewyn lay with his face half turned away. And yes, he was wearing his hood. Wolf had never noticed before that Halewyn slept with his hood on. Why would he do that?
Something Brother Thomas had said about demons came unbidden to his mind. God allows them to put on mortal shape, but always with some flaw, some mark by which they can be recognised. Like hooves, or—
Or something you could hide underneath a fool’s cap with ass’s ears?
The Lord of Misrule.
Wolf hugged himself and shuddered. He rocked to and fro, sucking air though his teeth as though he’d tasted something bitter, because Halewyn must be — he was — well, Wolf was almost sure he was…
He had to be sure.
He threw a scared glance around the vast room. No one was awake. He was on his own, for none of the snoring sleepers could help him. He crossed himself, muttered a prayer, and stretched stealthy fingers towards the nearest, upwards-pointing donkey ear.
He wanted to feel if there was anything — hard — inside, and he was picturing goats: goats had the sort of small, knobbly, curved-back horns which would fit nicely into the lower part of those long, floppy ears. His fingers floated out as light as smoke—
Wolf stopped breathing. Halewyn was not asleep. There was something altogether false about the way he lay, too motionless, eyes shut — or were they ever so slightly open? It was a trap. Touch him, and—
Those eyes would fly open and spill an awful yellow light. Halewyn would seize him, and then—
Wolf remembered his sins. He had run away from the abbey, he had been disobedient; the saints were angry with him; he had not repented.
He drew his hand away. He pushed the blanket down and climbed to his feet, fearfully aware of every sound: the quiet rustle of the straw, the brushing of cloth against cloth. The crickets were singing their shrill wincing songs across the hearth; a fire-eroded log slipped and settled; Argos whimpered and twitched in his sleep. Wolf’s shadow brushed across Halewyn’s face, and the eyelids flickered, with a glitter under the lashes. Wolf froze. Looking down now at Halewyn, he wondered what he had ever thought was friendly about that face. The wide mouth held a secret smile, but not a pleasant one. The corner of a tooth showed, caught over the lower lip.
Carefully, silently, one step after another, he tiptoed towards the door. He lifted the latch as quietly as he could and slipped out into the night.
It was still snowing. The cold closed around him like a fist. Wolf fled soft-foot through ankle-deep snow, skidded across the yard, and thudded against the chapel door. Panting and shivering he wrenched it open, squirmed in as soon as the gap was wide enough, and banged it shut.
Safe! The candle-flames bent, streamed, and stood up straight again as the gust from the door died. The calm, stern saints regarded him from the walls.
He flung himself down on the smooth flagstones in front of the altar. With one cheek pressed to the cold stone, the dazzle of the candles filling one eye, he lay and let the silence wash over him. The chill penetrated to his bones. He shivered in spasms. Shivering, relaxing, shivering again, he thought about his sins.
You couldn’t make yourself repent. That was the trap he was in. If it was truly a sin to run away from the abbey, he wasn’t sorry for it. He was glad. And shouldn’t it cut both ways? Brother Thomas certainly wasn’t sorry for the things he’d done.
Wolf decided to be completely honest. He raised his head and said in a loud, firm voice, “Miserere mei, dominus. Lord, have mercy. I’m sorry I stuck a pin in poor Morwenna. I’m sorry I was mean to Nest. But I can’t be sorry for running away from the abbey. It wasn’t my choice to be a monk, Lord. Is that all right?”
He listened. In the spinning, singing silence of the empty chapel, he felt Christ and His angels gravely assenting.
He sat up, filled with relief. Perhaps, after all, he hadn’t done anything terribly bad.
But what about Elfgift?
The answer did not come at once. He waited, his breath coming in small puffs, his fingers freezing, thinking of Hugo’s terrible and desperate quest to bring a dead woman back; and how all his hopes hung on Elfgift. And then he thought of Elfgift —scrambling up and down the ladders, playing hide and seek around the buildings, stalking chickens, teasing cats. He thought of this morning, when Herbert chased her out of the kitchens, and she’d jumped into Wolf’s arms, panting and laughing. She wasn’t really frightened, just pretending — and Herbert was pretending too: he had a soft spot for Elfgift, Wolf was sure.
She trusts us. Not just me and Nest; we’ve taught her to trust people. I wouldn’t hand a dog over to Brother Thomas, let alone Elfgift.
How could he save her? Even if we ran away, there’s nowhere to go…
But there was. The answer slid into his mind like a dagger. I could go back to the abbey.
Wolf scrambled to his feet. He stood still, while the candle flames shimmied, and the saints on the walls peered from the swaying shadows.
Take Elfgift to the abbey? Bury himself in that life of rules and silence?
“I can’t!”
Stay here, then, and see what Brother Thomas does to Elfgift. Your choice.
A sort of fiery calm descended on Wolf. He lifted his head. His shoulders straightened. It had to be done, and he would do it. So be it.
Amen, he said silently. And with a loud squeak and a rattle, the chapel door pushed open, letting in a rush of cold air and a glimpse of bluish, pre-dawn dusk. A stooped old figure hobbled slowly through. The candlelight shone warm gold on a ring of wispy white hair.
“Howell! What are you doing here so early?”
“It is Christmas Day,” said Howell simply.
Christmas Day! Wolf had actually forgotten. Christmas Day! He began to smile back, and the smile twisted, and he found himself almost in tears. Howell patted his shoulder.
“You’ve been keeping vigil, I see?” His old face crinkled in benign approval. “Good boy, good boy.”
Wolf rubbed his eyes. “How’s Hunith? Is she all right?”
Howell was pottering about, snuffing candles and lighting new ones. He looked at Wolf over his shoulder. “There’s kind of you to ask. Yes indeed, she is much better.”
How could Howell look so ordinary, so happy, after everything that had happened? “But Howell, the White Lady!”
Howell’s face clouded. “Poor creature; that was a bad business. But all things are in the hands of the Eternal Creator.” He bowed to the altar. “And after all that fuss, Hunith and I came in here and knelt down quietly together, and we soon saw that poor Sir Thomas was sadly deluded.” He shook his head with a troubled frown. “I am very much afraid he has allowed pride, yes, and even cruelty, to blind the eyes of his soul. We must pray for him, Wolf,” he added earnestly, “indeed we must.”
Poor Sir Thomas? Wolf gazed at Howell in awe.
And suddenly he laughed. He stretched his arms wide, till his muscles cracked. “Merry Christmas, Howell. I’d better go; there’s something I have to do.” He didn’t say what; it wouldn’t be fair.
Old Howell raised his hand. “God bless you, boy, and a merry Christmas!”