‘If we could just discover the cause, it would be something,’ he said.
Elgiva unlaced her gown and drew it off, laying it with the girdle. ‘I was thinking about that. If food is not the common link among the sick, could it be the water?’
She unfastened her hair and shook it loose. It fell in shining waves across her shoulders as she reached for the comb. Wulfrum propped himself on one elbow, watching. With an effort he dragged his thoughts back to the question.
‘How so?’ he replied. ‘The villagers draw their water from the stream, my men from the well by the hall.’
‘Is it possible your men might have drunk from the stream too?’
‘It’s a thought. I shall question them tomorrow.’
Elgiva nodded. ‘It might be a good idea, my lord.’
She resumed her task, taking her time over it, aware the while of Wulfrum’s gaze. His face gave no clue as to the thoughts behind but the memory of the afternoon was still keen, his parting words in particular: I’ll let you go—for now.
Eventually she could delay no longer and, with reluctance, laid aside the comb. Then she blew out the lamp and joined him, hurriedly drawing the pelts up under her chin. With thumping heart she felt his weight shift and her body tensed. Then she realised he had but stretched out beside her; she could feel his warmth beneath the furs. She swallowed hard, waiting, every nerve alive to him, every fibre of her being keyed to fight. The outcome could be in no doubt, but there would be no tame submission.
For some time she remained thus, straining to catch the least sound or movement that might signal danger, but none came. Wulfrum made no attempt to touch her. She could detect no trace of his earlier behaviour in his manner this evening. It was almost as if the incident had never happened, except that memory would not be denied. Almost she could still feel the searing passion of that embrace and with it resurgent anger. No man, even her betrothed, had ever dared to kiss her like that. Her fingers brushed her lips. Would Aylwin ever have kissed her thus? Somehow she doubted it. That thought led to others that were infinitely more disturbing and with them the mocking echo of another voice: Whom do you fight? Me or yourself?
The two women set out early for the village. Wulfrum watched them leave, noting with some interest that it was Ironfist who carried the heavy basket of potions. His gaze followed them until they were out of sight. Then his mind began to turn over what Elgiva had said earlier about the water supply. He went to find the two Danes who had fallen sick. Both were feverish and stricken with cramps, but had sense enough to be able to answer his questions. After hearing their replies, he went to saddle his horse.
Wulfrum rode slowly, skirting the village, and came to the stream from which the peasants drew their water. There was nothing in the clear flowing depths to indicate aught amiss. He knew it had its source in the hills some miles away and that it joined the river further on. Turning the horse’s head, he rode upstream, as close to the bank as he could, keeping his eyes peeled. He had not gone a league before he saw it, the remains of a dead sheep lodged among boulders on the stream bed. It seemed Elgiva had been right. He dismounted and waded into the water. It wasn’t deep, but it was cold and the rotting carcase was foul. Almost gagging on the stench, he dragged it out on to the bank and then staggered away, retching. It took him several minutes to get his breath; the stink of putrefaction seemed to lodge in his throat. No wonder people were sick. He thought it surprising more of them hadn’t died. Reaching for the reins, he remounted his horse and headed back towards the village.
Elgiva emerged from the peasant hut into the pale sunshine, drawing in a welcome breath of fresh air. Ironfist straightened, pushing his shoulders away from the door frame he had been leaning on.
‘Whither next, lady?’ he enquired.
Elgiva was about to reply, but the words died in her throat as she recognised the approaching rider. Her mind raced to try to discover the reason for his presence. Had he come to drag her back to the hall? Was he angry about something? He didn’t look angry, but that was no guarantee of anything. He reined in before the hut. Just then Osgifu emerged from a neighbouring dwelling and, seeing the others, came over to join them. Wulfrum glanced at her a moment before turning to his wife.
‘It seems you were right, my lady,’ he said.
‘Lord?’
‘The village water supply had become contaminated.’
‘How, my lord?’ asked Osgifu.
‘A dead sheep further upstream. It was truly rotten. ’Tis no wonder so many here fell ill.’
‘You went to check,’ said Elgiva, regarding him with open curiosity.
‘Yes. After what you said, it seemed the logical thing to do. You were right about my men too; they told me that the last time they were in the village they also drank from the stream.’
Osgifu shook her head. ‘Well, I’m blessed! At least we know now. I’ll pass the word that all water is to be drawn fresh and the old discarded.’
Wulfrum dismounted and came to stand by his wife.
‘I think the epidemic is as good as over.’
‘I think so too.’ She paused. ‘Thanks to your timely discovery, lord.’
‘It was you made me think of it,’ he returned.
‘At least no one else will fall sick, though some are in poor enough case.’
‘If anyone can help them, I think it will be you.’
She looked up in surprise, but there was no trace of a smile on his face now.
‘I will do my best.’
‘I know.’
The intensity of his gaze was disconcerting and Elgiva felt her pulse quicken. He extended a hand towards her.
‘Will you return with me now, Elgiva?’
She hesitated and it was Osgifu who spoke. ‘You go, my lady. There is little left to do here. I can finish off. Besides, you look tired.’
Wulfrum seized his opportunity. ‘She is right. You have done everything possible. Come.’
The tone was gentle, but firm. He intended to be obeyed and Elgiva knew it would be pointless to argue. She watched him remount and then nod to Ironfist. With no more effort than if she had been made of thistledown the giant lifted her on to the crupper. Then he looked at Wulfrum.
‘Have no fear, my lord, I’ll see Osgifu safe home.’
Wulfrum nodded and then turned the horse’s head. For a while they rode in silence, he holding his mount to a walk. Having achieved her company, he had no intention of losing it again too soon. Almost he could feel the tension in the figure at his back, though her hands rode but lightly on his waist, just enough to steady herself. If he had been composed of burning coals she could not have touched him with greater caution. Thinking of his earlier suspicions, he was conscious of a twinge of guilt. It had been churlish when, clearly, her desire had only been to help. Mentally he strove to find the right words but, being unused to baring his thoughts to a woman, found they did not come easily.
‘Where did you learn such skill in healing?’ he asked.
‘From my mother while she lived, and then from Osgifu.’
‘They taught you well.’ He paused. Then, ‘I owe you much, Elgiva, and I thank you.’
Caught off balance by the remark, Elgiva stared for a moment at the broad shoulders in front of her. ‘You owe me nothing,’ she replied. ‘These are my people and their welfare is my concern.’
‘They are fortunate then.’
Again she listened for a note of mockery, but heard none. Like his actions this morning, it took her aback. She would not have expected him to take so close an interest in the matter. He could have sent one of his men to investigate the water supply, but he had not. In spite of his earlier opposition, he had listened and acted on her words. It was, she acknowledged, quite an admission and one she could not have envisaged him making even yesterday. Who could have expected so proud a man to unbend so far? It seemed to call for a reciprocal gesture.
‘You did your part too, my lord.’
Wulfrum could detect no irony in her voice and was surprised, being well aware how cutting her tongue could be. And yet perversely the same tongue could disarm him in a moment. It had never occurred to him before that a woman might be an ally, much less a friend. Yet these last few days had shown how valuable a woman’s allegiance might be. A man might achieve much with such a one at his side. The idea was disturbing and welcome at once. Yet how to tell her his thought? Again, such words did not come readily; if he said the wrong thing, the fragile truce would be broken. Worse, she might laugh in his face. If she did, he could hardly blame her, given their brief history together. It was probably better to say nothing.
Elgiva had no clue as to his thought, but sensed a change. The tension between them had lightened, at least for now. Uncertain how it had come about, she was unwilling to do anything to change it and kept her own counsel. Thus they returned home in what she might, under other circumstances, have described as companionable silence.
Over the next few days the condition of many of the villagers improved and Osgifu was sufficiently encouraged to voice the opinion that they had turned a corner. Responding to treatment, their patients began to shake off the ill effects they had suffered. More were able to leave their beds and get about again. The fever left them weaker than before, but they were out of danger at least.