Medieval Brides. Anne Herries
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towards her, white as whey. ‘It’s Philip, my lady. He’s not in his basket!’ She turned to Matty, who was calmly eating an apple. ‘Are you sure you didn’t put him down somewhere?’
Matty lifted her chin. Unlike Gudrun, she didn’t look the least bit worried. ‘I’m not about to forget Philip, Gudrun. I’m not daft. Maybe one of Sir Adam’s men has him?’
Gudrun made an impatient gesture. ‘That’s not likely.’
‘Could be wrong there,’ Matty mumbled through a mouthful of apple. ‘One or two of them seem quite taken with him.’
Careless of her state of undress, Cecily scrambled down the stairs. ‘He can’t be far. Matty, are you positive you didn’t take him over to your mother and leave him there?’
Matty swallowed down some apple and shook her head. ‘Last time I saw him was when he woke to feed in the middle of the night. Gudrun put him back in his basket.’
Cecily eyed Matty’s apple. ‘You didn’t see him in the cookhouse when you went to the storeroom?’
‘Didn’t think to look. Thought he was asleep.’
Cecily’s heart began to beat in heavy strokes. Forcing herself to speak calmly, she wound her shawl about her shoulders. ‘Gudrun, I take it Sir Adam and Sir Richard have already left?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘I’m going to dress. Please fetch Brian—try the armoury, the stables and failing that the practice field. Whatever he’s doing, tell him I need him here at once. We must find Philip. He can’t be far away. In any case, it must almost be time for his next feed.’
Gudrun pressed a hand to her breasts. ‘Past time,’ she said, wincing. Her face tight with worry, she hurried out.
Minutes later, wearing Emma’s blue wool gown and cream veil, Cecily stood frowning by the pillory in the village square. Everyone was looking for Philip, but no one had seen hide nor hair of him since his last feed in the small hours. Where could he be? Or—worse—who could have taken him?
She oversaw Brian’s progress round the village. Harold and Carl were hauled from the stables, knuckling sleep from their eyes. ‘No, sir, we’ve not seen him.’ Father Aelfric and Sigrida were prised out of their cottage. From her standpoint Cecily couldn’t make out their reply, but the priest and his wife shook their heads and looked towards her with puzzled eyes. Brian pounded on the door of the mill—no joy there either. A couple of men were despatched down the road towards the other houses, and she watched them trudge back, shaking their heads.
Brian’s expression was not promising as he returned to her side at the pillory. ‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ he said. ‘No one’s seen him.’
The cookhouse door was closed. Some sixth sense prompted Cecily to ask, ‘Brian, did you speak to Lufu?’
‘Aye, my lady. But she can’t help, either.’ Brian spread his hands. ‘It’s a mystery. Maybe little Philip will cry when he’s hungry, and then we will hear him.’
Nodding, Cecily turned away. Her heart was heavy as lead. Philip had to be somewhere. A baby so young—a newborn who could not even crawl—could hardly get lost on his own. If only Adam had not gone to Winchester that morning—but, no, what was she thinking? Adam must never know the full extent of her concern for Philip…and in this crisis she must remember that, friendly though Brian was, he was Adam’s man, not hers. She must conceal her deep concern from Brian. She could allow herself to appear worried, but not frantic…
But someone must have seen something. ‘Has anyone spoken to Edmund?’
‘Not seen him this morning, my lady.’
‘I thought not.’ Her eyes were drawn back to the cookhouse. Grey smoke was puffing out through the vent in the thatch, blending with a line of dark clouds blowing down from the north. How odd. She had not seen Edmund either. Driven by blind instinct, she picked up her skirts and headed for the cookhouse.
Lufu was on her knees, raking out the bread oven. As Cecily entered she kneeled back on her haunches and wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smearing it with streaks of ash. ‘I told that Brian I’ve not seen Philip,’ Lufu said, jaw jutting.
Cecily said nothing, merely held the girl’s gaze. Lufu knew something about this, she’d swear…
Dropping the ash rake, Lufu got to her feet. ‘I didn’t see him, my lady—honest. Not seen him since yesterday evening.’ She wiped her hands on her skirts and crossed her arms under her bosom.
‘Tell me why I don’t believe you.’
Lufu turned to the workbench, muttering.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘How can I say why you won’t believe me?’ Lufu demanded, swinging round. ‘I’m telling the truth. I haven’t seen that baby since last night!’
‘You may not have seen Philip, but you know where he is.’ Silence. ‘Don’t you?’ More silence. Cecily hauled in a breath. ‘Lufu, this is my brother we are talking about. A tiny baby. One who was born early and who needs all the care he can get.’
Silence.
‘Edmund has him, hasn’t he?’
Lufu put her hand to her brow, drawing another streak of ash across it. She picked up a wooden spoon from the bench; she put it down; she recrossed her arms.
‘Lufu, for pity’s sake!’
‘All right! Edmund has him. But he’s safe, my lady. Edmund wouldn’t hurt your brother. He is the rightful Thane of this place, and that’s what they want.’
They? Cecily shut her eyes. Lufu must mean Judhael and the Saxon resistance. ‘The rightful Thane,’ she muttered, and opened her eyes. ‘I am his sister, Lufu. Thane Edgar’s daughter. What did they think I would do to him?’
Lufu shrugged. ‘He’s got another sister—one who’s loyal.’
Stung, Cecily caught her breath. ‘Emma? Emma’s looking after him?’ Lufu mumbled something that sounded like assent. ‘That’s a mercy, but Philip needs a wet nurse too.’
‘They know that. Don’t worry, my lady. Philip of Fulford will come to no harm.’
‘No harm! My brother is stolen, to be used as a pawn in some power game, and you tell me he’ll come to no harm! Would that I had your confidence.’
Lufu hunched a shoulder.
‘Tell me where they’ve taken him.’
A muscle twitching in her jaw, Lufu fiddled with a knife on the workbench. Praying for patience, Cecily waited.
‘He’ll be fine, my lady. Don’t you fret.’
‘Lufu, for the love of God! Where is he?’
Lufu whirled. Tears gleamed on her lashes, witness to the struggle going on inside her. ‘Up on the Downs. Seven Wells Hill. Near the Old Fort.’
Seven Wells Hill. Cecily let her breath out. She had never been there, though Cenwulf had talked about it. Miles from the nearest dwelling, high on the Downs, Seven Wells Hill was the site of an ancient earthworks which had been a ruin even before the time of the Romans. It was a desolate place, apparently—weatherbeaten and abandoned, home to skylarks and buzzards, but not much else.
‘Philip will be safe enough with your sister.’
‘Judhael is behind this, I take it?’
‘Aye.’
‘Who took him? Edmund?’
‘Aye. What will you do, my lady?’
Cecily thought rapidly. She knew exactly what she was going to do. But she was not about to trust Lufu with that knowledge—not when the girl had stood to one side while her