Not that I shall find it difficult to quit. My heart beats firm as a hammer on an anvil. I am ready for the morning. It will be easy. Before this, everything was set about with insurmountable difficulties. Anne makes everything possible. We are free. I taste the sea between my teeth.
NOCTURNS
1349
The Feast of Saint Edward the Confessor
THOMAS OF UPCOTE
My old self would have gone to the stable once more to beg them to stay. I would never be so craven again. I was growing crafty. If they wished to scorn me, refute me, humiliate me in front of my flock, so be it. They were engaged in a dangerous game, and I would beat them. To do so I would be a different man, a cunning man.
I went to the house, breath hanging on the air before me. I closed my eyes to the filthy ruin of the bed and instead watched my hands dress me in two pairs of hose, three shirts, my thickest tunic, my cassock, my cloak over all, and my strongest boots, as though for a long journey. The wind mouthed at the window shutters.
My feet were then directed along the road leading west out of the village, with much noisy stamping of my heels, punching of my staff into the dust, and greetings cried to the few souls who peered at me from their windows. I even begged a piece of horse-bread, declaring it was to sustain me. I go to tell Father John of the death of his troublesome woman. I almost giggled at how easily I fooled them into thinking I was starting out for the Staple. As I chewed, the ice of my appetite cracked and I gobbled in earnest.
I climbed the hill towards Heanton until I reached the bend that would take me out of sight of any person watching. Then I stopped. Waited. When I was satisfied that I could hear no pursuing footsteps, I cut across the rough ground, concealing myself behind bushes and trees until I came to a spot from where I could look down at my stable yard.
The two females were standing there, bundled up for a long journey; the Vixen wearing more clothes than I had ever seen her in, her head covered by one of my old caps. I did not understand why she was dressed as a man. It was against Scripture. She pounded the dirt with her feet, slapping her arms about herself. I did not know why she was making such a fuss: I could not feel the cold at all. Anne tipped a draught of ale down her throat and I licked my lips as thirst pricked me.
Men and women stood about, and as I watched, more and more joined the gathering until it seemed the whole village surrounded them. They knelt at the feet of the Maid, presenting offerings: from this distance it looked like money. Thirty pieces of silver, I thought. She nodded thanks and passed them to Anne, who put everything into a sack. Then she raised her hand in blessing, and my stomach griped with disgust at the blasphemy.
Anne’s mouth opened and closed: she was too far for me to hear, but I understood clear enough. A man pointed up the track, nodding his head until the tail of his hood flew about. Others joined in, miming the thumping of my staff, my waddle, my devouring of the bread. Threads of laughter drifted up the hill.
When it seemed they could find no further sport in me, Anne swung the bag onto her shoulder and took the Vixen’s hand, leading her out of the yard. I did not need to observe any longer to guess where they were headed.
I circled the village, keeping my head low. Crisp clouds illuminated a blue sky and the air tightened my breast. A dry winter at the end of a rainy year. This world was topsy-turvy. Knees creaking, I scrambled down an ill-used track on the far side of the hill that would bring me to the foot of the forest. I felt so different, I wondered if my name was still Thomas. I spoke it aloud. ‘Thomas.’ The sound clicked and whistled against the back of my teeth. Perhaps I would take a new name.
I began to count off all the names I knew, beginning with those I remembered from the calendar of the saints, and this took me to the well. Frost ringed the pool, giving it a cloudy fringe of spilled milk. As I stared into the water I heard the sound of approaching feet, and leapt for the cover of the undergrowth, hugging myself small.
There was a bout of coughing and I realised that I had run so swiftly I had arrived ahead of them. They passed by, the Vixen hawking and spitting into the bushes I hid behind. Next, the splash and bubble of a water bag being filled, the murmur of Anne’s voice. Although I could not see her, I could not mistake it. I held my breath. It would not do to be discovered now.
After they had drunk their fill, I heard them shuffle up the path into the trees. I was wary, and trod cautiously between the bushes to each side of the track, glad for the softness underfoot: any cracklings and rustlings were gulped up by the forest.
All trees were stripped, save for a few leaves dangling limp as scraps of flayed hide. There was ivy winding underfoot, the brightness of holly. The wind breathed as softly as did I. It seemed the earth and I were in one accord at last. I marvelled that I had not understood it before. But I did not scourge myself: I was far beyond beatings.
I paused before each wonder: a worm struggling in the leaf-mould, a snail pebbled shut against the frost in the crook of a branch, a tree shelved with broad trenchers of orange fungus, a tiny new sapling. A rook hung out its ragged cry above, and its mate threw back a response. The trunks were licked green with mossy tongues, and I found myself rubbing my hands over their bark.
The beeches gave way to oak, then beech again. The path shrank to a thread between a tangle of browning nettles and elder heavy with shrivelled berries. On a whim I grabbed a handful from the nearest bush and squeezed them until my hand purpled with late juice. I was running my tongue over its sweetness, when without announcement I stood on the muddy lip of a broad pool.
At least, I thought it a pond at first, for it did not purl like moving water. Then I saw a twig carried by on its surface. I was startled at how clear it was; for although it moved, it crawled so sluggishly that it did not stir up any silt. The bed of the stream was rippled like sand at low tide. I could see the branches above reflected below. I gazed at them a long time.
Then I heard breathing. Felt small, light fingers upon the base of my neck. They gave me the tiniest push. I rocked forward onto the balls of my feet; rocked back. I turned round: nothing but trees. The skin on my left palm pricked with the claw of some beast drawn across it. I lifted it to my nose, expecting to see blood drawn, but the liquid there was the juice of berries. My shoulders clamped together and it took all my strength not to run.
When at last I was gathered back into myself, I was afraid that I had lost the trail, and raced forward until I came to a clearing twenty paces across. At its centre stood a charcoal-burner’s stack, tumbled in upon itself. Next to the heap of fallen logs were the figures of Anne and the Vixen. I crouched in the shadows and spied on them through the twigs. The Maid was sniffing at the charcoal. She stretched out her foot and touched the edge of the pile, drawing it back straightway, hopping up and down and muttering ow, ow ow.
Then Anne screamed. She grabbed the Maid’s wrist and hauled her away, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. Not at me, but at some other horror. As soon as they were gone I approached the clearing. The whole pile of charcoal had been consumed into ash, the fire out, but I could still feel heat swelling from the base. I kicked at it and it crumbled into greyness, releasing the sweet perfume of burned timber.
Then I saw what had so frightened Anne: the body of a charcoal-burner, toppled sideways off his stool. The marks of the pestilence were clear: on the side of his rough-shaven skull the scabs were angry and red, creamy at the edges. His lips were rolled back over his teeth; he looked for the world like a man grinning at a jest so merry it made him fall off his seat.
Anne was making such a clamour that it was a simple thing to follow. At last she ceased her row and mindless chatter replaced it. A voice deep within wondered if she had changed her mind and was trying to persuade the Maid to return to the village, but I dismissed it as foolishness. Anne was lost to me. Lost to God.
I found them resting in a space made by a fallen tree. They huddled on the bench of its trunk, Anne leaning against the Vixen and stroking her cheek. The
midday sun was low, the light wet upon the leaves. Something crashed away to the right, setting birds in a scramble for the sky. Anne waved her arms about and screamed. But the Maid laid her hand upon her and she was still. The girl stiffened, nose quivering. Then she loosened, slapping the flat of her hands against her thigh, wheezing delight as she mimed a branch falling. The laughter of the two women curled about the clearing.
When they had finished, they untied the mouth of the sack and drew out apples, meat and bread. Pushed the food into their faces, chewing so noisily the sound carried to where I knelt. My stomach squealed, and I was glad to be many paces distant.
Anne wiped her fingers on her skirt and muttered something to the Vixen, hauling herself to her feet. She strode between the trees, peering into the bushes at my right. Surely I had not been found out. Then she lifted her kirtle, breathed out heavily, and squatted. First I heard the stream of piss, then smelled the warm odour of shit. There was a rustling as she plucked dock leaves with which to wipe herself.
A twig snapped under my shoe. She jerked her head sideways and saw me. For what seemed like hours, we stared at each other. Then, with great leisure, she stood, arranged her skirt, and smiled.
‘I thought you might follow. Leave us be, Thomas.’
‘I can still save you!’ I squeaked. ‘You have been ensnared by the demon!’
‘So, first she was an angel, now she is a demon? I wish you’d make up your mind.’
I heard a voice cry out, ‘Anne?’ My head swung back to the clearing. The Vixen was rising very slowly from her haunches, looking directly at the spot where Anne had gone.
‘Anne? What is happening?’
I held my finger to my lips. ‘Don’t answer. Come with me,’ I whispered. ‘We can go home.’
‘What home?’ she snorted.
‘You are my Anne. My wife.’
I believe I saw her eyes soften for the smallest instant; then she was stone. ‘I do not belong to you, Thomas. I never did. How many times must I say it?’
‘Anne!’ cried the Vixen, louder this time, and I heard the crash of feet through the undergrowth.
But these were the footsteps of no earthly female: rather, I heard the rasping of hellish claws. I grabbed Anne’s hand to take her away and save her from the clutches of this demon, but she struggled, yelling, ‘Help, help, I am here!’ however much I urged her to be quiet. She was so unruly that I had to strike her with my stick. It was done purely to calm her. She paused a moment, gasped, swung sideways and dropped to the ground.
I watched where she lay slumbering peacefully. The side of her head sparkled wetly. I examined the tip of my stave: hair was glued to it. My heart tapped out a polite rhythm in my breast, air ebbed and flowed gently in and out of my nostrils. But oh, how my soul flared. With the blow, God had come back to me.
I marvelled that it had taken so long to see my way back to Him. All the time He had simply wanted me to exercise governance over troublesome females. Nothing about this had been difficult. I had not understood; but now it was done, I felt His grace flood back.
‘Anne!’ came the shriek again, much closer. There was the swishing of a beast trampling through bushes and the Vixen was on me in an instant: tugging my hair, clawing at my eyes. One talon hooked in the corner of my mouth and pulled it into a half-smile; teeth shredded my ear. But its efforts were paltry, like a gnat trying to bring down a bull.
‘Does Satan not try me with a more ferocious adversary?’ I laughed. ‘If that is all you have in your army, then I have nothing to fear.’
I hurled the demon aside, but it was on me again straightaway. It could not hurt me, but it was bothersome. I ploughed through the trees, trying to dislodge it, but it clung to me as tight as a tick on a ram, sucking away my patience. I reached up, grasped its hair and cast it to the ground, knocking the wind out of its lungs.
It squirmed in the dirt, choking. I took the opportunity God had granted, dealt it a blow with my staff and it moved no longer. I took it by the wrist and dragged it through the trees, its toes scraping the dirt. I had work to do and I needed to be out of the shadows.
When I was done, I would return and rouse Anne from her slumber. Perhaps I would dare to wake her with a kiss. I giggled at the playful notion. It was not a pleasant sound, so I reminded myself that priests do not giggle. Was I still a priest? It was difficult to remember. I shook away such complicated thoughts. God’s plan was written clearly in my soul: I would not be turned aside. I looked up; saw sunlight dancing on the tips of the furthest branches. I sang as I entered the clearing.
Thy mercy is great unto the heavens,
Thy truth unto the clouds.
Be Thou exalted, oh God:
Let Thy glory be above all the earth.
When the psalm was done, I looked at the Vixen lying at my feet. Its right arm was twisted oddly. Its eyes cracked open and shone at me, breath harsh between gritted teeth. It was not dead. It did not matter.
‘Hush now,’ I cooed.
For answer, it made a deep gargling and spat at me. ‘You piece of shit,’ it rasped. ‘Will you never shut up?’
It tried to rise, shrieked with the pain of some broken part of itself. I watched the face contort in agony; waited for its breathing to slow down.
‘What have you done to Anne?’ it moaned. ‘She did nothing to you.’
‘Oh, but she did. She took you away. I could not permit that. The Lord gave you to me. You are mine. To do with as He commands.’
It made a noise that may have been merriment; I could not tell. ‘Still the idiot,’ the voice rasped. ‘Mine, mine, mine,’ it whined, in a cruel imitation of my voice. ‘You never had her. You never had me. You have nothing.’
‘Be quiet.’
‘I was hers.’ Her face wrangled into something I realised was a smile.
‘I said, be quiet!’
I shook my fist. It made the throttled sound again and this time I knew it for laughter.
‘Or what? What can you possibly do to me that has not already been done?’
I raised my foot and brought it down on its shoulder. It let out such a cry that the rooks were sent flapping.
‘You see?’ I sneered. ‘I have dominion over you.’
‘You empty little man.’ The fiend drew in a wincing breath. ‘Know this and let it haunt you until you dare stand before God. Anne loved me.’ It grinned, teeth bathed in blood. ‘Me. Under your roof. And I loved her. Hear me? All the love under God’s heaven and none of it for you.’
‘No.’
I clapped my hands over my ears but the words leaked through.
‘Anne!’ it shrieked. ‘If you can hear me, know this! I love you!’
Would it never be done with its babbling? This was the Devil speaking. I lifted my foot and stamped down again, harder, and felt something give. Suddenly the forest was filled with wild squalling. I looked around to discover where the sound might be coming from: October was early to be slaughtering pigs for winter. It was most curious.
The Vixen’s mouth gaped so wide I could see the glistening dangle of flesh at the back. The screech was issuing from there. I slapped my forehead. Of course, how foolish of me. This was the demon fleeing the innocent body of the Maid. But enough of this racket. I would not be steered away from my task. God’s task. I tore away the end of my sleeve and stopped up its mouth.
I needed a blessing to cast out the evil spirit. The Lord placed words on my tongue and I shouted them to the sky, clamped my hand over its lips, pinched its nose between thumb and forefinger and watched its eyes bloom. At last it grew limp. A worm of dark blood crawled from its nostril. After a while, I took my hands away. As the demon left the body of the Maid, so did all the contentiousness. She lay quietly at the heart of the forest, peaceful as the angel I had always known she was. I knelt and offered a prayer of thanks that the Lord had given her back to me. My own bright Maid, at last.
I stripped away the boyish garments, for they were an offence to both God and man. I
unrolled the leather strap from about my waist and bound her wrists to her ankles, as men do with lambs. My fingers were never cleverer. It was as though I had been waiting all my life to do this beautiful thing for the Lord. I was God’s vessel. Do not be afraid, said my soul.
The time had come to anoint her. I had no oil, but spittle would suffice. I licked my thumb, signed a cross on her forehead and suddenly there was a light about her head, just as when she first came to me. As I marvelled, the world fell into a drowse, the forest silent. So, this was the peace at the heart of God. I had sought it for years in my church and had found it here, beneath a vault of trees.
The trees shrank away and I was tossed backwards onto the ground. In my mind, I was lying on my back and looking at the stars. I was standing on the road to the Staple, before I saw the icon. I was welcoming Anne into my house for the first time. I was crouching under the Bishop’s hand at my ordination. I was reeling under the force of my father’s fists. I was chewing my mother’s dugs. I was a seed planted in my mother’s belly. I was in all places at once.
I gazed up at shreds of sky peeping through the branches, and knew myself once again in the forest. I heard the cracking of boughs as though the trees were closing in upon me, arching their vast arms above my head, roots lifted to crush my bones into leaf-mould. Then it occurred to me that this snapping was Anne being dragged through the undergrowth by the Devil, enraged at being cast out from the Maid. I sprang to my feet. If Satan thought he could take Anne away from me and into the hell-mouth, he was mistaken.
‘Give Anne back to me!’ I cried. ‘You can’t have her!’
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