‘’Tis stories her grandfather told,’ the Seeress explained. ‘Each word falls perfect from her tongue . . . once started. Take her back, sit her down comfortably with food and drink, and ask her to “tell of the ancient time, when good King Arthur ruled this land.”’
‘And she will tell it?’
‘Oh yes. Her voice will grow strong with her memory.’
So, reluctantly, Marian and Snap guided Sarah back through the woods. Marian doubted still, as Sarah muttered nonsense most of the way. But the Seeress had spoken true. For late the next evening, when the fires were burning low and all had feasted well, they sat Sarah down by the fireside.
‘Can you tell us about good King Arthur?’ Mother Veronica spoke gently to her.
For a moment Sarah stared blankly. ‘That is not how it must begin.’
‘Then tell us, dear Sarah. How should it begin?’
‘Merlin . . . it begins with Merlin,’ Sarah spoke indignantly. ‘Merlin was the greatest magician in the land . . . ’ Her voice grew in strength. ‘And it was Merlin who raised the young Arthur, in his secret cave.’
There were gasps of wonder and surprise, then they settled to listen. Sarah held them enthralled. Her stories told them of a time long gone, a time when hopes of justice had prevailed.
Sarah’s stories were remembered and retold around the hearths long after the Christmas celebrations were done.
January was the harshest month. The forest clearings were thick with snow. There was nothing to do but shiver by the fires and eke out the food. Still Marian tramped and slithered through the forest tracks, wrapped in her green cloak, to carry food and beg the Seeress to leave her frozen cell. She begged in vain.
Though early February brought a thaw, it was then that the greatest hardship began. They came trudging and slipping through thick muddy tracks . . . whole families of them, the folk who sheltered in the forest, desperate for food. They set up camp in the clearing of the Forestwife, huddled beneath thin hides, or in the shelter of the yew trees. Crying babies, hollow-cheeked children and despairing mothers, begging for nourishment.
Agnes took it calmly for a while. She had prepared for this and hoarded her stocks. Marian was shaken as the numbers grew, and spoke of visiting the nuns to ask their help.
The chickens were slaughtered one by one, leaving only the cockerel and two skinny hens that must be guarded for safety. Then Agnes insisted that one of the goats that had ceased to give milk was killed. Marian found that hard, for goats and people must huddle beneath the same roof for warmth, and the poor ailing beast had curled on Marian’s feet each night. She worked her fingers raw chopping up holly leaves, in hopes of feeding the remaining pair. Agnes insisted there was goodness in the spiky leaves, if they could but be chopped fine enough.
The numbers of the hungry grew and the stocks of peas and beans dwindled, till Agnes turned fearful. There were but two sacks of meal and barley left.
‘Was it like this in Selina’s day?’ Marian asked.
Agnes sighed. ‘’Twas bad, but ne’er as bad as this. I swear this is Richard’s doing. He drained the manor lords of funds for his fighting crusades. Now the lords drain their villains and serfs, and refuse to feed any extra mouths.’
‘We shall go to the Sisters and beg their help,’ said Marian.
So Philippa and Emma went with her, and they took Tom and a few of the strongest older children, hoping they’d be able to carry back sacks of grain.
The forest tracks were foul with slush and mud, and the going was difficult. Their despair was absolute when they reached the Magdalen Assart. The Sisters were surrounded by more hungry folk.
‘I should have held back from the Christmas feast,’ Mother Veronica cried. It was strange to see how lean she’d grown, and even Brother James gaunt-cheeked. It was clear they’d both denied themselves.
‘There is but one way left to us,’ Philippa said.
Marian looked at her. ‘What?’
‘A deer stalk. Sherwood is full of them.’
Marian shivered. ‘The King’s deer? Break the forest laws?’
Philippa shrugged her shoulders. ‘What else?’
They all stood silent, frightened by the thought. Then Mother Veronica spoke in her firm, decided way.
‘We have no choice. We have good knives that we brought with us, and Sister Catherine has twine to make us nets.’
Marian gasped. ‘We will do it. You Sisters should not come. It is a hanging offence.’
Mother Veronica laughed and hugged her. ‘Why, when I might burn for heresy, should I fear to hang?’
It was early next morning that they set off, for with the thick mud they must walk through it would take them the best part of a day to reach Sherwood. They hoped to make their kill at dusk, and carry their quarry home secretly through the darkness.
Mother Veronica and strong Sister Rosamund went with them, leaving the other nuns to manage as best they could. Tom went, for a fast runner would be needed. Brother James would not be left behind, though he would not risk Snap in Sherwood again, and left him in Sister Catherine’s care.
‘What we really need is a fine archer like Agnes’s lad,’ said Philippa.
Marian frowned.
‘Can we really get a deer with knives and nets?’ Emma asked.
Philippa nodded. ‘We can, if we are not fussy which we take. There is always some poor beast that’s lamed or wounded, or sick.’
‘Must we look for that?’
‘The meat will taste as sweet. We do not hunt for sport.’
14
Those Who Break the Forest Law
THE LIGHT WAS failing as they crossed the ancient road made by the Romans, and found their way into the Royal Hunting Forest of Sherwood. With thundering hearts they strode onwards through the stark woodland of leaflorn oaks, that gave little cover. Though there was no immediate sighting of deer, it was clear enough to see they’d passed that way by the fresh hoof marks in the mud and trees stripped of green bark.
Tom was sent ahead. At last he came haring back, waving his arms wildly.
‘I’ve seen ’em. Hundreds of ’em, drinking at a stream, down beyond the rocks.’
Marian grabbed the handle of her knife and caught up her skirt to follow him.
‘Nay,’ Philippa hissed. ‘We must use stealth, and we must stay upwind.’
They gathered together, whispering and making their plans, then, quietly and carefully, they crept up onto the rocks, stretching their necks to see the deer. At least there was more shelter down by the river, with shady yews and holly trees.
The fallow deer were a fine sight indeed. The vast herd drank and moved in rushes and flurries, so that they joined together as a great swirling mass. It was hard to pick out one poor beast for their victim.
Sister Rosamund pointed and gestured towards the stream. They all screwed up their eyes and tried to follow her directions.
‘There,’ Tom whispered to Marian. ‘Can tha see it? A young stag, with antlers half grown . . . yes, see there, he limps. I think he’s been gashed on the shoulder.’
Marian saw the beast at last. Then Philippa was pointing, not at the deer but at a place beyond the stream where two great yew trees stood, then further on towards a rocky outcrop that curved around to form a bowl.
‘We must chase him towards those rocks, and trap him there.’
What she meant was clear enough. There amongst the rocks they might make their kill.
Rosamund and Mother Veronica nodded. They all got to their feet carefully. The two nuns carried one net between them, and Emma and Philippa another. Marian drew her knife, Brother James clutched the strong ash stave that he’d sharpened at one end.
They crept towards the beasts, slowly at first, but when the first scent of panic hit the deer, they had to run. Tom hurtled fast and furious towards the nervous, startled beasts, his arms stretched wide. Suddenly their intended victim was lost amongst the many. ‘Where is it?’
‘’Tis gone! �
�Tis lost!’
‘There,’ shouted Tom, ‘there he goes.’
They saw him again, but wounded or not, the stag had plenty of fight and energy. Twice he broke through the half circle that they tried to form, but such was his fright that he turned and ran towards the rocks.
Tom cheered, and the two nuns ran at the deer, managing to tangle his antlers in their net, but he tore it from their hands. Though his antlers were but half grown, he managed to wrench Mother Veronica’s arm so sharply as he twisted, that she could not help but cry out. Brother James dropped his ash stave and ran to her.
Again the wild-eyed stag dodged Tom’s waving arms, dragging the net behind him. Then once again he headed straight back into the circling rocks. Marian followed fast behind, gripping her knife tightly, but suddenly a huge figure rose up growling from behind the rocks, and the whistle of an arrow sang past her ear and landed with a great thwang in the deer’s neck.
Marian turned her head, stunned by the shock of the arrow. She was puzzled and dazed by the suddenness with which the shaft had sung through the air. She could not clearly understand what had happened, but outrage and anger burnt through the surprise. All she could see was that someone else was claiming their deer . . . snatching it from under their very noses.
The hungry children of Barnsdale flashed before her eyes. The deer was theirs and no other had the right to claim it. She was the nearest . . . she must be the one to make the kill and claim it for the Forestwife.
The wounded beast staggered towards her. It dropped to its haunches, trembling and bellowing through its open mouth, its eyes rolling wildly. Yet still it struggled to get up. The fine dappled hairs on its hide smelt of musk and fear. Marian gripped her knife, eyes blind to all else around her. She calmly knelt down and cut its throat.
‘Nay,’ a man’s voice cried out in rage. ‘No blood!’
Marian staggered backwards. Warm blood spurted out across her arms and face. The deer fell dead at her feet.
Marian stared stupidly up at the big man who’d shouted at her, faintly recognising him. There was a distant thud as another man dropped out of the yew tree. Then Philippa shouted and ran towards him. It was Robert; he carried a bow on his shoulder. The big man standing on the rocks was John.
As Robert bent to look at the deer, Marian shouted crazily up at him, ‘’Tis ours . . . ’tis for the children!’
‘Fool!’
Robert spat it out. But then he stared at her in silence, shaken at what he saw.
She crouched in the forest mud, her face white with anger, though splashed with blood. More blood ran down from her wrist and the hand that still gripped the knife. Her hair was wild and tangled, her long skirt hitched up almost to her knees, showing worn riding-boots, bare legs white and trembling and spattered with more blood.
He turned to look round at the others. Two dishevelled nuns clutched knives, unsure who these intruders might be. A grizzled monk crouched before them, his staff at the ready. Tom and Philippa looked defiantly at him.
‘As you see,’ said Philippa. ‘We will fight to claim our kill.’
Robert turned to John and spoke quietly. ‘Look at the state of them! This deer is theirs!’
John nodded his head, and pointed at Marian.
‘“No blood,” I told her. “No blood to taint the ground and prove us guilty.”’
Marian blinked at Robert uncertainly. ‘You agree then, this deer is ours?’
‘Aye. ’Tis yours.’
From far away there came the faint sound of a hunting horn. Robert glanced at John.
‘’Twas Muchlyn giving warning, I think.’
‘Aye. There’s foresters on the prowl, we must go.’
Robert kicked the deer’s hindquarters. ‘Tha must move this beast fast.’
Marian stared at him, still dazed, though her heart thudded. The two lads turned to go, and Sister Rosamund pulled a ball of twine from her pocket. ‘Lash the legs together,’ she said.
John leapt up onto the rocks, ready to run in the direction they’d come from, but then he turned to watch their efforts to tie up the deer.
‘They’ll be caught,’ he said.
Robert hesitated, ready to spring up and join him.
‘Aye. Caught for sure. A sled might help . . . do you think?’
‘Aye.’ John leapt back down, and ran to the lowest branches of the nearest oak. He worked a strong, straight branch back and forth, then suddenly broke it from the tree. He threw it to Robert and set about another branch.
‘Here,’ Robert shouted to Sister Rosamund. ‘Fetch that twine, and fasten it tight round here.’
She hurried to follow his instructions. Within a very short time a rough sled had been lashed together, and the deer lifted onto it. Robert swung his cloak from his back and laid it over the deer. The antlers and head stuck out.
He turned to look round at the women and pointed to Marian’s green cloak. She did not stop to answer, but tore it from her shoulders, covering the beast’s horns, tucking it neatly all about.
Robert pointed to the pool of blood, where the deer had fallen.
‘Cover it,’ he said. ‘Leaves, earth, anything.’
Tom ran to do it, scooping up armfuls of rotting oak leaves.
John bent and touched Emma gently on the arm.
‘You must ride,’ he said. ‘Sit thee down on there.’
Emma hesitated, but Philippa pushed her into place on the sled, on top of the warm deer carcass.
‘Yes . . . he’s right,’ she encouraged. ‘Cover it with tha skirt.’
Robert caught Marian roughly by the arm.
‘Go wash in the stream, quick! Shift that blood!’
She obeyed without a word, though she could not stop shaking.
John lifted the makeshift yoke of oak over his shoulders, ready to drag the burden, and before long they were off, moving quickly through the thickening darkness.
‘This way,’ Robert pointed, kicking earth over the first deep sled marks in the mud.
‘’Tis not the way we came,’ said Marian.
‘Nay, but it will lead us away from the foresters’ paths.’
Again the sound of a hunting horn in the distance made them run. John led the way and the others followed. Marian and Robert came last, with many an anxious backwards glance.
It was all the more shocking when a sharp animal cry and sudden metal clang came from the far bushes in front of them.
Marian caught her breath.
‘’Naught but a hare?’ She turned to Robert for reassurance.
He stopped. Though she could not see his face clearly in the darkness, still she sensed his disquiet.
He spoke softly. ‘’Twas the clang of a mantrap, I fear.’
John and the others were well ahead now, and it was clear that they’d not heard the cry.
‘A mantrap you say?’ Marian darted off towards the dark undergrowth from which the sound had seemed to come.
‘Nay!’ Robert grabbed her arm again. ‘There may be more. They set them up in twos and threes.’
‘I must be sure ’tis an animal and not . . . ’
‘Aye, come then. A step at a time, and careful like.’
Deep in the bushes a dark shadow moved and groaned, hunched upright over the cruel iron jaws of the mantrap.
Robert crouched beside the dark shape.
Marian put out her hand to touch the familiar head and shoulders. Her belly lurched with horror.
‘’Tis Tom,’ she whispered.
Robert bent over the wicked iron trap. He pressed gently, so that Tom moaned. The sharp metal teeth of the trap had cut into his thigh.
‘He’s bleeding fast. But the trap is not quite closed. ’Tis a strong stave of wood that’s holding it apart. Why, look! The lad still clasps it in his hand.’
Marian peered into the darkness. ‘I swear ’tis Brother James’s staff,’ she cried. ‘’Twas meant for killing deer, though Tom has found a better use for it,’ she gabbled on, almost lau
ghing with relief. Then suddenly the danger of it all came back to her. ‘We must get him out of it.’
‘Nay . . . we cannot. ’Twould take four strong men to open it.’
‘Then run and fetch them back.’
Robert put his lips close to her face.
‘’Twill risk us all. Is that what you want?’
Marian leant against the cold, rusting iron of the trap. She wrapped her arms about Tom’s shoulders and stroked his clammy head.
‘’Tis the best lad in Barnsdale, and I’ll not leave him.’
Robert cursed, but he turned and ran ahead.
The trap was awkward to open, and it took the full strength of John, Robert, Brother James, Philippa and Sister Rosamund to lever it apart. Though Tom was nearly senseless with the fright and pain, he groaned as they worked to set him free. They used their knives and John’s oak staff, and at last the cruel trap creaked open. Tom slumped backwards into Marian’s arms.
The sound of the hunting horn came again.
‘We must go now – and fast,’ Robert whispered urgently.
‘This leg must be bound up, or he’ll die from all the bleeding,’ Mother Veronica spoke firmly.
Marian cut a strip from the hem of her kirtle, and set to binding up the wound as best she could in the darkness.
‘I fear the bone is smashed,’ she said through gritted teeth, her hands shaking wildly now.
‘No time to tell,’ Philippa cried, as they heard the sound of hooves in the distance.
Tom was placed hurriedly onto the sled, and cloaks thrown over him. John once again set his shoulders to drag the burden, while Philippa and Marian snatched up the ropes that they’d used to lash the sled together. They ran on either side, heaving on the ropes, helping to speed their precious load over the rough and muddy ground.
It was clear that Robert and John knew the forest well, and soon they were leaving Sherwood behind them. It was difficult going, moving with such urgency through the dark.
John plodded steadily onwards, patiently dragging the heavy sled like a great ox. Robert walked beside Marian in awkward silence, though once he caught her arm with clumsy courtesy when she tripped over a rock, and blundered into him. Later, when they left the shelter of the trees, he asked if she was cold without her cloak.
The Forest Wife Page 10