Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  After I had been writing thus about an Houre, or little longer, I heard a Noise without my Chamber: a Grunt, obscene and gluttonous, like a Pig in the Mud. Puzzled, and alarmed beyond Measure, I arose, and pulled on my Breeches and Shirt. I took my Cane from behind my Door, and my lighted Candle in mine other Hand, and barefoot, crept from my Bedroom.

  The crude Sound came again; it was close, I realised, but not within the House. ’Tis at the front Door, I thought. And it is not Viviane. I strode thro’ mine ancestral Home, my Mettle quickening.

  My Shaddowe stretched out behind me, long and narrow and unfathomable black; and, as I walked, I gradually sensed, at the Extremity of my Perception, a Mobb of twisted Horrours: Gnomes and small Goblins and Devils, crawling out of the blackest Recesses of the House and making swift Sorties across the Light, to hide themselves within it. I shuddered in Disgust, but this Attempt to frighten me was futile; I continued after the Sound, determined to track down and set about its Maker.

  But as I came into the Hall, the Candlelight flared, suddenly, supernaturally bright. I threw up mine Arms to shield my Face, but in vain; the Brightness was blinding. It penetrated mine Head, mine Heart, my very Bowels, pulsing, drumming upon mine Eyeballs, a purging Brilliance of Pain.

  It was mine Heartbeat, it was Nathaniel’s Snare; it was the Drumming of Hooves underneath the Surface of the Earth.

  After a long Minute, the Agony finally receding, I lowered my crosst Arms from mine Eyes, and looked about me. Raw Head’s Goblin Multitude stood in the Centre of the Hall, jibber-jabbering in the Candlelight. I could see them all, as clear as if it had been Daye. I stared upon them, shocked, amazed. Monsters, they were; green as Toads, red as Liver, black as ditch Water. Many had the Shapes of Pigs erect upon two Legs, with Trotters and bristling Hair. Some had two Heads, like the old Raw-Head-and-Bloody-Bones of Nathaniel’s Jest. I began, out of Revulsion, to back away; but then the Cane kicked sharp against my Palm.

  I am not one who needeth fear the Dark, I thought, suddenly. I am Bloody Bones.

  In that Instant, I finally perceived that Raw Head, Goblin Knight that he was, had made a grave Mistake in sending this foul Army to torment me. I sprang forward, and I slashed as ferociously with my Cane as if’t had been a Sword. Head after grotesque Head fell bloody to the Floor, scarlet upon white and black; until before I comprehended it the Monsters had begun to flee towards the Door, which they passed thro’ as easy as if it had been Aire.

  Unprepared to let the Matter end thus, I chased to the Portal and flung it wide. Starlit Cold flooded the Step. In the blue star-Light I could still determine the twisted Forms of Goblins galloping across the dark Grounds of the Hall. Without even thinking against it for one mere Second, I steppt barefooted onto the Gravel. To my Surprize I suffered no Discomfort. I swiftly crosst it, and ran over the velvet Grass, away from the House. The thrilling Aire stung my Throat. The Sky vibrated. I was not fearfull, no, not I. I was angry.

  Before long I found My Self at the locked iron Gates of Shirelands; and there I stoppt, and wondered at my Battle and fruitless Pursuit, until in my Wondering I had half forgotten both and begun to think I ought to return inside; and then into mine Head there soft began to encroach, upon the very Edge of mine Hearing, a Song:

  “Young Tom he was a country Lad, a country Lad was he.

  He’s gone up into London Town the City for to see.

  With a Whack! Fol al a-diddle, al a-diddle o!

  He’s gone up into old Cheapside, a fair Maid for to meet

  He’s taken her by the lilywhite Hand and given her Kisses sweet.

  She’s ta’en him to her Mother’s House, she’s rung low on the Pin

  They’ve opened up the wide front Door and let young Thomas in.

  With a Whack! Fol al a-diddle, al a-diddle o!

  And they’ve had Beef and they’ve had Wine, and to the Bed they’ve gone

  And Poll says Tom I’ve lost my Muff, and ’twas my only one.

  Young Tom he says I’ll help you Poll, your Treasure for to seek.

  They say ’tis under my Apron, if thou wilt take a Peek.

  With a Whack! Fol al a-diddle, al a-diddle o!

  Fair Polly ’tis too dark below, I can no longer see.

  O Tommy use your pretty Hand, to find my Muff for me.

  So Tom he use his pretty Hand, and find her Muff forsooth

  O Tom your Fingers are too cold, pray warm them in my Muff

  With a Whack! Fol al a-diddle, al a-diddle o!

  So Tom he slips his Hand within, right up unto the Wrist

  Fair Polly ’tis too small inside, I fear ’twill break my Fist

  O Polly why so faint and pale? Why dost thou moan and cry?

  Why do thine Eyes turn in thy Head, thy fair Breast heave and sigh?

  With a Whack! Fol al a-diddle, al a-diddle o!

  I have found out your Precious Muff, I wot you sit astride it.

  I cannot move my Hand at all, it is stuck quite inside it.”

  What? I thought. Both Voice and Song were wondrous familiar; the one as pitch perfect as a Nightingale, the other as filthy as a London Gutter.

  Peering excitedly thro’ the iron Gates, at last I saw, upon the Road beyond, approaching at an easy Pace out of the rising Sunne, Nathaniel Ravenscroft.

  Nathaniel looked, to mine Eyes, exactly as I had seen him appear upon the Daye of his Departure; as if not even one Heartbeat had passed betwixt that Morning and this. His Hair shone silver in the breaking Light, and his smooth Skin was as fair as Buttermilk. Yet his Attire was altered: at his Hip hung a tooled Scabbard, atop which was visible the Hilt of a silver Sword; upon his Back he carried a Bow which I knew somehow to be of finest English Yew, and Arrows of straight elm-Wood. He was cloathed in Frock and Breeches of grass-green Satin, adorned with golden Braid upon the Cuffs and Hems. His Waistcoat, also of green, was decorated with a rare and most intricate Embroidery of white Hounds chasing a snowy Stag. As I stared, and I stared most closely, I realised that the Design was no mere Tapestry; both Hart and Hounds were really running, Hooves and clawed Pads pounding, Limbs weaving in and out, Flanks heaving, Foam flying; yet as neither could draw farther or nearer to the other, both Hunter and Hunted were condamned to Chase eternal, with no Chance of Capture or Escape.

  “Nat!” I shouted. “Nathaniel Ravenscroft!”

  I flung My Self upon the Gate, stretching mine Arms thro’ the wrought-iron Work as far as I could reach, but I did not attempt to open it. Nathaniel came close; I put mine Arms about his Shoulders and bussed his Cheek.

  “So,” said Nathaniel, stepping back and studying me critically all over, like a Magpie appraising a Trinket. “Tristan Hart. How comes it that every Time we have lately met you have been half-dresst and covered with somebody’s Blood?”

  “I have been slaughtering Goblins, Nat,” I told him.

  “Ah,” said Nathaniel slowly, and a curious, catlike Smile began to play about his Lips. “I know you have.”

  “You spoke truly,” I said, excited, “when you told me, that Daye in the High Field, about Faeries, and I thought you madder than I; you spoke true.”

  “Naturally,” Nathaniel said. “What I say is always true, tho’ ’tis not the only Truth. It is no Fault of mine if my Listeners are deaf, or stupid.”

  “Which was I, Nat?”

  “You?” Nathaniel narrowed his Eyes. “You were stubborn, for you both heard and understood, but you would not verily perceive; even and exactly as you are doing right now.”

  “Egad, Nat!” I said. “I have missed you!”

  “You should have come with me,” Nathaniel said.

  I shook mine Head.

  “Don’t try to pretend that you do not regret it,” Nathaniel said.

  “I regret that I lost my dearest Friend. Will not you come back to us, Nat?”

  “I will not, even for the Love I bear you. I have escaped my Shackles, Tris; I will not put them on again.”

  “’Tis no Shackle,” I protested, �
��to live a good Life amongst those who love you. What can those damned Gypsies offer you that we cannot?”

  “Tristan,” Nathaniel said, suddenly catching hold of mine Elbows in a Grip so strong it would not have shamed Saunders Welch, and staring hard into mine Eyes. His Gaze was Firework bright. “Come with me now. Unfasten this Gate, and walk thro’ it.”

  “Oh, Nat! I can’t,” I said.

  “I suppose there is a Mistress.” Nathaniel broke his Stare, and rolled his Eyes toward the Sky. I could not help but smile at his Contempt. “There is inevitably a Mistress. Who is she, Tris? Some Horse-arsed Wench with Dugs like saddle-Panniers and a Cunt like a wool Stocking, out of Shape from daily Use?—or a London poxy-Doxy who hath so skilled her Hand in th’erotick Arts she can no longer unflex all her Fingers? Whoever she is, she doth not deserve you and you should have no Scruple in abandoning her. She will crack your Heart like an Egg over your Head and spear both Testicles upon a toasting Fork; and still she will declare herself unsatisfied.”

  “There is a Woman,” I said. “But she is not at all as you describe.”

  “Women all,” Nathaniel said, “are precisely as I describe, unless they are unnatural Examples of the Species, and the Sex. And all are worthless to you, in the End.”

  “Who says so?”

  “I do; I—along with the sorry Majority of Men upon this stinking, Wench-infested Earth.”

  “I am not one of them,” I said.

  “So,” Nathaniel said, at last, relinquishing his Hold upon mine Arms. “You will not come. Who is the Lady who holds such Sway over your Prick, and your Heart?”

  “I will not give her Name,” I answered.

  “Cunning, Tris! Cunning! Ah! How I miss your Madness—and your exceptional Wit! But—” he sighed, and stepping backwards from the Gate, regarded me with a Look of affectionate Sadness. “Do not forget,” he said, “if ever you have need of me, send Word, and I will put a Girdle round the Globe in forty Minutes.”

  Exclaiming thus, Nathaniel spun about upon his Heel, and, whistling as merrily as a Goldfinch in the Spring, he began strolling Devil-may-care along the Road, his silver-hilted Sword glinting upon his Hip, and his Hair so dazzling white in the dawn Sunne it could have been spun out of bleached Silk.

  “Nat!” I shouted. “Stay! Oh, please, Nathaniel, stay!”

  Hearing my Cry, Nathaniel halted, and turned back to regard me with the same amused, exasperated Pity. “I cannot stay,” he said, addressing me patiently, as if I were an Idiot or a small Child. “And you will not come, so I must go. There are Laws.”

  “I don’t care a Fig for your damned Laws!” I shouted.

  “They are not mine,” Nathaniel said. “I must away, and you—you must wake up, Tris.”

  “Why must you always teaze me? Don’t! I am awake!”

  Nathaniel shook his Head. “So much Study, yet you remain as great a Booby as you were when you were six. Wake up, Tristan Hart.”

  He turned from me again, for the final Time; and as he did so, the yellow Sunne upon his Face seemed to me as if it had given it the Appearance of a bare, white, antient Skull. My Senses began to fail. My Surroundings slippt away from me, like Water.

  CHAPTER FIVE-AND-TWENTY

  I woke to blue Morning. For a Moment, I lay motionless, perplext and confused to have found My Self in Bed, when I had been but Seconds previously in the Grounds. I had not Time to wonder at the Marvell that I had been outside, whither I had not dared set Foot for what seemed to me an Eternity, before the Notion struck me that perchance I had collapsed there, and been brought hither by the Servants, in which case ’twas lucky I had not succumbed to Pneumonia; at which Thought I realised that Katherine had been sleeping in my Chamber, and that if the Servants had brought me within she must have been discovered, and the Game was up. I sate up, casting my Gaze wildly, around me. “Katherine!”

  After perhaps a Second, I perceived her, and my panicked Heartbeat slowed in my Chest. She was sitting upon the window Seat, attired once more in my red dressing Gown, and holding in her Hands an open Book. At my Cry, however, she started up, and letting the Book fall to the Floor, she crosst the Bedroom at a Run, arriving at my Bedside with some Violence. “Tristan, you are awake at last!” she cried, throwing her Arms tight about my Neck.

  I caught hold of her Biceps, before she could throttle me, and made her to let go. “My Darling,” I said. “Let me breathe! What mean you by ‘At last’? It can be no later than seven o’ the Clock.”

  “’Tis nine; but you slept so deep that I was afraid…” her Voice trailed off.

  “I was sleeping? Not gone from the Room?”

  “Not that I know of, Bloody Bones.”

  I rested my Cheek against Katherine’s Hair. The Fragrance of the lavender Water, in which I had washed it, perfumed it yet. I could not credit the Likelihood that I had dreamed my Meeting with Nathaniel—but what else could it have been, if I had never left my Bed?

  Memory took me to Erasmus’ Confession upon the previous Evening: he had told Katherine that I had suffered a nervous Collapse. I thought hard about this, and after a while found My Self wondering at her Loyalty; she had never given up on me in spite of everything, and she had crosst the Country to be at my Side. Had she been frightened, then, when I had seemingly failed to wake? Had she secretly dreaded that I might not?

  “Mine Illness,” I said eventually, “is most unlike to kill me, excepting that I forget to eat and betimes cannot sleep. I do not believe that I have ever done aught truly dangerous, as have some, who have imagined themselves able to walk on Water or to fly thro’ th’Aire. Sometimes I am uncertain in my Senses, and perceive one thing as if it were another; but the Misperception is temporary. When my Senses return, I can see very clearly what is real, and what is nothing but mere Phantasm.” I lifted up mine Head. The Morning was clean and sharp against mine Eyes.

  Perhaps an half-Houre later—I cannot be certain, for perhaps due to the odd Nature of mine Awakening, Time that Morning seemed to me as formless as a Bone in Vinegar—Katherine, who had returned to her Seat in the Window, ventured: “Tristan, I would love to walk in Shirelands’ Grounds. Do you know that I have never properly seen them? When I arrived on Saturdaye it was already dark, and when I came to Dinner the Carriage travelled at such Speed, and Sophy was so provoking, I was able to see almost nothing.”

  I startled at this Request. “But you cannot leave the Room,” I exclaimed.

  “I can’t stay hidden for ever, ’tis impossible; and anyway, I would hate it in the End.”

  “You know well I have no Wish to share you, yet,” I said. “And my Family will try to send you away.”

  “But you will not let them, will you, Bloody Bones?”

  “I cannot walk outside,” I confesst, all on a Sudden overcome by a Panick. My Words tumbled one upon the other.

  “Why?” Katherine asked. “Do you fear the Goblins?”

  “Worse,” I said. “The Goblins are in Pay of the Land, and the Land is what I fear. It knoweth me for a Monster, and hates me accordingly.”

  “Tristan,” Katherine said, circling her Arms about my Chest and looking me direct in mine Eye. “You are no Monster, my dear Sir.”

  “Not to you, perhaps.”

  “Well,” she said, straightening up. “If you can’t go out, then so be it. But I know that the Valley hath no Enmity ’gainst me, and so why might not I walk abroad as I wish?”

  “I fear you may be taken in my Stead.”

  Katherine did not drop her Gaze. “It is my Understanding,” she said at last, with surprizing Authority, “that in such Matters no one can be punished for another’s Misdeed unless all Parties have agreed it.”

  “What? How dost know this?” I exclaimed, astonished.

  “Somebody once told me. They—you know who I mean when I say they—they have Laws. Not Laws of our Kind, that can be broken at will; their Laws are like those by which the Sunne always rises and sets, and doth not turn around halfway; or how falling Ob
jects fall always downwards.”

  “You speak of Natural Laws,” I said, thinking of Newton.

  “Yes; Laws that cannot break. And this is such a Law, just such.”

  “By that Argument,” I said, my Rationality becoming engaged by the Debate, despite mine extream Surprize, “you are safe; never would I let Harm come to you, even to save my Life.”

  The Goblins are gone, I remembered, my Victory coming back to me in a Flash. Gone from Shirelands; whether in Dream or in Body, I have slain them; they mayn’t rise again; and as for Raw Head—well, whoever he is, he is not here. And I thought: If Katherine and I are to marry, then I cannot continue to behave as if I were a mad Man. Erasmus Glass hath made that plain enough.

  “If you wish to walk in the Gardens todaye, we shall,” I forced My Self to say. “I have not dragged you to my grisly Den, that you be never seen again.”

  Immediately had I these Words spoken, I knew in my Gut that I was free. Whatever Enemy brooded against me without Shirelands’ Gates, it could no longer enter unless I agreed it do so. I was free to walk in mine own family Home, to open up my Windows and breathe in the outside Aire; to step out thro’ the great front Door, to tread the Lawns and pass between the high Hedges without Danger, without Fear. I crosst to my Window and on a Whim flung up the Sash. The morning Light danced green and gold upon the Valley of the Horse. Across the Land whispered a soft autumnal Wind, and it carried to me on its Breath the mewing Screech of a far-off Buzzard, high above the many-flowered Chalk. Even if it were unfriendly, I thought, still, ’twas beautifull. Great Joy and great Sorrow, equal in Measure, melted together in my Breast. In my Months-long Terrour of Raw Head, I had forgotten what a Wonder my Valley was, and how deeply I had loved to wander it, with Nathaniel; and the Reminder was like to the Pressure of a Lover’s Fingers on a Bruise.

  I had sorely missed mine Home, for all that I had thought My Self returned to it.

  * * *

  Turning from the Window, I touched with the Toe of my Shoe that Book which Katherine had previously let fall on the bedroom Floor. I picked it up. To my Surprize, however, I saw that it was not mine at all, but had come from my Father’s Library. I dimly recalled that I had carried it hither. But when, and wherefore? I knew the Title; I possesst mine own Copy, locked behind the glass Door of my study Bookcase. It was the Poetry of Donne.