Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  “What? But they are there—look!”

  “They are but the Corners of the Blanket,” Mary said.

  “’Tis quite evident,” I said, growing angry at her Refusal, “that they are no such things. Do you at least agree that the Picture sheweth the Gypsy Babe?”

  “I do see a Babe,” Mrs Fielding cried. “But, oh, Mr Hart, I am sure ’tis mine own Child.”

  Her Hand flew to her Mouth; stifling a Sob, she pushed roughly past me, and fled from the Room.

  * * *

  I returned to Shirelands Hall via the Oxford Mail forty Houres later. I did not see Mrs Fielding again before my Departure, neither did I have the Opportunity to take my leave in Person of the Brothers. I left my Card. This seemed, and almost certainly was, from me, enough.

  I sent a Message by the willing Hand of the Pot-boy to Captain Simmins, in which I explained the Change that had come upon my Circumstances in result of Dr Hunter’s Dismissal of mine Appeal, and told him that I no longer deemed it fitting that I should remain in London. I concluded the Missive with my warm Affection, and issued an Invitation to Simmins to call upon me at home whenever he should be so able; but altho’ I could not deny that I still felt a great Pull toward that tender Youth, my Repulsion from him was now greater, and I hoped in mine Heart that he would not accept it. The Thought that I had injured him was nearly more than I could bear; but the Idea that I was compleatly powerless to put right this Injury was so far beyond my Endurance that I did not let My Self consider it at all. I told My Self that his Paralysis was certainly trivial in Nature, and undoubtedly temporary in Duration, and that I, now, had more urgent Matters waiting upon mine Attention at home. I had abandoned Katherine; I had betrayed her; and all when she had been in her greatest Need of me.

  And yet, I thought, I have not abandoned her at all, nor would I; and my Fingers found again the folded Corners of Mary Fielding’s Sketch. Mary might have proved herself Peter; I never shall.

  The Oxford Mail was uncomfortable, the Journey long and the Company rude, but I cared naught for any of this. I averted mine Eyes from the Goose throated Woman with the haughty Stare, who was without Question some kind of upper Servant, and I blanketed mine Ears to the Lectures of the Parson seated opposite, who may, for all his seeming Lack of such Qualities, have been an honest and a compassionate Man.

  I looked only upon, and listened only to, mine own Heart, beating within my Chest like a battle-Drum; and it appeared to me that ’twas as dark and hollow as a very Cave.

  I left my Luggage at Oxford, to be sent on or collected later, and for the Sake of Speed purchased a fast grey Mare to ride alone across Country as far as Faringdon, which Town was, as far as I could judge, at the distant Edge of Viviane’s Influence. I planned from there to send a Letter to Shirelands asking for the Coach, and continue thus. Packing only my Money, my Papers, and my surgical Instruments inside the Mare’s saddle Bags, I quitted the City at a brisk Canter along the high Road, which thankfully had not been rendered so boggy by the six Months of constant Rain that it could not be travelled at above a Walk. Thus it was that within an Houre of my first Arrival at Oxford I was among Fields again, the clouded midsummer Sky flickering unbroken over mine Head.

  Arriving after a long Time at Faringdon, I took a Room in the Town’s largest Inn, and after stabling my Mare in the Back settled My Self in the well-lit publick Room to compose my Letter. The Room was quite busy, it being early in the Evening, and I perhaps ought to have taken My Self up the Stairs for this Purpose, but the spitting log Fire drew me close, as the Fire at the Bull had seemingly drawn Nathaniel, and would not let me go; so I sate quiet upon the Chimney-seat, my Paper upon my Knees, and wrote my Newes, whilst about me the country Conversation ebbed and flowed.

  By these Means, I learned that My Sister’s Husband Barnaby continued, in Spite of the sodden Condition of the Chalk and the swollen Nature of the River Coller, to disturb its Course; and that his Actions were no more popular among his immediate Neighbours, and their Tenants, than they were with me. There was a general Apprehension that the faster flowing River being created by Barnaby’s supposed Improvement would do great Damage to the Farmlands that lay opposite it and downstream; and since these had recently been made subject to Inclosure, Livelihoods could be lost. I quickly discovered that the Men working for Barnaby had been drafted in from as far abroad as Wiltshire, with the Exceptions of two who, living upon Grange Land, had no other Landlord to appease, and survived by taking casual Labour. Of one of these, a Man by the Appellation of Matt Harris, I knew nothing, good or ill; the other was Joseph Cox.

  Cox, I discovered, had married that Rebecca Clifton whose moon-faced Bastard was supposed Nathaniel Ravenscroft’s. The Pair did not agree. I heard many Reports of Joe’s excessive Drunkenness, and the rough Music to which Rebecca was often subject. These Newes came as no great Surprize to me, for I had ever thought Cox capable of Evil, but I disliked them none the less for that, and Cox the more.

  I compleated my Letter and, having addresst it to my Wife, gave it to the Landlord of the Inn to have it sent as soon as possible; then, mine Ears ringing with Gossip, I retreated to my small Chamber.

  I sate beside mine open Window, listening to the low Thrum of Insects in the Ivy, as the Sunne set in the western Distance, lost behind the glowering Thunder-clouds, and bethought me that the Morrow’s Scouring of the Horse, and all its associated Revells, must surely be undone.

  As I sate, I became slowly aware that I could hear, thro’ the Window or perhaps only in mine own Head, the Sound of one, lone, distant Drum, beating regular as a Fist upon an heavy Door, a doubled Blow; one-one, one-one, one-one. I put mine Hands to mine Ears, but the Sound was not extinguished. By this, I understood that it must be extant within my Mind; it was an Hallucination of the Kind that had tormented me so many Times before. Yet strangely, perhaps, I was not afraid.

  An hunting Horn sounded; loud, loud, yet far off in the Vale below the Horse. The triumphant Fanfare wound spiralling thro’ mine Hearing like Eden’s Serpent thro’ the apple Tree, like Mistletoe upon the Ash. Forgetting everything I had been thinking about, I leapt to my Feet. The Atmosphere, suddenly thunderous, choked me. I must leave, I thought, at once; and there seemed to me nothing strange at all that I had thought thus. I must away, outside, away, in search of some Location where I might refresh my sore Lungs with an Atom of cold Aire.

  The Light was failing. And yet—and yet—I stared out thro’ the Window. The Sky was leaden grey, darkening to the Southwest above the High Chalk, but the View was oddly clear, and thro’ the softening Veil of evening Light, that rendered everything to mine Eyes diffuse and unsure, I perceived, atop the far distant Ridge, a flittering Line of brilliant Lights, bright and sharp as Stars.

  I caught my Breath. The Gypsies had returned.

  I stared across the Valley. Nathaniel! I thought. At last. And in that blinding Moment, as indeed for some long while afterwards, I thought only of the Possibility that I might see him again, my Friend; alive, present, solid, warm; that I might hear his magpie Laugh, and watch his green Eyes glint and spark like Emeralds in the lanthorn-Light; that I might stand Shoulder to Shoulder with him again, and feel his Hand upon mine Elbow, the Touch of his Skin on mine like Fire on Tinder. I looked across the Vale whither the Owl had flown, and I forgot Viviane. I forgot Leonora, Raw Head, and Bloody Bones. I forgot everything I ought to have remembered, and I knew not that I had forgotten.

  Without pausing, without a Moment’s Thought or an Instant’s Delay, I caught up my saddle Bags and ran as hard and swift as I could to the stable Block, where finding, by some Stroake of Fortune, the Lad still at Work, I had my grey Mare bridled and her Saddle thrust upon her Back. Like a Djinn under a Spell, I vaulted straight upon her and put mine Heels roughly to her Flanks. She leapt forward; and it seemed to me as if she knew, within her own, animal Mind, whither we must go, even tho’ I did not. Her iron Shoes crackled on the granite Flagstones of the Yard.

  I had some unf
ormed Notion of crossing the Valley toward the Ridge Way, that I might intercept, or at least follow, the Gypsies’ Caravan; but when I at length arrived within Sight-line of the High Chalk, the starry Procession had vanished, and I could not make any Guess as to the Direction in which the Gypsies might have gone. I reined in my sweating Mount and surveyed what I could see of the darkening Landscape. In the fast falling Twilight, the Valley of the Horse was becoming by the Second harder to perceive; soon, I realised, with a Stirring of Panick in my deep Bowels, even the Road ahead of me would be compleatly black. Could my Mare still see in such Darkness? I knew that I could not.

  I should turn back, I thought. But I did not do it. Mine Heart was pounding so fiercely against the membranous Wall of my Ribcage that I could not still mine Hands upon the Reins. Mine Ears ached with the Echo of its Drumming. One-one, one-one; neither a Drum, nor a Phantasm, but mine own Heartbeat. And now I was out, out in the blackening Middle of Viviane’s Country, alone and undisguised, defended only by this one beautifull Servant, my grey Mare, of whom I knew so little and who had served me so well.

  I must not dismount, I thought. That is the Answer. Whilst I am out of Contact with the Earth, Viviane cannot harm me. This Notion, which gave me some small Comfort, immediately was followed by another; that in fact my Katherine’s Love might provide me with a Rampart and Protection against Viviane and her Goblins that Viviane, who knew naught of Love, would find it a wearisome Task to break thro’. Whilst Katherine loves me, I thought, I may be safe. This Thought, Conjecture tho’ it was, put great Spirit in my Vitals. I might still, I thought, survive this Night. I might meet with Nathaniel again.

  “Damn you!” I shouted out into the Night. “You will have nothing of me! Nothing!”

  I closed my Knees about my grey Mare’s Sides, sending her forward once more, but this Time more carefully, that she might pick the Way for both of us, into the pressing Darkness underneath the Storm.

  I rode thus onward for Houres, I conceive. I had not any Idea where I was going, but, after some while, I realised that I had come as far as the Crossroads whereupon stood the wayside Inn where Nathaniel had held his farewell Revellries: that Inn of the Bull, where I had first seen Viviane, and had been vilely insulted by the pig-Man, Cox. A weak tallow-Light shone from the paired Lanthorns that hung, supposedly for Illumination, over the oaken Door. On a clear Night, such as it had been upon that May Eve, they were scarcely needed; but in this thickening Blackness they glowed like twin Beacons, promising Sanctuary within to any Human Soule in need of Companionship, and of Light.

  But I knew that I would not discover Nathaniel in any such Place as this; he would be as strange, now, to its Comforts as any other Man must be to those of the Moon. Besides, I thought, the Landlord Haynes will never admit those Vagabonds upon his Premises a second Time. He only admitted them the first because he owed Nathaniel a Favour, and he feared too the sore Consequences should he fail to repay it.

  I presst on. From far off in the southern Distance came a low, throbbing Growl. So I had been right: Thunder.

  It seemed that I must head towards the Ridge Way, and the Chalk Horse, and I turned my Mare along the Road that led thither, by Way of Withy Grange. We had not gone, however, more than seven Paces when she, until then so steady, perceiving some Terrour—a Movement upon the Road, or in the Hedge, or our own Shaddowe falling on the carven Way-Stone—shied, and lost her Footing in the Dark. She stumbled, and went upon her Knees. I, taken by Surprize, and already as tense upon the Saddle as a wooden Doll, lost my Balance and plunged Head first over her left Shoulder. As Fortune fell, along with me, the Ground was soft from the continued Rains, and I got therefore as gentle a Landing as one might wish. But I had fallen off, and lost the Reins besides; and my Mare, affrighted perhaps as much by our suddenly broken Connexion as by the Monster in the Dark, got unsteadily to her Feet and began to sidle away, her Eye wary.

  Shaking, I staggered to my Feet and reached out for her, but she shied from mine Hand and all I managed to do was to grab hold of my saddle Bag. I held on tightly to it and spoke to her gently. At this most unusual Contact, however, my Mare finally panicked. She reared, and I felt the saddle Bag’s leather snap. My Mare let out a ringing Neigh, put her Hindquarters hard to work and set off at a flat Gallop along the Road toward Faringdon, leaving me alone, the torn-off Pannier still in mine Hand and mine Arse planted once more full-square in Viviane’s Earth.

  I called my Mare to come back, but she did not. Shaking, I staggered to my Feet. My Cloathes stuck tight about mine Arms and lower Quarters, and my buckled Shoes—for I had not, in mine Hurry, thought to change them—were heavy with the clinging Mud. I feared that I was surely stuck, and a sitting Duck for any of Viviane’s Hunters, should they recognise me, but a few Seconds’ vigorous Agitation freed me from the Ground’s Embrace, and tho’ my Shoes were ruined, I did not lose either—which, in the Circumstances, I counted a Victory.

  But I was alone, and a fair Distance beyond home, even in Dayelight. Moreover, I was nowhere near to where I imagined the Gypsies might be camped. I turned mine Eyes toward the Inn of the Bull, whose pale Lamps glowered in the Gloom, and the Thought presst in upon me that I ought to seek Succour there, as I had been forced to do once before; but I could not abide the Humiliation of admitting to the Landlord Haynes that I had lost my Seat. Besides, I knew that once I had entered within, I should have abandoned all Hope of encountering Nathaniel. I continued instead to walk toward the South, in Hopes that I might follow the Track on Foot as far as Withy Grange, and there borrow a fresh Mount, if need be.

  Reasoning that the grassy Verge that ran alongside the Road would probably give a firmer Footing to my Tread, I put my saddle Bag under mine arm, and stumbled up out of the Mire. Slowly, it seemed, I approached Withy Grange. I had no Method of judging Time, for the Moon, if it had risen, was utterly invisible behind the Clouds, and I had no Clock about me save mine own, measureless Heartbeat, which pounded on against the dampe, brooding, nocturnal Stillness. Perhaps I had been walking for some Houres, when I trippt upon some indeterminate hidden Thing, and tumbled for the second Time into the Dirt. As I fell, my Shin grazed against whatever it was that had brought me down: some metal Implement, perhaps a broken Scythe, or a Plough-tip, rusty with Age, but sharp enough nonetheless to part the soft Flesh from the Bone. I cried out in Shock and Alarm, and acting automatically, covered mine injured Leg with both mine Hands. At once I understood the Wound to be exceeding unpleasant; mine Hands became wet with my Blood; and as I explored the Scrape with my Fingertips I felt the unmistakable Texture of living Bone exposed beneath them. I had sliced off the outer Skin of my Shinbone from below the Knee to the Ankle.

  Mine Head reeled for an Instant at this Realisation; then mine other Instinct, the Surgeon’s, waked suddenly into Life. With my right Hand I untangled my silk Cravat from my Neck, and crouching in the Darkness, I bound up my Shin as well as I could, and then sate back on mine Haunches as the Wave of Pain crashed in upon me.

  Pain. I could not comprehend wherefore it was so strong. I held my Leg against my Chest and cried aloud, as mine agonised Tears scalded the bone-Line of my Jaw. For some Reason, I know not what, I found My Self thinking of Captain Simmins.

  Even as I do not know how long I walked, neither do I know how long I sate, keening, Blood from my mutilated Leg slowly seeping thro’ my Bandage like a River thro’ wet Silt. But after some while the initial Shock began to subside, and I opened mine Eyes, which I had shut against the Tears that had overwhelmed them, and peered once again into the Darkness.

  It was no longer Uniform. The Clouds had shifted. Thro’ them, to the East, I could discern a faint silvery Halo in the Sky. The Moon had risen. Moreover, some far Distance behind me, flickering like a marsh-Light, was the Glow of a small Lanthorn; and by the excited Drumming of mine Heart I realised that it was not the Light of any ordinary Traveller.

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

  My Voice disapp
eared into the Night. I turned My Self about, and attempted to rise.

  “What dost want with Nathaniel Ravenscroft?” The Voice came, suddenly, seeming in front of me. It was a fluting, pretty Voice, innocent as a little Child’s; and yet something besides: a thin, wheezing Hiss; that of a Creature antient in its Dayes.

  “What?” I whirled mine Head around, but I could see nothing.

  “I asked, what do you want?”

  “I want—” I broke off in a sudden Confusion. “I do not know,” I confesst. “Who are you? Shew yourself.”

  “I am My Self,” the Voice replied. “My Mother gave me one Name, I am called by another. But I am, still, My Own Self.”

  I began to feel a Clenching in my Gut, as I had done that Night when I had met the old Crone in Mary Fielding’s Kitchen. ’Tis one of Viviane’s Creatures, I thought. I could not help but ask, tho’ I dreaded the Answer. “By what Name,” I said, trembling, “are you called?”

  There was a faint Shift in the Pattern of the Night, a quick, flitting Movement, the which I felt, rather than saw. The Creature was direct in front of me. I put out my bloodied Hands, groping midst the pitch Grasses. If it be a Goblin, I thought, I will strangle it.

  “Bat,” replied the little Voice. “I am called Bat.”

  Mine Heart stoppt. “Bat!” I cried. “What? Bat? My Bat?”

  “No,” came the sorrowful Answer. “Not your Bat, Tristan Hart.”

  “You know me?”

  “I do, for your Name was spoke so often in mine Hearing that I never might forget it; and by that I do know you, and might find you anywhere. But I would never use’t against you, for you should have been my Father; and you were kind to me, and would have raised me as your own. Now I have come to help you, ere by your mouse Squeak you call down my Queen-Mother on your foolish Head. She hunts tonight. Dost seek Nathaniel Ravenscroft?”

  “I do,” I answered. “But I have been a long while seeking you, besides; I would have you come home with me, Bat, as my Daughter, whether we be blood-Kin or no.”