The Enchanter's Forest

by Alys Clare

  She too had felt the deep, searing pain of their separation; he knew that as well as he knew himself. They had both tentatively explored the ways and means by which they might contrive a life together but in each case the same stumbling block cropped up: she was a woman of the forest, only just starting to come into the power that was both her and her daughter’s destiny, and her home was the wildwood. She had no desire to live among the Outworlders – she had experienced enough of that life to last the rest of her days – and even her love for him did not tempt her to try. He, for his part, knew that life out in the little hut in the clearing was not for him. I am, he had decided ruefully, too used to my comforts and to the security of four stout stone walls around me when I lay my head down at night. And as for all that magic stuff . . .

  She would not marry him; he had asked her and, lovingly, tears in her eyes, she had gently turned him down. ‘The answer, my beloved Josse, is the same as it was the first time you asked me.’

  The best that they had managed to come up with – and even that, bearing in mind how very great was their sorrow, was not that good and brought little consolation – was that both of them would return to their usual lives and that he would visit her regularly just after the days of the solstices and the equinoxes (he had had to ask her when they fell). She would usually be at home then, she had said, recovering her strength after the ceremonies.

  He did not want to know about those, which was just as well since she didn’t tell him.

  It was July now, less than a month past the summer solstice, and the next quarter day was not until late September.

  How, he howled inside his head, am I to manage?

  He rode on determinedly towards the site of Merlin’s Tomb. It was good to have something to do and, as he drew close, he actually felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of having a closer look at the ancient bones.

  There was no sign of the guards and the gate in the outer rail fence was still chained shut. Josse tethered Horace to the top rail, climbed the fence and walked on. The gate in the second, higher fence was closed but the chain had not been refastened. He pushed the gate open and slowly walked across the turf to the open grave.

  Again, some force emanating from the huge bones seemed to reach out for him. But this time he had come prepared. Not allowing the fear to take hold, he strode on to the very edge of the gaping wound in the earth and, standing on the grave’s lip, said softly, ‘Lady, I do not know who you are but I have good news. This place is now closed and I give you my word that I shall do my utmost to find out where it was that you were brought from so that I may return you to your rightful place.’

  He paused, listening intently.

  Other than the sweet, treble song of a wren somewhere in the undergrowth, silence. Except . . .

  Except what?

  Straining his ears, it seemed to him for a brief instant that he could hear the sound of long, regular breathing. And a – what was it? A sort of pulse, slow and steady, as if the very heart of the earth could be heard beating.

  He sank to his knees. He was tense and expectant, every sense alert. But, he realised in wonder, he was no longer afraid.

  He edged forward so that he was looking down on the bones. They really were enormous and, were it not for the high esteem in which he held the infirmarer, he would have doubted her firm assurance that this skeleton belonged to a woman. If it was indeed a woman, he thought suddenly, then it was somehow even more of an outrage that her bones lay there exposed for all to see. He tried to think what he had with him with which to cover her, and recalled that he still carried his travelling blanket, rolled up and tied to the back of his saddle.

  Running back to Horace, peacefully grazing by the outer fence, swiftly he unfastened the blanket and returned to the grave. Then, kneeling down again, he attacked the problem of how best to tuck it around the bones. The steep sides of the grave had been faced with stone at their lower levels – something he had not noticed before – and he now saw how skilfully the job had been done: the stone sides met the slab that formed the base at exact angles and the fit was so tight that very little earth seemed to have penetrated the pit. The dark metal plaque on the far side of the grave, with its false claim that these were the bones of Merlin the Enchanter, was propped up by a rough chunk of sandstone.

  Sandstone, and it was unworked. Yet the lining and the base of the tomb were surely granite, beautifully shaped with loving care.

  Something began to stir at the back of Josse’s mind.

  He leaned down into the grave. Half expecting a smell, he detected nothing but a slight earthy tang, by no means unpleasant. Laying the blanket within reach on the graveside, he edged his upper body down over the lip of the tomb and, eyes alert, looked very carefully all around the bones, trying to see if anything lay beneath them.

  With his head right down in the grave, he soon found what he was searching for.

  There was virtually nothing left of the leather bag except for its top, where the leather was doubled over to hold the drawstrings. But its contents had proved more durable and now they lay in a tidy little group beneath the skeleton’s right hip.

  Unable to tear his fascinated eyes away, Josse silently enumerated them.

  There was the clawed foot of some bird of prey: probably a kestrel, he thought. Next to this lay a knife made out of some metal that, during its long immersion in the ground, had acquired a greenish sheen; its handle was of bone and carved into the shape of a dragon. There was also a razor with a handle of stone, two small shells and a set of matching stones which, when Josse reached down and picked up a couple, had strange designs carved into them. There was also a collection of small animal bones and a large amber bead.

  He pulled himself back out of the tomb and knelt on the grass. Then, making himself act before the enchantment took over and he could no longer make such decisions for himself, he reached for his blanket and, with all the tender care of a father tucking up his child for the night, laid it across the skeleton and fixed it as well as he could so that every part, except for the ankles and the feet, was now hidden from view.

  The strange force that had filled the clearing seemed to fade a little, as if the respectful gesture had somehow diminished its potent anger.

  And Josse, sweating and gasping, collapsed on the grass.

  He lay there for some time, listening to the natural and very welcome sounds of the forest reassert themselves. The birds sang, a light breeze rustled the leaves and from somewhere near at hand he thought he heard water running.

  He closed his eyes and some of the various anxieties that he had been carrying seemed to seep out of him, leaving him relaxed and drowsy. It was almost as if a soft voice was murmuring in his ear, saying Sleep, sleep . . .

  He slept.

  He was suddenly wide awake, disturbed by some faint sound that echoed through his head but that he could not identify. It had seemed to his dreaming mind that somebody had called his name, but that couldn’t be right.

  But then he heard it again. Josse.

  And, sitting bolt upright so fast that his head swam, he found himself staring up at the Domina.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice sounded cold.

  ‘I came to tell her that it’s over. The tomb is closed and I was going to try to find out where he found her – where her true resting place had been – so that I could return her there.’ He met the Domina’s secretive eyes. I have nothing to be either ashamed or afraid of, he told himself firmly. Standing up – he felt at even more of a disadvantage crouched at her feet – he added, ‘Only I now think I was wrong.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About thinking that Florian found the bones elsewhere and moved them here.’ He paused, watching her closely. ‘This woman has been here all along. Hasn’t she?’

  There was a long pause, and then very slowly the Domina nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who was she?’ he asked eagerly. ‘How—’

  But the Domina did not ap
pear to hear, or, if she had, she chose to ignore his question. ‘The man Florian did indeed discover her grave,’ she said. ‘He came into the forest around the time of the spring equinox and he was in great distress, so severe that it was in his mind to make an end of his life and hang himself from one of the oak trees. He had been searching for buried treasure, having heard a rumour that coins had been found deep within the forest. He came across this clearing and noticed the hollow in its centre. He began to dig and instead of finding treasure, he found bones.’ She looked away, into the tomb. ‘A rib bone was detached and had been brought up near to the surface by some burrowing rodent. It was the end of this rib that Florian first found. Excited, for where there were bones there might also be valuable grave goods, he dug and he dug and he went on digging until he discovered that a whole skeleton lay buried here.’

  She sighed, sadly shaking her head.

  ‘And Florian’s instant thought,’ Josse said slowly, ‘was how he could turn his discovery to his own advantage. In his desperate need for money, he came up with the idea of pretending that they were Merlin’s bones – no doubt he, like everyone else, had heard about what the Glastonbury monks have done. Florian realised he could not claim that he had discovered the bones of King Arthur or his queen, since it’s said they lie at Glastonbury, and so he settled on Merlin.’ He shook his head. ‘Who would have ever dreamed that this skeleton is that of a woman?’

  ‘Your nun did,’ the Domina observed drily.

  ‘Aye, but then Sister Euphemia is vastly experienced in matters of the human body.’ A thought occurred to him and he voiced it. ‘You seem to know a lot about Florian’s discovery of the tomb. Why, if you were aware of him and what he was doing here, did you not stop him?’

  ‘Some of my people asked the same question,’ she replied. ‘Incensed as we all were by this sacrilegious intrusion into somewhere so close to our own sacred places, many of our young men wished to attack Florian and protect the site from further despoliation.’

  ‘He is dead,’ Josse said quietly.

  ‘I know. We are not responsible for his death.’

  ‘No, no. I didn’t think you were. He—’ But he realised that the Domina was not listening; the doings of Outworlders, he thought, had very little interest for her unless they conflicted with the lives of her people.

  He went back over what she had just been saying; there had been something there, something he wanted to ask her about . . . Yes. That was it.

  ‘Lady, you said that this clearing is close to one of your sacred places.’

  ‘The entire forest is sacred.’

  ‘Oh.’ The vague idea that he had been forming drifted apart. ‘Then – she – the woman in the grave – she is not one of the forest people?’

  The Domina’s eyes flashed to his and she said, ‘No. She was here in an age before we inhabited these woods.’

  There was only one question to ask. He whispered, ‘Who is she?’

  Again, the Domina appeared to consider her words before she spoke. Then she said, ‘She belonged to a people known as the Long Men, for they were a race of uncommon height and strength. Their territory was between the Downs and the forest and they guarded their precious valley fiercely. They were seers, magicians, and, although their numbers dwindled in the great fight against the invader from the south, enough of them survived to return to some sort of prominence after the incomers had gone. The Long Men enjoyed a brief resurgence and some of their number were appointed seeresses and cunning men of the ancient kings of Sussex. They were admired and feared, and with good reason for, in the long years of their presence here, their powers that stemmed from the very Earth had grown and extended.’

  ‘Where are they now?’ Josse asked, his voice an awed whisper.

  The Domina glanced at him. ‘Their blood still flows in the veins of their descendants, but in the later years they were few in number and driven to choose mates from outside the tribe.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘Some men whose antecedents were from this area still stand out by their height.’

  ‘A race of giants,’ he said slowly. ‘I always thought giants were only in the tales told to children by the fireside.’

  ‘Do not dismiss such tales,’ the Domina said, ‘for at their roots there is always a grain of truth.’

  He was shaking his head. ‘They lived between the Downs and the forest,’ he said, thinking back over what she had said, ‘and so this – this place that you said was sacred – marked the northern limit of their land.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was that why she lies buried here? Because she was one of their most powerful ones and she guards the frontier of the area that her people claimed as their own?’

  ‘It was their own. They had lived here since the dawn of time.’

  ‘Aye. But I’m right, aren’t I?’

  The Domina risked another smile and he thought he detected a flash of approval in it. ‘Yes, Josse. You are.’

  His mind racing now, he went on, ‘And on the Downs is there another such burial – perhaps of a man – that guards the southern border?’

  ‘Yes, there is. But that one is more easily found, although very few people nowadays know that the marker that indicates the place stands above a man’s body.’

  He knew all at once to what she referred, for he had seen it with his own eyes and stared at it in wonder. ‘You speak of the chalk giant,’ he said.

  ‘I do. The Long Man, do folk not call him?’

  And, with a laugh of delight, Josse said, ‘Aye, they do.’

  He looked down at the huge skeleton. I know who you are and why I felt such power from you, he addressed her silently. And I know too now that I need not take you anywhere because here is where you are meant to be and where you will stay. ‘Shall I fill in the grave?’ he asked the Domina.

  ‘There is no need,’ she replied – rather swiftly, he thought, as if she wanted to make quite sure he did not suddenly start doing so.

  ‘But we can’t leave the bones lying there with only my old blanket to frustrate prying eyes!’

  She made a pacifying gesture with her graceful hands. ‘Others will perform the task, with the appropriate rituals.’

  ‘People of your tribe?’

  She hesitated. ‘No, Josse. My people will not interfere, for the same reason that we prevented our own men from taking action to defend this place and this grave when first Florian intruded here. Those who will perform the necessary rite are her people.’

  He baulked at accepting what he believed the Domina meant. Was she saying that there were still people of this long-dead woman’s race who would appear out of the shadows and, praying and chanting, replace the earth over her? But no, that couldn’t be right. Could it?

  He stared at the Domina. With a moment’s compassion softening her face, she said, ‘You and Joanna almost lost your lives in the forest in Armorica.’

  So Joanna had told her. Unless, of course, the Domina had used her mysterious gifts and seen what had happened with her own inner eye. ‘Aye. It was an attack in the night and it was only because she – Joanna – sensed danger approach that we were on our guard and fought him off.’

  The Domina watched him steadily. ‘The assailant was not who you took him to be.’

  ‘Not – but it made perfect sense! Joanna’s brother-in-law said he’d make sure she didn’t escape again; we all heard him!’

  ‘Yes, I am sure that you did. But it was not he who tried to kill you.’

  Josse tried to think but his mind was in a whirl. The Domina, with a faint noise of exasperation, said, ‘What did you notice about the man?’

  ‘Very little,’ Josse said crossly. ‘It was dark and we were fighting for our lives.’

  ‘Did you gain no impression of him at all?’

  ‘He was very tall, and—’

  Very tall.

  Then he knew.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the Domina breathed. ‘He is one of the few still alive of the old race and to him and his brethren
falls the sacred duty of protecting the places that mark the northern and southern boundaries of his ancient race.’

  ‘It was he who tried to kill us?’ She nodded. ‘But why?’

  She raised her eyes to the sky, as if seeking inspiration. ‘I do not know. They were aware of your mission to Armorica and would have guessed, I believe, that you sought proof that these could not be the bones of Merlin the Enchanter. They, even more than the Hawkenlye community or my own people, were desperate for the site to be closed down for, in addition to the fact that it was attracting far too may unthinking and uncaring visitors to a holy place, the very concept was a terrible affront to those who still remember she who really lies here.’

  ‘But we had found the proof that we needed and we were on our way home to spread the word that Merlin’s Tomb was a fake!’ he protested. ‘Why on earth should he try to prevent us doing the very thing that he too most wished for?’

  Again she said, ‘I do not know. I can only think that somehow he was led to believe that your mission had not been successful and that you had failed to find the necessary proof. But I—’

  There was a movement behind her. And, before Josse’s amazed eyes, two figures dressed in the colours of the forest materialised out from beneath the trees. One moment they were not there; the next, they were. Both were very tall; one stood a little to the fore of his companion, who leaned heavily on a staff.

  The man with the staff had a bandage around his head and four very deep gashes across the front of his neck that disappeared down inside his green tunic.

  And Josse, who knew exactly who he was, put a hand down to his sword hilt.

  The man in the lead held up both hands, palms outwards, and said in a hypnotic voice, ‘Do not try to draw your sword, knight, for you will not be able even to extract it from its scabbard.’

  Josse tugged at his sword but the man had spoken truly and it would not come. ‘What do you want with us?’ he demanded.