Anne of the Fens

by Gretchen Gibbs

  “What on God’s earth?”

  “It is too long to explain, but the Sheriff’s men are looking for Anne.”

  “That is Anne?” He stared at me and then his face changed. “Hell’s bells.”

  “Can you hold her here till nightfall? I will come back for her then and sneak her into the castle.”

  Davey did not speak.

  “If she is discovered, it will go hard on the Earl and everyone at the castle.”

  I was glad to have Simon with me, to persuade Davey.

  “Of course I want no trouble for the family,” Davey said slowly, “but I must think of myself as well.”

  “If she is found, I will say I ordered you at the Steward’s command.”

  Davey nodded.

  Simon said, “Take care of her, Davey,” and to me, “I shall see you at nightfall. Have no fear.”

  He swallowed hard. He walked out and I felt alone again. Even with Davey there, I could not help but be afraid.

  Davey gestured for me to come into the back of the store where his living quarters were. They were plain: a bed, two stools, and a small table. I could see that someone had tried to make it cheerful. A piece of pretty striped wool hung on the wall, as well as an old picture of Queen Elizabeth that many common people still had. The back of the bread oven stuck into the room, which must have been wonderful in winter and dreadful in the heat of summer. For me, still wet and chilled, it felt lovely. I realized I had been shivering ever since I got out of the fen.

  Davey sat me on a stool. “What shall I do with you?”

  “Oh, something to eat — please, please.”

  In spite of the fear and the shivering and the mud, what I wanted most was a piece of the loaf Davey had taken from the oven. He went into the shop and came back with half the loaf and a lump of butter. As I spread the butter on the bread, it melted into the holes and crevices. It tasted better than anything I had ever eaten, though there was a bit of grit in it from the dirt on my hands. I ate every crumb, and the glass of milk he brought, as well.

  Next, Davey brought me a bowl of water and a cloth. I laughed, as I did not know where to begin. Then he laughed as well. Then I laughed because I was laughing and it had been so long since I had laughed. And then Davey laughed harder, because laughter spreads like oil on water.

  “Have you any other clothes?” I asked, when we had stopped. I needed to change out of my clothes and put on clean dry ones.

  He looked hard at me.

  “You know Joan died of the pox only three months ago. I have not been able to give her things away, and in fact I do not want to. It gives me some comfort to see them hanging on the hook as they always did. I could let you wear them, I suppose.”

  I was aware, then, that he was a young man, and I a young woman. I think he felt uncomfortable about that too, for he said, “It is not seemly for you to be in my house alone. It is less seemly for you to undress in my house.”

  “What is seemly does not matter to me. Thank you for your care, and I will see my father thanks you also.”

  I had come a long way. Two days before I would not have said these words, but I had spent the night alone with a young man in a boat, and what I thought seemly had changed a great deal.

  He brought me his wife’s old clothes, carefully laying each garment on the bed as though it had belonged to a queen. There was an old shift, a skirt of faded blue linen to wear over it, and a bonnet of the same fabric, even more faded. Joan had been pretty, with blond curls and lovely skin, and I wondered how pretty she might have been had she worn Arbella’s clothes. We had all grieved when the pox had taken Joan as well as several others in the village. Those it left alive had been marked with horrid pock marks on the face. Marianne had been the exception. She had been sick, but not badly, and her face had healed miraculously.

  Davey retreated to the front room. I washed my face as well as I could in the basin. The water was black by then, but I bent my head and dipped my hair in. When I drew it up my hair still felt stiff and dirty. I wanted a bath, but it was a beginning. Then I took off my clothes. Though I had dripped so much mud, it had caked, and my dress stood by itself when I put it on the floor.

  I lifted up the dry shift Davey had left for me. It was gray and worn, with the edges around the neck all fringed and the seam on the side beginning to unravel. I slipped it on and felt warmer immediately. The skirt was so thin, from use and washings, that I could see the light through it.

  I had the strange sensation of becoming another person, like I had as a child dressed up in my mother’s clothes. This time I was a village wife who worked hard each day pulling loaves from the fiery oven, red in the face. A woman who had only bread to eat, never had children, and died before her time.

  I was not going to die before my time if I could help it.

  What to do with my clothes? They were full of rips, and washing would never remove the dirt. I wondered if Marianne would want them, then laughed to myself. They were unmendable. The fabric was too fine for rags. I was so trained not to throw things away that I walked around the dress to see if there was any part that could be saved. Then it occurred to me, what if the Sheriff’s men came looking through the village for me when they did not find me in the fens? If they discovered my clothes, I would be caught for certain.

  I gathered the dirty shift and dress into a ball. After glancing out to be certain that Davey had no customers, I brought the clothes to him and asked him to put them on the fire. He looked unwilling, thinking no doubt of what they had cost.

  When I said, “What if the Sheriff’s men come looking for me?” he opened the oven door and threw in the clothes.

  “If they do come in, I am your wife. They are not from around here and they will not know about Joan,” I said.

  He nodded, and I returned to the living space.

  The burning linen and silk stank for awhile, even in the back room. I was still cold, so I took a blanket from the bed to wrap around myself. I pulled the stool as close to the back of the oven as I could, and eventually my shivering stopped.

  I was very tired, having gone without sleep for two days except for an hour in the boat. I lay down on the bed under the blanket, Joan’s bonnet still on, and fell asleep immediately. I dreamed I was still out on the water swaying up and down, only my parents were there, and I was explaining to them how to pole the boat.

  I woke with a start to a loud bang, which I thought in my dream was a gun shot. It was, in fact, the sound of the front door being flung open, smashing against the wall. I heard loud, demanding voices and realized it was the Sheriff’s men. Frantic, I thought of hiding, but it was too late. They were coming into the room. I pulled Joan’s bonnet over my forehead, and put my hand to my face.

  “It is my wife,” Davey was saying. “She is sick.”

  Three large men filled the room. They were muddy and angry. Their faces were not familiar; there were none that I had seen on the stairs when I left the castle. My heart was beating fast, and I could feel the bread and butter in my stomach threaten to come up. My face was flushed from sleep and the heat of the room.

  “How do we know it is your wife? She looks young. It could be the girl.”

  “Would the Steward’s daughter lie in my bed?” Davey asked.

  Years of being sickly had taught me how to act. I moaned a little, used the side of my hand to wipe at my cheek, and said in a weak voice, “Oh, Davey, I hope it is not the pox.”

  They left quickly then. My heart gradually slowed down, and I gave another prayer of thanks.

  Davey came back in the room, his face pale. “That were a bit close.”

  “Thank goodness I was so tired and fell asleep.”

  I started to thank him for what he was risking, his life probably, and I could not find the words. I had to swallow, so as not to cry. He understood, I think, because he left the room right away, as if feeling awkward.

  The rest of the day passed as I fell in and out of sleep. One of the Sheriff’s men did co
me back to order a loaf of bread, and fortunately I was again lying on the bed rather than out in the front of the shop.

  We ate again in the evening; more bread, this time with a bit of cheese. I was grateful, and the fresh warm bread still tasted delicious. I missed the kind of meal we had in the castle, with meat and vegetables. I knew that ordinary people did not have such meals, of course, but I had never spent a day like this in a villager’s house. Davey was doing his best for me, pulling out a bottle of cider like the ones we drank at the castle. It had dust upon it, having been saved for a special occasion.

  I asked Davey more about his wife. “She was beautiful,” I said.

  “Yes. She helped me with the baking, and we had many loving times. That is not what I miss most about her. What comes to my mind, always, is the way she used to sing. All day long she would hum, like a small, happy bird. The days are silent now.”

  I had a sudden thought of John. Would he feel that way about me, missing me? I was certain he would not. And what did I miss of him? What came to mind was his blistered hands, the way they had felt in mine. I would always hold that moment.

  As the evening wore on I became impatient. I could sleep no more. I wanted to be home. How would I get into the castle? First I would have to get across the moat, I knew not how. The Sheriff would be bound to have posted someone there. And there was only one entrance to the castle, right in front for all to see.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AS I LAY on the bed, wide awake, I heard the door of the bakery open and a voice I recognized as Simon’s. I felt myself smiling from the pleasure of it.

  I jumped up. I ran to the front of the store to embrace him again as I had in the fens, then stopped, suddenly shy. He looked into my eyes, then away, and I wondered if he felt shy also. I had never before felt shy with Simon.

  “Did you tell them all I was here? Are they angry?” I feared Father’s anger especially.

  “No, they are all relieved and excited. Your father wanted to come as well, but I would not hear of it. He did provide the rope for you to crawl up, on the way in.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I have already tied it to the window frame in the back.”

  I smiled again. “Just what I was thinking.” It was how Sam got in and out of the castle at night.

  “And your father has reminded me several times of the siege of Amiens.”

  I had thought of that as well but saw no way to apply it to our own situation. When I pressed Simon, he said that I would see.

  We took leave of Davey, who finally accepted the pound note that Simon kept pressing into his hand. It was probably as much as Davey made in a month.

  It was black outside. Clouds covered the moon that had lit our way through the channels of the fens the night before. We walked in silence, in the direction of the gate house.

  “How did you get out?” I whispered.

  “I told the Sheriff’s man who is on guard there, that I could not sleep, that I was going for a walk.”

  We went on a bit further. Joan’s shoes were too big for my feet and kept slipping off. Just like walking through the fens, I had to tense my toes to keep them on. I could not restrain myself from asking, in a tiny voice, “So where is your bag of walnuts?”

  “No, I have better. I have a bag of money.”

  I was so pleased with the idea that I uttered an exclamation.

  “Hush. It is still difficult. You must be quick and quiet as a cat stalking its prey, or we will both be arrested.”

  I could see the guardhouse by the drawbridge, faintly silhouetted against the clouds, and there was an even fainter figure in front of it. When we were close enough to see the figure move, we knew we could be seen as well, especially me in my pale dress. I dropped to my knees to crawl the remaining way. Simon stopped to wait for me to get to the guardhouse. Joan’s dress was much less bulky than my own had been, but it was still hard to move in it. Impatient, I pulled it up around my waist and crawled on my bare knees, regardless of what Simon might think of me for not being ladylike. I tried to imagine myself a cat, slinking towards a mouse. It helped me control my breathing, which was loud and fast.

  As I came within a hundred yards, the Sheriff’s man went into the guardhouse, and I gave another of those thanks to God. I scurried on my knees as fast as I could and stationed myself against the side of the guardhouse, at the base of the moat. I could hear the guard inside moving around restlessly, cursing, sighing with boredom.

  I watched Simon approach and knew he could see me by the side of the house. I tried to keep completely silent. My breath still seemed so loud that I feared the guard would hear it.

  “Halt, who goes there?” the Sheriff’s man yelled, and he ran from the guard house. My heart almost stopped, as I thought he had heard me.

  “Only me,” Simon called.

  The guard grunted. I crouched into as tiny a ball as I could. With my head down, I could see only his dirty brown boots. They were covered with mud, and I thought he must be one of the men who had chased me through the fens that afternoon.

  Simon’s feet made a sudden loud clatter on the wooden walkway leading to the drawbridge. Then there was a tinkling noise, as of coins hitting the boards.

  “Hell’s bells. I opened my purse to give you a farthing and now I’ve dropped the whole bloody thing.”

  “What a shame! Let me help you.” I could hear the greed through the false sympathy in the man’s voice.

  “God’s teeth, this money has gone everywhere,” Simon said.

  “Um, mostly farthings, I think.” The guard dropped to his knees, facing away from me. Now I could see the soles of his boots, worn and patched under the mud.

  “I had some silver though,” Simon moaned. “Perhaps it is back here off the path. I think I see a bit of a shine.”

  The guard moved a few steps further away.

  I took a deep breath and started crawling, as quietly and quickly as I could, over the drawbridge. Then I stood up and began to run, throwing caution to the winds, toward the castle.

  In the dim light it was gray, not the warm red castle of daylight, but it had never seemed more like home.

  I stopped when I saw the figure in the front of the building. Simon had told me there was another guard on duty there.

  If I could see him, I knew he could see me. I fell to the ground. Carefully, I began to crawl again, this time away from the entrance and toward the side of the castle. Finally, I reached the side wall and got to my feet. I walked to the back, staying close to the wall. The brick was still faintly warm from the day’s sunshine. Out of one of the rear second-story windows of the castle, I could just see a rope hanging. It looked terribly long, and the window seemed far away.

  As I stood there looking up I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped, but it was only Simon.

  “Well done,” he whispered in my ear.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered back.

  He demonstrated for me, holding the rope in his hands and using his feet against the castle wall for purchase.

  I tried then, and fell immediately to the ground. The tug in my arms and elbows was a horror of pain. I had never done anything like this in my life. I wished that I were stronger, that I had been my brother running around, climbing trees, and rowing boats instead of always being sickly and spending my time reading books in the library. I wished with all my heart that I did not have to do this.

  “Remember all you have already done,” Simon said, still in a whisper. “Such a strong brave girl I have never seen.”

  That helped.

  “I will boost you up for a start.”

  He took me by the waist and hoisted me up over his head. I grabbed the rope and began to climb. He then took my feet and supported them till I was past his reach. At that point the pain in my shoulders and arms came back, as before, and I just hung there for a moment. But there was no choice. I had to do this.

  I thought of my warm bed at the top. It was not enough.
I thought of what I had done, hiding in the swamp, sneaking past the sentry, binding John’s wound. It was not enough. Then I thought of the dogs. I imagined that the hounds were below me, barking and snapping, as they had swum behind us on the creek. I began to move. I pulled the hellish rope and placed my feet onto the bricks, and finally there was a sort of rhythm to my motion.

  I struggled upwards. I trembled with the effort. My hands were rubbed raw and bleeding by the rope. Finally I saw the sill of the window above me. Now I had a new problem. Somehow I had to pull myself up over the sill. There was no one to help me, though Simon had said he would go back into the castle and try to get to the room to help me. I knew it would take him some time to go around the building and enter, especially since he could not appear to be in a hurry, going past the guard. Then he would have to climb the stairs and get into the room.

  I hung there for a moment and then pulled myself till I could get the window casement in my hand. I was frightened to let go of the rope but I did it. Once I let go I would not be able to crawl back down.

  Dogs. Dogs, I told myself as I gritted my teeth and pulled up hard.

  I could not do it. I could not lift myself the extra two feet. I simply could not. Without the rope I could not use my feet on the wall for leverage, and I had to somehow pull my entire weight up over the sill. I made one more effort, taking a deep breath, scrambling with my knees against the brick, trying to use them as I had used my feet, and then pushing up with all my strength. I fell back, dangling there, feeling the wrenching pull on my shoulders again. I would not be able to hang there long. I felt like I was being tortured on the rack, my arms pulled out of their sockets. I thought of all I had been through, and then to die, smashed against the ground.

  And then there was Simon’s dear face, gasping for breath, and his hands pulling me through.

  ONCE AGAIN I burst into tears in Simon’s arms. This time I was really safe. It took several minutes for me to catch my breath and clear my head.