Widdershins

by Helen Steadman

  My eyes watered. ‘Something so foul smelling is sure to finish me off.’

  ‘No man has died at this barber’s hand yet. Put it in some strong ale or sweet mead and you’ll not notice it. Try to get a pinch like … this … into a cup when your wife’s fertile time is near. Keep away from her until then and make sure you go to no cheap women, as men will. Do you understand?’

  ‘Cheap women, indeed. Don’t judge me by your own standards, MacBain.’ But he gave me a dark look, so I dropped my eyes. ‘Yes, I understand.’

  ‘A draught of this five nights in a row at your wife’s fertile time should produce a child. Now, show me your silver.’

  ‘It irks me to pay for something that may not work and may yet kill me. Perhaps I should withhold payment until my goodwife has the babe in her arms.’

  The barber snatched back his crock. ‘You need not pay me, but you’ll leave here with hands as empty as your wife’s womb. Away with you and don’t waste any more of my time.’

  ‘It’s too dear.’ I pressed the coin on him and willed my tongue to be silent. No doubt, this contrary man would withhold his remedy just for the sport of it.

  MacBain tucked the silver coin out of sight. ‘It’s not too dear if it gives you the child you need. And you’re in no danger of starving as long as the forest flourishes. You gnaw your lip like a maid, now what troubles you?’

  ‘I don’t mean to show bad faith in your remedy. But what if it doesn’t work?’

  MacBain pulled his fur jerkin about his body. ‘It’ll work, Sharpe, you have my word. This compound will fetch a bairn from a stone, if there’s one to be got.’

  * * *

  After watching the moon change, and keeping a close eye on my wife, I’d forced down the foul concoction with my ale. Almost as if she knew what was in my mind, Lucy wore only her shift, despite the frigid night air. When she moved in front of the firelight, her body was visible through the garment. I eyed her, my jaw slack.

  ‘What’s this? Naked flesh on show? You’re a disgrace, woman, and enough to tempt the devil.’

  But my eyes devoured her. I crossed the room and grasped her round the waist, pulling up the shift and forcing my hand into her. She pulled away. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and grabbed her again. Lucy’s face was suffused with firelight and my member was suffused with blood. She looked at me, her eyes wide. Surely, MacBain’s compound hadn’t taken effect so soon? Quickly, I pressed her down on the table, raised her shift and entered her. With only a few thrusts, I was spent and shoved her away.

  ‘You see what you’ve done to me? The devil rides in my loins tonight. Now make yourself decent, for you’re enough to make a decent man’s gorge rise. And get my meal ready. Or are you too busy with your sluttish ways to think of feeding a hard-working farmer?’

  I cuffed her as she got up, and she put a hand to her face. In time, she’d thank me for helping to amend her wicked ways. She turned to the fire, pulling her kirtle around her and I looked at her belly, wondering whether a child was taking root inside her at this very moment.

  * * *

  Three Sundays later, Lucy approached me, looking me right in the eye. I jumped up.

  ‘Aye, what new insolence is this? Quick, now, before I knock it out of you.’

  But before I could move, she spoke. ‘You’ll punish me no more now that I’m with child. From now on, whatever you do to me, you do to him as well.’

  ‘What’s got into you? I have my rights.’ I lunged at her, but Lucy sidestepped me, somehow filled with new-found courage.

  ‘Lay one more hand on me, John, whether in lust or in rage, and I’ll take my own life and that of the bairn.’

  ‘Why, you wee bitch. I’ll–’ I raised a hand, but she didn’t flinch.

  ‘You have my word, John. Keep away from me. Now, give me your word.’

  I wondered how to bargain away my pride in the face of a woman’s threat. Did she not realise that I only chastised her to keep her from sinning, so that we’d go to our reward in heaven together? She could no sooner kill a child as kill herself. Still, women were strange creatures who became stranger once they were with child. A muscle worked in my jaw, but otherwise, I smiled. Having a child would save my face in the town and with my uncle. I could stay my hand safely for a few months. How much sinning could my wife possibly commit when she was in a state of God-given grace?

  ‘Aye, all right. You have my word, though you’ve made a bargain worthy of the devil. I’ll spare you from chastisement, not because of your vile threat, but because it’s God’s will. I’ll leave your body to its God-given business of cosseting my child towards his birth.’

  14

  Jane

  Ten Moons

  I sat in the front pew with Mam, and Tom sat one pew over with Bill. But it was pointless trying to keep us apart and the sermon was nearly over.

  Reverend Foster leaned forward. ‘Take heed of my warnings ahead of the Beltane celebrations. There is magic in the air and too much licence. The old custom was meant to make the land fertile, but many bairns are born ten moons from Beltane.’

  Bill put his head down when the Reverend said this, perhaps because Tom was born on Imbolc.

  ‘Young people especially must take care, because when the smell of hawthorn hangs heavy in the air, when winter is just a faint shadow and the next one not yet thought of, only heat and desire occupy the minds of maids and youths.’

  This made me blush and I didn’t dare look at Tom. But the Reverend was right – it was hard to concentrate on work. The lads had felled a birch for the maypole while the lasses plaited ribbons and threaded daisy chains to decorate it. Even the little bairns had fashioned masks to disguise themselves as small creatures. It was too hot for sitting in church. I hoped the sermon would soon end so I could escape without further discussion about Beltane behaviour.

  * * *

  I looked up the hill. Tom was still working, but hopefully he wouldn’t be long. The eating, drinking and dancing had already started and I wanted him to see me in my white frock, with a flower garland gracing my dark hair as I twirled around the maypole with a pretty green ribbon in my hand. Finally, he came running down the hill towards me. I left my dancing and skipped over to him.

  He grabbed my hands. ‘Oh, Jane, they’ve crowned you the Queen of the May and I wasn’t there to see it. How will you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Wicked Tom, you will never be forgiven!’

  A wide grin spread across his face. ‘Come on, Jane, let’s away down the river. There’s something we need to do.’

  I pushed the garland of hawthorn and daisies back from my face. ‘Oh, what’s that?’ But my face was already flushed. There was only one reason young couples went to the river at Beltane.

  Tom towed me along by one hand. ‘You know fine well what it is, Jane Chandler. So, are you coming, or not?’

  I glanced at Mam, who was busy looking over the village’s latest babies. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m coming, Tom Verger!’

  Hand in hand, we ran through the long grass down to the river, with the scent of May blossom growing stronger in the afternoon sun.

  ‘Everything is so green, Tom, isn’t it lovely?’

  Tom laughed. ‘Aye, if you say so, Jane.’

  As we neared the river, Tom slowed down, red in the face. ‘I’m boiling. Come on, let’s catch our breath.’ He took my hands and drew me to him. ‘Jane, look at me. This is what you want as well, isn’t it?’ He put his hands on my face and looked into my eyes.

  ‘Yes, Tom, it is.’

  ‘Well, come on, then. We’ve caught our breath, so let’s not waste any more time.’

  We picked our way along the riverbank, ducking low-hanging branches as we went, but Tom still scraped his head more than once.

  ‘Either I’m getting taller, or these trees are so weighed down with leaves and flowers, they’re in danger of coming down.’

  ‘Well, you’re always getting taller, Tom, but you’re right. The boughs are bendin
g. Everything is so much greener than usual. It must mean something, but I can’t think what. Meg would know.’

  Tom squeezed my hand at the little mention of Meg.

  ‘Aye, she would know. Meg’s a big miss, in many ways. But she’d be happy for us, though. I know that much.’

  As we approached the flat rocks, the river made a rushing sound as it forced itself through a narrow channel and then gushed out in a great surge of water. I took off my clogs and stood on the rock while Tom sat down to unfasten his boots. The rock was green, but it was warm and dry from the summer sun. I wriggled my toes in the warm moss.

  He held out a hand. ‘Well, Jane, are you ready to jump the rush with me?’

  I nodded and leant down to pull him up. Tom’s hand was almost twice the size of mine, and it gave me a warm feeling holding it.

  ‘Right, we’ll have to take a bit of a run up, so mind you don’t slip.’

  ‘You mind yourself, Tom Verger!’

  ‘On three, then?’

  ‘Yes, Tom, on three.’

  We joined hands, counted to three and then ran along the flat rock. Tom leapt a second before me and he sailed through the sky, pulling me behind him. I landed very close to the edge and almost fell backward, but Tom wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. Now, we were as good as married.

  ‘You’re safe, Jane. You’re mine and I’m yours. For always.’

  I nestled against him. He kissed the top of my head and held me close. My eyes were closed, enjoying the warmth of him, the smell of him and the feel of his racing heart. It was a good day. The best day.

  ‘Come and sit yourself down, Jane. There’s something I must do. Hold out your hand.’

  I sat on the riverbank. Tom raised my left hand, examined it for a moment and then plucked some buttercups. Quickly, he pierced their thin stems with his thumbnail and fashioned them into a small ring. He knelt before me and slid the buttercups onto my finger.

  ‘Here’s gold for you, Jane. I love you and very soon, it’ll be real–’

  But Tom was interrupted by a stone skimming past his head and skipping across the river. I looked up to see Andrew Driver perched in the fork of the old oak.

  ‘Hey, Tom. Did you two just jump the rush?’

  Tom didn’t let go of my hand, but he turned his head slightly.

  ‘Aye, and what of it, Driver? Jealous, as usual?’

  Andrew Driver jumped down from the tree and came to stand on the riverbank.

  ‘Jealous? Of you two? Hardly. The whole village has known for years that you two would end up wed. So when’s it to be? And what will the Reverend say when he hears you two have jumped the rush?’

  I frowned. ‘It’ll be soon, Andrew. And Reverend Foster will be pleased for us.’

  ‘No doubt, Jane. But Verger, you should have asked him first.’

  Tom frowned. ‘I will ask him. But I wanted to ask Jane first.’

  ‘Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t turn you down. You being no better than a verger’s lad.’

  I glared at Andrew. ‘The Reverend won’t say no to Tom. He loves him like a son. And there’s nothing wrong with being a verger. I’ll be a Verger myself soon enough, and I’ll be proud to bear the name.’

  ‘Only jesting, Jane. No need to be so serious all the time. Now, you’ll be heading up for the feast, so I’ll walk with you.’

  Tom let go of my hand and punched his friend on the arm. ‘More goosegogging, Driver? We need to find you a lass of your own. Jane, are there any lasses daft enough to have this lump?’

  ‘Let me think on it, Tom. A name will come if I think hard enough.’

  I wished Andrew would go away, or that he’d not been there in the first place. But he was Tom’s oldest friend, so I had to make room for him.

  Tom looked Andrew up and down. ‘Well, you’re shorter than me and stouter. Jane has a hard labour on her hands thinking of a lass for you.’

  I dug Tom in the ribs. ‘Well, May Green has always liked your curling hair, Andrew, so I could do some matchmaking–’

  Driver snorted. ‘May Green? Not a chance. Let me do my own matchmaking. Anyway, let’s get going to the top field, or we’ll miss the fire-wheel.’

  * * *

  It was a long walk to the top field. Even though the sun had fallen, the air held the day’s heat and sweat ran down my spine. Small knots of people stood at the top of the hill. The fields were empty of beasts, they being held on the other side of the river for safety. A huge roll of hay sat at the top of the hill, contained within two wooden hoops, with a shaft of wood passed through the middle. I pressed one hand into the hay. It was warm and dry, and it would have been under cover since last year’s harvest. The roll was thick and it must sorely grieve the farmer to make this sacrifice in years when his beasts went thin. The farmer and his lads came over bearing torches. I linked Tom’s arm and hopped up and down at his side.

  ‘Come on, Jane, we’d better stand well back. There’s no telling which way the wheel will roll when it’s alight.’

  The farmer stood behind the wheel, brandishing his torch, while his eldest sons stood to either side. All at once, they lowered their flaming torches, and with a great crackling, the hay took the flames. The farmer gathered the torches and stepped back while his two sons took the shaft. Bracing themselves, and grunting with the effort, they heaved the burning wheel onto the lip of the hill, where it careered downwards in a flare of sparks and flames. We stood in the dark and watched its fiery progress down the hill. It travelled in a straight line, never once pausing in its flight, leaving trails of small fires in its wake. The speed of the fire-wheel amazed me. All the villagers began to chase it downhill, watching it bounce and trying to dodge the sparks, until it eventually reached the river, where it landed with a huge hiss and a plume of black smoke.

  The farmer sent his sons to the hilltops to light the lucky fires. The farmer himself came to the centre of the village to light the main bonfire. When it was well away, his wife and daughters would lead their beasts past the purifying fire. The fire quickly grew bigger and brighter as people fetched out their old floor rushes and bedding in readiness for a new year. The smoke made my eyes water and I rubbed them with my arm. Tom swallowed some mead from Andrew Driver’s flask, but he made a face and refused a second pull.

  Andrew snorted and swallowed a long draft. ‘Hey, Verger, they’re bringing out the carline cake. Do you fancy your chances?’

  Tom scratched his chin. ‘I’m not that fussed about cake, but you get yourself some.’

  ‘Well-spoken by my friend, the coward.’

  Andrew jumped forward and jabbed at Tom’s arm. But Tom turned quickly and Andrew fell into the night air.

  May Green came forward, carrying a platter with a large cake resting on it. She approached friends, family and neighbours, holding the platter out until each man took a small square. As May approached us, Tom grimaced, but reached out for a piece. As he reached out, Andrew jumped to his feet, snatched the piece of cake Tom was about to take and stuffed it into his own mouth. May Green giggled so hard that she almost let go of the platter.

  I glared at him. ‘Andrew Driver, that was Tom’s piece and you know it.’

  But Andrew swallowed his portion and grinned at Tom. ‘Go on then, your turn, Verger. Unless you’re scared of an old superstition?’

  Tom shrugged, ‘I’m scared of naught, especially not a bit of Beltane daftness. Here, Jane, you hold the platter for me. I’ll close my eyes and take my chances.’

  May passed the platter. The cake smelt of ginger, cinnamon and cloves. Tom stretched out, groping until his fingers lighted on a piece, which he lifted to his mouth. But I gasped and he opened his eyes. The cake in his hand was blackened.

  Andrew Driver punched the air. ‘Tom Verger got the carline! Verger’s the Beltane Carline! You’re a dead man, Verger, you’re dead to us all.’

  I looked at Andrew, wondering at his fire-crazed features. ‘Ignore him, Tom, it’s just a stupid game. Come, th
row it on the fire. No harm done.’

  But Andrew pushed himself between us. ‘No, Jane, it’s not a game. There’s a price to be paid at Beltane. And Tom’s it. Come on, Verger, into the fire with you!’

  By now, the village children had surrounded Tom, no doubt full of excitement at the idea of sacrifice, but hiding their eyes behind their hands all the same.

  Andrew’s father joined the chorus. ‘Come on, Verger, over the flames you go. Don’t bring us barren fields by dallying like a maid.’

  Tom crushed the blackened cake in his hand and winked at me. ‘Clear the way, then, I’m coming through.’

  He walked twenty paces away from the fire, then turned and sprinted towards the flames. He scattered blackened crumbs behind him as he leapt the bonfire and landed in a heap of long limbs on the other side. A loud cheer erupted. Tom stood up and brushed the ashes from himself. At least he’d not burnt in the fire – plenty had over the years. He looked over his shoulder, trying to catch my eye, but I couldn’t look at him. The game must be played. Tom Verger was no more. Tom Verger was dead and gone. Tom Verger would be ignored as a walking wraith. My shoulders slumped. This wasn’t how I’d hoped to spend Beltane and now Tom must stay alone for hours, if not days or weeks, depending on the villagers’ mood.

  * * *

  I stood alone in the silent dark, trying to hold my breath until the sun rose. The only light came from glowing fires and from the sliver of old moon left in the sky. Almost dead moon. Tom came to my side and smiled at me. He snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me close, breathing hot air into my ear. I pushed him away.

  ‘Tom Verger, you reek of mead! Are you drunk?’

  He guffawed, seeming to find this question very funny. ‘A bit, but then I’m a dead man and so I must have some merrymaking. Come on, Jane. Tell me what you think of me. Can you truly see me? For I’m the Beltane Carline and I’m no longer the boy I was.’