I laughed and turned to face him. ‘Well, Carline, you’re a tall man, red of hair and beard. Or is that just the firelight casting you in its own image?’
He placed his hands on my shoulders and it was all I could do to keep my breathing even.
‘Jane Chandler, I’m your red man made of firelight.’ He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, where my crown of daisies hung low.
‘Tom, what are you doing?’
‘I wish you to heal my heart, Jane.’
‘Heal your heart, Tom Verger? How much mead have you had exactly?’ My voice was stern, but I was smiling.
‘Well, now we’re betrothed, we need only wait two moons until our handfasting. And it’s such a clear night, with the bonniest moon hanging in the sky.’
‘But it’s my fertile time, Tom, I can’t lie with you – we’ll surely make a bairn.’
I felt the blood rise up my neck and into my face, and Tom grinned at me.
‘Jane, divvent blush so! The blood’s risen so fast to your face our village might mistake you for a false dawn.’
‘Sh, Tom, you’ll only make me blush more! But at least you sound more like my Tom and not this strange carline man made of firelight.’
He leant down and murmured warm breath into my hair. ‘Anyway, would making a bairn be such a bad thing, my lovely Jane?’
He hardened against me, making my breath catch, and then ran his hand down my back until he reached the small of it and drew me against him.
I stretched up to kiss him, but then stopped and looked at him. ‘Tom, your eyes have taken on a strange hue.’
His eyes bored into me and something gave inside. I slipped a hand into his jerkin to cover his heart and he started as my hand met his skin. My fingers pushed through coarse hair. His heartbeat was very strong and deep, and my hand listened to its rhythm. This silent gesture was as good as any handfasting.
Tom put an arm around my shoulder and walked me towards the meadow. I was warmed through sunshine, dancing and mead, and instinct began overtaking good sense. Tom’s arms tightened around me, he smiled into my eyes and drew me into a kiss. Then he laid me down gently behind a sheltering knoll. His hands slipped from my shoulders to rest on my hips, pulling me against the length of his body. There came a faint roseate glow from the east, which lit up his dark eyes. As the sun’s rays lengthened, he kissed me, still holding me tight. I could feel his heart pounding against my own.
Wordless, Tom took me to him and I breathed him in, my Tom, who smelt only of goodness. He unfastened the ties at the neck of my white dress. I lifted it over my head and I was naked against the earth when he kissed me again. His breath was hard. Tom pushed into me, I bit into his shoulder and there was a small giving way and a bloom of heat as I accepted him. He held me tight to him and I was afraid his weight might crush the breath from me. But I began to shift beneath him, my eyes wide, staring into his, as he moved deeper inside me. Every part of me yearned for him as I rose to meet him, to absorb him, to own him. Then I pressed my face into his shoulder as he pushed himself into me again and again, moving faster and faster, his hip bones grinding against my own, his breath hot in my ear. I clung to him and writhed, and our bodies were both slick with sweat.
Finally spent, he raised his weight from me, then pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me. My head lay on his chest, my breath coming hoarsely at first and then beginning to slow. Tom’s breathing deepened and became steadier, and he held me close, pressed to his heart.
15
John
Flux
I watched as a great cramp wracked my wife’s middle and she leant against the table, clutching her stomach, crying out as a warm gush of liquid left her. She took a step back and regarded the splash of blood on the floor. Although I felt quite ill myself, I bundled her onto the settle and covered her with a rug.
She gasped through her pain. ‘Please, John, go and fetch Dora Shaw. Something is very … wrong.’ She placed her hand between her legs and raised it to me, her fingers covered in thick blood.
I began to pace the room, all the while examining her face and recalling my uncle’s words on the subject of midwives.
‘I don’t want that hag near my child. This bleeding must be a sign of your overly sanguine humour, and your body is just ridding itself of the excess. No doubt the barber-surgeon could staunch the bleeding down there by bleeding you up there, nearer to your heart.’ I pressed a finger into the blue vein visible in her neck.
But Lucy cringed away from me. ‘For shame, if you bring MacBain and his leeches, there will be no child and no mother … please … fetch Dora.’
‘That woman’s no better than a common witch! You know how I feel about her. And Uncle James will not tolerate–’
‘I implore you, John, or you will lose us both. My heart is thundering, and I’m sure it’s drowning out the faint beat of our child’s heart.’
She pressed her hands between her legs again. Still the blood left her.
‘John, please, I can only imagine our child uncoiling his soft grip on my insides; he must no longer have enough strength to hold fast. Please, fetch Dora … or, if not Dora, then at least bring Kirstie Slater.’
I scrutinised my wife’s face. I felt certain Kirstie Slater would not cross my threshold, and the thought of inviting Dora Shaw across my threshold sickened me. Her dark presence would surely invite disaster. And it would be hard to justify this weakening to my uncle, who must find out. But without assistance of some sort, my child would not see the light of day. I would pray every second a cunning woman was in my house. That would help offset any malevolent intent. Tight-lipped, I left without another word.
* * *
Dora Shaw and Kirstie Slater followed me through the door, Dora clutching a damp sack. She glanced at Lucy and hurried to her side, quickly grasping her hands and gazing into her palms for some seconds. I stood with my back to the wall, keen to keep as far away from these hags as possible, muttering prayers all the while to protect my child in case of demonic ministrations.
Dora felt Lucy’s brow. ‘We have cause for thanks, lass, that he didn’t bring MacBain to bleed you.’
Lucy opened her mouth, trying to speak.
‘No. Lucy, your man has explained all to me, so save your strength. Hold your tongue and save your breath for hanging onto this child.’
Dora rolled up her cloak before pressing it under my wife’s hips. Although Lucy looked barely alive, the hag kept up her yammering.
‘Keep your hips up. It won’t stop the bleeding, but it might slow it. Though your man could have thought of that himself. Now, open your knees for me.’
The old woman took a sharp breath and Lucy struggled to sit up.
‘No, lassie, you pay no mind to daft old Dora taking on. These things always look worse than they are. Kirstie, open my sack and take out the two largest crocks.’
Her dark apprentice held up two crocks. ‘These ones, Dora?
‘Aye, that’s them. Dried chaste tree berries and cramp bark. Grind the bark up and boil it hard for a quarter hour in two pints of water. See if you can find any honey to take away the bitterness.’
Lucy’s eyes were closed and flickering. Dora pulled a rug over her and tucked her in.
‘You should have brought me sooner, John.’
‘Don’t you go giving me accusing glances, old woman, standing over my wife’s prone form as you are.’
Dora took Lucy’s hand and stroked it. ‘Just lie as quiet as you can, Lucy. That’s right, you close your eyes and conserve your strength. The water is nearly boiled.’ Dora stayed at Lucy’s side, murmuring gently until Kirstie came back.
The younger woman eyed me warily and then held out a crock wrapped in cloths. A dreadful smell of wet wood rose from it.
‘There was no honey, so this will taste terrible, Lucy, but it should stop the cramping and the bleeding.’
But Lucy shook her head and found the breath to speak. ‘No matter, I’ll suffer anythin
g to spare my child.’
Kirstie spooned the first pint of tea into Lucy, who drank it as though it were mead. Finally, she lay back.
Dora stood up. ‘Lucy is halfway asleep. John, pull your cloak over your goodwife and do not move her from this inclined position. Keep her warm and keep that fire banked. When she wakes, she must drink the other pint of brew. Later tonight, you will have to grind up some more of this bark. Boil it in a pint of water and persuade the resulting tea down her before nightfall. It will help her to mend while she sleeps. Then boil up the berries for when she wakes. There’s a long way to go until she births.’
‘What? Would you have me turn witch along with you and your accomplice?’
Dora clicked her tongue. ‘Time is the best healer, John, and sleep the best medicine. But my brews will help nature along. After that, whether she holds onto the bairn or not, she needs plenty of warm broth and red wine in her. And if you can get her a lamb’s liver, feed her small pieces as often as you can persuade her to eat.’
‘A lamb’s liver? You must think I’m made of gold.’
‘You needn’t be made of gold. Just bypass the inn and go to the butcher.’
‘Get out, hag, before I smite you. And you need not expect any coin after making such dark implications against my character.’
‘Kirstie, gather my belongings, but leave those two crocks. Shame on you, John, you are a disgrace to yourself, your mother and your wife. I don’t know where the lovely, kind boy who lived under my roof has gone, but he is certainly not standing in this room. You’ve turned into your father. No, not another word from you. The bleeding has stopped, but if it starts again, fetch me straight away. Do you hear?’
When the cunning women left, Lucy turned to face me. She seemed better and the sickening cramps looked to have left her body. And the cunning women had filled her with warm liquid to take the place of the blood she’d lost. Already, I imagined the liquid flooding her womb to comfort my child and help him to stay in his place. My wife smiled and placed her hands over her belly. I prayed, willing my child to bide longer, to sleep awhile, so all would be well. God would forgive me the small transgression of employing His enemies to spare my child. And I’d deprived them of any coin, so that would go well for me in God’s eyes. But my uncle must not get wind of this. And Dora Shaw would pay for speaking to me as if I were still a small boy under her thrall.
16
Jane
Chasing Cloud Shadows
I’d stood at the door for three nights running, watching the moon grow and thinking of Tom. But finally, we were here. The summer fayre in Newcastle was a cause of excitement for the whole area. Stationed at the Town Moor for the best part of a week, people travelled from all over the north to take part. As well as the mart, with pens filled with snorting beasts and stamping horses, there were lads and lasses seeking work. Milkmaids carrying three-legged crackets flirted with lads carrying scythes. There were lively discussions aplenty and coin changed hands as futures were bartered over, promised and eagerly seized.
But the fayre wasn’t all work. In its wake, it brought excitement, danger and gossip from afar. And there were stalls whose sole aim was to separate fools from their money in exchange for a minute’s excitement and the chance for lads to show off to lasses. The air was filled with sweat and waste, but these were much amplified, given that there were so many beasts and men at close quarters.
The craftsmen were there to show off their skills and market their wares. Smiths, tanners, dyers, fullers, weavers and tailors galore. And farmers’ wives and girls sold their produce. Warm cider, weak ale and spiced mead sloshed from jugs. Hogs roasted over fires, filling the air with savoury smells and the crackle of fat melting onto flame. And above it all was the sweet smell of singing hinnies and gingerbread. But I wanted to see the gypsy carts set at the far side of the moor. They were decorated in bright patterns, with no two alike. Horses grazed under the watchful gaze of a small boy.
‘Jane, we shouldn’t be here.’ Tom raised my basket in the air. ‘Let’s go and eat our dinner and then I wouldn’t mind going to have a look at the heavy horses.’
‘Sh, Tom. I want to have my fortune told by a gypsy woman. They can see the future in the palm of your hand.’
‘Oh, aye, of course they can. Anyway, even supposing they can, what will your mam say? And what about the Reverend, what will he say?’
‘They won’t know, will they, Tom, for who will tell them?’
‘You will, in a fit of guilt, most likely.’ He nudged me. ‘Look! There’s a gypsy woman looking over.’
I looked around and the woman beckoned to me. But I was suddenly seized by fright, grabbed Tom’s free hand and ran.
‘She’ll curse us for that, Jane. We’re done for, and a terrible fate will befall us.’
I bent over to catch my breath. ‘We’ve brought her no harm and taken naught from her, so she can’t send a curse our way, or it’ll return to her sevenfold.’
Tom frowned. ‘Why did you change your mind?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s best not knowing what’s ahead. Mam says there’s a reason we don’t know everything at once. Come on, let’s go and find somewhere quiet and shady to eat.’
We walked to the top of the rise and sat in front of a crescent of bushes. It was a natural windbreak, warm and private. While I unpacked the food, Tom swatted away clouds of glittering insects.
I smiled at him. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’
‘A nice surprise, or a nasty surprise?’
‘Nice. Definitely nice. Do you want it now, or later?’
He laughed. ‘Now, of course. Come on, divvent tease.’
From the basket, I took a soft package and handed it to Tom. He weighed it in his hand. It was an egg, nestling in wool scraps. It was pure white and caught the sun, sending it glaring back to our eyes. At arm’s length, it seemed smooth and perfect, impervious, impenetrable. Its secret contents protected inside the immaculate shell, safe and precious. Tom held it up to the light between finger and thumb. The sun shone right through it.
‘It’s raw … thank you, Jane.’
I’d nearly boiled it and had even put the pot of water simmering high over the fire so the bubbles were just right – big enough to stop the egg clunking on the bottom of the pot, but not so violent as to smash it against the sides. I couldn’t bear the thought of it cracking, the thought of that liquid potential being spoiled, the insides turning into a matt sun suspended in a shiny white sky. So I’d just watched the sands pour through the hour-glass, then lifted the pot off the heat and watched the bubbles subside. I’d polished the egg, more precious than a skull, and tucked it into its tiny bed.
‘I know it’s raw. You can take it home and have it the morrow.’
He smiled and kissed me before returning the egg to its nest.
We ate a game pie and I watched him bite into it. He was so handsome. Tall and strong, with such red hair. I liked to look at his green eyes, narrowed against the sun. When he’d finished, I passed him some cherries from the garden, and we lay back on my cloak, drinking warm ale.
The sky was freshly scrubbed, pale blue and silver white. The air was full of tiny birds singing, but there was no sign of any big birds. The geese, the grouse, the pheasants and the pigeons. Their honking, clanking noises were missing. There was just the sweet tweet of the tiny birds budding on the branches, hunting for lovers. Sparrows fluttered in the hedge behind us and little dogs barked in the distance. We dozed in the sun until a huge shadow crossed us, stealing all the warmth and making the hairs on my arms stand up.
Tom grabbed my hands and dragged me to my feet. ‘Cloud shadows. Come on, let’s chase them.
‘Tom, you big bairn!’ But I laughed as he pulled me along by the hand.
The low clouds were scudding fast, making dark islands on the high pasture. Tom pulled me along, breathless behind him, until my lungs and legs burnt.
‘Slow down, Tom, we’ll never catch one, it’s imposs
ible.’
‘No it’s not. Watch, I’ll show you.’ He pulled me tight against him and traced my eyebrow with his thumb. I smiled and leaned into his chest, hearing his heart thumping.
‘Right, Jane, look up at me. Now, close your eyes.’ He kissed my eyelids with warm lips. ‘Keep them closed. Here it comes.’
The rosy, golden garden inside my eyelids was displaced by cold greys and blacks creeping in. I shivered and Tom pulled me closer. Could he feel the baby there? That swimmy fish, eyes tight shut, floating in sweet soup, asleep and dreaming. I’d need to tell him soon. But not yet, not to spoil this loveliness.
‘Open your eyes, Jane.’
‘Oh, please don’t wake me up yet. It’s so lovely here, just let me keep my eyes closed for ever.’
But he blew beery breath on my eyelids and made me open them.
‘Let me look in your eyes, Jane. There, I can see right down inside you to the soles of your feet.’
It felt like he was looking into my soul, so I placed his hand over my belly.
His eyes widened. ‘You should’ve told me. How long have you known?’
I remembered lying in his arms at Beltane, certain then that I held his child within me. ‘Since Beltane. Since the moment you fell asleep.’
He frowned. ‘But how could you know then?’
‘Something took hold inside me.’
It made me smile, thinking of Tom’s seed lying within me, knowing that it was welcomed so very warmly that it had dwelt there and created life.
‘Jane, what are you grinning for? You should be worried sick!’
‘Well, Tom, what are you grinning for? Perhaps Beltane induced some kind of madness, but our handfasting is soon enough and no harm can come of it.’
Tom took my hands and peered at me. ‘What will we call him?’
‘Her. We’ll call her Rose. After your mam.’
Tom squeezed my hand and all the different greens came alive in his eyes. ‘Bless you. You’re certain of a girl?’
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