As Robert’s strength returned he even busied himself about the clearing, cutting firewood, reeds and rushes, and mending the leaking thatch. He left the wild safety of Barnsdale Woods only to make the occasional foray into Sherwood, returning with welcome fresh meat, venison or sometimes wild boar. The only ones who seemed unsettled were John and James. They spent much time together deep in conversation, and John, who had always loved the company of his friends, often wandered off without saying a word or telling anyone where he was going.
Marian had never been so happy. Since his bang on the head Robert seemed more gentle and loving than ever before. ‘I swear that flying stone did me a favour,’ she teased as they sat on the doorsill in the late afternoon sun. ‘I could have done with it giving you a good thump on the head twenty years ago.’
Robert chuckled. ‘Put down those stinking herbs and come here, sweetheart,’ he begged.
Marian hesitated. ‘There is much to do,’ she told him.
‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘But who knows what tomorrow may bring us? This scarred old wolf thinks himself very lucky to have fought so many battles and still be here with his mate, sitting in the sun.’
Marian sighed, but she stopped her work and went to him. Tom and Magda returned with James from Isabel’s fields at dusk and found them fast asleep, propping each other up, while herbs blew about in the dust and chickens pecked at their feet.
The Forestwife’s cottage became very cramped with so many people and through many a warm night they ended up sleeping outside beneath the stars. Then one evening as they sat by the fire, exhausted and aching, Tom put his arm around Magda and told them that he had something to say.
Marian looked up in surprise, for Magda was usually the one that did any telling there was to be done. The younger woman had been somewhat quiet of late, though she and Tom seemed closer than they had ever been.
‘We are going to build another hut, Magda and I,’ said Tom. ‘There are too many of us to cramp together in Marian’s cottage when the cool of autumn comes.’
Marian raised her eyebrows and smiled. So, they planned to stay through the winter months too, did they?
‘Aye,’ John agreed. ‘You’re right, but where will you build it?’
‘Close by,’ Magda told him, though she glanced worriedly at Marian.
‘Then we’ll all help,’ Robert said cheerfully. ‘As soon as the harvesting is done, we’ll set to work. It must be done before the weather turns. ’Tis better by far to spend our time building homes than fighting battles we can never win.’
John and James looked up at each other surprised but not displeased.
‘Aye,’ said James. ‘My old bones would enjoy spending a winter by a warm fire for once.’
Marian was pleased at the plans but, as she looked at Magda’s troubled face, a suspicion came to her. Brigit said nothing, but listened to it all a touch anxiously.
The following morning Magda moved to join the harvesting team, but Marian called her back. ‘Robert goes with them,’ she said. ‘You stay here with me today. I think there is something else to be told. Don’t forget, I know you very well my girl.’ She set about scouring her cooking pots with a handful of sand. ‘Come, sit down here beside me while I work,’ she said. ‘Now . . . tell me.’
Magda looked miserable, but did as she was told. ‘You’ll be angry,’ she said.
‘Huh!’ Marian laughed. ‘Since when have you feared my anger?’
Magda smiled, but her brow still creased with concern. ‘I did not do what you taught me,’ she said quietly. ‘You told me many ways to stop a bairn from starting to grow, but I did not use them.’
‘As I thought,’ Marian nodded.
‘More than that,’ Magda gasped. ‘I went out on Brig’s night and made a bower and a Biddy doll. I begged for a bairn and Brig has sent me one. I thought it was Brigit that she’d sent at first, but now I have my own bairn coming too.’
Marian stared at her, surprised. ‘You should have told me.’
‘There is still more.’ Now that she had started telling, it all came tumbling out in a rush. ‘I want to marry Tom and be his wife. I want everyone to wish us joy and to know that he is my man, but you told me that the Forestwife should never marry. You always refused Robert, whenever he wished to be wed to you.’
‘Aye,’ said Marian. ‘That is what I told you, isn’t it?’
8
Under the Trysting Tree
They were both silent then, and all that could be heard was the crackle of the fire and the harsh scouring sound as Marian worked grains of sand around the pot.
‘You chose never to have a child,’ Magda whispered at last. ‘You told me that being Forestwife was too important . . . and that I should be Forestwife after you. But I do not think that I am the right one. Little Brigit would make a better Forestwife; she has more knowledge of herbs and potions than I will ever have. She does not even need to be taught, she just knows. I think now that Brig sent her here to take my place.’
Marian stopped her scouring and dropped the bowl; she moved to Magda and put her arms around her. ‘You must have wanted this bairn very much,’ she said.
Magda nodded and buried her face in Marian’s shoulder. They rocked together gently, both of them turning tearful.
‘All will be well, all will be well,’ Marian soothed. Then she heaved a great sigh. ‘Of late I seem to look back on my life and wonder why I made such decisions. It’s true that Robert wished us to be wed, and I refused him again and again. I was so young, and so desperate to play my part, wishing to right all wrongs. I charged into every battle that came our way, fighting for those who could not fight.’
‘And you have done it,’ Magda told her. ‘You have saved many and made life bearable for those who would have suffered terribly. Every struggling peasant in Barnsdale has faith in the Forestwife and the Hooded One.’
‘Aye,’ Marian nodded. ‘And I believed that I could not do it and be tied to a man. Now I come to think that I was too hard on myself, and also on those around me. I regret it much of late. I have learned that no matter how hard you fight, however much you sacrifice, still you can never win.’
‘No,’ Magda agreed smiling. ‘But it is still better to fight.’
‘Yes. You have learned that, so much younger than I did. It is just . . . keeping up the struggle that really matters, and there is one more thing that’s important for you to know. I have never wanted to bear a child for I had you to mother. I never wanted another child but you.’
Magda smiled at that and kissed her, then doubt crossed her face again. ‘The Forestwife? The sacred trust?’
Marian shook her head. ‘You shall be Forestwife, I am sure of it, but maybe Brig did send Brigit to us. Perhaps you need not do the work alone. Brigit is a wonderful healer, that’s true, but there is more to being Forestwife than that. How many times have I put aside my potions and taken up my bow and gone running through the woods ready to fight? Can Brigit do that? I know that you can!’
Magda nodded. ‘It’s true, the work is not all healing wounds; you have done some fierce and terrible things.’
‘And you have always been there at my side, spurring me on, giving me courage. That is the work of the Forestwife just as much as tending the sick. I grow a little tired these days; and come to think that we three might share the work; Brigit the maiden, you the mother, and I the Old One.’
‘You are not the Old One yet!’ Magda insisted, and Marian was glad to see the happiness back in her eyes.
‘No, ‘Marian agreed. ‘And if you wish to marry your Tom, go and do so. Go and tell Tom that you will marry him.’
Magda laughed. ‘I haven’t even spoken of it to him yet!’
Tom was willing enough, and as the harvest work went on they planned to have a late August wedding beneath the trysting tree. They’d celebrate the young couple’s wedding, along with the cutting of the last sheaf of corn.
Every harvest was the same; Isabel always brought the last
sheaf from Langden through the woods to the Forestwife’s clearing. They’d twist and plait the stook until it took on the shape of a woman that they called the Corn Goddess; then they’d crown it with a wreath of flowers, and feast and dance around it, giving thanks and praise for the harvest brought safely in.
When the last few days of corn cutting came Marian insisted on going to Langden to make sure the gleaning was done thoroughly, but the rest of her friends stayed in the clearing and started work on Magda’s new home. The woods rang with the sounds of hammering and the crack of splitting wood. Orders were shouted by Magda and ignored by most as their hands, already toughened with harvest work, grew strong as leather. They wove wattle panels that they stuffed with goats’ hair and chicken feathers, then coated them with mud and left them to dry in the sun. With everyone helping the work was swiftly done.
Once the panels were dried out in the late August sun, they fixed them onto a small but sturdy timber frame and set a hearth stone in the middle. They thatched the roof beams, leaving a small hole for smoke to come through. Magda was filled with excitement as the first wisps of smoke rose upward from the fire that she’d lit, drifting out through the hole ‘Where is Tom, where is Brigit?’ she cried. ‘Fetch the rugs and bedding in!’
Brigit who’d helped quietly throughout the building work looked stunned. She stood there open mouthed. ‘Am I . . .?’
‘Why yes,’ Magda cried, hugging her tightly. ‘Did I not make it clear? You are to come and live here with us and be my family.’
‘Oh,’ Brigit’s face glowed. ‘I didn’t know. I thought you’d like to be alone with Tom.’
‘Believe me,’ said Magda, hands on hips. ‘When Tom goes off adventuring with Robert in the spring, as I know he will, and I have a tiny babe to rear, then I am going to need you very much.’
So Magda ruled her new home with bossy pleasure, while John and James settled themselves in the lean-to with Fetcher to keep them warm, and Robert and Marian were left alone and happy in the cottage like any old husband and wife.
The day of Magda’s wedding dawned bright and sunny. ‘See,’ Marian pointed out. ‘Brig is smiling on you still.’
Isabel arrived from Langden with the last cut sheaf and Philippa in the back of her wagon. Will Stoutley drove them, and they were all dressed in fine new clothes of scarlet cloth, and somehow looking very pleased with themselves.
Marian dressed in her only gown, a patched and worn green kirtle, suddenly felt very old and tired. ‘You look as though you are thriving, all of you,’ she told them.
‘Oh we are thriving as never before, especially some of us,’ Philippa said, laughing and nodding towards Isabel and Will. ‘This has been a fine harvest,’ she told Marian. ‘We’ve little to fear this winter.’
Marian pressed her lips together, biting back words of doubt, but then she smiled. ‘I pray that’s true,’ she said.
The Sisters of the Magdalen arrived with little posies fastened to their veils, excited and chattering, for Magda wished them to take part in her celebrations. Then a great gang of ragged children from the woodland cottages came skipping and dancing into the clearing, carrying more small posies. They surrounded Magda’s new home, chanting:
‘Here we bring our posies,
Our garlands, and our roses.
Bring her out! Bring her out!
So we can greet the harvest bride.’
Then to cheers and clapping the newly woven door curtain was thrown aside and out came Magda and Tom, both wearing new green dyed kirtles and crowned with flowers.
John took up his pipe, James beat a deerskin drum, while Fetcher pranced about his master and a happy procession formed behind the young couple. They led the dance around the clearing, pausing for a while beside the beautiful, bubbling warm spring that gave so much aid and comfort to Marian’s most sickly visitors.
The children danced around the spring, singing:
‘Blessings on the water,
Blessings on the sea,
Blessings on the woodland streams,
And blessings on me.’
Then they threw their small posies into its clear waters where they bobbed up and down.
Suddenly the procession was moving on and round to the trysting tree. The Sisters of the Magdalen waited there, standing in a half-circle around the last cut sheaf of corn that Isabel and Philippa had plaited and twisted cleverly into the shape of the goddess. It stood in the middle of them, shoulder high and crowned with a beautiful wreath of ears of corn and flowers.
Magda and Tom exchanged their vows beneath the trysting tree, and the nuns and brother James spoke their blessings. Then, as they kissed, everyone clapped and cheered. Magda turned to lead the dance back past the goddess towards the cottage, where a long trestle table stood, bearing bread, fruit, cheese and ale, but much to everyone’s surprise Philippa strode out from the watching crowd and announced that another happy event was to take place.
‘Come on,’ she ordered, and Isabel came forward blushing and smiling, Will Stoutley at her side.
‘I thought never to marry,’ Isabel announced. ‘As you all know, I fought bitterly against it, and many of you paid a heavy price for my freedom. Now, at last I have found a man that I can trust, and truly love. Will Stoutley is the man I freely choose to be my husband, and I beg you all bear witness to our vows?’
‘Aye! Aye!’ everyone bellowed with approval.
So there and then, both dressed in fine new scarlet, Isabel married Will beneath the trysting tree.
‘Now to dance around the goddess,’ Magda cried.
‘No . . . not yet,’ another voice rang out.
Everyone turned and this time it was Robert who came forward, and he held up his hand for quiet. A sudden hush fell. When Robert decided to speak, there was no knowing what was coming next; a sudden joy, or a snatching up of weapons and a mad scheme that would leave the woodland half empty, and women and children alone and struggling.
But this time Robert had a wicked and cheerful gleam in his eye. He prowled around the Corn Goddess, and nobody moved or spoke; even the children were quiet. He stopped before Marian. ‘There is so much joy and happiness here today,’ he said. ‘That I too dare once more to beg a favour that I have had refused so many times before. Marian, I beg you . . . marry me now, at last, here in this loving circle of friends.’
Everyone turned quiet again, shocked and surprised, straining to hear the reply. This was a joyful day, but the Forestwife belonged to the people of the woods, and not to any man. For a moment Marian looked lost and unsure, but then she pressed her lips tightly together, shaking her head.
‘Nay,’ she told him firmly. ‘Though I love you better than life itself, we have chosen a different way – you and I. There will be no wedding for the Forestwife and the Hooded One.’
Robert flinched staring down at the straw-strewn earth beneath their feet, his thin scarred face grim. His friends watched in silence, dreading his anger, seeing his humiliation. But they needn’t have feared for suddenly he smiled broadly, and swung back to being his usual teasing self. ‘Maybe you are right, my Green Lady – perhaps I’d have been shocked if you’d agreed. Will you still dance with me?’
‘I will always dance with you,’ she whispered. ‘But I am no Green Lady – not anymore.’
Robert turned and snatched up the beautiful flower-woven garland from the Corn Goddess, and placed it on Marian’s head. ‘No. You’ve become the Corn Goddess,’ he cried. ‘Beautiful and golden, touched with sorrow and sun. Now dance with me!’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Now can we all dance?’ Magda cried at last.
Though the feast was small, everyone was joyful at the day’s events, and the singing and dancing went on till dawn.
9
September Brings Chill
After the excitement of the woodland weddings it was hard to settle down and return to the autumn work that must be done. But as the weather turned cooler Marian returned to her usual
practical preparations for the winter ahead. Nobody was allowed to sit and dream, and each day they went out into the woods returning with baskets and sacks full of mushrooms, berries, nuts and herbs.
Magda was so busy with her new home that she did not at first notice the strange restlessness that seemed to surround her father. John would wake early in the mornings and be off without telling anyone where he was going, then appear again late at night, quiet and tired with a bag half filled with firewood or a handful of yew staves. The only one he really spoke to was James. Despite her distraction even Magda noticed at last. She was puzzled. Robert was usually the unsettled one and John the calmer, more contented of the two men.
‘Father’s gone off again this morning,’ she told Tom. ‘Gone off without saying a word. I don’t know what it is with him! Half the time I feel as though his mind is somewhere else.’
Tom did not look as surprised as she’d expected, but he sighed and then began to speak gently. ‘Aye, I think his mind is often somewhere else, and I believe I know what it is that disturbs the man’s peace.’
‘Then tell me!’ Magda demanded.
‘Well,’ said Tom. ‘It all started when we marched down to Northampton to join the Bishop. We fell in with a gang of men sent down from Derbyshire. They were sent down to fight for their rebel lord, the constable of Peveril Castle, in the land they call The Peak.’
‘Aye, and so?’ Magda was impatient.
‘Well, there was a fellow who knew John, the moment he clapped eyes on him. He came from the village of Hathersage.’
Ah!’ Magda began to understand. ‘Hathersage where my father was born and raised?’
Tom nodded. ‘The two of them marched side by side for days and whispered by the fire all night. They’d watched over sheep on the hillsides together when they were lads and believe me I have never known John to take such delight in talking as he did with that fellow.’
Path of the She Wolf Page 5