A Gathering of Ghosts

by Karen Maitland

  ‘When I was little my older brothers played being Templar knights. They used to make the servant boys be Saracens so they could fight them. My brothers had to win because they were knights.’ Her mouth softened into a smile, but it vanished almost at once and she frowned. ‘But there are no more Templars, so why should the Lord Prior care about them?’

  ‘Because there are many similarities between their order and ours. Over the past two centuries, the Templars gained much wealth and land across Europe, and they were answerable only to the Pope, no matter whose domain their land and castles were in. Their financial and military power made many uneasy, King Philip of France for one. Nine years ago, without warning, orders were given that all the French Templar knights were to be arrested on charges of . . .’

  I swallowed the words I was about to utter. There was no need to shock this sheltered young woman by telling her the foul things they had been accused of. And what did it matter now? In Paris, the knights’ Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, who had confessed under torture, retracted his confession and was burned alive as a relapsed heretic. He died promising that woe would fall on those who had condemned them, and before the year was out both Pope Clement and King Philip of France were dead. But their deaths came too late to save the lives of the hundreds of Templar knights they had destroyed.

  ‘Prioress Johanne?’

  I dragged my attention back to Sister Fina, standing impatiently by the door. ‘The knights were arrested on charges of sorcery and heresy, charges the Pope was forced to investigate since they had been levelled by a Christian king.’

  She shrugged, as if all I was saying was of no consequence to her, the rambling tale of some old woman about things that had happened long ago. But it had been just two years since Jacques de Molay was so cruelly executed. The wind still carried his ashes.

  I fought to hold back my temper. ‘Can you not understand the danger, Sister Fina? Our order, too, has wealth and lands that others covet, and we, too, are answerable to none but the Pope. The Lord Prior fears we might suffer the same fate.’

  ‘But they were heretics. We’re not guilty of any crime.’

  I wanted to scream at her, Neither were they. Their only crime was their arrogant belief in their own survival and their blindness to the jealousy of powerful men. But I dared not say any of this. It was heresy to defend anyone who stood accused of being a heretic, and even worse to proclaim innocent those who had been found guilty of such an unforgivable sin.

  ‘Sister Fina, you must try to understand that the Lord Prior wants to ensure that no one can falsely accuse our order of wrongdoing. There are many, both outside our order and within it, who believe that women who are neither married nor under the rule and government of the cloister may be led into wantonness and heresy because our sex is more easily tempted, as the serpent tempted Eve. The Lord Prior believes that to silence any who might point the finger, all the women in our order should be cloistered so that none may accuse us of any sin.’

  Fina’s eyes flew wide with alarm and fury, as if I was responsible. ‘But my father swore I would not be forced to take the veil. I only agreed to my vows, because—’

  I held up my hand to stem the flow. I was in no mood to listen to any more of her angry outbursts. Did she really imagine I would not resent this even more than she did?

  ‘That is why I urge you to consider carefully anything you say to the brothers, Sister Fina. We must all do everything we can to convince Brother Nicholas that we are above suspicion. Such wild thoughts as you uttered just now, about the curses and the boy, will only fuel our brother’s fire. We must guard our tongues, chew every word twice before we utter it to ensure we give him nothing he can use to drag us to Minchin Buckland. If he does, you will not be the keeper of anything, much less your beloved well.’

  Chapter 20

  Morwen

  ‘Told you, Ma, see? They’ve lit a fire inside the stone circle and they’ve penned their horses in there too.’

  Even Ma could not deny the evidence of her own eyes, though she’d not believed me when I’d told her. I was hurrying home after setting snares when I’d spotted the smoke in the distance, rising thin as a sapling into the evening sky. I was always careful to set my traps well away from any cottage or track for all the land belonged to the King and abbots, so they said, not that I’d ever seen an abbot tending a cow or a king planting a bean.

  I’d known something was wrong. No one lived near that stone circle and the villagers only ever went to it on the eve of Beltane or Samhain and it wasn’t the night for either of those bonfires to be lit. No one went inside that circle, save for those feasts, or let their beasts stray in there. If they did, it would call down a curse on their heads.

  Ma rose from where she’d been crouching in the darkness and picked her way towards the stream. She didn’t bother to search for the stepping-stones, but hitched her skirts up to her scrawny thighs and splashed across. She’d gone barefoot all her life, and her soles were as horny as the trotters of sheep. She was as surefooted as them, too. I followed and we edged around the knoll on which the stone circle stood, then crept up the slope on the far side so we could look down into it. Ma squatted, still as a grey heron watching for fish.

  Three men, wrapped in sheepskin cloaks, sat on low stones around the fire pit, which they had dug in front of the queen stone, the widest and tallest of all the standing stones in the circle. One man was sharpening his long knife while another turned a wooden spit on which a couple of skinned hares were impaled. The wind was gaining strength again and I could smell the roasting flesh in the smoke gusting towards us. Ma would never kill or eat a hare: some cunning women could turn themselves into hares and you might slay a woman instead of a beast. But, though I’d never taken a bite of one, I couldn’t stop my empty belly growling. The meat smelt as sweet as rabbit.

  A skinny hound, which looked as ravenous as I was, prowled around the three men occasionally making little dashes forward as if it meant to snatch a carcass off the spit in spite of the heat of the fire. It retreated whenever one of the men aimed a kick at it.

  The flames sent shadows and lights writhing across the circle, and by its light I saw that the spaces between the waist-high stones had been stuffed with prickly furze bushes and old wicker hurdles to form a pen, in which a half-dozen squat little packhorses were corralled alongside the men, with a big-boned, muscular beast that was obviously meant for hard riding, though few in those parts could have afforded such a valuable animal.

  ‘He’s got his fat backside on the cup stone,’ Ma growled in outrage.

  A man was squatting on a broad stone that lay horizontally in front of the queen stone. It had in it a round hollow, as if an apple had been carved into the top, where milk and sometimes honey were offered to Brigid. No villager would dare touch the stone, unless they were making an offering, much less offend the spirits by setting their arse against it as if it were a midden heap to be shat on.

  The hound must have caught Ma’s fierce whisper for he wheeled round in our direction and came bounding up between the stones, barking and leaping, though he couldn’t jump over the thorns. In an instant two men were on their feet, their knives drawn. The third, still seated on the cup stone, peered warily into the darkness. He reached down and felt for a bow and an arrow, sliding both on to his lap. The horses, alarmed by the dog, bunched together, pricking their ears and circling restlessly.

  ‘Who’s there? . . . If that’s you playing the fool, Hann, I’ll give you the drubbing of your life.’

  One of the men thrust a torch into the fire and, when the end was burning, hurried across to where the hound was barking, holding the brand out over the stone. But the wildly gusting light fell on nothing but grass and rowan whipping in the breeze.

  ‘Is there something in that bush over yonder? I heard there was all manner of beasts on these moors, hellhounds and wild cats.’

  ‘Wild kitten, more like, if it can be hidden in a bush so puny and wizened. It’s
outlaws you want to be fretting about, not cats.’ He glanced back at the man seated by the fire. ‘You reckon we should send old Whiteblaze out, see if he can flush ’em?’

  The man by the fire rose to his feet, the bow gripped between his fingers, though not yet drawn.

  ‘Ma!’ I whispered. ‘If they let the hound loose and he shows them where we are . . .’ Kendra knew charms that could make even strange dogs lie down, but they wouldn’t work against arrows. ‘Come away quick, Ma, afore they get that hurdle pulled aside.’

  Keeping low, I wove down the slope, expecting Ma to follow, but instead I heard her voice riding the wind, like a hawk.

  ‘That’s a sacred circle, that is. You get yourselves and your beasts out of there else I’ll make you curse the day your ma whelped you.’

  One man let out a strangled squawk, like a hen that had been sat on. But the other thrust the burning torch in the direction of Ma’s voice. Ma rose out of the grass, brandishing her staff, her wild grey hair fanning around her in the wind, her arms flung high and wide.

  For a moment, the men just gaped. Then they burst out laughing.

  ‘That’s your hellhound, Jago, a mad old vecke.’

  ‘It’s you who reckoned it were murdering outlaws,’ the other retorted. He put his hands in front of his face, rocking from side to side in mock terror, and sang out in a high-pitched voice, ‘Have mercy on us, old woman. Don’t hurt us!’

  Ma yelled her threats again, but I could barely hear them over the raucous laughter and insults of the men, as they pranced around in mocking imitation of her.

  I ran back to her, trying to pull her away.

  ‘Look,’ Jago yelled. ‘There’s another. You’re right, there’s a whole gang of those outlaws need taming. I’ll wrestle with the maid and you can have the old hag.’

  ‘Not if I get to the maid first.’

  They tugged at the furze bushes jammed between the stones, cursing as they scratched and pricked themselves.

  I shoved Kendra down the slope. ‘Run, Ma, run.’

  She hesitated, but even Ma could see that we couldn’t fight these men, leastways not like that. We ran. Ma bounded down the hillside towards the stream, though I knew she’d not make for the cottage. She’d not want to lead the men there, but there were plenty of hollows and rocks she could lie low in. Ma knew the moors better than the faces of her own daughters. She could still run like a hare, but she couldn’t keep it up for long, not like she used to. I raced off in the opposite direction, trying to draw the men away from Ma. I knew it was the maid they’d chase after, not the old hag.

  It was hard going, tearing over the tussocks of coarse grass and heather, but I was more surefooted than the men lumbering behind me. They’d not see me in the dark. Then I heard the dog fall silent. It must have bounded free from the pinfold and was searching for my scent. Almost at once I heard the deep baying of a hound that had picked up a trail. But was it mine or Ma’s? Maybe, if we were lucky, it was a deer’s.

  I ran on, trying to keep to the low ground, so the men wouldn’t see me against the sky. I was making for a place upstream where the water had cut a hollow deep beneath the bank at the point where the river curved around a stand of wizened oaks. I knew if I dropped down into that and crouched beneath the overhang, the men could search all night and they’d never find me. But that hiding place wouldn’t fool a hound and I could hear it behind me now, its baying growing louder, more excited. I risked a glance over my shoulder. The men were following their hound, stumbling over the uneven ground, the flames and the smoke of the torch streaming behind them in the night’s sky.

  ‘Find her, Whiteblaze! Harbour the little witch.’

  The hound was running at full chase now. My back tensed. At any moment, I expected to feel the beast’s hot breath on my legs, its sharp fangs sinking into my flesh. If Ma had been with me, we could have driven it off with her stave, but I had nothing save the small knife in my belt and dogs don’t back off at the sight of a knife. Only if it sprang on me would the blade be of any use, and then only if I turned to face it afore it leaped. But it was the men who followed the hound I feared more.

  A pain tore at my side. I was gasping for breath. My legs felt as shaky as if I had the ague. The hound was gaining. I could hear it ripping through the heather and the bushes behind me. A boulder jutted up in front of me and the rush of the water crashed suddenly on my ears. In my panic, I’d almost run past my hiding place. I slithered to the edge of the river and slid down. But exhaustion and fear had made me clumsy. My bare foot slipped on the wet rocks, and I plunged under the icy water.

  Gasping and choking, I struggled to stand, but the rain-swollen current dragged me over the water-polished, slippery stones. I threw myself forward and managed to half crawl, half stagger into the hollow beneath the overhanging bank. In hot summers, when the streams were low, a gravel ledge was clear of the water, but now the river filled the whole bed, though it was shallower and a little calmer at the edge of the curve. I crouched in darkness, clenching my teeth to stop them chattering as the freezing water swirled and frothed around my thighs.

  Over the thunder of the water and the rumble of stones, I heard the hound scrabbling directly above me. It was so close, I could hear it panting. Then it did what it was trained to do: it began to howl, its cry carrying right across the moor. It had cornered the quarry, trapped the prey and now it was calling its masters to deliver the kill.

  I could no more break out than a vixen could escape from its den when the dogs had found it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to scramble out of the river on the other side: I’d been to that spot enough times to know that the bank was too high and slippery. I’d have to wade far upstream against the swift current and the hound would keep pace with me all the way.

  I pressed my shoulder into the cold wet earth and tried to think of all the charms and curses I’d learned when I’d listened to Ma teaching Ryana. But I could remember nothing that would silence the barking of a dog. And even if I’d known where to run to, I wasn’t sure I could move now – my feet and legs had grown so numb that I couldn’t feel them, much less move them. Over the wind and water, I could hear the voices of the men, out of breath, but urging the hound to hold. I was shaking and, though I tried to tell myself it was just the cold, I knew it wasn’t.

  Then, suddenly, there came a whistle so high and sharp it seemed to pierce the wind, like an arrow through flesh. The dog’s barking ceased and it began to whimper. The whistle sounded again, even more piercing than before, and this time the dog yelped as if it was in pain and I heard it crashing away across the dark moor, as if a pack of wolves were after it.

  The men were cursing and bellowing for it. ‘I’ll thrash that brute when I get hold of it,’ one yelled.

  ‘Leave the wretched beast. Look for the girl. Whiteblaze was standing on the riverbank. He must have chased her in. She probably thought to make him lose the scent by taking to the water.’

  I buried my face in my knees and tried to cover my arms with my wet hair, so he’d see no gleam of pale skin. I shrank back against the earth. They were walking up the bank. The black water turned to foaming blood, as the red flames of their torch passed over it.

  Mother Brigid keeps the men from the river, as the flame keeps wolf from goat. But I had no herbs to burn, no charm to weave, only the will worth, only that.

  They were almost overhead. If they stepped too close, too heavily, and the sodden earth gave way, they’d crash down on top of me.

  ‘What’s that?’ one called.

  My heart had risen so far up my throat, I thought it would choke me.

  ‘There, look . . . something moving . . . A black beast.’

  ‘It’ll be Whiteblaze come crawling back.’

  ‘No, no! Over there, by that stunted tree. It’s twice his size. It can’t—’

  A shriek split the night, a terrible sound, as if all the force of the wind had been balled in a giant fist and hurled towards them. The men echoed it with their o
wn fainter cries of fear as they fled back towards the safety of the stone circle and the fire that burned there. I was shaking with cold and fright, but I daren’t leave my hiding place.

  Above me, I heard something moving again. Had the men returned, the hound?

  ‘Morwen?’ A woman’s voice, but it was not Ma’s or either of my sisters’. ‘The men have gone. But you best get home quickly, case that dog comes nosing back.’

  I could barely stand and fell several times as I splashed along the edge of the river, battling against the slippery stones and current to find a place upstream where I could pull myself out. As I struggled to clamber up, I felt a hand grip my arm. I stared up. A woman was standing on the bank above me. It was too dark to see her face, but as she hauled at my arm, a tingle shot through me, brief and brilliant as the flash of a kingfisher on the river. It was the woman who had come to our cottage, the woman I had seen in the smoke.

  I clambered on to the bank, and stood there dripping, my jaw so stiff I could barely unclench my teeth enough to speak.

  ‘Sorrel, what . . . are you doing out on the moors?’

  ‘Went to your cottage to leave some dried mutton for Kendra. Only a mouthful, it is, saved from my portion, but I’ll bring more when I can.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘Don’t want her curse to follow me. Eva stopped bleeding, like she said. She’s on the mend now. I meant to thank Kendra . . . to thank you. It was you, wasn’t it, made the charm work? I could feel when I took it from you . . . I can’t explain . . . But I could feel it had . . . changed.’ Sorrel slowly folded her fingers, staring down at her hand as if it still held the blood charm.

  ‘Your sister said you and your mam had gone to the stone circle. But I’d heard a couple of tinners talking earlier. They said they were going to pen a horse they’d found in a circle of stones that was well away from their valley. They didn’t want it to be seen by the master’s henchman. I reckoned there might be trouble if you ran into them, so I started after you. Wanted to warn you. Saw you run off and the men send that hound of theirs after you.’