A Gathering of Ghosts

by Karen Maitland

  Meggy wiped her streaming eyes and squinted, trying to see if it was shadow or . . . She spun round as the baying sounded again, closer, much closer. A cloud peeled back from the moon. A thin shaft of snow-cold light fell on the earth and the shadow on the hummock reared up. The black horse and black-clad rider seemed to be staring straight at her. She couldn’t see the man’s face – she wasn’t even sure he had a face. There was nothing beneath the hood of his cloak, save the shadow of the grave.

  ‘Ankow,’ Meggy whispered, but even as she breathed the name, the moon was swallowed again by the cloud and the figure melted back into the night. The pulsing notes of a hunting horn throbbed on the wind and at once the baying of the hounds excitedly took up the cry. Now she could see them, black streaks streaming towards her, bounding over rocks and crashing through bushes. She turned and ran down the hill, her throat afire, her breath ripping at her side. But even terror could not lend her speed enough. Four huge paws crashed against her back as the lead hound leaped towards her. The old woman was sent sprawling on the ground, rocks grazing her face and hands, though she scarcely recognised the smart of it for the weight of the creature on her back, its scalding breath against her neck, the globs of spittle falling from its jaws and running down her face. In an instant, the others were upon her, their claws raking her skin as they scrambled over her arms and legs, barking and yelping their excitement.

  She tried to drag her arms towards her to cover her face but the hounds trampling back and forth over her kept her pinned down in the stones and mud. She was rigid with fear, expecting any moment to feel their huge teeth tearing at her flesh.

  Holy Mother Mary and sweet Brigid, help me!

  Dimly she knew that she should be making confession of her many sins in these last moments, but all she could pray was that she would not know the agony of being eaten alive. They were tearing at her side, scrambling against her ribs, snarling at each other as they tried to push their great heads beneath her. She tried to press herself hard into the ground to protect her belly.

  The belt around her waist tightened as one of the hounds seized the pouch that dangled from it and shuffled backwards with it clamped between its jaws. Another sank his teeth into it and they pulled against the belt, dragging Meggy sideways over the sharp stones until she thought she would be cut in two. She screamed against the pain, but as a third beast tried to seize the little bag, it snapped from the belt and the three huge dogs tumbled over and over, yelping and growling in a tangle of teeth and fur.

  An ear-splitting, high-pitched whistle stabbed through the barking of the hounds. The dogs stiffened, shaking their heads, but after a moment they returned to sniffing around her and trampling over her helpless body. The whistle came again, even more piercing this time, slicing through the darkness, like an arrow. The hounds lifted their heads and whimpered, and with a final kick against Meggy’s thighs, they ran off.

  Everything inside Meggy was urging her to scramble to her feet and flee before they returned, but she couldn’t. She lay there, her arms and legs sprawled where the hounds had left them, as if their weight was still pinning her down. She couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t seem to remember how to move even her hand, as if the beasts had torn her into tiny pieces and scattered them. Then, as she gradually became aware of the wind’s roar, pain flowed back into her aged body: the smart and sting of the grazes from the stones and the scratches from the hounds’ claws, the bruise on her side where her belt had been dragged into her flesh, the aching and throbbing of her chest and legs from where she had been hurled to the ground. Slowly, stiffly, she pushed herself to her hands and knees, and twisted herself round, until she was sitting on the sodden track.

  It was only then that she saw a figure standing on the rock above her, like a giant bird, feathers fluttering ragged and wild in the wind. It was staring down at her as if it was about to swoop and snatch her up in its talons. Meggy gave a muffled cry, pressing her hand to her mouth, and tried to struggle to her feet, but her legs and arms were trembling. She was as weak as a nestling. The figure watched her impassively as she dug the stave into the ground and dragged herself upright. Then it turned and vanished into the night.

  Chapter 38

  Sorrel

  I crouched by Eva’s old fire pit, stirring the broth in her great iron cauldron. In truth, I needn’t have bothered for the broth was so watery that there was nothing to burn. The handful of lamb’s cress had turned to pulp in the water. One of the tinners’ wives had told me that the white shaggy-mane mushrooms I’d found on the edge of the track were good for eating, but they had dyed the green broth almost black. Apart from some bulrush roots and withered thyme there was little else floating in the pot, save for a few strips of dried salt fish. It was not nearly filling enough to stave off hunger, but what else could I offer the menfolk?

  The dried beans and meat that remained in Gleedy’s store now cost more than a man could earn in a week. I had tried to lay snares as poor Eva had done, but I didn’t know her secret places and, so far, mine had remained empty, except for one which had caught a fox, and that had been torn to pieces by beasts and birds, leaving only a bloody skull and a few bones.

  Every night I walked up to Eva’s hut to cook the supper for the single tinners, as she had done, still half expecting to find her there, adding peats to her fire or worts to her pot. And every time I felt a stab of grief on seeing that the stone she used to sit on was empty, save for the dark stain of blood, which had never washed off, even in all that rain. Who had strangled her? Why? I couldn’t imagine that anyone had held a grudge against her, not Eva. I’d lost the only two friends I’d ever had, Eva and now Morwen, for I doubted old Kendra would ever let her near me again. I’d lived friendless all my life, since Mam died. I should have been accustomed to it and I was, except that once you have found a treasure and had it taken from you, it leaves a gaping hole in you where there was none before.

  A snatch of ripe meat drifted down the hill on the wind. All around, neighbours lifted their heads and sniffed. Rumour was one of the women had driven some ravens off the maggoty carcass of a hare. It was rank, exceedingly so, but she wouldn’t share it. Some said sourly they’d not touch it anyway – might fill your belly and satisfy your cravings for an hour or so, but just wait till the cramps and flux began. You’d be wishing you’d stayed hungry. But, given half a chance, most would have snatched it from the woman’s pot.

  Although the shelter Eva had built kept the rain from the fire, the wind still forced its way through the smallest crack, stirring and swirling the flames, as if they were its supper. It was almost nightfall and the horn to end the day’s work would soon be echoing over the valley, though it had seemed to be blown later and later these past few days. The men grumbled that they could scarcely see the spades in their hands by the time Gleedy gave orders to sound the signal. Tonight I was thankful for that, though, for by the time the tinners had trudged up here, it would be dark enough to mask the colour of the broth and at least it smelt a deal better than it looked.

  I stared down the valley towards the hell-red glow of the distant blowing-house furnace. Beyond that there was nothing but a cavern of blackness, as if the land had fallen away into the void and everything – workings, moor and men – had simply tumbled into a dark abyss. Was Morwen out there somewhere on the moor, by the black pool, or sitting by her own hearth in her cottage? I was desperate to see her. My dreams had become so vivid I was afraid to sleep.

  Who was the boy I’d seen? Did he live in this world? I’d heard Brigid’s voice telling me to protect him. Was that what she’d called me here to do? But how could I, if I couldn’t find him? Only Morwen seemed to know what my dreams meant, but I daren’t seek her out for fear of bringing more trouble to her. I’d little doubt that Ryana had carried out her threat to tell the old hag.

  The night before, I had stared into Eva’s hearth fire, trying to journey as Morwen had taught me, though I was terrified that, without her, I would not be able
to get back. I walked into the flames, trying to reach the heart of the fire where I was sure Brigid would be waiting for me. But at the centre of the fire was the moor, and I was standing on a rock in darkness, staring down at a pack of hounds streaking across the hillside. At first I couldn’t see what they were hunting and then I saw it was a little black cat. I was so afraid those huge dogs would tear the defenceless creature to pieces that I whistled to drive them off. But instantly the moor vanished, like a candle flame blown out by the wind, and I was sitting by Eva’s hut again. What did it mean? What did any of it mean? Without Morwen, nothing made sense.

  I spooned some of the broth into my own bowl, clutching the warmed wood in my good hand, so that the heat could seep into my skin. But I was too ravenous to hold it for long. I drank it swiftly and, for a few minutes at least, the hot liquid fooled my belly into thinking it was food and the gripping ache eased a little.

  Something brushed my shoulder, making me jump. Gleedy was standing just behind me. The firelight gleaming up from below melted away his face, leaving only a forest of crooked teeth and the whites of his eyes hanging in the shadows. ‘You swallowed that faster than my hounds gulp their suppers. Hungry, are you?’ He dipped the ladle into the great iron pot and raised it to his lips, taking a noisy slurp, then letting the remainder trickle back into pot. ‘Weak as whey. That wouldn’t satisfy a babe, much less men who’ve been digging all day. The tinners will not be paying you for a belly full of water.’

  ‘They know what you’re charging for a handful of mouldy peas,’ I muttered. I wanted to say more, a great deal more, but I had to bite the words back. I couldn’t afford to anger him. There was no food to be had except what was in his stores, and he could charge whatever he pleased for it. If I couldn’t even buy a little dried fish on Saturday, the men really would be eating water.

  His fingers touched my bare neck. It felt as if a huge spider was creeping over my skin. I slapped his hand away and scrambled to my feet, stepping away from him. He studied me with a curiously amused expression. I couldn’t be sure, because of his squint, but his gaze seemed to be wandering over every inch of my body. It made my skin crawl as if his fingers were still touching me.

  ‘I envy the tinners on nights like this,’ he said, ‘with their women to cuddle up to, keeping them snug and warm of an evening. There’s me, all alone, at the other end of the valley. A pot stuffed full of tasty meats and a flagon of wine is well and good, but you can’t really savour them when you’ve no one to share them with. Same as a bed, thick blankets, soft place to rest your head, but somehow you can’t seem to get warm when there’s no one lying beside you. I really miss my Eva on nights like this, grieve for her something terrible, I do. My bed’s a lonely place without her in it.’

  ‘Your Eva? What? You were her lover? I don’t believe it.’ I shuddered at the mere thought. Why would a woman as handsome as Eva even look at a creature like Gleedy? Of all the men in the camp she might have sought a little comfort with, it would surely never have been this slug. But . . . there was the bruise I’d seen on her face, the food she got from his stores to cook. What had Gleedy said to Todde? Half the men and women here are runaways. But they know their old masters can’t touch them, providing they don’t make trouble and get themselves thrown out. If Eva had been a bondswoman, she’d probably had no choice but to let Gleedy use her or be sold to the serf-hunters. Her babe! Was he the father? I felt sick.

  From the other side of the valley came the long mournful wail of the ram’s horn. In front of the huts, fires were blazing up as the women poked and blew on sleepy embers. The tinners would be climbing the hill hungry for their supper.

  Gleedy scooped another ladle of broth from the pot, and held it high in the air, watching the liquid splash back down into the cauldron. ‘I’m thinking a good wedge of fat ham would cook up a treat in that pot, maybe with some white peas. Can’t you just smell them?’

  ‘If you could cook wishes, beggars would eat like kings,’ I snapped. ‘The tinners can’t pay me enough to buy ham at your prices, and I’ll not be digging myself more debt. Besides, I heard you say there wasn’t so much as a strip of dried mutton left in the stores. And dwelling on what you can’t have only makes the belly crave it more.’

  Furtively glancing down towards the tinners’ huts, Gleedy shuffled close to me again, catching my arm as I tried to move away. ‘I always keep a little something aside for those who know how to ask nicely,’ he whispered.

  ‘Then you’d best offer it to someone else. I told you, I’ll not be owing you any more.’

  I tried to wrench myself from his grasp. I was desperately willing the tinners to arrive and come to my defence. Gleedy had hold of my good arm, and I hadn’t the strength in my withered one to push him away. The wind gusted, shoving me hard towards him, as if it was his henchman.

  ‘Did I say anything about money?’ Gleedy said, with an injured expression, as if I’d grossly wounded him. ‘Ask nicely, was all I said.’

  At that moment, two of the younger tinners plodded up to the fire, juddering to a halt as they caught sight of me struggling in Gleedy’s grasp. I was never more relieved to see anyone, but it was short-lived.

  The two lads grinned at each other. ‘Got yourself a new woman, Gleedy? Didn’t take you long. Don’t mind us, we’ll just help ourselves.’

  Gleedy ignored them and bent his face close to my ear. ‘You be nice to me and I’ll see there’s always something hot and tasty in your pot . . . and not just this one.’ He was still holding me tightly by my arm. But his other hand snaked down and he grabbed me briefly between my legs, winking at the two men, who roared with laughter.

  I jerked my arm from Gleedy’s grasp, almost smashing him in the face with my elbow. I was only sorry that I missed. I didn’t know who I was more outraged by – Gleedy or the lads who were watching us, as if I was a dancing bear being goaded for their amusement.

  ‘You might have been able to frighten Eva into your bed. But I’m no bondswoman. You can’t threaten me.’

  Gleedy spread his hands and gave a high-pitched giggle. ‘You know me, I couldn’t threaten a mouse. No, Eva and I had an arrangement. I helped her to set up her business. Sold her food cheap from the stores, so she could make a nice little profit. I took care of her. She never went hungry. And she was more than eager to show me her gratitude, as you will be as soon as you see all I can do for you.’

  ‘Go on, you warm his cods for him,’ one of the lads jeered. ‘Keep him in a good humour and we’ll all be the better for it.’

  They glanced round as another man came lumbering towards us. He halted abruptly, frowning as he stared at the two of us in the firelight. But before I could yell out, he’d hastily retreated back into the darkness. It was then I realised no one was going to come to my aid. Why would they? There wasn’t a man or woman in the camp who could afford to be on the wrong side of Gleedy. They’d not risk their hides to defend a woman who was no kin to them.

  Gleedy watched the tinner back away, his lips gleaming wetly in the firelight as he grinned at me. ‘Like you said, food’s dwindling fast in the stores. I may have to start keeping what little I have for the tinners who’ve worked here longest and those with families. Only fair, that. You wouldn’t want the little ones to go hungry.’ He leaned over me. ‘Course, you might be thinking, That makes no odds to a woman like me ’cause I can leave. Find work somewhere else, even though I’m a cripple and there’s hundreds of strong men begging to be taken on. And you may be right. You may find some tender-hearted person who’ll take pity on you, same as I did. But what you got to consider is those who can’t leave, like your friend, Toddy.’

  He gestured towards the dark expanse of the moors. ‘Serf-hunters are lying in wait out there and they’ve got fat purses. And, these days, a poor man like me has to scrape a few coins together wherever he can, sell whatever he can, even though he hates to do it. Those hunters spend many a cold night out on the moor, so when they do finally capture their quarry,
they think to have a bit of sport with him, pay him back for all the trouble he’s given them. Well, I don’t need to tell you that, do I? You saw what happened to poor Eva. But then maybe old Toddy means nothing to you. Why should he? In which case, you just forget all about it and sleep easy.’

  Gleedy yanked me forward as we trudged up the rise towards the storehouse. His pace, far from slowing as we climbed, had quickened, like that of a small boy who could barely contain his impatience for a promised treat. His fingers dug painfully into my good arm, while my other dangled, helpless, by my side.

  There had been times when I was growing up that I’d wept that no man would ever want to marry me. My father and the village boys jeered often enough at the useless lump of flesh hanging from my shoulder to convince me of it. I knew all men would be as repulsed by it as they were, and even supposing there was a man who was not, he’d never wed a woman with one arm, any more than he’d buy a horse with three legs. A wife was for work, like a pig was for pork. But Gleedy was not looking for a wife and I sensed that the very thing that might repulse other men aroused him. He was excited by the thought of a woman who could not push him away, a woman who could be easily overpowered even by a runt like him.

  All the while he’d been dragging me down the hill, he’d been prattling about how grateful I’d be when I saw the food and other little comforts he could provide if I was especially nice to him. But now he fell silent, taut with anticipation, panting noisily, like a dog.

  A thousand thoughts jostled and fought in my head. Would he try to make me flirt with him and coax him, like I’d seen tavern girls do, or would he force himself on me at once? I tried to picture his storehouse in my head, remember where things were. What could I snatch up and use as a weapon? Should I grab something as he dragged me through the door or pretend to submit to get him off guard and hope that I could find something to use while he slept? But what if I tried to hit him and missed? What would he do to me? And if I succeeded in knocking him senseless, what then? What would happen when he recovered? And if I hit him too hard and he died . . . I’d hang!