The Tangled Forest

by Marion Grace Woolley

  “Well, you shouldn’t walk the streets with it. Someone will try to take it from you.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “A while.”

  “You know those women?”

  “No, but I know a hundred like them.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “What’s yours?”

  “Robin,” I lied.

  “Ruth,” she replied.

  We watched each other for a short while, until I fell asleep. I was grateful she didn’t ask any more questions, I wasn’t sure my tongue would be able to keep my deception. It crossed my mind she might rob me in my sleep, so I used my bag as a pillow.

  When I woke the next morning, I was alone. The fire had gone out but the cave was still warm. Ruth had left a plate for me with bread, cheese and an apple. I fell upon it like a locust, eating everything, even the pips. Beside the plate was a dark bottle with Culpeper's Cough Medicine inscribed on the label. I drank half the bottle and it sent me back to sleep. When I awoke, it was evening. I wondered whether I should leave. It seemed rude to presume I could stay, yet the cave was so cosy and safe.

  I took the remains of the water and tried to wash the floor with a piece of cloth from the street. Then I took out the ashes and found more wood, ready to light. By the time Ruth came home, the cave looked a fraction less dusty than it had when she left. Though it was hard to tell in the dark.

  “You’re still here,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, should I go?”

  “No, I’m glad. Here, I brought more candles.”

  We lit them and the fire, then brewed tea.

  “I won’t stay for very long,” I said. “Only, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “You don’t sound like you’re from these parts.”

  “I come from the woods. My parents are both dead, so I came to find work.”

  “No one would give you any?” I shook my head. “What sort of work can you do?”

  “I can cook, a little. Clean. I wanted to work at the palace.”

  “Looking like that?”

  I smiled sadly and took a sip of tea.

  We chatted late into the night, but with every word I felt worse for lying to her. When she told me that both her parents were also dead, I felt like the worst of people. When she told me she liked living on the streets, that she felt at home here, free, I pretended I knew how she felt. I burnt my tongue on the fibs I told, yet I enjoyed every moment of her company.

  “Here,” I said, before we lay down to sleep. “For food and everything.”

  She took the ring I passed her. It was jasper set in rose gold. My mother’s friend had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday, a lifetime ago.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, holding it to a candle in wonder. “Did you steal it?”

  “No. It was a gift, given in more fortunate times.”

  Ruth looked at me strangely as she tried the ring on for size.

  “Sell it,” I told her. “To pay what I owe.”

  The next morning, she was gone again. I set to cleaning the fireplace and scrubbing out the kettle. My bag lay in a heap in the corner. During the first month, I had opened it from time to time, when I knew no one was watching, just to touch the fabric of those magical dresses and my other fine clothes. To remind myself that I had once lived a different life.

  I didn’t do that now. At first it became painful, and then it felt as though it had never really happened – not to me, at least.

  If your life is ever split in two, you will know that your very being follows suit. It has to, in order to survive what happened.

  Most of that day, I walked the streets with my donkey skin and my stick. The medicine had stopped my cough and, now that I had somewhere to return to, I felt at my leisure to look about. I ran my fingers through the water of the fountain. I ate a pie and threw the crust to the sparrows, watching them flit and chitter. Eventually, I stopped to listen to the story of a man who had drawn a crowd.

  “Spare a penny, sir? Spare a penny?” a boy asked, holding out his cap. “A story as you’ll never hear elsewhere, and true, I swear it.”

  I placed a penny in his cap and drew closer to listen.

  He was a tall man, handsome enough, with nimble fingers that plucked the lute as he sang. His story was full of jokes, yet his eyes carried a strange weight. He claimed to have returned from the woods having entered them years ago. He spoke of a bear and a prince, and claimed he had travelled to the fairy people’s palace, where time stood still. He sang of all the banquets and balls, fruit that was all juice and no skin, cake as soft as clouds. Then his tale grew sad, for he said he had left paradise to find his children, yet when he returned to the mortal world, the years had slid by in the blink of an eye. Everyone he knew was long dead. He could not return to the fae folk’s realm, nor to his own past, so he lived out his days alone, wandering the woods and the palace walls.

  It was such a sad story, I wondered why anyone would think to tell it, even with a smile.

  Ruth was late to return that evening. I wondered whether she had taken the ring and left me there. It would have been enough to buy somewhere nicer to sleep. But when she eventually did arrive, she brought with her a basket of dried meats, cheese and even a bottle of wine.

  “I thought we deserved this,” she said, breaking a piece of bread and handing it to me.

  We ate well on the money from the ring, and the wine went down like cherry blossom. Soon, we fell to laughing and telling each other things we shouldn’t have.

  “When I was a child,” she said, “I used to leave my brother in the wild wood and hope the fae folk would take him.”

  “Didn’t you like him much?”

  “It wasn’t his fault, he was an infant, but he cried all the time.”

  “Did the fae folk take him?”

  “No, someone always brought him back.”

  “When I was a child, I used to steal my mother’s perfume and put it in the pig troughs. I thought if the pigs drank it, they’d smell better.”

  We laughed.

  “Did you grow up on a farm?” she asked me.

  “No,” I said, forgetting myself for a moment.

  “Shame. I could have liked a farmer’s son.”

  In the time we had been together, I had almost forgotten my foreign clothes and cropped hair. Her warm hand was about my arm, and her smile so bright – I couldn’t think what to say before she kissed me.

  “I, um—” I managed, as she kissed me again.

  Oh dear, she thought me a boy because of my britches and my bound breasts, and probably my smell. I let her kiss me, to keep up the pretence, and soon I was kissing her back. Only when her hand travelled to my crotch did I pull away.

  “We mustn’t,” I managed, breathless.

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know each other. I need a wash. We should finish the wine.”

  She stared at me and then smiled, “Are you a virgin?”

  “Yes, actually. Yes, I am.”

  She kissed my cheek and told me she was too.

  We emptied the bottle of wine and finished the bread.

  “I have something for you,” she told me.

  “What?”

  She pulled a thumb-sized silver disk from her pocket, with a hole through the middle.

  “I had some money left over, so I bought you a bath token. Go tomorrow morning on your way to the castle.”

  “The castle?”

  “My mother used to have a friend who works in the kitchens. Her name’s Carradice. She’ll find you work.”

  I didn’t know what to say. She placed her finger against my open mouth, then kissed me there. We curled up on my donkey skin, my arm over her, and I fell asleep to the sound of her breathing.

  The morning brought a chill, for the fire was out and Ruth had left.

  8

  Carradice’s kitchen posed a problem for me.

&nb
sp; Should I present myself as a boy or a girl?

  I would have to wash as a woman, but would they let me in dressed as I was? I pulled a clean gown from my bag and pulled it over my head. After weeks spent in men’s clothes, I had forgotten how tight my dresses were, and how impossible to tie by myself. Had I really been a princess once, with maids to help me dress? I tried and tried to reach behind, but it was no use. Never mind. I pulled my donkey skin back about myself, lent on my stick and hobbled down to the bathhouse. Outside, I watched as the men went one way and the women another.

  I followed the women and presented my token.

  “Would you like your dirties washing?” the woman asked, handing me a half-used bar of soap.

  “Does it cost extra?”

  “Two-and-six.”

  I had enough, so I handed over my britches and tunic. She didn’t even blink as she passed them to a short man behind.

  “They’ll be dry within the hour,” she told me.

  I struggled out of my dress, unbound my breasts, and stuffed my remaining rings deep into my bag of clothes. Then I placed them on a shelf and stepped into the warm spring, its steam soothing to the very core. Scrubbing with the soap, my stained skin eventually turned bright again. I was so absorbed in my task that I managed to ignore the women staring at my cropped hair.

  As I sat drip-drying on a bench, a woman brought me my freshly laundered clothes and I made my decision. It was fine to wash as a woman, but in the outside world, it was better to appear a man. The loose-fitting clothes were a relief, the britches no longer burned between my thighs and the buckled shoes I’d bought were comfortable over the cobbles, despite their raised heel. I wrapped my donkey skin about me, pleased that the scent of lavender overpowered the scent of hide.

  “Hello, I’m looking for Mrs. Carradice,” I said, entering the courtyard behind the castle.

  “She expecting you?” the serving girl asked, eying me with suspicion.

  “Yes.”

  “Wait here, then.”

  A while later, a plump woman with flour all over her hands appeared.

  “Who are you?” she asked, placing a doughy fist on either hip.

  “I’m Robin,” I replied. “I was told you might have work?”

  “Oh, you’re Robin.” She frowned at me. “What’s with the?” she pointed to the donkey skin and raised an eyebrow.

  “It keeps me warm,” I replied.

  “Well, that’ll have to go. Animals and food, it ain’t clean.” I shrugged off the skin and straightened. “Why, you’re only a whipper. I thought you were an old fellow beneath that thing. Show me your hands.” I did as she asked. “Nice and clean. Soft. Soft hands, soft bread, they say. Can you cook?”

  “A little.”

  “A little?”

  “I always wanted to learn.”

  “Oh, my goodness. This isn’t a school, you know. We need people who know what they’re doing.”

  “I learn really fast.” She didn’t look convinced. “And I can name all the spices.”

  “Is that so? What do you put in a Pudding Cake?”

  “Cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger.”

  “Very good. And a Candlemas Cake?”

  “Cloves and cardamom.”

  “You have a good memory,” Carradice said, reluctantly impressed. “Very well, I’ll give you a week. If you’re as good at making batter as remembering ingredients, we’ll talk about a proper placement.”

  I was so elated, I picked up the skin and made to follow her.

  “Uh-uh,” she said, wagging a finger. “Leave that thing by the door.”

  I worked harder that day than I’d ever worked in my life, up to my elbows in flour and breadcrumbs. The kitchen was hotter than our cave, even with all the doors and windows open. I thought of my own castle, and realised I’d never even seen its kitchen. Our staff had been as invisible as poverty. I swore that when I returned, I’d change all that. I wasn’t sure how, or even whether I’d get back to my castle, but pounding away at the dough made me feel for the first time as though I were working towards something. As though anything might be possible.

  It was almost midnight by the time the furnace door was closed and the floor swept.

  “Very good,” Carradice said, watching me mop my face with my cap. “You’re a strong worker. Come again tomorrow, a little earlier, and I’ll teach you to make meringue.”

  Collecting my donkey skin from the door, I tied my bag to one hoof and dragged it all the way home, too hot to wear.

  When I arrived, the cave was empty.

  I lit the candles and the fire, and waited until I fell asleep.

  The next morning, there was no sign that Ruth had been there. I was worried about her, but I didn’t want to lose my job, so I hastened back to the kitchen.

  Back and forth, back and forth I went, week after week. I baked cakes and pastries and crème brûlée. I poured tea and ale and wine. All my life I had wanted to learn to cook. My latent enthusiasm burst forth in a serving of perfectly cooked dishes.

  “You’re a blessing,” Carradice would mutter, three or four times each day.

  Ruth returned on the third night. I was beside myself with worry, yet too exhausted to search for her.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, as angry as tired would allow.

  “About,” she replied.

  I forgave her as she pulled a large pigeon pie from her bag and set it down with sweet apple cider.

  “I’ve been working so hard, I hardly remembered to eat,” I admitted. “But I’m earning good money. Here, let me give you a crown for letting me sleep on your floor.”

  “You keep it,” she said. “The ring was enough.”

  I wolfed down the pie, gravy and cider spilling down my chin. Ruth laughed and wiped it away. I caught her hand, licking crumbs from between her fingers.

  If you know the heat of another person, you’ll know why I couldn’t stop.

  Before long we were kissing again: lips, cheek and neck.

  “Thank you,” I told her. “Thank you for taking me in off the street, and thank you for finding me work, and thank you for feeding me. I would be dead without you.”

  “Truly?”

  “Surely.”

  We slept in each other’s arms again, and when I awoke she was gone.

  And so, the weeks went by. Each morning I would arrive at work, determined to find out more about the Queen of the Eastern Kingdom, then the work would begin and, by close of day, I was so exhausted I had only the energy to drag myself home.

  9

  “There’s to be a ball,” Carradice announced one morning.

  “Here, at the castle?” I asked.

  “Next full moon. It’s to last for three full days.”

  “I’ll be needed?”

  “Of course you’ll be needed. Won’t none of us have time to breathe until it’s over. The trappers have left for the woods, they’ll need to empty it of half its stock. We’ll need all the butter and cream from the dairy, half the sheep on the hills for mutton and lamb. I’ll put you in charge of cakes and pastries. You’ve got a nose for the spice – not too little, not too much.”

  I blushed with pride.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  “It’s almost two years since the storm in the hills. The queen has been advised to marry, I wouldn’t wonder. There’s some feel it isn’t fit for a woman to seat a throne alone. Mostly men who want to seat that throne themselves, I’ll say. Anyway, it was always tradition to hold a three-day ball before a royal wedding. The first day for introductions, the second for second glances, and the third for final decisions. That’s how the king and queen were wed before her, and their parents before them.”

  “Three days doesn’t sound like a lot of time.”

  “Well, life is short. The sooner there’s a son and heir, the sooner the townsfolk will stop speculating.”

  I took these words home with me.

  My father had never had a son and heir. On h
is death, I would become queen just as this princess had. How long before my royal duty was to marry? First a daughter, then a wife, my path forever guided for me.

  “What is it?” Ruth asked, as I fell down beside the fire. “Have they worked you too hard?”

  She took my head and placed it in her lap. Her fingers soothed me as she stroked my hair, and when I looked up, her concern was touching.

  “There is so much I haven’t told you,” I said.

  “Such as?”

  “Such as where I came from, and why I’m here.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t love me anymore.”

  “Who says I love you now?”

  I looked up, suddenly afraid, but her smile made me smile.

  “There’s going to be a ball at the castle. One that lasts for three whole days. It’ll be the first time anyone’s seen the queen’s face in two years.”

  “They’ll need you in the kitchens.”

  “For cakes and pastries.”

  “And this makes you sad?”

  “I need to meet the queen.”

  Ruth laughed, holding her hand to her mouth. “You want to meet the queen?”

  Hurt, I turned back towards the fire. I had never been laughed at for anything I’d wanted before. What a princess wants, she gets, and she is never refused an audience. Yet, common as I had become, I wouldn’t be allowed within sight of the queen.

  “What business have you with royalty?” Ruth asked, still smiling.

  “Nothing. Forget I said it.”

  “No, tell me.” She pinched me playfully on my shoulder.

  “I come from another kingdom, on the other side of the woods. I lost my home, and my family. Perhaps she could help me get it back.”

  “Unlikely, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, rather unlikely.”

  I fell asleep on Ruth’s lap.

  The next three weeks were spent preparing for the ball. There was so much work to be done that Carradice found me room in the stable and I no longer lodged with Ruth. I left more money by the fire, but in truth I was glad to be away from her stares and giggles. I wished I’d never told her about my plan to meet the queen, for now she thought me deranged.

  My only friend was Benjie. We bedded down side by side in the stable. I made pastries whilst he made bread, kneading dough and rubbing fat on the table beside me. Benjie’s father had been a butler, serving at the royal table.