Lying on her straw pallet, cold and perpetually hungry, seething with outrage, Florence began to hatch her plan that very night. Everything here that she’d been expected to be able to do, she’d had to be taught. She hadn’t known how to light a fire effectively; she didn’t know how to prepare the food from scratch; she had no idea how to sew or mend. Jenny was frequently exasperated by Florence’s inabilities. She simply couldn’t believe that this girl couldn’t do the things that any seven-year-old could do competently and she gave her some very odd and quizzical looks. Florence was no fool and she made a decision: she would not live out the rest of her life as a chattel — or if she must, it would be as the chattel of a very rich man!
Despite the physical exhaustion at the end of each day, she felt that she’d used her thinking time wisely. She logged and committed to memory every aspect of how she must behave and act in this age, and today’s lesson had been how to handle men’s attentions. She’d also learned about a woman’s role in the village in general. It was incredibly restricted because they were all nervous and constantly judging one another of not appearing virtuous enough; of being thought of as a nag — still worthy of a beating from a husband; of having poor skills as a cook or a seamstress. And, of course, their dark fear of doing anything that might be interpreted as witchcraft. These women suffered childbirth and lost their babies in infancy, many dying themselves, and were told that it was God’s gift to them. Florence did learn how to light a fire — although sewing was quickly taken away from her clumsy hands with a great deal of laughter at her efforts.
Once she allowed her indignation to subside, Florence noticed that the women actually had a social network of their own based on trust and need. Some of them had ancient knowledge of pharmacology, using wisdom passed on for generations but keeping it secret among them. They frequently knew far more about husbandry than their men but didn’t voice their advice too loudly. They simply made ‘adjustments’ to the feed of the beasts or treated their minor wounds with herbal remedies which their men ignored but valued. These women had a pivotal role in this society but it was one which rarely acknowledged much beyond bedding, breeding and obeying!
Florence chafed against the restrictions. She tried to accept that hers was the view of an age to come and she was reminded of that every time that she watched Jenny and her husband together because theirs was a happy and loving marriage with Richard paying attention to Jenny’s opinions and suggestions — even if he did wink at her as he did so. Jenny laughed at him and he would hug her while she pretended playfully to shake him off.
‘Now, husband! What sort of behaviour is that for the girl to be set an example of!’ They had a happy life, each in their roles. It would never be enough for Florence.
Her feelings weren’t really of any matter whatsoever; she wasn’t family, just a poor wench that they’d taken in. There’d been a tacit understanding that she’d been abused by soldiers or some man and Florence decided to let that lie. How could she ever be satisfied with the life of such a wretch? What was that old song? How ya gonna keep her down on the farm now that she’s seen Paree? She began to tally her advantages here: her health was excellent; she’d had all her vaccinations and she had excellent teeth unlike many of these villagers who seemed to have few teeth between them! Her hair and skin were good — for now she had all the vitamins she needed — the nettles helped. She was in good physical shape but for how long this would last without the right sustenance and with enforced daily labour, she wondered.
She had to act fast before her looks and her youth were drained and she was quite certain that, if given the right circumstances, she could attract a man of more… standing; someone who had servants — a merchant perhaps? Someone who could allow her to live a life of more than drudgery. She could offer to write his letters or keep his books. At that point, with some leisure time, she would work out exactly what had happened and how the hell to get back to 2020! Meanwhile, the stink of pig brought her back to her lot where, dressed in unwashed and patched hand-me-downs and with very sore feet, she shuffled the bloody pig into Edwinstowe.
It was a prosperous village, benefitting from the wealth of the forest. Charcoal makers mixed with woodsmen and shipwrights’ merchants looked to buy loads of green oak for the King’s increasing need for warships, bolstering his ego as he bragged of England’s sea-faring power across Europe and nearly destroying the forests themselves in the process. Florence identified a main street and the church but very little else. Without a great family to maintain it, the church spire was in a sorry state of collapse. The town was a centre for huntsmen and forest enforcement officials who made up most of the population but it was hardly cosmopolitan. Still, Florence was glad to be here and out of the confines of the hamlet. By comparison it seemed exotic.
‘Florence, girl, use the hazel branches to pen in the sow. We’ll set up her here, I think.’ Jenny was satisfied with a spot near the end of the row of livestock for sale. While the pig chomped on the remaining acorns, Florence quickly constructed a hazel pen — a skill she’d quickly had to acquire if she didn’t want to keep chasing the wandering sow, and even though it really wasn’t substantial or bristling with thorns, the pig saw it as her domain and was content to stay there. She fetched her a leather bucket of water and the pig settled down for the night after her long march, content and having no notion of her imminent fate. Florence was tasked with staying put and guarding the animal from theft, while Jenny and Richard went to find refreshment. They would bring something back for her and so she listened to her own stomach rumbling, nibbling on one of the pig’s turnips which were so unpalatable that she really hoped they were good for her. Mid crunch, she froze, sensing a body behind her, too close. She was ready to dig her elbow in hard!
A whisper and hot breath behind her ear said, ‘Ditched the denim then?’
She swivelled on her heels to face him and to create some distance from this man who had crept up on her. Her eyes were wide with recognition and she reacted instantly by hugging him tight.
Nat didn’t know quite how to respond, but liked it — unexpected as it was. After all, the last time he’d seen her, he’d knocked her out. With equally quick reactions, she stepped back from him as realisation overwhelmed her.
‘You! You left me!’ She began to stutter with emotion that she didn’t know was there. ‘You knew what… how… when, and you just left me! Why didn’t you stop me?’ she was incoherent with shock at hearing familiar words again, terms that she’d begun to think were figments of her nightmares. Yes, she’d ditched the jeans and everything else — especially her smartphone. She’d dug it up, smashed it to pieces and reburied it deeper on the day that she saw a girl of fourteen being beaten by the pastor while the girl’s parents looked on. He was so driving out the devil who’d tempted her to thread ribbons into her hair. The poor girl had been seen preening herself in the reflective surface of a shiny copper pot. The mobile now lay buried in the forest, her last link with her former life. Her cache of clothes had gone when she went back to check, and that scared her for many days but nothing had come of it so she presumed that someone had simply taken advantage of finding them and used the cloth — although what they’d made of the trainers, she couldn’t imagine. He brought it all back and she was shaking.
Nat was defensive, and hoped that she might hug him again. ‘I tried to come after you but I was still bloody sick from that rotten meat. Spent a couple of days just throwing up and shitting myself empty. By the time I was feeling better, I’d lost your trail. I have been looking for you. Not bloody easy to avoid the military camped around the place. There’s a war going on here, you know! Thought that the market was a likely place — if you were still alive. I’m here, so . . . ’
He seemed to grin a lot, she thought.
‘And anyway, it was you who ran off!’ He looked around anxiously, aware that one or two were beginning to take notice of them. He lowered his voice, ‘Listen. We need to talk… what’s your name?’ he
asked, surprising himself that he didn’t know. He was ashamed to admit that she was mostly right. He had spent a few days keeping an eye out for her, but his main purpose in Sherwood was to find the Major Oak and to try to get it to take him home. And he’d found it — once he’d worked out that it was called the Cock Pen Tree! It was magnificent and much larger than the Fat Bellied Oak. It looked healthy and vigorous and with great hope, he’d crawled into the narrow slit in the trunk and waited. And waited. Nothing. He cursed it. Kicked it and wept in it but when he dragged himself out towards twilight, he was still in a century that he didn’t belong in. He’d thought about it and it was then that he’d wondered if his next best bet was to find the girl who didn’t belong either. Perhaps she knew… or perhaps together they could work it out. In either case he just wanted to be with someone who understood, and standing with her now made him feel a warmth that he’d almost forgotten after a year of having to hide himself.
‘Florence.’ It was enough for now. She was sullen, ‘And I can’t go anywhere until they come back. I’m in charge of the pig,’ she sulked, shoulders dropping.
Nat couldn’t help the guffaw, drawing even more attention to the pair. He controlled himself when he saw how hurt she was.
‘Sorry. Nice pig. Florence, you have a choice: stay here and pig sit…’
‘Or?’
‘Or leave with me tonight.’
‘I can’t just…’
‘What! Can’t just leave the pig? Can’t just leave the kind people who’ve taken you in, dressed you in rags and used you as unpaid labour? Really?’ that grin again.
Florence pouted at him.
He looked her in the eye, ‘I don’t know anyone else like us,’ he said. ‘Never met anyone on the road who’s a traveller — like us — and probably never will – except you, Florence. Don’t know about you, but until I work out how to go back, I’d like to keep the memories of who I really am alive and the only one who understands that is you. Aren’t we all that we’ve got?’ He saw that she was beginning to truly understand what he was offering and so he pressed on. ‘I can make some money — enough to keep us. Not a bad woodworker. Earn enough to eat well at the end of the day and I’m my own man and not in bloody thrall to them.’ He watched Florence considering as she viewed the pig pen. He played his trump card. ‘I’ll protect you from … them, Florence. It’s gotta be better than being ‘pig girl’ for the rest of your life!’
She didn’t hesitate, ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ It was a good move. He’d do for now. ‘But I can’t just walk away with you. We’d be too obvious, too many explanations, maybe objections. Later, when they’re all asleep. Come back for me and I’ll be ready.’ She touched his arm, ‘Nat… don’t leave me this time, will you?’
He nodded and said, with a very bad Austrian accent, ‘I’ll be back.’
She had no idea what that was all about but, conscious that she’d let her vulnerability show for a moment, asked, ‘So, where will we go?’
Nat smiled at her. ‘Does it really matter? No matter where or how far, we’ll never be home will we? Later then. There’s no moon tonight so we won’t be spotted leaving. Just pack light.’
‘Is that a fucking joke!’ she hissed. ‘This is it!’ she gestured furiously at herself. ‘This is everything that I possess!’
He paused for a moment, sorry that he’d upset her. God but she was tetchy! The opportunity was too good. ‘Just clean knickers then.’ And he side-stepped away quickly just missing her swipe.
6
Division of Time
Jenny and Richard didn’t come back until well after dark. They were as good as their word and brought her a feast of the heavy, gritty bread as a trencher with some sort of gloopy chicken stew within it — heavy on the onions. She made sure that she flattered their generosity with her wholesome thanks and then she set about polishing it all off. She barely tasted it as she wolfed it down. It was so good to have warm food inside her. And then she was sorry that she’d been so surly. They were good people and it wasn’t their fault that they were poor or that she’d landed on their doorstep. They’d disappeared to a lean-to nearby which stood as their tent when they came to market and Florence listened to the giggles and fumblings as they settled down for the night, enamoured by their stay at the inn and more ale than they were used to.
She had some serious decisions to make. This Nat: first, would he actually come back? She thought so. She’d heard the echo of loneliness in his voice that she well understood. Was she making the right choice? Was it safe out there? Well, she couldn’t stay here as a skivvy for these people — kind as they had been to her. If she did, chances were she’d eventually have to marry some spotty youth who’d offer her no better than she had. Realistically, what were the chances of her encountering some merchant who might take a shine to her, whilst she stank of pig? None.
What about Nat Haslet then? He looked reasonably well clothed and he clearly wasn’t starving. His face crinkled when he smiled. Nice teeth. He said that he made a living and had skills. This was good. He said that he’d protect her; that was very good. She felt so exposed, alone like this and so in need of someone to look out for her — until she could arrange something for herself. She reproached herself. This, Nat Haslet, had come back to find her. He deserved her trust — probably. There really wasn’t an option. Her chance for a better life lay with Nat and whichever path he was following, and he was right. There were only two of them in this whole world who knew the future. It made sense to stay together. At least they could assure one another they weren’t crazy.
She was wide awake, despite the length of the day’s march, when Nat emerged from the shadows, approaching her silently, gesturing to her to follow him. The sow was sound asleep as were Jenny and her husband after their exertions. She wondered if Jenny would miss her and was suddenly sorry to leave without a word. She’d leave a note but there was no point, was there? The woman couldn’t read, even if she’d had paper. Couldn’t be helped. Florence followed Nat, at a short distance, out of the village and into the woodland where he paused, waiting for her to catch up.
‘Are they likely to try to follow you?’ he asked abruptly, irritated by her hanging back, not understanding her reluctance.
‘Not really. They – Jenny – seemed fond of me but they’d taken me in because they needed a worker, not totally out of kindness. I’ve paid my debt there. Anyway, how would they know where I’d gone? Come on. Let’s get out of here.’
What she couldn’t have known was how sad Jenny was to discover her gone. Various village gossips told her that the girl had been in close conversation with a man and Jenny finally had to assume that she’d gone off with him. It seemed to Jenny that the girl was making some bad choices with men and she was sorry, as she’d liked the girl, and she wished her well. She recalled Betty’s suspicions about her. Jenny had often thought that there was more to Betty than met the eye.
They walked until a couple of hours before dawn when they intersected with an elevated paved road stretching, ram-rod straight, into the distance, ditches on either side of it. Roman, Florence decided. Nat suggested that they rest for a while and then set out along it later.
‘Where to?’ Florence asked, increasingly more positive, walking freely without the damned pig.
‘No idea. You?’ There was a jolliness in his voice that made her want to smile but she didn’t. His lop-sided smile amused her.
‘I thought that you had a plan! Why the hell have I come with you if you’ve no idea what you’re doing!’
He began to think that this expedition was going to be very hard work, ‘You know, there are no AA road maps here! I can work out north, south, east and west but beyond that, it’s a guess beyond a few landmarks. All I know is that we’re heading south on a paved road that’s got dollops of dung on it. That means that it’s a road which is travelled and leads somewhere, and where there are people, there’s work. I can’t earn money without work and without work, we won’t eat!’
&
nbsp; She allowed her temper to cool because, of course, he was right but she hated to be reliant on him and it had been years since she (or anyone actually) had relied on maps to direct them. No sat nav here and she had very little idea of what lay south of Sherwood Forest, so she changed her tune, ‘What work do you do then?’ she quizzed, not hopeful that it was anything that paid well.
‘Well, turns out that I’m a decent wood worker, which would make my Dad pleased. Can carve a bit too. Look.’ He drew out a long thick stick from his backpack and handed it to her. There was that quirky smile again. The morning light was still low but she could feel notches in it and… holes. ‘It’s a flute!’ she exclaimed. Genuinely delighted. ‘Play something!’
The pleased grin spread across his stubbly face as he lifted the flute to his lips and blew softly. The gentle notes of Greensleeves quavered into the early dawn air and Florence was entranced. As the tune ended, he lowered the instrument and awaited her verdict.
‘That was… all right.’ Actually, it was beautiful, ‘Where did you learn?’ she asked.
‘Uni. Did music,’ he grinned at her. ‘Then the Royal Marines. Taught me everything I know. Boy to man!’
Shadow of the Savernake: Book One of the Taxane Chronicles Page 6