Hugh tried not to appear overly interested. ‘This girl – Florence - was in the forest with my cousin?’
‘She was. Helped me to lay poor Betty out. Not much use for anything except for minding the pig. She was a strange girl and spoke oddly. Welsh to be sure. Betty had her doubts about her. As I think back, mayhap she had the right of it.’
‘Florence, you say? She was known to you?’
‘No. Walked right out of the forest.’ Jenny was conspiratorial. ‘Stole one of my shifts and had cropped hair. Betty thought that it marked her. I was inclined to charity towards her but I had to mind her constantly; she disappeared into the forest at odd times, returning only for her supper. I think, sir, there was a man at the heart of her secret.’
Hugh heeded intently, ‘Mistress Bagnall, you may have hit the mark there. What sights I have seen on my journey,’ he encouraged, ‘but say, what happened to this girl?’
Jenny was happy to talk and told him of Edwinstowe and a man that Florence had been seen speaking with and of how the two had disappeared that very night.
‘And where…’ Hugh began but stopped as a figure blocked the light at the door. He stood. ‘Master Bagnall. I am Hugh Gilbert.’
‘Betty’s cousin from Nuneaton,’ Jenny added a little anxious at her husband’s frown.
‘Is that so?’ Hugh heard the menace and doubt and wanted none of that attention.
‘I am travelling onwards, Master Bagnall and your goodwife has graciously told me of Cousin Elizabeth’s passing — and, Christian soul that she surely is, has fed and watered me,’ he tried a small laugh. There was no response. He stepped towards the door, ‘But you must excuse me good people. My journey is a long one and I must away. I believe I shall rest in Edwinstowe tonight until my horse is recovered. I thank you both for your kindness.’
Richard nodded, vacated the door and pointedly wandered over to check his son in the cradle. He watched Hugh as he left and Hugh heard voices raised on his departure. It seemed that Richard Bagnall was not inclined to welcome strangers into his home. Hugh thought him wise.
He asked widely of the girl – Florence – and a man that she might have been with, but was met with blank looks. Days had passed since they’d left and no one had seen them. His only choice was to return to the Enclave and tell them what he had discovered. He thought that further revelations might emerge about this man and woman but one thing seemed sure: Betty Hudson had died from a heart broken because she had been unable to see the completion of her life’s duty. How long she had waited to send a message to the Taxane Enclave about a traveller from another time. And, at the moment of that fruition, she had failed. Now, somewhere, in England, these travellers were a menace that the Taxanes could not ignore.
10
Fatal Encounter
Hugh was reluctant to return to the Enclave with only failure in his wallet. He considered what he might do that would, at the very least, bring Alcuin further information about the woman Florence and her companion. He felt the burden of the Futures Chapter’s expectations. Had not Alcuin communicated with him from within? An almost unheard-of rarity. Like all Taxanes, he was armed with a list of the ancient trees and he thought that he might spend a little time visiting one or two and making discreet contact with their watchers. It may be that someone had seen the girl.
He arrived at the Alverthorpe yew as evening was falling. It was a remote place, once the Bishop’s Palace, but it had been ruined long before King Henry’s rampage amongst the monasteries. The village was a mile away and only animals wandered — all outside the boundaries of the ruin and well away from the ancient yew. He’d failed to find Ezekiel Sopwith, the tree’s Watcher, in the village. No one had seen the man for several years and yet the Enclave had received his messenger pigeons. This was most disturbing. The Enclave had had no reason to suspect that all was not well. Hugh decided that he might as well stay by the tree for the evening — not in it of course — and watch. He’d renew his search for Sopwith in the morning.
His small fire was burning out and he was warm enough to sleep when he heard the footsteps. Someone was stomping through the undergrowth with no sense of caution or care. Whoever they were, they did not expect anyone to be here. He threw earth over the fire and all was dark around him except for some faint starlight. Hugh hoped that his horse would not betray him and so he offered the horse the feeding bag so that it could munch quietly, and he made his way carefully towards the yew tree.
The outline of a tall man stood within feet of the tree and Hugh raised his eyebrows as he saw that the man was undressing. Once he’d discarded his outer garments, he put on other clothes that he removed from a bag he’d carried. Hugh had been in the Taxane Enclave long enough to see that these were not garments from the current age. The man donned long breeches of a type which Hugh had seen before. Then, he pulled a woollen garment over his head with long narrow sleeves and finally, a doublet of some description which was unopened at the front. Hugh had a passing thought of how comfortable such clothing looked. As he stared, this man made to hide the bag in a recess in the ground which he seemed to know about. Hugh saw the truth of what was happening and he knew that he must intercept this fellow before he made his egress into the ancient tree and disappeared beyond Hugh’s reach.
‘Stand! I am armed fellow and you are not. I wish you no harm but do mean to quiz you,’ Hugh emerged from the scrub. The man was perfectly still. ‘Turn to me man. Let me see your face.’
When he did, Hugh was surprised to see a smile on the flaxen-headed face. ‘What is your name, Sir?’
‘Denzil Moorcroft of Montebray. And yours?’
‘No matter my name. Where is Sopwith?’ Hugh saw no need to disseminate with this fellow. His clothes betrayed that he knew of the tree’s powers and Alcuin’s words of enemies to the natural order, came back to him.
‘I care not. What cause do you have to waggle that sword at me so?’ he grinned.
Hugh thought him simple for such a response. ‘Play not the fool with me, Sirrah. It is plain to me that you were about to use the tree’s portal. My friends’ questions will uncover your intent. Now, lay yourself down into the forest floor and I will bind you for our journey.’ Hugh thought that it would be a difficult journey home but a necessary one with this valuable traveller. At least his journey would be worthwhile and Alcuin would be pleased.
‘I think not,’ Denzil grinned as Holless stepped from the shadows and delivered a thrusting stab in to Hugh’s side.
11
Revelations
From a distance, Burton upon Trent looked prosperous with its stone buildings and three or four church spires. Not that Nat and Florence knew what town it was. They picked up their stride and half a mile or so before the bridge, Florence pulled at his arm and stopped him. She’d had time to think overnight and after some rest and food had to admit that she might have been a bit of a brat the day before. Her excuse was her shock. Nat deserved better than her anger — no matter what the cause. Not only had he come back for her but he’d killed a man for her.
‘Nat, I . . . What you did, by the road . . . that man . . . I was terrified! I think that I’ve been like that ever since I came here and the only thing that’s made any sense to me in all of this is you. If I sounded ungrateful, it’s because I’m so afraid nearly all of the time! Honestly, I’m glad that we’ve got one another and you’re right: it’s much better than being alone in this world. Thank you for — all of it.’ It seemed hardly enough.
Nat saw the effort she was making, so he let her continue. He wanted to tell her how lonely he’d been, how desperate at times and that he’d killed men here — and before — but he just shrugged and tried to lighten the mood. ‘You make it better, Florrie. Being here is better with you. Before you, I was just alone — adrift. Now, it’s a bit of an adventure, isn’t it? Come on. What do you think that town’ll hold for us? Perhaps we’ll find one of these watchers.’ He hugged her.
Florence changed the mood. ‘Lo
ok at us! Any watcher would run a mile at the sight of us and who’s going to employ us looking like this?’ They regarded one another and then followed the lie of the land down to the shallow river to wash and tidy themselves up. Florence used her fingers to comb through her chestnut hair and then she pushed it behind her ears. There was no disguising the improper shortness of it. She didn’t think that it had grown at all. It had been the source of much horror amongst the women in the hamlet who thought that it might have been a punishment of some sort or the result of a serious illness. She rubbed off most of the dried mud from her shift and she washed her face, hands and feet. Nothing she could do about the tattered edges of the hem or the tears that brambles had made. ‘OK?’
He looked her over, lingering a little longer than he needed to and she cocked her head at him. ‘Well… apart from the pig smell…’ then she thumped him and he laughed despite the fact that the blow had been a little stronger than he’d expected. He fished a leather belt from his pack and offered it to her. It helped to draw the loose shift into her ever decreasing waist and he offered her a piece of linen which he often used as a towel — but he didn’t tell her that — to tie over her hair as a cap. It was filthy. ‘Now, you look like a respectable woman.’ He meant it as a compliment.
She groaned.
‘No, really. You look… good.’ Faint praise indeed but he’d actually meant it. She was pretty and tanned with her short hair shining beneath the dirty cloth and she didn’t look like a gust of wind would knock her over. He liked that. Liked a woman who was strong enough to get angry and say so. Florence jutted out her hip and smiled.
He actually did look like a proper carpenter, she thought. His loose shirt tucked into leather britches, flattered his muscles and he’d managed to steal a pair of leather boots — although he’d no stockings to prevent the blisters. He mentioned it often. His heavy black hair was irregular to say the least. Still, the curls helped to make it better. She was 1.59cms, and he was taller — she guessed about 1.80 - perhaps a bit more and he did look as though he’d been living outdoors, a little weathered with grimy creases around his dark eyes.
‘Well,’ she declared, ‘when you’ve made a fortune as a carpenter you’ll be able to buy me a respectable frock, won’t you!’
Nat thought that he’d like that.
Actually, once in the town, they were surprised to see that they fitted in quite well as itinerants, disdained by the merchants who wore their wealth on their sleeves. They decided to separate to see what could be found and Nat discovered that they were re-building the spire of the fourth church and a carpenter with his own tools was welcome. He still felt bad about stealing them. Someone had lost work as a result of it — might have lost their living. He’d quickly carved his initials into these tools so that stealing from him would be more difficult. A week’s work would earn him six shillings, easily enough for lodging and food — they paid craftsmen well.
The damage to the church was actually all quite mysterious. A large explosion had recently blasted off the roof and blown all of the windows. Nat wondered what exactly would make such a large explosion in a church of all places but no one was saying anything. Something clandestine had happened here and it was clear that no one in the town wanted to talk about it. And then he spotted trouble. As quickly as he could manage, without drawing attention, he made his way directly to Florence across the market square and, taking her arm firmly, pulled her aside into a narrow snicket.
‘Look! Look around. Soldiers!’ he hissed as her face showed that she’d seen them.
‘Parliament?’ she asked after scanning the area furtively.
‘Yep. Roundheads – it’s the helmets.’
‘Should we leave?’ Florence was nervous.
‘Don’t know. Not sure what they’re doing here. Do you know anything about the history…?’
‘Nope.’
‘OK. Look, there’s work here. St Modwen’s is hiring builders and carpenters to restore the roof and windows — as many as they can get. Seems that someone wants it rebuilt in a hurry. We’ll get a few shillings here to tide us over and we need supplies if we’re to move on. Thing is, I’ve got some military history and this is a river crossing. Means that it’s important — militarily.’
‘You’re thinking a battle?’
‘I am but I’ve no idea which or when.’ His mind was occupied with trying to remember what he could about this war but it was precious little. What had happened at Burton on Trent? What were these soldiers milling about for? The explosion in the church bothered him as did the indecent haste of the repairs. Somebody didn’t want this explosion noted.
Florence sighed heavily, ‘You’re right and I’m hungry and tired so let’s stay for a few days, eat, sleep and get some supplies. We can leave before anything happens.’
If it had been just Nat, he’d have passed through the town quickly and melted away into the countryside but he looked at her and saw the exhaustion. Perhaps if they kept a wary eye open they’d spot any build-up of troops — any tensions — and slip away before finding themselves in the middle of whatever was about to happen here. Truth was, this war began as skirmishes that were all over England. Nowhere was safe.
‘Fine - but Florence, we’ve got to be really careful what we say or do. We don’t know how this town is leaning and we don’t want to look like we’re on a side until we know which side. OK?’
‘Got it.’ She was sure that he was worrying too much. There was no sign of trouble here with everyone just going about their daily business—but then again, he was a soldier himself.
‘There’s something else we need to talk about,’ he was more hesitant now, a little awkward. She waited, ‘I think it’s best if we present ourselves as husband and wife. It doesn’t mean anything . . . between us . . . but . . . ’ he was struggling now. If he’d expected a reaction, it wasn’t the one he got.
‘Agreed,’ she grinned — on both counts! I can’t wander around the countryside as a single woman with a man. Disaster! No wedding ring though.’
‘Don’t worry about that — too expensive for most working people. Great. That means that we can share sleeping accommodation. Good saving.’ Nat was trying very hard to radiate simple efficiency and practicality.
She was still grinning at him, but was thinking that she liked the idea of his protection at all hours of the day and night.
When Nat headed for the church, Florence scanned the square and decided to speak to the owner of the inn, a sour-faced man who indicated, without even looking at her, just with a sharp nudge of his head, that she should speak to his wife, an equally sour-faced woman who spat habitually, and seemed to employ a girl specifically for the purposes of wiping it up. She eyed Florence up and snorted derisorily! ‘Laundry! Pay’s a penny a day and food at the end of it.’
Florence took it. The ‘laundry’ was an open shed at the back of the inn with the usual raised cauldron over a brick kiln and plenty of buckets for fetching the water. Florence groaned and the landlady heard.
‘Aye. No one said that it was gentle labour but I’ve a lad who’ll fetch the water if that will ease it for you. Truth is girl, I’ve need of help here. You’ve seen the town and seen how the inn is used — soldiers, whores and tradesmen all want a clean bed. Say I give you tuppence a day? Will it sweeten the burden?’
It was an honest offer and Florence was in need of the coin. ‘I thank you, mistress.’
‘Then make a start, girl. I’m waiting for fresh sheets.’ The woman began to walk away.
‘My name is Florence mistress,’ she was so tired of ‘girl’.
‘Fancy name for a chit of a thing begging for work,’ the landlady snorted. ‘Ah well, so be it. Get to work then Florrie,’ she smiled not unkindly and left Florence to the enormous heap of stinking linen. Give the woman credit, she made an effort to keep the linens clean. They were all washed at least once a week and some of the bedding even dried out before it was put back on the beds! Florence grew muscles that P
opeye would have been proud of. The food was generous if tasteless and she got to finish off any bread that the customers hadn’t paid for, one of whom was Nat, who ate with her. They were allowed to sleep in the stable — free for her and Nat paid a ha’penny a night but at least they had soft straw. Luxury.
The stable lad slept in a small stall at the door of the stable, ready to receive any late arrivals and so Florence and Nat shared the hayloft. He thought about when he’d arrived that first night and that stable, a world ago. Now he had Florrie. He’d re-christened her when she told him how the landlady called her this. It was a pretty name. The hay was deep and fresh and smelled of summer preserved and was a great deal more welcoming for being shared. They each had a blanket that they rolled themselves in to and lay beside one another. It was warm and comfortable and they were tired at the end of a long day. Just before they fell asleep, something would trigger a memory. They’d accepted the loss of the obvious: electricity, clean water and universal suffrage. These things would come — over the centuries. For Nat, it was… toilet tissue. ‘Just can’t believe how much I used. Handfuls of the stuff. Soft. Clean. Comforting. What I wouldn’t give . . . ’ his eyes became unfocused and his hands seemed to caress the invisible tissue in the air.
‘Nat, have you ever heard the phrase too much information?’
He pouted, ‘No, but I get the gist. But it was wonderful stuff.’
‘Yeah. It was.’ She couldn’t help wondering how the hell she was going to cope with her period — if it ever arrived. She thought that the shock of what she’d been through had probably put a halt to it for now. Even so, there’d come a day when she’d have to ask some woman how… ‘Moisturising cream,’ she shook her head regretfully. ‘My skin feels like sandpaper most of the time. No wonder these women here look so… wizened, so young. It’s not vanity — well, not entirely — it’s really skin protection: no SPF.’ She explained it to him.
Shadow of the Savernake: Book One of the Taxane Chronicles Page 12