Daughter Of The Forest (42 page)

At least the foul weather meant we had no visitors for a while. The road from Harrowfield to Northwoods was impassable, flooded deep by the swollen river. There was no going in or out, for now. It was the time of year when at home I would have gathered with my brothers to keep away shadows, and to ask a spirit blessing for the dark season to come. There was a Christian feast day, which the household kept, but with no great ceremony. There was no priest here; quiet prayers were spoken for the dead, and candles lit. Nobody spoke the name, Simon. But he was there among us; you didn’t need to say it to feel it.

In my room, that night, I lit my own candle. I had not undressed, it was too cold. The dog had tugged the blankets into a sort of nest and lay there snoring gently. The light danced over the stone walls, sculpted by the draft into fantastic shadows. Silently I spoke their names.
Liam, Diarmid, Cormack, Conor, Finbar, Padriac
. I saw their faces in my mind, six versions of the same face, but all so different. They swam together, blurred by my tears. It was not long till midwinter. How would I find them? There were still but three shirts in my little bag, and part of the fourth. Soon enough I would have no starwort left. How would I gather it, when the wind outside whipped the bushes to the ground, and water froze hard in the furrows of the bare fields? Finally I fell asleep, still staring into the candle flame, curled up by small Alys for warmth, with my brothers’ names sounding over and over in my head, as if by saying them I could keep them alive a little longer, just a little. Just long enough.

The weather grew fouler and the days shorter. In the mornings the ground was crisp with frost, and the eaves of the barn sparkled with icicles. It had been hard enough in the warmer weather of autumn for my swollen hands to manipulate distaff and spindle, to pass the shuttle through the loom, to thread a needle for the final sewing. Now I felt a dull throbbing in my joints that would not go away, even when I rested. On the worst days, when snow fell soft outside and lanterns lit the room where we worked even at midday, I had to fight hard to keep back tears as I forced myself to go on. Margery had learned by now that I would not accept help from anyone. All she could do was sit by me and talk quietly of one thing and another, and I found her presence reassuring. But my progress was slow, too slow. There was a fire on the hearth, and the women would sit near it to work. But I did not move closer, for I did not like the suspicious glances or the wagging tongues, which were silent only in Lady Anne’s presence. I did not like the little signs they made with their fingers, when they thought I was not watching. I worked as steadily as I could, and I watched through the window as midwinter came ever closer, and because I no longer dared to consider how long the whole task might take, I set myself a smaller goal. I would finish Conor’s shirt by Meán Geimhridh, the winter solstice.

Cooped up indoors, the men found a new way to occupy themselves. The great hall was cleared of its benches and tables and became a center for various forms of combat, armed and unarmed. After a day or two and some near misses, Lady Anne ordered the tapestries removed for safekeeping.

I began to see where Red had developed those skills I had observed during our flight from lake to sea. The men practiced with swords, and with sword and dagger together, and with staves. They wrestled and used hands and feet as weapons. My brothers could have picked up a new trick or two.

Bored with the morning sewing routine, the girls were often discovered clustered in the doorway, gasping as Ben executed a low dive under John’s sword stroke, followed by a flying kick that sent his assailant’s dagger sailing through the air perilously close to the viewers’ admiring faces. Or exclaiming, as Red demonstrated his method for breaking a headlock applied by a very determined enemy—an effective maneuver, if unethical. And it was not only these three that used their time thus. Red had a small but lethal fighting force, any of whom, I thought, could have given Cormack a good run for his money. And that was saying something. It intrigued me that these cowmen and foresters and millers were able, in a matter of moments, to transform themselves into skillful warriors of deadly purpose. Lord Richard had scorned Red for his reluctance to confront the enemy. But I thought, he will be ready when the time comes. As he was before. If I were his enemy, I would not be making slighting remarks. I would be getting ready for the combat right now. It took me some time to remember that I and my kind were the enemy; I had almost fallen into the trap of thinking I belonged here.

That this was far from the truth was demonstrated to me soon enough. Lady Anne had thawed a little since her brother’s visit, but only a little. She shared my concerns, I think, watching her son put his newly mended leg to such energetic use. I had been pleased with my handiwork, for the stitches had come out cleanly, and the wound looked healthy. He would never lose the long scar his assailant’s blade had cut into the flesh, but he was demonstrating daily that the leg itself was as good as new. I was somewhat relieved. But this success did not earn me the respect of the household. Instead, there was muttering about how I had done it, and a half-spoken suggestion that one so young and witless could not have achieved this spectacular result without the use of sorcery, or something so close to it that you would not notice the difference.

As it drew ever closer to midwinter eve, I knew I must plan carefully. For I must be ready and waiting, between dusk and dawn, for my brothers’ return. No matter that I had crossed the sea and left them behind. No matter under whose roof I now sheltered. I must set aside the knowledge that they had no map, no sign, no light to guide them to me. I had taken this path and they would have to follow. Strange things had happened; stranger still might come to pass. So I kept their names in my mind, as a kind of litany, and I planned my escape. If they came, it must be to water, and so to the river. I could not go far undetected, and had but a small span of time to do it. I could not be there by dusk. It must be between the evening meal and the time when the guard was set outside my door. I would light a candle in my room, and bid Alys be silent. Then I would shut the door and cross the garden stealthily. I could make my way to the river’s edge in the dark. I hoped they would wait. Then, in the morning, I would bid them farewell, see them safely on their long way home, and make sure the guard was gone before I slipped back into my room. It should work. It had to work. I tried not to think that they might not come, that there might be a long empty night of waiting.

Midwinter eve dawned clear and cold. With a good fire lit in the long room, and low sunlight slanting through the windows, we managed to coax our chilled fingers into work. In the main hall, a great oak log had been laid on the hearth to be lit that night with ceremony, and boughs of greenery, holly, ivy, and goldenwood hung above each doorway. This much was familiar to me from home. But I did not imagine I would see bonfires on the hills, or find these folk around them drinking midnight toasts to the spirits of field and tree. They would stay safe in their warm beds and lock the doors. That was to my advantage. I should be able to slip out and in by night quite unseen.

The sewing session was short that day; by midmorning the women repaired to the kitchens, where all hands joined in preparation of the evening’s feast. There would be roast meats and cider and plum cakes. The men played their games of combat, or went about the work of the farm. The best stock were housed in barns for the winter, and the cattle must be grain-fed daily. It was a busy day, so busy that nobody had time to notice me, so I stayed where I was, relishing the solitude, and I sewed the second sleeve into the shirt. It was all but finished. As I worked my mind drifted away from the empty room and the dwindling fire. I drew the image of my brother Conor into my thoughts: wise, kind eyes; narrow, fine-boned face, long hair glossy as a ripe chestnut; a strong young man with an old spirit. I saw him in our kitchen counting stores; I saw him by candlelight surrounded by strange shadows. I saw him as he stood on the shore and invoked the spirits of fire. I watched him swim away across the lake, great white wings folded by his side.
Conor. I am here. Where are you?
I sat there a long time, my fingers busy with needle and thread, my mind far away. I reached out with all the power I could summon, to call him. But there was no reply, or none I could hear. They may be flying toward me even now, I told myself. They may be over the great water, or sheltering from the cold in some desolate place between there and here. I will wait; there will come a time when I will call, and he will answer.

Dimly, my ears were picking up an increase in activity outside the room, the sound of raised voices and hastening steps. The light was too poor for working, and my mind was numb and exhausted with my efforts. I went to the door and looked out just as Megan hurried by, her arms full of linen. I caught her sleeve, raising my brows in question.

“It’s Mistress Margery,” she said breathlessly. “Been having her pains all afternoon, very strong they are, but the midwife says there’s something wrong. Babe’s the wrong way round, she says, and you know what that means. Poor Mistress Margery. Her first babe died, you know. Looks like it might be the same again.”

Her words shocked me back into this world. Margery’s child, which was so precious to her. She and John had lost one, they must not lose another. I could help. I had done this before, I knew just what to do. I could not tell them this, but I could show them. I followed the bustling Megan to Margery’s quarters, where there were women clustered around the door, and light within. Megan vanished inside with her clean cloths. But my way was barred by one of Lady Anne’s waiting women.

“Not you,” she said firmly. I hesitated only a moment, then tried to make my way past her. This was ridiculous. If Margery was in trouble, she needed me. Surely she wanted me. And I knew what to do, at least I thought I did. The woman’s arm shot out to block my way.

“You can’t go in there,” she said. “You’ll not be allowed to set your curse on a woman in childbirth, nor lay your filthy hands on her unborn babe. Be off with you. Your kind are not welcome here.” I would have slapped her face, if I hadn’t known it would only make things worse. I drew a deep breath.

“What’s the matter?” came a voice from within the room. It was the lady Anne, who now came to the door, hearing her women’s raised voices. “Jenny. What are you doing here?” She looked tired and sad, and not at all pleased to see me. I used my hands to speak to her.
I can help. I know these things. Let me help. Let me in
.

Lady Anne looked at me wearily. “I don’t think so, Jenny,” she said, and she was already turning away. “We have our own midwife here. She has skills enough; if she cannot save this babe then I fear nobody can.” And she was gone.

“You heard my lady,” said another woman. “Be off with you. We don’t need your kind. It’s a healer that’s wanted here, not a killer. Why don’t you go back where you came from, witch?”

I left. What was the point? But I could have wept, thinking of Margery who had become my friend, and who now risked losing what she had waited for so lovingly. I went back to my room, made sure my preparations for the night were complete, then paced up and down the garden as Alys sniffed around under the lavender bushes. I felt the chill deepen as the sky grew darker, and nightfall closer. My heart grew heavy with foreboding. Death was very close that day; I felt her in my bones. No warm hearth nor guardian holly branch could keep her out, where she chose to enter. I wished I could don cloak and boots and go to the river now, could be there at the moment when the sun dropped below the horizon and the land grew gray and purple and black. But I knew Red. I must appear at the table or a search would be mounted. There was no escape until full dark. He needed neither lock nor key to keep me prisoner.

It was to have been a festive meal, but there was little joy among those of the household that gathered in the hall that evening. It was already dark. I watched the blackness outside the windows, and my spirit called out again.
Conor! Finbar! Where are you? Wait for me
. I pictured my brothers in the cold under the willows, not knowing if I was near or no. Alone, and in the heart of their enemy’s lands. Exhausted in the dark. A corner of my mind registered the sight of a distraught John being given a goblet of wine and draining it in one gulp, scarcely aware of what he did or where he was. Of Red, with a tight mouth and cold eyes, speaking to his mother in a furious undertone. I thought I could guess why he was angry. He knew I was a healer. He was John’s friend, and Margery’s. He realized I might be able to help them. But Lady Anne did not want me at Margery’s bedside, with my sorceress’s hands delivering the babe. She looked uncomfortable in the face of Red’s anger, but there was a stubborn set about her soft features. Ben sat by me and said little. Nobody had much appetite.

As early as was polite, I left the table, going straight to my room. Lady Anne and her son were still arguing; I didn’t think either of them noticed me. There was still plenty of time. I thrust my feet into my outdoor boots and snatched up the cloak. Alys barely stirred, nestled cosily in the blankets. The candle burned steadily on the wooden chest.
I’m coming. Wait just a little longer
. I raised my hand to unbolt the outer door.

At that moment there was a sharp knocking, and Megan’s voice at the other door. “Jenny! Jenny, are you there?” It was as if a cold hand clenched itself around my heart. No, not now. Don’t call me now. But it was for Margery, I knew it, and I had no choice but to open the door and to follow Megan back into the house. It had taken them long enough to realize they could not deliver this child without me. The lady Oonagh herself could not have chosen the moment better.

Lady Anne had spoken to the women; or somebody had. Their eyes still followed me nervously as I moved about the room, and more than one of them made a furtive sign of the cross. But they said not a word. Margery was exhausted. She had great dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was cold and clammy.