Path of the She Wolf Page 4

  Magda chuckled. ‘A great deal better than I could have done.’

  Then she lifted her head, suddenly alert at the sound of a horse moving slowly towards them, winding its way through the secret paths. All at once it turned into the familiar stamping rhythm of Rambler’s hooves. They jumped up, snatching the lantern, all tiredness forgotten, and ran outside. Tom came riding into the clearing with Brother James mounted behind him. John strode at their side, the faithful Fetcher lolloping after them.

  ‘Now we’ve got to have a celebration,’ Magda cried.

  ‘We’ll have a small one,’ Marian agreed. Then she sighed. ‘Where’s Robert?’

  The men were tired and dusty from their journey. They sported a good crop of cuts and bruises but were otherwise unharmed.

  ‘You’re solemn for men who’ve just won a charter from their King!’ Magda cried.

  ‘Aye,’ Tom hugged her tightly, but still would not smile. ‘We’ve got good reason to be solemn. There was little in the charter for the likes of us, most of it favoured the barons – no real changing of the Forest Laws. All the King did was to grudgingly consent to give back the newest stretches of land that he’d put under the Forest Laws. We didn’t think much of that! But even that small gain didn’t last. Now the King says that he revoke’s the whole agreement!’

  ‘What?’ Magda cried.

  ‘I knew it,’ Marian shook her head.

  ‘The King has gone straight back on his word,’ James told them, grimly fondling Fetcher’s rough ears. ‘First he says he will, then he says he won’t. He claims that he was forced to grant it, and that makes the charter unlawful. The man can wriggle out of any hole.’

  ‘Aye.’ John agreed. ‘He’s sent abroad for more mercenaries and the rebel barons look for men and arms once more. They’ll be fighting again soon enough, you can bet on it, but we’ll not be with them. It’s clear to us now, the barons care nowt for Forest Laws or commonfolk, they just want power for themselves.’

  Marian pressed her lips tightly together, to stop herself from spitting out, I told you so.

  The men brought news of Philippa’s husband, who’d stayed in London working at his blacksmith trade for the rebel lords. ‘They promise great wealth in payment,’ said Tom. ‘Rowan has stayed to help his father, but we doubt they’ll ever see their money.’

  Marian waited until they were fed and warmed by the fire before she asked again. ‘And where is Robert?’

  John shook his head. ‘He was with us this morning, but there was hell to pay as we passed near Ollerton. Great gangs of the Sheriff’s men marched everywhere, armed to the teeth. A guard picked me out as fellow to the Hooded One, so we had to split and run. Will insisted that he go straight back to Langden, he’s anxious to see that all is well with Isabel. Why do you all smile so slyly?’ John touched his daughter’s cheek.

  The women told of the day’s events.

  The men laughed and applauded them, but Marian thought she caught an anxious glance passing between John and Brother James.

  ‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘I know there is something! Is he hurt?’

  There was a moment of hesitation.

  ‘He is hurt!’ she said.

  ‘He took a bash on the head from a huge rock,’ James said at last. ‘The king’s men drag about these powerful new stone-throwing machines that they call the trebuchet. There’s many of our fellows have been stunned and many dead for they hurl great rocks with such a power.’

  Magda shuddered at his words.

  ‘They can bring down walls, and towers with the things,’ John added. ‘And if you are in the wrong place . . .? Well Robert was in the wrong place as usual, but Philippa’s looking after him. She won’t leave his side. Better bodyguard than a bear, is Philippa. We thought it best to draw the guards away from them.’

  Marian frowned. This was so unlike Robert, who was always in the thick of things. ‘He can walk?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh aye,’ John agreed. ‘Your man walks, talks, eats and drinks, but sometimes what he says is rubbish.’

  ‘Huh!’ Marian cried. ‘He always did talk rubbish.’

  John smiled and nodded but he added solemnly. ‘He goes wandering off in the wrong direction, if you do not keep a tight hold of him.’

  That really alarmed her. ‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ she whispered.

  After the others had fallen asleep, Marian lit her lantern from the embers and went out into the darkness of the woods.

  6

  ‘Who is it that you

  think you’ve caught?’

  Marian’s search was fruitless and just as dawn light filtered through the trees, she returned to the cottage and fell asleep, exhausted. By the time she eventually woke again Magda had made oatcakes and the men had cleaned themselves in the warm waters of the Forestwife’s spring. James and Tom started cutting yew staves for new bows.

  ‘Robert’s still not here?’ Marian asked. ‘Nor Philippa?’

  John shook his head. ‘Don’t fret. I’m going off to look for them. We hadn’t time to make plans and I don’t know which way they’ll come. Philippa might head for her home in Langden.’

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Marian insisted.

  But before they had a chance to set off Brigit, who’d been fetching firewood, came running and pointing. ‘Gerta’s coming!’ she cried. ‘Gerta’s coming with an old woman who can’t walk properly. She leads her by the arm.’

  Marian went towards them, ready to give aid as ever, but a shiver of doubt touched her as the they came closer. Was this not Philippa’s dark red kirtle and worn hooded cloak? But the bent, stumbling soul who leaned on Gerta could not be Philippa, who still strode tall and straight-backed through the woods, although she had aged. ‘Who is this, Gerta?’ she asked.

  ‘Prepare yourself,’ Gerta whispered. ‘I fear you’ll be shocked.’ Then she reached over and pulled back her companion’s hood.

  Marian was indeed deeply shocked. It was Robert, but a Robert that she had never known. He trembled and clung to Gerta’s arm, his skin grey and sweaty. He stared up at Marian as though she were a stranger, mumbling words that made no sense.

  Marian’s stomach churned. Robert had been hurt many times before, indeed he was covered with scars that she had cleaned and healed, but no stinking wound or rotting flesh had ever seemed as terrible to her as this clinging weakness or the blankness in his eyes.

  ‘I knew you’d be fearful,’ Gerta reached out to touch her arm. ‘But believe me, I’ve seen this before from a blow to the head, and still they may recover.’

  ‘Aye,’ Marian forced herself to be sensible. ‘I’ve seen it too and you are right, some do get better. Rest and good feeding may do a world of good. Let us get him inside by the fire. Have you seen Philippa?’

  ‘I have,’ Gerta agreed, miserably.

  They steered Robert into the cottage and settled him onto a straw pallet. As Marian fed him sips of a calming fever mixture, Gerta told them what had happened.

  ‘There’s much to tell and no time to waste,’ the old woman was very agitated. ‘I was alone, for Isabel has given my lads work up at Langden. Your friend Philippa came knocking at my door early this morning with the Hooded One at her side. She almost carried the man. Oh, I pray I have done right!’

  ‘Tell us,’ John spoke gently.

  Gerta told them how Philippa and Robert had been tracked by some of the Sheriff’s men, right through Barnsdale. It seemed they’d recognised the much-wanted Hooded One and were bent on getting themselves a rich reward.

  ‘As soon as I let them in, Philippa started tearing off her clothes,’ Gerta told them. ‘I thought she’d gone mad, but then I came to understand and I helped her. I couldn’t think what else to do. We stripped off Robert’s clothes and exchanged them with Philippa’s, so that he looked like this, and Philippa, she’s so tall and upright, she looked like the Hooded One.’

  ‘She’s mad!’ Magda gasped, starting to understand.

  ‘Trust her,’
Marian agreed. ‘She’s put herself in terrible danger.’

  ‘She told me to bring him to you,’ Gerta cried. ‘She swore the men would ignore two old women, if they thought they’d got the Hooded One holed up. And she was right. They took no notice, letting us pass. All they did was to creep a little closer to my hut.’

  ‘We’ve got to go,’ Marian cried.

  ‘Aye,’ John leapt to his feet, lifting down the bows from the nail that they hung on.

  Magda stuck her head out of the door and shouted for Tom and James, who were still unaware of this latest trouble.

  ‘You stay!’ John told Marian. ‘Leave it to us!’

  ‘But Philippa?’ she cried, torn between concern for her sick lover and her dearest friend. ‘I can’t stay here by the fire, when she’s in such danger.’

  ‘I can look after the man,’ a small voice spoke up. They turned to Brigit uncertainly.

  ‘And I can stay with the lass,’ Gerta told them. ‘We played Forestwife together yesterday, now we can do it again. You get off as fast as you can and see that brave and crazy woman safe.’

  They did not argue anymore, but turned and ran, Tom leaping onto Rambler and leading the way.

  Though they went fast through the woodland paths they slowed as they neared Gerta’s hut, knowing that it wouldn’t do to charge straight in. Tom got down from his horse and led Rambler quietly towards the small hut. Though at first all seemed quiet, the faint snorting and champing of bits and restless brush of hooves in the undergrowth told them what they needed to know.

  There were six of the Sheriff’s men creeping slowly towards Gerta’s doorway, swords drawn. Two crouched down beneath Gerta’s small window hole, though it was scarcely big enough for a child to escape through. The band of men were small in number, but well armed and excited at the prize they thought within their grasp. The reward offered for Robert the Wolveshead, also known as the Hooded One, went up at every court-leet. The new Sheriff would be grateful indeed, to any man who brought him back to Nottingham, dead or alive.

  Marian and her friends had no sooner taken stock of the situation than they heard a low cough, followed by a sharp bang that sent clouds of rooks shooting from their nests. Then came the thumping sounds of a struggle and angry shouts. As Marian moved forwards she saw that they’d ripped aside the woven curtain and kicked over the low wattle hurdles that formed a close to keep in Gerta’s geese. Now they hauled out a tall struggling figure dressed in Robert’s forest-dyed hood and short kirtle. Their impulse was to rush forwards and snatch Philippa, but experience held them back, telling them that acting at the right moment was imperative. Meanwhile Gerta’s grey gander made a good job of flying at the men’s eyes, while his companions honked and flapped in panic.

  ‘We’ve got him!’ the men crowed, warding off the beating wings. Philippa continued to fight.

  ‘Ah! Damned fellow’s kicked my shins.’

  ‘Dead or alive?’ another shouted. ‘Hang him! Run him through! Less trouble dead.’

  ‘Aye, but will Sheriff pay more if he’s alive?’

  ‘Aye, maybe. Get him on a horse, and get him trussed.’

  Philippa was bundled onto the nearest waiting horse.

  ‘Now,’ John whispered. ‘Before they get moving.’

  Without further discussion, Marian and her friends took up their bows, each notching an arrow. They crept silently forwards, forming a half-circle about the Sheriff’s men. Tom quietly mounted Rambler and urged him slowly on behind them. So quietly did they move and so close in colour to their surroundings were the woodland dyes of their clothing that they had their targets well lined up before one of the men noticed them. The man was so shocked that he couldn’t speak, only croak and point his sword.

  ‘Give us back our friend,’ John’s voice rang out. ‘Give us our friend and you shall keep your lives.’

  ‘Give up the Hooded One?’ one of the men growled. ‘You must be mad!’

  ‘Fools!’ It was Philippa who spoke, her voice full of mocking laughter. ‘Who is it that you think you’ve caught?’ Suddenly she pulled up Robert’s short kirtle, exposing a pair of very female breasts.

  The men gaped; their mouths open, eyes wide with astonishment. Marian and Magda could not suppress small snorts of laughter, but Philippa did not waste her moment. She was down from the horse and racing towards her friends in an instant. Tom hauled her up onto Rambler, then turned to gallop fast away, leaving the others to deal with the sheriff’s men.

  It was hard to aim carefully whilst holding back laughter, but they somehow managed to send a hail of arrows flying towards the still stunned soldiers. The four who’d pulled Philippa from the hut were killed outright, while the two by the window shot off in the direction of their horses. Magda and John moved to follow them, but could not keep up once the men were mounted and away.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Marian called. ‘They’ll not return here in a hurry.’ She chuckled for a moment, then suddenly her laughter fled. She snatched the nearest deserted horse by the reins. ‘I must get back to Robert,’ she cried.

  7

  A Fine Little Herbwife

  While Marian rode back to the clearing on the stolen horse, Magda, John and James took Gerta’s digging tools and buried the four men secretly in the woods. They set about mending the smashed wattle hurdles, then caught the still squawking geese and returned them to the safety of their close once more. Then when all was neat and secure once more, they set off with three strong new horses for the Forestwife’s clearing.

  Philippa and Tom were just ahead of her when Marian arrived back at the cottage. The two women jumped down from their mounts and hugged each other fiercely.

  ‘How could you?’ Marian cried. ‘Trust you to save yourself so rudely’

  ‘Well . . . it worked didn’t it?’ Philippa laughed shamelessly. ‘There was no need for you to go rushing out there. I could have sorted out those fools myself!’

  ‘I swear that’s true,’ said Tom, shaking his head and smiling. ‘Philippa and the grey gander might have managed very well! But now, what of Robert?’

  The joy fell from both women’s faces, and they turned towards the cottage.

  ‘How long has he been like this?’ Marian asked.

  ‘Almost a se’n night,’ Philippa told her. ‘He seemed to be improving, then slipped back worse than ever. I thought it best to bring him home to you.’

  Marian stopped, smiling sadly. ‘Aye, this is his home, though he never spends much time here. It is as much a home as he has ever known. Robert was born here in this clearing. Did you know?’

  ‘Aye,’ Philippa thrust her arm through her friend’s. ‘I remember his mother Agnes telling me. They have the blessing of the ancient yews, those born in the Forestwife’s clearing, and I have to agree that your Robert is a very remarkable fellow. Something or someone has certainly blessed him!’

  As they entered the hut they breathed in the woody scent of fresh marjoram. A sense of calm filled the small room; Robert seemed to be resting quietly, propped up on the straw pallet. He looked a lot cleaner, his cheeks flushed slightly pink.

  Marian crouched down at his side and put her hand on his forehead. ‘Much better,’ she sighed with relief. ‘So much better. What have you done?’

  Brigit and Gerta sat by the fire, smiling and pleased with themselves. ‘It’s the little lass,’ Gerta insisted. ‘I helped and I did as she told me, but it was the lass’s idea, not mine. We dragged him round to the spring and bathed him – dunked him right in the water. It seemed to soothe him, so we let him have a right good soaking. Then we hauled him out and rubbed him down well with dried lavender and soft lamb’s wool.’

  ‘It seems you’ve done right.’ Philippa laughed. ‘He looks better than he has since that rock smashed down on his head.’

  Marian sniffed at the drained wooden mug that stood on the rushes. ‘Marjoram tea?’ she asked.

  Brigit nodded. ‘Mother always said it was good for the head and it was you that to
ld me that the warm spring was magical!’

  ‘I don’t know that I’d have had the courage to just dunk him in,’ said Marian. ‘Your mother taught you well, Brigit. You are turning into a fine little herbwife.’

  Robert slept soundly, all through the afternoon and the next night. He woke the following morning still weak, but recognising them. Marian made him rest and fed him well, full of joy and confidence in his recovery. Though she’d feared him lost beyond hope, her man had returned to her yet again.

  As the last days of July came, the charcoal burners and coal-diggers set aside their spades and stacks and gathered at Langden, ready to help with the harvest work. Lammastide celebrated the start of the cutting of the wheat, oats and barley.

  Magda loved this time of year, for the first job to be done was not the cutting of the crops, but the clearing out of all the stale stinking rushes that covered the floor of each cottage and hut. The gathering and bringing home of fresh rushes brought the sweet smells of woodland and strewing herbs into every dwelling.

  ‘We must have a feast now,’ she told Marian. ‘Asking for blessings on the harvest is important. You have always said so.’

  ‘You and your feasts,’ Marian laughed. But then a shadow of anxiety seemed to touch her face. ‘But, yes,’ she said solemnly. ‘You are right! We must ask blessings on our harvest, before we cut and then be sure to give thanks afterwards. The harvest is always precious, but this year it shall be most precious indeed. And the gleaning. The gleaning must be done so carefully. Not an ear of corn, not a flake of oat must be left behind.’

  Magda was pleased to have her feast and she did not notice the anxiety that lay hidden behind Marian’s words. Lammastide brought a fine moonlit night and the clearing was filled with the smells of fresh rushes and roast venison, and they sang and danced until it was late.

  Though the harvest made everyone work desperately hard, still a great joyfulness seemed to fill the clearing. So often the women had worked alone, but this year was different. Marian had expected Robert to proclaim himself fit, and go marching off to join some rebel baron, but this time even he spoke of staying to help with the work. If Robert was happy to stay, then so were Tom and James and many more.