Path of the She Wolf Page 8

  ‘He’s taken refuge in a cave near Creswell village,’ Tom told her. ‘It was hard to get him away from Derbyshire, for the people were setting about building up the defences of Peveril Castle, determined to withstand the King’s revenge. They begged John’s help and he could not be stopped from joining in and so I thought I’d best help too.’

  Magda sighed, but smiled folding her arms. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I can see it all.’

  ‘Then the wolfpack came and went, and John is wounded,’ Tom spoke with concern. ‘Not fearfully I think, but he has an arrowhead in his thigh that I can’t get out, and a sudden fever has come upon him. We travelled to Creswell, but I left him there, wrapped well and hidden away in the big cave that Robert often makes his refuge. He could not go further and I thought perhaps Marian would come to him.’

  ‘I shall come,’ Magda told him.

  ‘No, not you.’ Tom looked anxious. ‘You should stay close to home at this time.’

  ‘Oh yes, I shall come,’ she spoke determinedly. ‘It is not far to go, and Rambler can carry me as smooth and steady as a boat. Marian has too much to do here, as you will see. John is my father and I will go to him.’

  Magda would not have any arguments about it and when Tom entered the clearing and saw the desperate people who filled it with their shelters and their misery, he understood that Marian was indeed needed there. So with many instructions and warnings from the Forestwife, they set off just before noon, Magda perched sideways on Rambler’s back, supported all about with rugs, food, medicine and ointment pots.

  Tom insisted that he lead Rambler at a steady walking pace through the secret paths. The sheltering caves of Creswell, that had often saved the outlaws from freezing overnight, were not far to the west so that they reached the place by dusk.

  The cave was one of many, set into the steep rugged valley sides known as Creswell Crags. A dark shadow slipped away from the cave mouth and into the surrounding bushes as they arrived.

  ‘What was that!’ Magda cried. ‘Was it a wolf? Has it harmed my father?’

  ‘Hush!’ Tom said. ‘Wolves have never attacked us yet, though I did feel that someone was watching us when I was here before. This is a very strange and ancient place.’

  ‘And still you left Father alone?’

  ‘I had no choice, love, and though there may be others taking refuge in the caves, I felt sure that they would be more fearful than us. They certainly kept themselves well hidden.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  They found John shivering and talking to himself, half-awake and half-asleep, but he seemed to be unharmed. He did not recognise them, ignoring their presence and continuing to shake. ‘I saw her,’ he muttered. ‘Grey . . . eyes like fire! Wouldn’t go!’

  Tom quickly got a fire going and brought water from the lake that filled the valley bottom, setting it to boil. Magda found it difficult to remember Marian’s instructions and hard to stay calm.

  ‘Where to start, where to start?’ she muttered.

  ‘Clean the wound first,’ Tom reminded her.

  ‘All right!’ she snapped.

  She bathed and poulticed her father’s wounded leg, though it had swollen badly and turned dark purple. She fed him sips of the Forestwife’s famous fever mixture, but the big man continued to shiver and shake.

  ‘Wrap him up Tom suggested.

  It was only when they had piled rugs on him to sweat the sickness away that at last Magda took breath herself and lay back to rest, leaning against Tom.

  No sooner had she relaxed and got herself warm and comfortable than her body stiffened with a sudden tightness that pulled at her stomach. ‘What was that, sweetheart?’ Tom asked.

  Magda stared up at him, wide-eyed and alarmed. ‘Perhaps, after all, I should not have come,’ she whispered. Then her stomach cramped again, so that she could do nothing but gasp at the power of it.

  ‘Is it the child?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Aye,’ she growled. ‘Think so! Must be!’

  Tom hesitated for a moment, but then he carefully moved aside and propped her up against a rug, protecting her back from the wall of the cave. Calmly he rolled up his sleeves and set the pot to boil once again, feeding small sticks into the glowing embers of their fire. Magda opened her mouth to ask him what he thought he was doing, but another cramp made her shut it tight and grunt instead.

  Tom threw his small meat knife into the pot, then pulled loose one of the bindings that tied the breeks about his legs. He threw that into the pot along with the knife.

  Magda gasped again as her belly cramped. Then as it subsided once more, she groaned. ‘Not here! I’m not having my birthing here without Marian! You must take me back! You must go and fetch her’

  ‘I’m not leaving you and here will be fine,’ Tom told her.

  ‘But father . . . he needs looking after?’

  ‘We have done all we can for him for the moment. What he needs now is rest.’

  ‘Yes, but you cannot . . .’

  ‘Oh yes I can,’ Tom told her, smiling. ‘It would not be the first time that I have acted as midwife. When you were a little babe and I lived with Marian, I helped with many a birthing. ’Twas long ago, but I do not forget. I know exactly what to do.’

  Another birth pang came and prevented her from arguing more. Tom piled heaps of straw at her back, then he settled himself behind her, soothing and supporting her so that she could almost crouch upright. ‘’Twill not be long I’d guess,’ he whispered. ‘The cramps are coming fast. You are lucky!’

  ‘I should blasted well hope it won’t be long!’ Magda snarled at him. ‘And I don’t call it lucky! You can damned well think you’re lucky, to be sitting there behind and not growling here in front! You are lucky that I can’t get up and thump you one!’

  ‘Hush!’ he told her firmly. ‘Save your breath for getting the child out!’

  ‘I’ll save my breath for spitting in your face!’ she cried. Then the sharpness of the pain took her by surprise, and an urgent downward movement, made her want to start to push the child out. ‘Coming . . . it’s coming! Can’t stop it!’

  ‘I knew it would not take long,’ he said.

  Magda bellowed noisily, but the child slipped smoothly out into the world. Tom was so busy, tying the cord and cutting it, then cleaning and wrapping the child to keep it warm that he did not know that he was watched. The wild sounds of Magda’s growls and groans had brought them small and nervous visitors, curiosity overcoming fear. At last Tom handed the struggling bundle to Magda.

  A beautiful strong girl,’ he told her.

  They both looked up startled as light pattering laughter and clapping came from the cave mouth. Magda clutched her baby to her fearfully for a moment. ‘Who’s there?’ she cried.

  There was silence for a moment, but then they saw a small face with eyes that glistened in the light of their fire. Another face came into view, and another. Six small ragged children crept towards the warmth and glow.

  Tom and Magda looked at each other. ‘Were you there all the time?’ Tom asked.

  The children nodded. ‘Aye, we were.’

  ‘Did you see my baby born?’ Magda demanded.

  The children nodded again and though they were clearly still frightened they pushed each other forwards, holding out thin hands towards the fire’s warmth. They were barefooted, their flesh blue with cold and terribly skinny.

  ‘Where are your mothers?’ Magda asked.

  ‘King’s men . . . got her,’ was the tremulous reply.

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘Got him too!’

  ‘Have you been living in the caves alone?’ Tom asked.

  The children shivered and nodded. ‘Frightened of the big man!’

  ‘He talks and shouts to nobody!’

  ‘He’s my father, you needn’t be frightened of him. Give them bread,’ Magda said as she rocked her child. Tom searched in the baggage that they’d brought from Barnsdale and found some of Marian’s fresh-ba
ked, grainy bread. The children tore it apart, devouring it, whimpering with delight.

  Magda leant back against the cave wall, exhausted, watching the children eating so hungrily. ‘Well,’ she sighed. ‘If you saw my baby born, then that makes you her new brothers and sisters, don’t you think?’

  ‘Aye. Brothers and sisters,’ they answered, smiling at last.

  Tom sat down beside his wife and child, putting his arms about them both. ‘You wanted children,’ he said. ‘Have you got enough now?’

  Magda kissed him. ‘I think I have,’ she said smiling. Then suddenly a great bubble of mirth welled up in her chest and she clutched at her sore stomach as they both leant back against the cold cave wall and laughed.

  14

  The Gift of Making People Happy

  When the first rays of sharp winter sunlight crept into the cave, John opened his eyes. He was warm and calm, the feverish shaking gone. He looked about him and thought he must be dreaming for there was Tom slumped in the curving back corner of the cave, his arms wrapped about Magda. They both slept deeply, but beside Magda lay a small bundle of soft woven lamb’s wool, that moved and wriggled.

  John raised himself onto his elbow, gritting his teeth for his leg was still stiff and swollen. He stared about him at the six children, now warmly wrapped in Marian’s rugs, sleeping soundly in a gently snoring heap, beside the dying embers of the fire. He turned smiling back to Magda, then laughed out loud; from the small bundle came a tiny tightly clenched fist that seemed to salute him cheerily. A small hungry cry followed.

  Magda opened her eyes and stirred. She pulled herself up, a little awkwardly. ‘Well father,’ she said. ‘You look a lot better now.’

  ‘And it seems that your family has grown, daughter. It has grown quite a lot.’

  Magda bent to pick up the small wailing bundle with the flailing fists as Tom stirred. ‘You’d best meet your new granddaughter,’ she said. ‘We’re calling her Eleanor after Marian’s mother.’

  John laughed again, delighted. ‘Listen to her howl! Look at the strength of her little punching fists. Something tells me we have a future Forestwife here.’

  The happy parents smiled down at Eleanor.

  John turned, looking out towards the round shape of the cave mouth, lightening now as the sun rose. ‘I must have been dreaming,’ he said, ‘but I thought I saw an aged she-wolf, here in the cave with me.’

  Magda gasped. ‘I knew we saw a wolf,’ she said. ‘I saw it slip away as we came.’

  ‘Don’t look so fearful, daughter,’ said John. ‘Perhaps I did see it. The creature looked straight at me with eyes golden and bright as fire but then turned her back on me, settling down by the cave mouth. I must have been crazy with the sickness but I swear it seemed for all the world as though she were guarding me.’

  Magda fell silent and wondering, remembering Marian’s story of her mother’s wolf spirit in the woods. She hugged the new little Eleanor tightly in her arms, rocking her gently back and forth. ‘Thank you Old One,’ she whispered.

  Back in the Forestwife’s clearing the weather had turned so bitterly cold that each morning brought new deaths, not from wounds or starvation but simply from cold. It troubled Marian greatly that these people should be losing their lives for the need of warmth.

  The day after Magda had gone Marian took Brigit and Gerta with her to raid the empty convent of the Magdalen. Brigit did not like the idea much. ‘The sisters are our friends,’ she protested.

  Marian smiled as she strode through the icy paths. ‘You do not know Mother Veronica as well as I,’ she said. ‘If they were here they’d give us their last scrap of food, their last warm rug. And I know where they keep their cloaks and the warm woollen habits that they weave and stitch so carefully.’

  ‘Are we going to steal nuns’ clothes?’ Brigit was still worried.

  Gerta put her arm about her. ‘Believe me, honey. This is what the nuns would want, if they could see the ragged folk who shelter with the Forestwife. Their cloaks and habits will save many lives and without them there’ll be more frozen corpses to bury in the morning.’

  Marian knew the small convent building well and it was easy to remove the neat stack of woven nuns’ clothing that had been prepared for next winter’s use. Gerta had been right, for the following morning brought no deaths and for once Philippa did not have to get out her spade. The strange sight of old men and little children wrapped in nun’s veils and habits made everyone smile.

  Robert and James returned to Barnsdale in the middle of January with others who’d fought with them. They found the clearing quiet and organised.

  ‘You have done well,’ Robert stared about him at the orderly queues for food, the careful, industrious stacking of firewood. ‘I dreaded to find it a smoking ruin like so many that we’ve seen.’

  ‘Have they punished the people enough?’ Marian asked. ‘Have they given up their murderous task yet?’

  Robert shook his head, his face grim. ‘They head up north towards the borderlands, too fast and too many of them for us to follow. We have lost many friends. We are weary and bruised. Mother Veronica is returning to the convent; the sisters are badly in need of a rest. We wonder now what will happen when they return south, as they must eventually do.’

  ‘Do the rebel barons fight back?’ Marian asked.

  Robert put his arm about her. ‘Some do, some give in at the first sight of so many mercenaries, all well-armed. Pontefract’s lord has surrendered to the king, and York and Richmond. They say Robert de Ros still holds out at Helmsley.’

  ‘His serfs and peasants will suffer whichever way,’ Marian said bitterly.

  The men stayed in the clearing, licking their wounds, resting and feeding, though Marian’s hard won stocks of food were beginning to dwindle. In the dark evenings they sat about the fires talking and fretting and making plans. Marian clung to Robert in the long nights, knowing this momentary peace could not last for long. A terrible quiet and sense of misery seemed to settle about the place, even though the deaths grew fewer. It was only the happy return of Magda and Tom towards the end of the month that broke through the gloom. Everyone was amazed and cheered that she should come back with not one child, but seven. John’s leg still troubled him and Marian did her best, but even she could not remove the arrowhead.

  Magda insisted that little Eleanor must have a naming feast and no sooner was she back than she sent the men off to make a swift raid on Sherwood. They returned with a cart piled high with deer carcasses.

  ‘The wardens run in all directions,’ Tom told them. ‘Starvation makes the most law abiding reckless. The deer vanish from beneath their very noses.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Robert, smiling grimly. ‘But we hear that the Sheriff has sent messengers to the King, begging him send a gang of his best trained men to put a stop to it.’

  ‘And do you think the King will do it?’ Magda asked.

  Robert shrugged his shoulders. ‘The Sheriff is no rebel baron, that’s for sure. He’s supported the King throughout. He’ll find out soon if the King is loyal to him or not!’

  ‘And we hope not!’ chuckled John.

  ‘Brig’s Night can be my little Eleanor’s name feast’ Magda told them. And Peterkin is one year old, he must have his birthday celebration. Brig more than answered my prayers for a child, and we’ve had no Christmas, no mumming, no dancing. We must not let Brig’s Night pass in silence.’

  Marian hesitated. ‘Well, we have plenty of venison to roast, but little ale to drink.’

  Magda was in full spate and there was no stopping her. ‘We don’t need drink to make ourselves a feast. There’s plenty of wood stacked and charcoal. We can celebrate with fire and dancing. Father can play his pipe and James can make a new drum from deer hide.’

  Marian could not help but smile. ‘What do you think, John? Is this giddy daughter of yours right? She’s got it all worked out!’

  Suddenly everyone was roused and laughing and fetching wood to build a big bonfir
e. They built it in the open space before the great oak: the trysting tree.

  So Magda got her Brig’s Night celebration, and they had a fine bonfire and ate and danced and sang until they were all warm and cheerful. Brigit sat quietly on the doorsill of the new hut watching them with little Peterkin wriggling in her lap.

  Tom saw the sadness in her and remembered that Brig’s Night had brought her mother’s death as well as Peterkin’s birth. ‘Will you not dance with me?’ he begged, sitting down beside her. ‘Magda will look after Peterkin for a while.’

  Brigit smiled sadly, but shook her head.

  ‘Your mother would not want to see you sad on your brother’s birthday. Now tell me? Would she want that?’

  Brigit gave a great sigh and shook her head again.

  ‘Magda!’ Tom called. ‘Come take the birthday boy while I dance with his sister.’

  ‘I’ve been making something for him,’ Magda cried, as she came over to them, little Eleanor tucked into one arm. ‘We’ve nowt to give but love and kisses and . . .’ she brought out from behind her back, a little wreath of mistletoe. She crowned his curly head with it. ‘Come on, all of you,’ she cried. ‘All the brothers and sisters. We’ll do a special birthday dance for Peterkin.’

  Then the cave children followed her, snatching up each other’s hands, while Magda took the birthday boy up into her other arm and jogged gently around the fire, her arms full of babies, singing:

  ‘Mistletoe for happiness,

  Mistletoe for luck,

  Mistletoe for a fine little man,

  The sweetest little duck!’

  Peterkin laughed and chortled, his cheeks rosy in the fire-glow. His sister danced happily with Tom, keeping a watchful eye on her brother in case he tired.

  Marian danced with James and then John, though she was saddened to see him limping awkwardly. It was only later when the fire was beginning to burn down that she went to Robert. The brief happiness that was all around was so bittersweet, once she’d wrapped her arms around Robert’s neck she wanted desperately to keep him locked there, chained to her forever.