Child of the May (13 page)

The men were gone for four days, but then they came hurrying back into the clearing with glum faces and the dog still at their heels.

“Why have you brought Fetcher back?” Magda cried.

“He would not leave James’ side,” John told her hurriedly. “But we have more to bother us than Fetcher, sweetheart.”

Marian put down the pot she pounded roots in. “What is it now?” she demanded.

“The King has been at Clipstone hunting lodge with the Sheriff.”

“What of that? He hunts while the weather’s warm.”

John shook his head. “
He’s
gone on to Nottingham now, but he’s left the Sheriff and that damned FitzRanulf at Clipstone. There’s the remains of the wolfpack and, with them, a great gang of new hired mercenaries.”

A shiver crept up Magda’s back when she heard her father’s words.

“We don’t like the look of it.” James’ face was grim. “That’s no jolly hunting party gathering there – they’ve got three blacksmiths hard at work fettling up their weapons. We did not hang around to be recognised. We came at close quarters to some of them, up at Wentbridge.”

Marian frowned and looked round at her mother. “Is this it?” she asked. “Is this the great fear that haunts tha dreams?”

Eleanor had gone very white. “I think so,” she whispered.

Magda dug her fingers deep into Fetcher’s warm rough coat for comfort.

“What do they plan? Can you tell us, old one?” James begged, but Eleanor shook her head.

“Fire and sword,” she said. “Fire, sword and hunger in the forest . . . nay, in Langden. I cannot see more.”

“Damn it! I wish that Robert was here,” John said. “Should I go off hunting for him?”

“Aye, maybe the time is right that you should,” Marian agreed.

The following morning John set out to track his friend down. Tom and James went snaring hares for the pot and those left in the clearing went about their tasks with an air of foreboding. Their fears were heightened when Philippa arrived, breathless and angry, just before midday.

“What is it?” Marian cried, running to her friend. “Bad news?”

“Aye,” Philippa gasped. “Bad news for Langden. It’s the wolfpack, all the lot of them. They’ve marched in and taken over the manor house. They’re bristling with weapons and foul mouthed as sin.”

“What of Isabel and Matilda? Have they been turned out?”

“Nay. Not so bad if they had. At least we could give them shelter then. No one has seen them – the wolfpack will let nobody in or out.”

“What does it mean?” Marian demanded.

Magda’s heart thumped fast as she watched the two women striding up and down the clearing. They were unaware of the goats, chickens and cats who scattered in their path, so deep was their concern. Magda’s safe existence in Barnsdale seemed badly threatened. The old one watched anxiously from the doorsill.

When Tom and James returned with a pair of hares, they all sat down and talked again.

“What can we do against so many?”

“There’s no way that we can raise more men, not after our last defeat!”

Brother James shook his head despairingly. Then suddenly he got up. “One thing I do know – I’d rather die than cower here in the woods.”

“Me too,” cried Marian. “But what shall we do?”

James shrugged his shoulders. “Bow practice,” he said. “Come on, every one of us. Don’t sit here worrying, let’s fettle our bows and be ready to make our move when we may.”

They all jumped up at his suggestion. Anything was better than sitting there in gloom. They worked all afternoon, fitting new shafts for their arrows. They were grimly letting their arrows fly at a swaying willow wand when Sister Rosamund came tramping through the woods with worse news.

“It’s Mother Veronica,” she told them. “She went visiting the Langden ladies yesterday and she’s not returned. I’ve been to the manor to ask after her, but there’s soldiers at every door and they won’t let me in. The little windows up in Matilda’s solar are boarded up, though I thought I could hear a scraping sound from within. I fear they’ve all been taken prisoner.”

“This gets worse and worse,” Marian cried.

“I must go to Langden,” James insisted.

Tom looked thoughtful. “No, wait a while,” he said. “They may have made a great mistake when they imprisoned Veronica. Walter of Stainthorpe may be old and sick, but he still leads a band of fierce fighting men.”

James looked suddenly interested. “You mean the leper knights? They’re not exactly an army, but you are right, Tom; they’re trained as sharp as any fighting men and fiercely disciplined. I’ve heard it said that once they move to fight they will never turn back, even though they face certain death.”

“But would such men give us aid?” asked Marian.

“I believe so,” said Tom. “Though both devoted their lives to God, Walter of Stainthorpe is still Veronica’s man and would do anything for her.”

Philippa was puzzled by mention of the leper knights, but Marian was eager now. “What have we to lose?”

Tom led out Rambler, the stallion, from the lean-to where they’d stabled him and climbed into the saddle.

“Come on, fellow,” he murmured. “I bet you never thought to see your old master so soon.”

Magda could not stop herself from running to Tom and grabbing his leg. “Take care!” she cried. “Please come safe back! We are all depending on you!”

Tom looked surprised but pleased and stooped from the saddle to kiss her. “I’ll be back as fast as you can blink,” he cried.

The ones that were left sat whispering together round the fire that night, then slept badly once they had settled to rest. Two more days days passed in constant fear and anxiety. Plans were made, only to be discarded as hopeless and ridiculous. Then early one morning they were surprised by the sound of voices calling out their names.

Magda lifted up the skins and stepped over the doorsill, thinking that she recognised the voice. And she was right. Joanna stood before her with an older man and a lad.

Magda went to hug her, filled with surprise. “What’s brought you back so soon?”

“We’ve walked all through the night, me and Father and Jamie, for Jamie has heard some terrible things that we think you should know.”

Marian came up behind Magda, also amazed to see Joanna back again. “What is it?” she asked.

“Our Jamie is apprenticed to Clipstone’s blacksmith,” Joanna told them. “And while he was stoking the fires he heard two soldiers from the wolfpack boasting of what they did. He didn’t like the sound of it. You tell them, Jamie!”

Everyone gathered around the doorway, looking expectantly at the young lad.

“They said,” he muttered nervously, “they said that Matilda and Isabel of Langden were to get the same as the great Matilda.”

“You know who they mean,” Joanna cried. “That brave lady, the one you tried to rescue.”

“Yes,” Marian agreed. “We do fear greatly that the wolfpack have imprisoned Langden’s ladies in their own home, along with Veronica. And that is what we suppose has happened to the great Matilda de Braose.”

“’Tis worse than that,” Joanna cried. “Go on, Jamie! Tell them what else you heard.”

“Well,” said Jamie hesitantly, “I can’t be certain that I understood their meaning right, but they said that the great Matilda and her son have gone without their dinner and Langden’s ladies shall do the same!”

They all frowned at that, unsure what it might mean.

Then Jamie spoke up again. “They began laughing in the most horrible way and . . . I’m not sure, but I fear that it may mean . . .”

The whole company stood horrified as his thought sank in.

“Can it really mean . . . they would starve them?” Philippa cried. “Imprison them and starve them to death?”

Suddenly the old one was shaking; her eyes ran with tears. “Yes, they would,” she whispered. “This is it! This is my dream. I have no doubt. Sword and fire and hunger!”

A dreadful silence followed, so that the bleating of goats and soft clucking of fowls was all that could be heard. Then Marian whispered, “No. No, surely. They have Mother Veronica there too. They would not dare to starve a nun!”

James laughed bitterly at that. “Would they not? Since the King still quarrels with the pope, the church gets no protection at all. I heard just last month that a party of nuns were stoned outside Nottingham. The Sheriff’s men stood by giving encouragement. Indeed, King John would probably pay his mercenaries double for ridding him of a troublesome nun as well as two defiant women.”

“The wolfpack would do anything,” said Philippa with certainty. “You cannot believe the foulness of their mood. I fear they do not forget the outlaws’ attack at Wentbridge.”

“But they don’t know that Matilda and Isabel have anything to do with us.” said Magda. “Do they?”

James shrugged his shoulders. “They’d pay well for such information and if the King is in a temper, anyone can come off the worse. There is no fairness or sense about it.”

There was another moment of quiet while they thought, then Marian’s hand went slowly to the meat knife that she always carried tucked into her belt.

“We must
do
something,” she said. “Anything. We cannot wait for Tom or John or Robert, or leper knights who may never come.”

“Yes,” James agreed. “But we must not go rushing up there without any kind of plan; they’d kill us quick as a flash. No . . . we must work out the best way to use our small strength.”

“That’s right,” Philippa agreed. “How many have we got on our side to start with?”

James patted her shoulder. “You’ve a fat monk who’s handy with a quarterstaff and a well-trained dog.” Then he turned to Marian. “You’ve a woman who’s fast with a knife and a fine archer.”

“Two,” shouted Magda. “I am as good a shot as any.”

Marian looked unhappy at that, but Philippa nodded her head. “We need every scrap of help we can gather,” she said. “All who live at Langden will support us, though they’ve few weapons or fighting skills, and we have a convent full of angry nuns.”

They smiled at that thought, but then Philippa shook her head at Marian. “It’s
you
that should not come. The Forestwife should not leave Barnsdale Woods.”