Path of the She Wolf (4 page)

Brigit trembled and could not speak.

‘Do you wish to see your mother, child?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Come then.’ Marian took her by the hand and led her inside.

What the Forestwife had said was true. There was nothing to fear. Old Gerta had washed the mother’s body and combed her hair. She’d covered her with a clean soft woollen cloak and set a small, sweet scented posy of snowdrops in the work-roughened hands. The careworn face was smoothed into an expression of peaceful rest.

Brigit knelt down and gently stroked her mother’s hair.

Marian looked across at Gerta and tears filled both the women’s eyes to see the young girl’s touching gesture. Though they were constantly faced with pain and suffering, it never ceased to hurt. Marian dashed away the tears and forced herself to be practical. ‘We cannot leave your mother unburied. We do not know how many days it will be before Tom can bring your father back. We could carry her to the Sisters of the Magdalen. They would give her a Christian burial in their churchyard, or we may bury her here at the top of the clearing where past Forestwives sleep beneath the yew trees. You must tell us what you want.’

Brigit shook her head. ‘I cannot think,’ she said.

Gerta got up and put her arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘Would you like Marian to show you the place?’

‘Aye,’ Brigit allowed herself to be led back outside.

At the top of the clearing between two ancient yews there lay a row of unmarked graves, humps in the ground.

‘It’s very quiet here,’ the girl whispered.

Marian nodded. ‘We believe this clearing to be an ancient place of healing, with its circle of yews and magical warm spring. We do not know how old it is, but for as long as any of us can remember there has been a Forestwife living here; someone who will give help to any who come seeking it and do her best to heal.’

‘We thought you a witch,’ Brigit said, shamed at their foolishness. ‘And we were fearful, but I am not feared of you now.’

Marian smiled. ‘I am but a woman. I sometimes wish I were a witch, if such magic would give me better skills. I would have given anything to have saved your mother for you.’

‘I know that you tried,’ Brigit spoke with surprising maturity. ‘I know that you did your best. Are these the graves of the ancient Forestwives?’

‘Yes, but not only them. This one was Agnes, the old Forestwife and my dear nurse; she was also Robert’s mother. This was Emma, my sweetest friend and Magda’s mother. This one with still fresh earth is my own mother, Eleanor. The forest folk called her the Old One. It’s just two months since I came home to find she’d died.’

‘Did you feel all dull and tight inside you?’ Brigit touched her chest.

‘Aye,’ Marian said. ‘I did feel that, but it’s slowly getting better. That morning, before I knew she’d died, I saw a she-wolf out in the woods. When I got back and found my mother gone, I thought the she-wolf had been my mother’s spirit and I was so glad that I’d seen her going bravely on her way.’

Brigit nodded. ‘This is a good place,’ she said. ‘My mother used to make herb medicines for the village folk – she’d like this place. Will you bury my mother here?’

Robert and James returned, noisy and energetic with their plans. ‘We’ll send word to all our friends. We’ll muster every man we know.’ Robert told Marian. ‘Philippa’s blacksmith husband is willing, and Rowan, too. Philippa says she is going, for she’s determined not to lose her youngest son, and she says they’ll need someone sensible to keep an eye on them! Isabel agrees that Will may go though she says she doesn’t know how she’ll manage without him. What about you, sweetheart? We’ll be in desperate need of a healer. You were never far behind when it came to a fight!’

But Marian shook her head. ‘I have bad feelings about it all,’ she said. ‘Though Giles de Braose seems to be an honourable man, I do not trust the other barons. Since when have they helped such as us? Besides, there must be a Forestwife here.’

As soon as Magda finished filling in the rubbish pit, Marian asked her to start digging the grave.

‘Am I the only one around here who can wield a shovel?’ she complained. ‘Ask my father, he that is so big and strong. He’s getting fat, he needs the exercise!’

John came to her laughing. They wrestled over the shovel. ‘Give it to me then daughter. I’ll show you how it’s done.’ Then suddenly their laughter died as they saw Brigit watching them.

‘I should like to dig my mother’s grave,’ she said solemnly.

‘Come little one,’ said John quietly taking her hand. ‘We’ll all help, and do the job together.’

They assembled to bury the poor mother as dusk fell. The young wet-nurse came over from Langden to join them at the graveside, her own big babe on one hip and the tiny child cradled in her other arm. The older child wriggled about and the new-born babe began to cry. Both Magda and Marian moved to help, but then stood back as Brigit strode over to the woman and took her brother into her arms. She rocked the child gently and stuck her little finger into his mouth. The child was instantly soothed.

Magda and Marian looked at each other. ‘How old is she?’ Magda whispered.

‘Older than her years,’ Marian quietly replied.

‘Sorrow can do that to young folk,’ Gerta agreed.

Magda went to stand beside Brigit. ‘Your new brother should be named,’ she said. ‘You are his sister. You should be the one to name him.’

Brigit looked uncertain for a moment but then smiled
down at the baby’s soft patch of hair. ‘My father is called Peter,’ she said. ‘I shall call my brother Peterkin for him.’

‘Peterkin is a fine name,’ Magda touched the baby’s cheek.

The days that followed were full of bustle, and the Forestwife’s clearing was filled with the smell of hot metal poured to make arrowheads. The scrape of knife on wood could be heard as they worked hard to finish new strong bows. Arrows went whistling towards their targets, for Robert had all who presented themselves willing at bow practice each day.

Gerta’s three grandsons begged to join the older men but the old woman was adamant that they were far too young and she marched them away, back to their small home in the woods, so that they shouldn’t be tempted further by watching the preparations. Philippa and her husband were to go with Isabel’s blessing, for their skills as blacksmiths would be needed as much as those willing to fight.

‘Promise me you’ll stay out of the battle?’ Marian begged her friend.

Philippa had sighed. ‘Oh aye,’ she said. ‘There’ll be plenty to do without fighting. I dare say they’ll have me hammering the dints from their swords and straightening crumpled arrowheads. They’ll want their wounds tending, and they’ll all need feeding. Trust me, I won’t be joining any battle.’

‘I don’t trust you, any more than I trust Robert,’ said
Marian, hugging her tightly. ‘Just make sure you come back safely to us.’

Magda was excited by all the plans and action that surrounded her home. She spoke of going with the men but John would not agree to it. A happy relief from the warlike plans came when Tom brought back Brigit’s father safe and well from Nottingham Jail. Brigit was overjoyed to see him but her happiness did not last long for the man was determined to join the rebels.

‘But father we need you, me and little Peterkin,’ she told him.

‘Do you feel safe here with the Forestwife?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘Please try to understand. I must go to fight against these wicked Forest Laws. They make our lives a misery.’

Brigit just stared at him, deep sadness in her eyes.

When Magda spoke again of going to fight, Tom silenced her by pointing to Brigit. ‘She needs you my love,’ he said. ‘More than ever now that her father insists on coming.’

Soon after Easter one of the Bishop of Hereford’s men rode into the clearing with news that the barons were gathering at Northampton. Brigit’s father was amongst those that set off, prepared for battle, all following the Hooded One.

Though the clearing felt quiet after the army of rebel northeners had gone, there was plenty to do as always. The May Day celebrations were meagre compared with the usual wild feast and dancing that went on, but they didn’t let the day go by in silence.

‘Who can be our Green Man this year?’ Magda wondered. ‘’Tis quite a problem, now that all our men are gone.’

‘’Twould be good to make young Brigit our May Queen,’ Marian, suggested. ‘The child is so solemn and forlorn.’

‘Ah yes!’ Magda agreed. ‘The honour would do her good and maybe cheer her and that gives me an idea; a very young Green Man would be just right to dance with Brigit.’

She persuaded Davy, the youngest of Gerta’s grandson’s, to allow them to paint his cheeks with green woodland dyes and cover his hair and clothes in fresh green leaves. When the misty May morning arrived, Davy came
dancing out from the woodland as the Green Man, bringing the summer in as the sun rose high in the sky. He enjoyed his part and delighted in crowning the surprised Brigit with a garland of sweet hawthorn blossom to make her his Green Lady, and the beautiful May Queen. The older women clapped and sang with determined cheerfulness as the children danced around the maypole by the trysting tree.

As the weather grew warmer, small scraps of news from the rebels reached the Forestwife’s clearing and they were grateful for the messages brought by Isabel, whose Manor of Langden, lay closer to the Great North Road. Within weeks they heard that the rebels had attacked the King’s stronghold at Northampton, while the King stayed near to Oxford, gathering his wolfpack about him. Then the northeners marched on to London, climbing the walls and opening the city gates on a Sunday while the good townsfolk were at mass. They set about besieging the Tower of London.

‘Sounds like Robert,’ said Magda. ‘If it’s not his idea, he’ll certainly be enjoying himself.’

‘Aye,’ Marian agreed with a sigh.

‘There’s some still loyal to the crown,’ Isabel told them. ‘Nichola la Haye holds Lincoln Castle for the King.’

Marian’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘Nichola . . . the constable’s wife. Isn’t she a frail old woman? What of her husband?’

Isabel laughed. ‘She’s old, but I doubt you’d call her frail! Her husband was from home when rebels surrounded Lincoln. They thought they’d take it with ease, but they were wrong. It seems Nichola set about defending the place like a veteran warrior, and they’ve not moved her.’

‘I can’t help thinking, good for her!’ cried Magda. ‘But she’s on the wrong side!’

‘Yes,’ Isabel agreed. ‘We should have such a woman organising
our
men!’

Marian shook her head. ‘I fear for our men,’ she said. ‘I don’t trust these bishops and barons; I’m sure they’re after their own gains. There are no clear sides to this struggle.’

As the weather grew warm and the June buds burst filling the woodland with lush green leaves they heard the most wonderful news. The King was asking for peace and agreeing to meet the rebels at Runnymede, promising he’d give them their charter. While the barons and bishops swore fealty once more to King John, the rebel army feasted.

A smaller celebration took place deep in Barnsdale Woods. The nuns brought bread and ale, Isabel ordered some of her geese slaughtered, and Marian cut down the haunch of venison that had been smoking above her cooking fire for weeks. Magda took young Brigit out into the woods and taught her how to snare rabbits.