Path of the She Wolf (9 page)

And blessings on me
.’

Then they threw their small posies into its clear waters where they bobbed up and down.

Suddenly the procession was moving on and round to the trysting tree. The Sisters of the Magdalen waited there, standing in a half-circle around the last cut sheaf of corn
that Isabel and Philippa had plaited and twisted cleverly into the shape of the goddess. It stood in the middle of them, shoulder high and crowned with a beautiful wreath of ears of corn and flowers.

Magda and Tom exchanged their vows beneath the trysting tree, and the nuns and brother James spoke their blessings. Then, as they kissed, everyone clapped and cheered. Magda turned to lead the dance back past the goddess towards the cottage, where a long trestle table stood, bearing bread, fruit, cheese and ale, but much to everyone’s surprise Philippa strode out from the watching crowd and announced that another happy event was to take place.

‘Come on,’ she ordered, and Isabel came forward blushing and smiling, Will Stoutley at her side.

‘I thought never to marry,’ Isabel announced. ‘As you all know, I fought bitterly against it, and many of you paid a heavy price for my freedom. Now, at last I have found a man that I can trust, and truly love. Will Stoutley is the man I freely choose to be my husband, and I beg you all bear witness to our vows?’

‘Aye! Aye!’ everyone bellowed with approval.

So there and then, both dressed in fine new scarlet, Isabel married Will beneath the trysting tree.

‘Now to dance around the goddess,’ Magda cried.

‘No . . . not yet,’ another voice rang out.

Everyone turned and this time it was Robert who came forward, and he held up his hand for quiet. A sudden hush fell. When Robert decided to speak, there was no knowing what was coming next; a sudden joy, or a snatching up of weapons and a mad scheme that would leave the woodland half empty, and women and children alone and struggling.

But this time Robert had a wicked and cheerful gleam in his eye. He prowled around the Corn Goddess, and nobody moved or spoke; even the children were quiet. He stopped before Marian. ‘There is so much joy and happiness here today,’ he said. ‘That I too dare once more to beg a favour that I have had refused so many times before. Marian, I beg you . . . marry me now, at last, here in this loving circle of friends.’

Everyone turned quiet again, shocked and surprised, straining to hear the reply. This was a joyful day, but the Forestwife belonged to the people of the woods, and not to any man. For a moment Marian looked lost and unsure, but then she pressed her lips tightly together, shaking her head.

‘Nay,’ she told him firmly. ‘Though I love you better than life itself, we have chosen a different way – you and I. There will be no wedding for the Forestwife and the Hooded One.’

Robert flinched staring down at the straw-strewn earth beneath their feet, his thin scarred face grim. His friends watched in silence, dreading his anger, seeing his humiliation. But they needn’t have feared for suddenly he smiled broadly, and swung back to being his usual teasing self. ‘Maybe you are right, my Green Lady – perhaps I’d have been shocked if you’d agreed. Will you still dance with me?’

‘I will always dance with you,’ she whispered. ‘But I am no Green Lady – not anymore.’

Robert turned and snatched up the beautiful flower-woven garland from the Corn Goddess, and placed it on Marian’s head. ‘No. You’ve become the Corn Goddess,’ he cried. ‘Beautiful and golden, touched with sorrow and sun. Now dance with me!’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Now can we all dance?’ Magda cried at last.

Though the feast was small, everyone was joyful at the day’s events, and the singing and dancing went on till dawn.

After the excitement of the woodland weddings it was hard to settle down and return to the autumn work that must be done. But as the weather turned cooler Marian returned to her usual practical preparations for the winter ahead. Nobody was allowed to sit and dream, and each day they went out into the woods returning with baskets and sacks full of mushrooms, berries, nuts and herbs.

Magda was so busy with her new home that she did not at first notice the strange restlessness that seemed to surround her father. John would wake early in the mornings and be off without telling anyone where he was going, then appear again late at night, quiet and tired with a bag half filled with firewood or a handful of yew staves. The only one he really spoke to was James. Despite her distraction even Magda noticed at last. She was puzzled. Robert was usually the unsettled one and John the calmer, more contented of the two men.

‘Father’s gone off again this morning,’ she told Tom. ‘Gone off without saying a word. I don’t know what it is
with him! Half the time I feel as though his mind is somewhere else.’

Tom did not look as surprised as she’d expected, but he sighed and then began to speak gently. ‘Aye, I think his mind is often somewhere else, and I believe I know what it is that disturbs the man’s peace.’

‘Then tell me!’ Magda demanded.

‘Well,’ said Tom. ‘It all started when we marched down to Northampton to join the Bishop. We fell in with a gang of men sent down from Derbyshire. They were sent down to fight for their rebel lord, the constable of Peveril Castle, in the land they call The Peak.’

‘Aye, and so?’ Magda was impatient.

‘Well, there was a fellow who knew John, the moment he clapped eyes on him. He came from the village of Hathersage.’

Ah!’ Magda began to understand. ‘Hathersage where my father was born and raised?’

Tom nodded. ‘The two of them marched side by side for days and whispered by the fire all night. They’d watched over sheep on the hillsides together when they were lads and believe me I have never known John to take such delight in talking as he did with that fellow.’

Magda frowned, unsure that she liked the sound of it. She herself had never known this distant Derbyshire village. She’d been born in the Forestwife’s clearing, and that had been the centre of all her life.

‘What did they talk about?’ she asked.

‘People, places, names they both knew. Wild adventures of their youth! The old ones who’d died, and some young
ones too.’ Tom sighed. ‘It brought John great pleasure,’ he said. ‘But I think it brought him sadness too.’

‘And so this man, this old friend of my father’s returned to Hathersage?’

Tom shook his head. ‘That is the greatest sadness of it all. He was caught like Robert by one of the great stone-throwing machines. He was not as lucky as Robert was, for he died. So you see, there was no returning to Hathersage, not for him. Now,’ Tom asked gently. ‘Do you understand John’s restlessness a bit better?’

Magda heaved a great sigh. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I understand it very well, though I do not much like the answer that comes into my mind.’

‘No,’ Tom shook his head sadly. ‘No, I thought you would not. That is why I never spoke of it before.’

Magda smiled at him, and patted her stomach that was beginning to swell quite noticeably. ‘Ah well,’ she said determinedly. ‘I have got my wish. Father shall have his wish too, whether he thinks he should or not. Would you travel with him to see him safely there?’

Tom smiled at her. ‘Of course I will.’

She went out into the woods, following the path her father had taken. Two days later, John set out for Hathersage, riding behind Tom on Rambler’s strong back. John was reluctant to leave his daughter, but the quiet joy in his eyes at the thought of returning to his childhood home was there for all to see.

‘You go with my blessing,’ Magda told him, sounding stronger than she felt. ‘All I ask is that you come back to
us at Christmas, for my child should be born soon after that.’

No sooner had John and Tom set out for Derbyshire than Philippa’s blacksmith husband returned to Langden with Rowan her son. Philippa walked through the woodland paths to pass their news on to the Forestwife and her friends. She gently touched Brigit’s head as she passed the child, sitting out in the autumn sunshine, steadily pounding dandelion roots.

‘Are they inside?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Brigit sighed. ‘They do nothing but talk of the barons and the King.’

Philippa went inside and joined them by the fireside. She told of her husband’s return. ‘I feared he’d never get paid for all his work, and if the barons had had their way, he never would.’

‘Who has paid him?’ Robert asked.

Philippa smiled. ‘Your friend, the Bishop of Hereford.’

Robert looked up, interested. ‘I knew that man was different. The other bishops went running to side with the King as soon as they heard the pope had denounced the charter. Not Giles de Braose, even though we distrust them, the Bishop of Hereford still stands by the rebel barons.’

‘Ah well,’ Philippa cleared her throat. ‘I’m not so sure. The King has tried to buy the man’s loyalty back again. He’s offered him the de Braose property fully restored, and all his dead brother’s land, but the Bishop must swear fealty once more.’

‘And what does the man reply?’ Robert leant forward.

Philippa shrugged her shoulders. ‘We don’t know yet, and I have sadder news,’ she sighed. ‘News that will bring great sorrow to that little lass out there, who pounds roots as though her life depends on it.’

‘Oh no,’ Magda cried. ‘Not Brigit’s father!’

Philippa nodded. ‘The man is dead. The King sent his wolfpack to take back the Tower of London. The barons had given way and agreed that it should be held in the Archbishop of Canterbury’s name, but some of those who’d been defending it resisted. Brigit’s father was one of them.’

Magda got up, her face all creased with pity. ‘I’ll tell her,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to, but I will.’

Brigit took the news of her father’s death quietly, but during the next few days she wandered aimlessly about the clearing as though she’d lost all purpose in life. Marian praised her herb skills and begged her help with the potions and simples, but the young girl refused politely. Magda followed her at a distance, feeling useless and somehow responsible. ‘I wished for a bairn, Brig,’ she murmured. And you sent Brigit that very night. Now she has nobody else but me.’

Concern for Brigit’s sadness reached as far as Langden and one afternoon towards the end of September, Isabel arrived from Langden driving a small grain cart, with Philippa seated in the back.

Marian went to greet them, smiling; this visit was not entirely unexpected. Brigit looked up listlessly from the new doorsill. Magda marched over and mercilessly hauled
the young girl to her feet. ‘You have to come and see what Isabel has brought,’ she ordered.

‘Why?’ Brigit cried, surprised and hurt by her friend’s rough treatment.

‘Come and see,’ Magda insisted, pulling her round to the back of the cart.

‘But I . . . oh!’ Brigit’s mouth dropped open in surprise. For there in Philippa’s lap rolled a plump, well-fed, baby boy, dressed in a soft lamb’s wool smock. His thatch of curly hair was the same golden brown as Brigit’s, his cheeks pink as a wild rose.

‘Is . . . is he?’

‘Yes,’ Isabel told her. ‘He is your brother Peterkin, that you named for your father. His foster mother has fed and cared for him well, but now he’s weaned from the breast and drinking goats’ milk. He’s a lively lad and his foster mother has her own children to see to.’