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.
At last, as their feet slowed, and they began to wander exhausted to their beds, a strange distant honking started up in the woodland nearby. For a moment the revellers grew quiet and fearful but then Gerta roused herself from dozing by the Forestwife’s doorsill, crying out, ‘I know that sound! I know it well!’
She struggled to her feet crying ‘Chuck! chuck! chuck!’and clapping her hands. To everyone’s delight her old grey gander came waddling out from the bushes, still flapping and honking, a neat procession of geese following meekly behind. Everyone cheered and that made him flap and honk more than ever.
Marian went to hug Magda as they returned to their huts. ‘This was all your doing,’ she said. ‘It’s done us more good than the most precious medicine money could buy. You’ll make a fine Forestwife, Magda. You have a very special gift; the gift of making people happy.’
‘It’s been a fine night indeed,’ Robert agreed quietly. ‘But tomorrow we return to shooting practice and sharpening our knives.’
15
The King Rides South
In the third week of February the news they’d dreaded, arrived. Will Stoutley galloped through the woods from Langden with Isabel and Philippa following, driving a cart. It was crammed full of the very youngest and oldest Langden folk and two mothers with tiny babes in their arms.
‘They’re coming back again,’ Will told them. ‘The King rides south from Scarborough, but his men swarm all over the north in murderous gangs. Can you take care of those who cannot fight?’
‘Yes,’ Marian agreed. ‘They’ll have to camp out in the cold but at least they should be safe here.’
‘I must hurry back,’ Isabel insisted. ‘We mean to be ready for them this time. Philippa’s man has worked like a slave to produce arrow heads and knives.’
‘Aye, and you’ll not be alone,’ Robert vowed. At once he was a bundle of energy, striding about the clearing, barking out orders and gathering weapons together.
The men left for Langden in twos and threes, as soonas they were ready. At dusk Marian looked up from settling the newcomers and making them as comfortable as she could. ‘Where are the men?’ she asked Magda, looking about the clearing.
‘Gone to Langden! Did you not know?’
‘Has Robert gone?’ she asked.
Magda nodded.
‘He never said goodbye!’ Marian whispered, suddenly weepy.
‘It is only to Langden that they’ve gone,’ said Magda, surprised at her distress.
‘Aye,’ Marian frowned, pulling herself together and laughing. ‘Only to Langden, and anyway when did he ever say goodbye?’
The numbers of those who took refuge in the Forestwife’s clearing grew over the next few days, and once again the women had to treat burns and wounds and dig more graves beyond the yew tree grove. Just as mercilessly as before, the wolfpack harried the villages and hamlets of Barnsdale, leaving death and ruin in their path. Sister Rosamund and the younger nuns took to the road again, giving what comfort they could, but this time Mother Veronica stayed behind with two of the other oldest nuns who were just too sick to leave their beds.
Marian’s days were so frantically full of bandaging, poulticing, cauterising wounds and mixing herbs that she scarce knew what day it was and fell exhausted to sleep for a few hours each night. She was up at dawn one morning, wrapped in one of the nun’s warm cloaks, taking round drinks and checking who had survived the coldnight when she heard the familiar stamping rhythm of Rambler’s hooves.
‘I love to hear that sound!’ she murmured,
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.
At last, as their feet slowed, and they began to wander exhausted to their beds, a strange distant honking started up in the woodland nearby. For a moment the revellers grew quiet and fearful but then Gerta roused herself from dozing by the Forestwife’s doorsill, crying out, ‘I know that sound! I know it well!’
She struggled to her feet crying ‘Chuck! chuck! chuck!’and clapping her hands. To everyone’s delight her old grey gander came waddling out from the bushes, still flapping and honking, a neat procession of geese following meekly behind. Everyone cheered and that made him flap and honk more than ever.
Marian went to hug Magda as they returned to their huts. ‘This was all your doing,’ she said. ‘It’s done us more good than the most precious medicine money could buy. You’ll make a fine Forestwife, Magda. You have a very special gift; the gift of making people happy.’
‘It’s been a fine night indeed,’ Robert agreed quietly. ‘But tomorrow we return to shooting practice and sharpening our knives.’
15
The King Rides South
In the third week of February the news they’d dreaded, arrived. Will Stoutley galloped through the woods from Langden with Isabel and Philippa following, driving a cart. It was crammed full of the very youngest and oldest Langden folk and two mothers with tiny babes in their arms.
‘They’re coming back again,’ Will told them. ‘The King rides south from Scarborough, but his men swarm all over the north in murderous gangs. Can you take care of those who cannot fight?’
‘Yes,’ Marian agreed. ‘They’ll have to camp out in the cold but at least they should be safe here.’
‘I must hurry back,’ Isabel insisted. ‘We mean to be ready for them this time. Philippa’s man has worked like a slave to produce arrow heads and knives.’
‘Aye, and you’ll not be alone,’ Robert vowed. At once he was a bundle of energy, striding about the clearing, barking out orders and gathering weapons together.
The men left for Langden in twos and threes, as soonas they were ready. At dusk Marian looked up from settling the newcomers and making them as comfortable as she could. ‘Where are the men?’ she asked Magda, looking about the clearing.
‘Gone to Langden! Did you not know?’
‘Has Robert gone?’ she asked.
Magda nodded.
‘He never said goodbye!’ Marian whispered, suddenly weepy.
‘It is only to Langden that they’ve gone,’ said Magda, surprised at her distress.
‘Aye,’ Marian frowned, pulling herself together and laughing. ‘Only to Langden, and anyway when did he ever say goodbye?’
The numbers of those who took refuge in the Forestwife’s clearing grew over the next few days, and once again the women had to treat burns and wounds and dig more graves beyond the yew tree grove. Just as mercilessly as before, the wolfpack harried the villages and hamlets of Barnsdale, leaving death and ruin in their path. Sister Rosamund and the younger nuns took to the road again, giving what comfort they could, but this time Mother Veronica stayed behind with two of the other oldest nuns who were just too sick to leave their beds.
Marian’s days were so frantically full of bandaging, poulticing, cauterising wounds and mixing herbs that she scarce knew what day it was and fell exhausted to sleep for a few hours each night. She was up at dawn one morning, wrapped in one of the nun’s warm cloaks, taking round drinks and checking who had survived the coldnight when she heard the familiar stamping rhythm of Rambler’s hooves.
‘I love to hear that sound!’ she murmured,
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