Philippe – and I’d hold him to those riding lessons too. I had a vision of myself leading the hunt for the stag, riding out ahead of the field and dazzling Amée with my horsemanship as I leaped boldly over fallen trees and ditches that her other suitors feared even to attempt. I patted the bag of food she’d prepared for me. She was the most wonderful girl.
Spurred on by my daydreams, I strode out confidently along that forest track. Running up and down all those steps in the tower had made me as fit as a hound of the chase, or so I thought, but I soon discovered it wasn’t the best training for paths like these and I kept stumbling over tree roots concealed beneath the rain-sodden leaves or slipping on loose stones that had fallen down from higher up the slope.
In the first couple of miles, a few people passed me, making their way down towards the river crossing – two old women carrying live ducks in panniers, a crook-backed pedlar and a couple of children with bundles of kindling on their heads. They all grunted a greeting of sorts, but the wind was too sharp and the daylight too short to waste time in gossip. For the last hour or so the track had been deserted, so I was all the more startled when a voice rang out above me.
‘Polecat, Polecat! . . . I’s been a-waiting for you.’
I heard something slithering and crashing down the bank above me. I gave a shriek and almost slipped off the path. It was as if part of the forest had reared up from the leaf mould and formed itself into the crude shape of a man. It hurtled towards me and I retreated almost as fast. It came to a halt a few feet from me, its head tilted to one side, staring curiously at me.
‘I’s waited, Polecat. I’s waited just like you said. Didn’t tell no one.’
It was only then that I saw this was no forest sprite, but a man of flesh and blood, whose grimy skin was tanned to beechnut brown. He wasn’t exactly dressed: his naked body was hung with rags of coarse brown sacking, woven through with leaves and twigs. His wild, matted hair bushed out from beneath the tattered remains of a cloth hood, decorated with bracken, feathers, withered flowers and what might have been an old bird’s nest.
‘You find the gold, did you, Polecat, did you?’
‘I’m not Polecat,’ I said hastily. ‘I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me.’
The tree-man peered at me uncertainly through his shaggy locks. ‘Polecat?’
‘No, not Polecat, Vincent. My name is Vincent.’
‘You seen him? You seen my Polecat? When’s Polecat coming back?’
I had no idea who this friend or relative was, but I knew it would be futile to explain that. I wondered how long the poor old bastard had been waiting for this man – years probably, by the look of it. I thought it safest to humour the wretched creature. ‘Polecat told me to tell you he’s coming soon, very soon.’
I turned away, striding on up the narrow track on the steep hillside, and for a few yards the man kept pace with me, lolloping sideways through the leaf mould, as sure-footed as a mountain goat on the steep, slippery bank.
‘Polecat’s a-coming,’ he sang over and over, like an excited child. Then, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper, he confided, ‘When he brings the gold, I’s going to buy a new hat . . . Sssh, sssh, don’t tell them about the gold. Mustn’t tell.’
‘I won’t,’ I said, trying to quicken my pace to get away from him.
‘You’ll fetch the gold for me, Polecat?’ His tone was suddenly anxious.
‘I’m just going to fetch it now,’ I told him. ‘You wait here. Don’t move. I’ll be back.’
That seemed to pacify him, for he stopped following me, and when I cautiously squinted behind me, he’d vanished, as if he’d sunk back into the leaf mould from which he was formed.
After that, I saw no one. The trees grew closer together in that stretch of forest. The branches intertwined so that, even though the leaves were falling, it was like walking deeper and
Spurred on by my daydreams, I strode out confidently along that forest track. Running up and down all those steps in the tower had made me as fit as a hound of the chase, or so I thought, but I soon discovered it wasn’t the best training for paths like these and I kept stumbling over tree roots concealed beneath the rain-sodden leaves or slipping on loose stones that had fallen down from higher up the slope.
In the first couple of miles, a few people passed me, making their way down towards the river crossing – two old women carrying live ducks in panniers, a crook-backed pedlar and a couple of children with bundles of kindling on their heads. They all grunted a greeting of sorts, but the wind was too sharp and the daylight too short to waste time in gossip. For the last hour or so the track had been deserted, so I was all the more startled when a voice rang out above me.
‘Polecat, Polecat! . . . I’s been a-waiting for you.’
I heard something slithering and crashing down the bank above me. I gave a shriek and almost slipped off the path. It was as if part of the forest had reared up from the leaf mould and formed itself into the crude shape of a man. It hurtled towards me and I retreated almost as fast. It came to a halt a few feet from me, its head tilted to one side, staring curiously at me.
‘I’s waited, Polecat. I’s waited just like you said. Didn’t tell no one.’
It was only then that I saw this was no forest sprite, but a man of flesh and blood, whose grimy skin was tanned to beechnut brown. He wasn’t exactly dressed: his naked body was hung with rags of coarse brown sacking, woven through with leaves and twigs. His wild, matted hair bushed out from beneath the tattered remains of a cloth hood, decorated with bracken, feathers, withered flowers and what might have been an old bird’s nest.
‘You find the gold, did you, Polecat, did you?’
‘I’m not Polecat,’ I said hastily. ‘I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me.’
The tree-man peered at me uncertainly through his shaggy locks. ‘Polecat?’
‘No, not Polecat, Vincent. My name is Vincent.’
‘You seen him? You seen my Polecat? When’s Polecat coming back?’
I had no idea who this friend or relative was, but I knew it would be futile to explain that. I wondered how long the poor old bastard had been waiting for this man – years probably, by the look of it. I thought it safest to humour the wretched creature. ‘Polecat told me to tell you he’s coming soon, very soon.’
I turned away, striding on up the narrow track on the steep hillside, and for a few yards the man kept pace with me, lolloping sideways through the leaf mould, as sure-footed as a mountain goat on the steep, slippery bank.
‘Polecat’s a-coming,’ he sang over and over, like an excited child. Then, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper, he confided, ‘When he brings the gold, I’s going to buy a new hat . . . Sssh, sssh, don’t tell them about the gold. Mustn’t tell.’
‘I won’t,’ I said, trying to quicken my pace to get away from him.
‘You’ll fetch the gold for me, Polecat?’ His tone was suddenly anxious.
‘I’m just going to fetch it now,’ I told him. ‘You wait here. Don’t move. I’ll be back.’
That seemed to pacify him, for he stopped following me, and when I cautiously squinted behind me, he’d vanished, as if he’d sunk back into the leaf mould from which he was formed.
After that, I saw no one. The trees grew closer together in that stretch of forest. The branches intertwined so that, even though the leaves were falling, it was like walking deeper and
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