The boys would not stop whining. As sons of Sæcaster, they ought to have been habituated to rain and cold. Ivy wound tighter and tighter. The first day’s promise of ‘a jolly adventure’ – that was how she’d described their flight – carried them through on excitement for less than an hour. Then it became: ‘I’m cold’, ‘I’m hungry’, ‘I want my toys’, ‘My legs hurt’, ‘I’m tired’, and, really, it hadn’t let up in nearly three days. They were tired? Ivy had spent two nights sleeping under a moleskin with them clambering over her, little knees and elbows jammed into her, clinging close to suck the warmth from her. Her mind never stopped whirring. She had slept only in disjointed shreds.
Their route was parallel to the road so they wouldn’t get lost, but far enough into the forest not to be seen. Every now and then Ivy would hear a cart rattle past, or smell smoke from an inn, and feel as though she was not so far out of the world.
Through it all, Goldie had been a marvel. Stoic, patient, full of good advice, though Ivy didn’t always listen to it. The first day had dawned clear and even a little warm – perhaps because Ivy pushed them to walk so fast. Edmund had stopped to drink at a pond and, even though Goldie said they should wait for running water, Ivy let him. He’d been complaining about being thirsty unremittingly for over an hour. Sure enough, by the next morning he was shitting himself inside out. While he always managed to dash off the path in time and find a tree to go behind, on one occasion he had soiled his shoes. The faint scent of shit seemed to hang about everything. After that, Ivy had listened closely to Goldie’s advice.
The third morning, Ivy had opened her pack to get their bread, and found only crumbs. Eadric had slunk away guiltily behind a tree.
‘Did you eat all our food?’ she called after him, so loud that a nearby bird took to the sky with a frightened flap.
Eadric didn’t answer. Ivy wanted to scream. Scream until the hot rage in her chest emptied itself out. Did the boys not know how hard it was for her? She was cold and tired and hungry too, but she was also scared, broken-hearted and uncertain, and every time she looked at the bruises on Eadric’s face she wanted to sob with guilt. Yet, somehow, she was supposed to know what to do.
But Ivy didn’t scream. She kept walking, one foot in front of the other. She carried Edmund, despite his shitty shoes, when his little legs could not manage rocky slopes and gullies. She reassured Eadric that they could sit down soon. She tried to throw an occasional smile of gratitude Goldie’s way. And she kept going.
The days were growing shorter, and after two long marches – one morning and one afternoon – they ordinarily made camp. On the day Eadric ate the bread, Ivy made them continue an extra hour or so, until they came across a swift-running stream. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake with drinking water again.
‘We will rest here tonight,’ she said, and her sentence was not even complete before Edmund said, ‘I’m hungry,’ and she was reminded again that Eadric had eaten all their food.
One thing at a time. The clouds had cleared, but it had rained during the day, so the ground was muddy. Goldie explained again to Edmund and Eadric how to drink from the part of the stream that was flowing fastest, while Ivy lay the oilskin under a tree and searched fruitlessly for dry kindling for the fire. The peat blocks she had brought were fast running out. Curse the rain. Curse autumn.
Curse Crispin.
What she wouldn’t give for a covered cart, plump with pillows, driven by a sturdy man and two horses. A crate of apples. A night at an inn, with roast deer and buttery parsnips.
Ivy realised her mouth was watering.
She found a few twigs that had escaped the drenching, or had sat in the sun long enough to dry, and brought them back to the camp. Peat block. Fire oil. Flint. It took six attempts to light, but light it did, and Ivy crouched close to warm her cold fingers. She looked up to see Goldie standing there.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘We have no bread. Will you let me take Eadric into the woods to find some berries or mushrooms? I can show him the safe ones to eat.’
Ivy bit her tongue so she didn’t say, ‘Then he can eat them all and save none for anyone else.’ Instead she smiled tightly. ‘Do not become separated,’ she said. ‘Make sure you can see each other the whole time.’
Goldie nodded and dashed off, collecting a whining Eadric on the way. Their voices faded off among the trees, and Edmund came to lean against her.
‘I’m tired,’ he said.
‘I know, poppet,’ she replied, curling an arm around him. How fiercely she loved him then, even though his feet smelled like shit.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Blicstowe.’ Whatever was left of it. ‘Or the nearest town. It depends …’
‘Why?’
‘To see my sister, Bluebell. You remember Bluebell?’
His slight recoil told her he did, indeed, remember Bluebell. The boys had always found her terrifying. ‘Why?’ he said again.
‘Because …’ Ivy trailed off.
‘Mama?’
Because I don’t know what else to do. ‘Oh, just for a visit.’
‘How far is it?’
Nearly a hundred miles. They were managing twelve miles a day. They had already run out of food. She forced a smile and kissed his cheek. ‘Don’t you worry, my darling. We’ll be there before you know it.’
She sat him on the oilskin and half-heartedly tried to feed a few more twigs to the fire. They weren’t dry enough to burn, so smoked instead, making her eyes sting.
‘Are you crying, Mama?’
‘It’s the smoke, darling.’ She stood and stretched her legs, then came to sit with Edmund. He had been collecting pebbles all day, and was now sorting them earnestly, keeping some, discarding others.
‘What are you looking for?’ she asked him. ‘Why aren’t these ones any good?’
‘They are too round.’
‘Too round?’ She picked one up to examine.
‘Yes, see.’ He held up one that he had kept. ‘An egg.’
‘An egg. I see. What hatches out of such eggs?’
‘Stonebirds. Goldie told me about them. They are always cold, and they find it hard to fly because they are so heavy. But Goldie says if you upset one of them, the whole flock will come after you and fly at your head until you’re bruised and bleeding!’
‘Terrifying!’ Ivy said, pantomiming shock.
‘Oh, don’t be terrified, Mama. Goldie says they are only ever on the side of good, and we are good so we do not have to worry. But they are at war with the crows and ravens, and the crows and ravens are very frightened of them.’
Ivy smiled and leaned in. ‘Well, then. Let me see if I can help you sort these, so we can raise some fine young stonebird soldiers. I’m averse to crows too.’
She lost herself in the little boy’s recounting of Goldie’s stories, and in sorting through the pebbles, forgot her burden. The sounds of the creek running, the wind bristling in the trees, were soothing. Goldie and Eadric returned sooner than expected, too: Goldie with an apron full of mushrooms and blackberries, and Eadric triumphant with a very skinny pheasant.
‘It was old and slow and Goldie caught it and broke its neck!’ he shouted, then ran over and thrust the dead bird at Ivy. ‘I’ve never seen somebody move so quick, Mama. How can I be as quick and clever as Goldie?’
Goldie joined them, shyly not meeting anyone’s eyes. ‘Here,’ she said, emptying the berries and mushrooms onto the oilskin. The boys descended on the berries with grabby hands, and Ivy had to shout at them to slow down and leave some for her and Goldie.
‘It is late in the year,’ Goldie said, apologetically. ‘The berries are bitter. But the mushrooms are good.’
‘I would have liked to cook them, but they are all but gone,’ Ivy said, and recoiled a little at how fast Eadric was eating. She picked up the pheasant. ‘What do we do with this?’
‘Pluck it, gut it, spit it and hold it over the fire. I can show you.’
So as the evening grew cool and dark, Goldie roasted the poor old pheasant, whose flesh was as dry as string. Ivy gave the boys a leg and thigh each, then she and Goldie picked at the withered breasts. While she wouldn’t call herself satisfied, Ivy was much less miserable after eating, and so were the boys.
Finally, the four of them wrapped themselves up in blankets and huddled together to sleep. The fire grew low. Ivy tried to stay awake until they all stopped wriggling, but exhaustion overcame her quickly.
The next thing she knew, somebody was shouting. She woke with alarm hot in her breast, but it was only Goldie, shouting in her sleep. Ivy sat up and leaned over to touch the girl’s shoulder. Goldie’s eyes flew open and for an instant Ivy saw the horror there and her blood went cold. But then Goldie remembered where she was and relief flooded over her face.
‘Bad dream?’ Ivy asked.
Goldie nodded, little tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes.
The boys were rousing now, so Ivy took the opportunity to shift Eadric along and make room for Goldie next to her. Goldie snuggled gratefully against Ivy, tight-lipped and silent.
‘Was it about the crow mother?’ Ivy asked softly.
Goldie nodded. ‘She wanted to cut me up. She said I was all wrong and she took her knife and started slicing pieces off me.’
‘Who did?’ This was Eadric.
‘The crow mother.’
‘There’s no such thing as the crow mother,’ Ivy said.
‘Yes, there is,’ Edmund said, revealing he, too, was awake. ‘And we must watch for her because she’d kill us all and wouldn’t even care if we were children.’
Ivy looked sternly at Goldie. ‘Goldie, your stories!’
‘It’s not a story,’ Goldie said. ‘It’s a warning.’
‘Everyone back to sleep,’ Ivy ordered.
All three children huddled very close, as if proximity to Ivy could save them from the crow mother. Ivy wanted to laugh bitterly; what use would she be if Willow did find them?
None. None at all.
They woke to a dawn so grey that Ivy thought at first it was still night time. A damp chill in the air told her rain was coming, and before they’d picked clean the carcase of the pheasant for breakfast, the first soft mist descended on them. They had contended with rain before and at least it wasn’t cold, so they set off. Ivy hoped to push the children a little further today. The horrid, hard journey would be much more bearable if she knew they were more than halfway; even if it was only a few miles past halfway.
Then, forty yards from their camp site, Edmund slipped over and struck his knee on a rock. The only way to stop him crying was to promise to carry him a while, and so Ivy hoisted him on her back and kept going. Ordinarily, Eadric would complain that his brother didn’t have to walk, but this morning he was grim and quiet, which unnerved her almost as much as his endless whining.
The hours drew out in a miserable, wet blur. Whatever she saw, she forgot immediately. Rocks, trees, mile-measures, streams. All green-grey and damp and endless. Edmund was a wriggling weight on her back or hip, and his knee bled all over her dress. But of all the hardships, surely sodden shoes were the worst. Her feet were so cold she could no longer feel them. They made their way forward and the rain grew heavier – cold, fat drops like stones falling from the sky – and the wind grew stronger, sending the rain sideways on some of its gusts. She thought about shelter but realised no tree, no rocky overhang, could protect them from this.
‘Mama, listen!’ This was Edmund, who had his head lying on her shoulder and his elbow firmly in her left breast.
Because nobody had spoken for hours, Ivy was lulled out of her wretched reverie. She stopped, and listened. But she smelled it before she heard it.
Smoke and the unmistakeable odour of roasting meat. Then hooves and carriage wheels.
‘Look!’ Eadric said, and through the trees she saw an inn.
‘We have come too close to the road,’ Goldie said.
It was as though Ivy was under some kind of spell. Now the thought of firelight and food had glimmered into her imagination, her feet were no longer hers.
‘Ivy, we oughtn’t,’ Goldie said, but even she did not sound convinced of her own advice.
‘It smells like pork,’ Eadric squawked in excitement.
Ivy glanced at Goldie questioningly. ‘Food and shelter,’ she said. ‘We are a long way from Sæcaster now.’
‘We are a woman and three children travelling alone. We will be noticed.’
‘Just for one night. So we can dry off and eat and sleep properly. We are nearly halfway there.’ Ivy cupped the back of Edmund’s mousy head. ‘The boys will be able to endure the rest of the journey better after a proper rest.’
‘We will be noticed,’ Goldie said again, but made no further protests. Even she knew it was not a day to be outside.
They made their way through the trees, but had to wade through a stream to find the path leading to the inn’s front door. The place was small but crowded, and Goldie’s warning that they would be noticed hit Ivy full force when a sea of eyes turned on them – wet, muddy, bedraggled – as she closed the door behind her.
Ivy gathered the children around closely and moved towards the bar. Murmurs followed in her wake. She made up her mind then that they wouldn’t be staying the night. They would eat a meal by the fire, hopefully dry their shoes, but then take themselves back into the anonymity of the woods. The children would not like it, but she did not want to risk having all these rough people know which room she slept in.
Warm feet and a full belly cracked her resolve a little, and she let the children play inside by the fire for longer than she’d intended. The rain outside deepened and the inn grew more crowded. No doubt many travellers were taking shelter from the rough weather. Ivy felt hot, pressed in on all sides. But the children were playing a game with counters on a board, which they had found unattended on one of the tables, and they looked happy and relaxed for the first time in days. Ivy remained alert, constantly scanning the room for people who might be watching them. Nobody seemed much interested, apart from a woman who drank alone in a corner. Of middling years, with steely grey hair but a kind face. Ivy assumed she was simply concerned about the three wet children in Ivy’s care, and put it out of her mind.
As the rain began to thin out, so did the travellers start to leave. Slowly, as the afternoon progressed, the crowd dissipated until Ivy knew they had to go, too.
‘Come, children,’ she said, pulling herself to her feet. ‘It’s fine enough to walk again.’
Edmund’s immediate cry of ‘Noooo!’ was loud enough to crack the ceiling beams.
Ivy pulled him against her and whispered harshly, ‘Shush, you little devil. We don’t want to cause a scene.’ She half-dragged, half-carried him to the door, Eadric and Goldie scurrying after her. The last thing she saw was the steely-haired woman with the kind eyes nod at her gently as if in understanding.
Then they were outside. The wind had blown the rain away, but the sky was still heavy and grey. She released Edmund, who lapsed into hacking sobs, but nonetheless followed along beside her into the woods.
‘Where are we going, Mama?’ Eadric asked, dread in his voice. ‘I thought we would sleep in a bed tonight.’
‘Off the road, where we will find a nice tree to sleep under and look at the stars.’ She glanced at the sky. ‘When they come out.’
Goldie held up a handful of kindling triumphantly. ‘I stole some kindling from the inn,’ she said. ‘My apron is full of it.’
Ivy laughed despite herself. ‘Good girl. All of you are doing so well, and we are nearly at Blicstowe. A few more nights like the last, and we will be sleeping in royal chambers with servants and all the food we can eat.’
‘Yum!’ cried Eadric, clearly cheered by the amount he had already eaten at the inn.
Only Edmund still cried, but even that faded to soft hiccoughs; and it really was very nice to have dry shoes again. On they went, into the afternoon.
The cloud cover meant the dark came quickly, creeping into the woods before Ivy was properly prepared. She began to hurry her steps, making Eadric whine again (Ivy reasoned food had restored his whining energy), and rain began to fall softly. She was determined to be under cover before her shoes got wet again.
Then, Goldie’s voice crying out, ‘Where is Edmund?’
Heat hit Ivy’s heart with such force that it nearly knocked her over. She whirled, staring back into the approaching gloom. ‘Edmund? Was he not with you?’ When was the last time she had heard the little thump, thump of his footsteps? The soft sniffle of his miserable tears?
‘He was behind us,’ Goldie said, the guilt clear in her voice. ‘I checked on him five minutes ago.’
Ivy cursed herself. It ought to have been her, and not Goldie, checking on the boy.
‘Edmund!’ Ivy called, running back the way they had come. She climbed a short ridge, and realised that Edmund wouldn’t have been able to get down here himself, and that he hadn’t called out to her for her help.
‘Edmund!’ The second cry hurt her throat. Eadric and Goldie began to shout too, as she ran back through the forest, eyes frantically scouring the trees for any sign of him. Nothing, nothing, and her voice was growing hoarse, and she had lost her baby, where was her baby, and – she ran full pelt into a person. The woman with the steely hair from the inn.
A moment ago, she hadn’t been there and now she was. Ivy shook her head, dazed, then realised the woman had been hiding behind a tree.
‘Oh, thank all the gods,’ Ivy said. ‘I’ve lost one of my children. Have you seen –’
But then there was a knife’s point in the curve of her waist and the woman said, ‘How much gold do you have?’
Ivy gasped. Goldie and Eadric caught up, but could see no reason to fear the woman as they could not see her knife nor the way she had grasped the back of Ivy’s dress to pull her close.
‘We can’t find him!’ Goldie said. ‘Has this lady seen him?’
‘Come with me,’ the woman said, releasing the back of Ivy’s dress. ‘We have him.’
‘We? Who is –’
But the woman was stalking away through the woods so there was no course of action but to follow her.
Eadric’s questions fell over themselves – ‘Where are we going? Are we still looking for Edmund?’ – but Goldie was wise enough to know to stay quiet and follow. Ivy reassured herself over and over that the woman was taking her to Edmund and that was all that mattered and if that meant giving the woman all the gold coins she had, it was worth it to have her baby back.
As the gloom deepened, they approached a rocky edifice deep in the woods, which trees clung to at precarious angles. Ivy could see firelight and knew they had arrived somewhere. The steel-haired woman led them to the opening of a cave, and there by the fire in a dry shirt that fell to his knees, sat Edmund, spooning soup into his mouth.
‘Mama!’ he said, with easy delight.
Ivy rushed forward and crushed him against her. ‘Oh, you foolish boy. Never ever run off like that.’
‘His return will cost you,’ the steel-haired woman said, and it was then Ivy looked up and saw there were other people in the cave: a round-eyed young woman, and a middle-aged man, tall and slender with a neck crooked so far forward he resembled a vulture.
‘Who are you people?’ Ivy asked. ‘What kind of thieves steal children? What kind of women steal children?’
‘Save your breath,’ the steel-haired woman said. ‘My name is Vex. We steal whatever we have to so we survive. How much gold do you have? I saw you in the inn. You’re clearly well bred. Your clothes are fine colours. You must have some gold on you.’
Ivy stood and worked her hand up under her dress until she found the little purse pinned there. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it over to Vex. ‘Now let me and my children go.’
Vex opened the purse and sniffed. ‘You have more.’
‘I don’t.’
Vex grasped Ivy’s hand and twisted it towards her. ‘These rings tell me you have more.’
‘Take the rings.’
‘You are a nobleman’s wife. How much does he have?’
‘My husband is dead.’
‘Then he left you some. Where are you from? Where are you travelling to?’
‘Stop it!’ This was Goldie, boldly stepping into the cave. ‘We have nothing because we have run away!’
This woke the curiosity of the vulture-like man, who asked, ‘Who have you run away from?’
Ivy glanced at him. His eyes were watery and pale. The firelight created shadowy hollows under his cheeks. She didn’t answer; couldn’t answer. The weight of the last few days of hardship crushed her words in her mouth. Instead, she began to cry, nearly as hard as Edmund had when they had left the inn.
In a moment, the three children had gathered around her. ‘Mama, don’t cry,’ Edmund said. ‘Shush, you little devil.’ He said this last in a soft, comforting tone, as though it was what one always said to somebody upset, and Ivy cried harder for having treated the poor children so harshly since she had dislodged them from their comfortable lives.
To her surprise, Vex gently pulled her further into the cave and found her a place to sit by the fire. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Sit down and cry yourself inside out. I’ll get you some soup. The children, too. Everybody sit down and stop crying.’
Ivy noticed Vex had kept the purse.
The fire was hot and high, occasionally leaping on the cold breeze. Ivy gratefully took the soup and managed to hold back her tears. Goldie sat protectively with her arms around Edmund and Eadric, as if she had sensed that Ivy was no longer in control.
Vex squatted in front of Ivy while she ate. ‘We ran away too,’ she said, at length. ‘My name isn’t Vex. That is what I was accused of.’
‘By whom?’
‘My husband. I vexed him. So he drowned my baby – our baby – in a bucket.’
Ivy thought she had misheard. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think you do. How the person you love can betray you more sharply than any other.’ She gestured to the young woman. ‘This is No. Her sin was that she said no. Her husband turned it into a yes. Many, many times; and sometimes brought his brothers too.’ Then she gestured to the man. ‘And this is Wander, who never did wander. But his wife believed he had, and she beat him every day of his life until he escaped.’
No came to sit next to Ivy. ‘We found each other and made a little family of our own,’ she said.
Even in the dim firelight, Ivy could see the dark patches of shame that crept onto Wander’s cheeks and neck.
‘Your wife beat you?’ Ivy asked, astonished. She hadn’t thought it was possible for a woman to beat a man.
‘We have all fled those we love,’ he said. ‘What is your name?’
Ivy opened her mouth to say, ‘Ivy’, then realised that wasn’t what Wander was asking. ‘Stupid,’ she said. ‘Whore. Idiot. Fucking harlot. Fool. Slut.’ She let Crispin’s insults pour out of her, crying again. ‘All your fault, bad-tempered bitch,’ she finished, then gestured to Eadric. ‘He hit my boy.’
Eadric, who had been staring gape-mouthed at his mother as she said every single word he was forbidden from saying, sat to attention and lifted his chin for the thieves to see his bruises.
Vex nodded. ‘Those bastards choose the weak to torment; and if they can’t find the weak they’ll make the weak. Look at you. You may be covered in mud, but it’s easy to see you were not born in it. Your nobility and pride ought to have protected you. Instead, you endured it and grew weaker and weaker.’
‘You don’t seem weak,’ Ivy said, looking at her square shoulders and unerring gaze.
‘I left him twenty years ago. I have had time to grow strong again.’
Ivy glanced around at the others. ‘And you go about stealing things?’
‘That’s what thieves do,’ No said with a little shrug. ‘Every one of us might have been killed if we’d been found by our tormentors. We had to live on the low roads.’
‘No’s husband found her nearly a year after she’d left,’ Vex said. ‘She only escaped through the kindness of the alehouse keeper she worked for. Should we risk making ourselves known in other towns? Marrying and bearing children who would be prey?’
Ivy’s skin went cold. Would Crispin kill her if he found her? ‘I need to get to Blicstowe, to my sister,’ she said, fear making her leap to her feet. ‘Keep my money. Give us some bread to last a few more days.’
‘Blicstowe is occupied,’ Wander said. ‘It isn’t a place to be going to.’
Ivy didn’t tell them it was her twin that had occupied Blicstowe.
‘Then the closest town to Blicstowe. I need to find my sister because she is strong and wealthy and I know she will help me and protect me.’
‘How wealthy?’ Vex asked.
‘Very wealthy.’
Vex exchanged glances with the others, then said, ‘Sleep here tonight then. We will accompany you to Æcstede, where the refugees from Blicstowe have camped. We will make sure you are fed and protected on the way. Will your sister pay us for bringing you to her?’
Ivy nodded enthusiastically, desperate to relieve herself of the burden of responsibility. ‘Yes, somebody will. Just … don’t let Crispin find me.’
‘Crispin?’ Vex said. ‘He’s the one that has made your eyes so fearful?’
Ivy wasn’t sure how to answer. Perhaps she had always been fearful. Perhaps that’s why Crispin thought he could treat her as he did. Ivy nodded.
‘He won’t find you, Stupid. Not before he has found us,’ Vex said with a mischievous twist of her lips.
At first Ivy bristled at being called Stupid, but then recalled it was the name she had chosen for herself. Or, rather, that Crispin had chosen for her.
The thieves seemed delighted to have children around, and fussed about making up their beds and ensuring they were comfortable. Rain deepened beyond the cave but they were warm and dry inside, and once the children were asleep Ivy began to doze into her chest while the other adults were talking.
‘Here, lie down,’ Vex said, clearing a space between her and the children. ‘You must be exhausted.’
‘I am,’ she said. Then, when she had curled on her side and was drifting off to the sound of soft voices and firelight, she reached for Vex’s fingers and said, ‘Thank you for helping us.’
‘Psh. If this sister is as rich and powerful as you say, then we’re helping ourselves.’
‘Still,’ Ivy said. ‘You could have taken our money and let us make our own way.’
Vex smiled. ‘We couldn’t have let that happen, Stupid,’ she said with a soft laugh. ‘The back roads are crawling with thieves.’
Ivy smiled too, and closed her eyes to sleep.