THE YOUNG MEN returned to the clearing twice more before spring came. Each time they dragged a good supply of fresh game with them. John’s friendship with Emma grew, and the brawny, quietly spoken lad spent many an evening sitting beneath the great oak with the charcoal-burner’s daughter at his side. Marian teased them both by calling it the trysting tree.
Tom’s wounds healed steadily with Agnes’s firm care, and warnings that it would turn bad if he tried it too soon. Though the angry blue-red scars would never fade, by the end of March he was hobbling about the clearing propped on stout crutches that his father and Philippa had made.
One warm spring afternoon, the sound of a hunting horn sent Emma running outside, pink-cheeked and flustered, to find a bigger gang of lads than ever marching into the clearing. She flung herself up into the arms of the tallest one.
Philippa insisted that there should be dancing, not yet to celebrate the summer, but to honour the deer. Agnes agreed, and messages were sent to the Magdalen Assart, though they wondered if the nuns would come for such ancient and pagan rites.
‘Will tha stay to celebrate with us?’ Agnes begged Robert.
John looked pleased, though Robert frowned.
‘We were but passing by, on our way to join Bishop Hugh. There’s rumours that the King is captured, and prisoner in a foreign land.’
‘Never!’
‘Aye. ’Tis not clear yet, but it seems there’s talk of a ransom. Count John will think it his chance to take the throne for himself. We shall attack Tickhill, and hold it for Richard.’
‘Might we not stay for the feast?’ said John. ‘Then we shall go.’
Robert agreed, though grudgingly.
Only Sister Christina disapproved. The other nuns came walking through the woods and settled cheerfully to the feast. Mother Veronica and Brother James declared themselves happy enough, as heretics.
‘We still give praise to our God,’ they said. ‘But we shall give the deer their due. They got us through the winter.’
They feasted in the early evening, so they might dance as darkness fell. It was Muchlyn who was chosen to fasten the antlers to his head, for Sister Catherine had preserved them well.
As they lit the candles, the strange horned figure circled the clearing, the tanned deerhide floating down his back. Philippa took up a tabor that she’d made with deerskin stretched on a wooden frame. John put to his lips a pipe that he’d whittled from a branch of deer’s horn. It had but five notes, yet the simplicity of the tune he got matched well with the steady thud of the tabor.
Though Muchlyn was small, they had chosen rightly, for he could leap and prance, copying faithfully the delicate movements of the deer.
Little Margaret sat at the feet of Mother Veronica, holding up one hand to cover her hare lip. As Much began to dance, she watched him with wonder, and her hand fell from her face. She reached out to him, twisting and turning her fingers, following every move that he made. Much smiled at the delight in her eyes. He beckoned to her, inviting her to join him. She hesitated for a flustered moment, but Mother Veronica nodded her approval. The young girl rose to her feet and followed Much into the dance. She imitated his swift leaps and bounds with such grace and nimbleness that the whole company watched them spellbound. As the pure pipe music rose and fell, she lost all sense of bashfulness, seeing only the prancing figure of Much, and the magic of the deer’s dance.
At last the music ceased. Margaret blinked, suddenly anxious as Much smiled down at her. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
‘Do not cover theesen,’ said Much, gently pulling her hand away. ‘Tha face puts me in mind of the beautiful deer that we dance for.’
Mother Veronica watched it all with sudden anxiety, but Brother James put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We make our own rules now.’
Later in the evening they all joined in the singing and dancing. John would not leave Emma’s side, and Much danced with little Margaret. Marian jigged and twirled in the middle of the throng, until she found herself face to face with Robert. He was laughing and merry from the ale. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and swung her round fast and furiously. She grinned back at him, though she could hardly catch her breath. When at last they were both worn out, and the dancing was coming to an end, he turned awkward again, dropping his hands to his sides.
‘You go at dawn,’ she said.
‘Aye. I must get some sleep.’ It was true that his face had gone suddenly white.
‘We shall dance again for May Day. Will you dance with me then?’
‘Aye.’ He nodded his head, then he turned and walked away.
When they’d gone, there followed days of steady drizzling rain that turned the forest into a mire.
‘’Tis not the best weather for besieging,’ said Agnes. ‘Those inside fare dry and warm compared to those without.’
Sparse news came to them from Tickhill, but the whole country was spinning with news of the King. It seemed that he was certainly captured by the Duke of Austria, and seventy thousand marks must be paid before he’d be released. Queen Eleanor had come to England to raise the money for her son, and harsh taxes and demands were made on landowners, manor lords, churches and abbeys.
‘Thank goodness ’tis not the serfs and villagers that must pay,’ said Marian.
Agnes shrugged her shoulders. ‘’Tis them as shall pay in the end, you’ll see.’
Life in the forest clearing went on at the usual busy pace. Agnes taught Marian and Emma much of her knowledge of herbs and healing, and there was the usual endless gathering to be done. As the weather grew warmer they had to search out watercress from the streams, pick tender green angelica stems, and comfrey for healing poultices.
Agnes worked to build up the strength of her few fowls and goats. Soon the clearing ran with cheeping chicks and two wobbly-legged kids.
May Day came and they set a tall pole in front of the giant oak that they’d come to call the trysting tree. Philippa skipped happily with little Rowan, who was growing strong now and walked sturdily. Emma was sad, for there was no sign of John or Robert. Marian was simply annoyed.
‘He said he’d be here for May Day.’
‘Who?’ Emma asked.
‘That Robert,’ she snapped.
‘Ah,’ Emma sighed, and nodded her head.
The dancing was well under way when John came alone down the track. He hugged Emma, and told them his news. They had nearly taken Tickhill Castle for the Bishop, but then ruling had come from the great council that the castle was to stay with John, in return for him handing over Windsor. Bishop Hugh had been furious, but he could not disobey. Disappointed though they were, John and Robert had set themselves to help to raise King Richard’s ransom, though they did it in their own wicked way.
‘We hide out down by Wentbridge, near the great road,’ John laughed, ‘inviting travellers to dine with us. Then . . . we make ’em pay.’
‘What if the poor folk cannot pay?’ demanded Emma.
‘Why, then we wish them well and send them on their way.’
‘Does Robert not come for May Day?’ asked Marian.
John shook his head. ‘He’s mad for his King’s return. Naught else will move him.’
Late that night, Marian lay restless on her pallet, though all about her snored. She rolled over, stretching out her arm to Emma. Suddenly she opened her eyes and sat up. Where Emma should have been sleeping beside her there was nothing but a cold space.
‘The silly wench,’ she muttered. ‘I hope she knows what she does.’
John had gone when morning dawned. Emma came creeping into the hut with grass stuck in her hair. Marian pretended to be asleep.
The summer months were kinder to the forest folk. Though there were still the sick to tend, at least the forest was blessed with fruitfulness and teemed with rabbits and pheasants and hares. Bellies were filled, and it was warm enough to sleep beneath the stars.
It was early in August when Tom’s mother, Alice, brought the message that old Sarah had wandered off as she always did, but this time she’d not returned.
‘I fear I lose my patience with her,’ Alice’s voice shook with weariness.
‘So do we all,’ Marian answered her.
Agnes looked worried when she heard the news. They searched the woods close to the coal-digger’s hut, calling out her name, but there was no sign of the old woman.
Three days passed and still Sarah did not return. ‘We’ll gather a gang of lads and lasses to hunt for her,’ said Marian. ‘And we’ll send to the Magdalen Assart, so that the Sisters may seek her too.’
Agnes shook her head. ‘I fear they’ll not discover her.’
‘What troubles thee so?’ Marian asked. ‘I swear we’ll find her wandering as usual.’
‘Aye. ’Tis naught but a foolish fear.’
‘Don’t fret,’ Marian told her. ‘I’ll get Emma, and we’ll go seeking the old nuisance once more.’
Marian found Emma pale and watery-eyed, still curled on her pallet, though the sun was high in the sky.
‘Why, Emma . . . are you sick?’
‘Nay,’ Emma smiled weakly, ‘I feel sick, but I am not really sick.’
‘What then?’
Emma smiled. ‘I am with child.’
Marian’s mouth dropped open with horror. ‘Are you sure?’
But Emma would not let her be angry or fearful.
‘Aye . . . you forget, I know how it feels. Do not look like that, for I am glad. I have chosen to have this child. I have chosen the man. I pray that it lives.’
Marian shook her head, exasperated. ‘I fear we’re in for a bout of trouble. You with child and Sarah lost. Agnes wishes us to search for her, but you cannot go now.’
‘Here, pull me up,’ Emma insisted, holding out her hand. ‘A good walk through the forest shall suit me well. Come on, we shall find the old woman and bring her back.’
But though they searched for three more days and nights Sarah could not be found. Brother James came with messages from the Magdalen Assart. The nuns could find no sign of her. The Seeress was greatly distressed at the old woman’s disappearance and she swore that sorrow would come of it.
At last Agnes admitted her fears.
‘I think we should send a message to Philippa’s husband at Langden.’
Marian stared at her, realising only dimly what that might mean.
Philippa, who was usually so brave, turned pale. ‘You think she might have wandered back to her old home? Aye, such a thing can happen with one like Sarah, whose memories come and go.’
‘What if she did?’ asked Marian. ‘What would William of Langden do? Could she betray us, do you think?’
Agnes shook her head. ‘How can we know?’
‘I shall take Snap, and go to Langden,’ said Brother James. ‘For none of us are safe until we know.’
