MARIAN THREW HERSELF into the work of the Forestwife. It stopped her thinking. It blotted out her sorrow for a while, as she wracked her brains to think what Agnes would have done for every little hurt and pain that the forest folk brought to her. While she worked, she could not feel the bleak and empty space that Agnes left.
Robert stayed there in the clearing, awkward and quiet and ill at ease. Though they clung together through the nights, they had little to say. It seemed they could not share their misery.
When Emma went into labour, Marian was filled with dread, and a desolate yearning for Agnes’s presence. She need not have feared, for as the birth progressed, it was almost as though Agnes whispered in her ear, calmly telling her what to do, step by step.
A girl was born, big and strong and kicking. Marian sat back, satisfied with her work. Emma leaned on John, weak with the effort. They both smiled down with pleasure at their child. Even Robert came in to share a little of their joy.
‘You two should get wed,’ said Marian.
They both laughed. ‘We were wed last Michaelmas,’ John told her. ‘As soon as I returned from Baytown.’
‘Who wed thee? Brother James?’
‘Nay.’ Emma grinned. ‘We were wed in a circle of nuns. Brother James said he’d forgotten how, and that six nuns were much better.’
‘Six nuns? Is that truly wed then?’
‘True enough for us,’ said John.
At sunset Robert sought her out.
‘Shall you and I be wed?’ he asked. ‘Shall we stand together in a circle of nuns.’
Marian clenched her hands with sorrow, till the nails bit into her knuckles. She wished very much that they might belong together like Emma and John. It was clear enough that he had feared to be tied to a woman . . . and yet now he begged it of her. She answered him as she must, but gently.
‘I can be no man’s wife. I am the Forestwife. For me that must suffice.’
He sat beside her in silent misery.
Marian pulled out the length of twine that fastened her mother’s garnet ring about her neck. She clasped the ring in her hand, wanting to give it to him, wishing to find some way of comforting. And yet she could not quite bring herself to part with it. She let it drop back into place. They sat there side by side until the sun had gone.
Next morning he took the horse, and left for Howden.
Philippa went back to Langden with Tom and Alice’s family. John and Emma were besotted with their child. Marian thought she’d die from loneliness. There was but one person who would always listen, who would weep with her, as she spilled her sadness out into the blossoming spring woods. She took her cloak and set off through the forest for the tiny cell.
The Seeress had little comfort to offer, but her presence and concern always helped. When Marian returned through the forest, she’d gathered strength, enough to go on.
News of King Richard came in March. He’d landed in the south and made his way to London, then headed north to Nottingham. John went marching off to join Robert, besieging Tickhill Castle once again. Emma was sad, but accepting.
They heard that Tickhill Castle had at last been taken, to Bishop Hugh’s great delight, with a great army of fighting men who’d come down from the north. Then, later, they heard that the King had marched with a gathering army to Nottingham Castle, where Count John’s garrison still held out against him.
Marian came more and more to rely upon the Seeress. Emma was always kind, but wrapped up in her lovely child. Marian remembered the first birth, and did not begrudge her such happiness. The Seeress would listen endlessly, always with sympathy, but also with firm good sense. Marian made many journeys through the wood.
Often she begged the Seeress to leave her cell.
‘We could build a new small hut for thee, close to my clearing. I have such need of thee, for there are so many folk who want naught but someone to listen to them.’
But the Seeress would not have it.
‘’Tis a lovely picture you hold out to me, and I long for such a life. But . . . you do not understand. ’Tis for my sin, for my penance that I must stay here.’
Frustrated and despairing, Marian went to visit Mother Veronica, safely settled once more in her old convent home. They sat in the stone-flagged kitchen by a good fire.
‘At least we may see the Seeress well comforted and fed, now that we’re back,’ Veronica tried to soothe Marian’s worries. ‘Here, sit thee down and take a cup of ale, for we worry about thee. ’Twas clear to us all that you were the chosen one, but you are young indeed, dear Marian, to take up the burden of the Forestwife.’
Marian sighed and sat down to her cup of ale. Sister Catherine brought in a tiny piglet runt, wrapped in a cloth. She set about warming it some milk. Marian smiled at the pink snuffling creature, but still her thoughts were pulled back to the Seeress. She turned to Mother Veronica.
‘I have begged the Seeress to come to live near me. Do you think it wrong of me? I swear she would be happy, and I need her so, now that Agnes is gone. You would not think it wrong, would you?’
Mother Veronica laughed. ‘I would not. I have long since given up judging others.’
‘All she will say is that ’tis her great sin that prevents it. What terrible thing could she have done?’
‘I’ve never known,’ Mother Veronica shook her head. ‘The Seeress was here before we came, enclosed in her little hut – by her brother, it was said. The Bishop sent us here to guard her, and to take the name of Mary Magdalen’s nuns. I believe the Seeress chose the name.’ The fat nun shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s all I know. She does not wish to tell us more, and I have respected that.’
Marian sat in silence, watching the piglet snuffing up milk from the old nun’s fingers, though her mind was still on the strange lonely woman in her cell.
‘Though I have never seen her face, I swear she is not an old woman,’ she spoke her thoughts out loud.
‘No,’ said Sister Catherine, who’d been quietly listening to them both while she fed her tiny charge. ‘She is not an old woman. And I have seen her face.’
Marian and Mother Veronica both looked sharply across at her.
Sister Catherine blushed. ‘I have seen and heard what I should not.’ She laughed and gently scratched the piglet’s head, ‘But then I am a wicked nun.’
‘Whatever do you mean, Catherine?’ Mother Veronica demanded. ‘Most would say that we are all wicked nuns.’
‘Yes,’ said Sister Catherine, ‘but I was wicked long before you. Do you remember that the Seeress was sick? It must be three years since?’
‘Yes . . . ’ Mother Veronica and Marian turned to her, listening intently.
‘Well,’ Sister Catherine went on, ‘I took her food and drink as was my job to do. But the Seeress was so sick that she couldn’t even open her hatch.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I broke all the rules. I opened it myself and I climbed inside – ’tis easy enough to do. The Seeress was shouting out in her sleep. It did not all make sense, but it was clear she sorrowed and cried for a lost child.’
‘Ah,’ Mother Veronica nodded. ‘A child, you say?’
The old nun nodded. ‘A child called Mary,’ she said, shooting a quick nervous glance across at Marian.
Marian went very quiet.
‘What happened then?’ Mother Veronica asked.
‘I woke her, and I fed her. She was distressed and we talked. ’Twas all against the rules, I know.’
‘Drat the rules,’ said Mother Veronica. ‘’Twas a good and Christian thing to do.’
‘Well,’ the old nun continued, ‘she was sad and sick, and just for a while all her iron resolution had faded. She told me all about herself. How she’d given birth to a child, a daughter. The father was a sweet-faced minstrel, who’d come to sing to the ladies in her home. The Seeress’s brother was beside himself with rage when he discovered their love. He’d planned to marry his sister to a powerful and wealthy man. The minstrel was found poisoned in a ditch. Once she’d given birth to a bastard child, her brother’s ambitions to marry her well were over. He’d persuaded her that she must be dead to the world, and lock herself inside that cell to pay for her sin.’
Marian stood up suddenly, sending her stool clattering to the floor.
‘What was his name?’
Sister Catherine stared up at her, frightened by the anger in her voice.
‘What was his name? Her brother?’
‘It was something like a name of a woodland, or a wood.’
‘Holt,’ thundered Marian. ‘Was it Holt?’
‘Yes,’ the old nun said, dropping the squealing piglet to the floor. ‘Yes, that was it, for sure . . . De Holt. The Seeress’s name is Eleanor.’
‘What can it mean?’ Mother Veronica was white with worry.
Marian shook from head to toe. ‘It means . . . it means that . . . she is my mother. I am Mary. I am that child.’
Marian ran out of the convent building, heading straight for the Seeress’s little wood.
‘Can this be true?’ Mother Veronica cried.
‘Yes,’ said Sister Catherine, wiping her eyes. The old nun was pale and shaken, but she spoke with determination. ‘Remember, I have seen her face.’
‘Did you know?’
‘I did not know, but I guessed. They are so alike. I pray that I have done right to speak up.’
Marian ran up to the Seeress’s cell. ‘I know your sin,’ she shouted as she ran. ‘I know your sin.’
There was silence from the hut.
Marian pressed her hands against the window grille. ‘It is no sin at all,’ she whispered.
‘Marian?’ The Seeress spoke low. ‘Is it you?’
‘Yes . . . I am Marian. I am the Forestwife . . . but I am Mary, too. I am your daughter.’
There was silence once more. A thick heavy silence and then a small, heartrending cry.
Marian suddenly snatched at her own throat, snapping the silver ring from the thong around her neck. She held the garnet in her hand. The Seeress’s fingers came snaking through the gap, and took the ring. She held it cupped in both of her trembling palms.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, her voice faint and shocked, ‘you are my child.’
‘Then will you not come out of this damned hole and see me?’ Marian cried.
‘I cannot! I have sinned against . . . you!’ she broke down, sobbing.
‘You have not,’ cried Marian. ‘You gave me life! I am strong and free!’ Then her voice dropped, suddenly soft with longing. ‘But you know more than any. The one who mothered me is gone and the man I love thinks more of his King than me. I need my mother now.’
Marian scratched frantically at the grille as Mother Veronica and the nuns came rushing into the glade.
Mother Veronica put her hand on Marian’s shoulder.
‘Marian, stand back,’ she ordered.
Sister Catherine carried her meat cleaver. She gripped it tightly in both hands.
‘My dear Eleanor,’ she shouted, ‘do you wish to be free?’
Then the Seeress’s voice came clearly through the rustling trees.
‘Yes, yes. I beg you, set me free.’
Mother Veronica held tight to Marian, whispering comfort into her ear.
Sister Catherine gave three great chops with her cleaver, and broke a hole through the top of the thatch. It was not difficult, the cell was rickety with age. Then the nuns all set about the hut with a good will. They ripped it apart with their bare hands.
A small, trembling woman stood amongst the rubble, her bed and bucket covered with dust. Marian rushed forward, arms outstretched; she hugged her mother, and rocked her in her arms.
