It was a clear night as William and his mother pulled the little boat from its hiding place and pushed it into the water. He could feel her standing on the beach, watching him long after he lost sight of her in the darkness. The water was calm, but he knew she hated sending him alone, and would worry until he returned.
‘The sea can turn,’ she always warned him. ‘It can turn so quickly!’
He knew he could handle himself on the water, but he didn’t blame her for worrying. His father had been able to handle himself too, and the sea had still taken him.
There was enough wind for the sail, but he couldn’t risk raising it, not until he was well out of sight of land. Night was a busy time at the shoreline. The game of hide-and-seek played out between the customs officers, the navy and the big smuggling gangs was barely less than a war. Either side would kill him before they asked who he was, and being a small, dark dot on a huge dark sea was the best defence he could hope for.
He dipped his oars silently into the sea, and pulled the tiny dory slowly and smoothly out towards deeper water.
The moment he passed the tall outcrop of cliffs that marked the end of the cove, he knew he was in trouble. He jammed his oars into the water and pushed hard to bring himself to a halt.
The naval lugger had its sails ready, but was barely moving. Not patrolling, not chasing, just waiting. For him? He didn’t think so. It was a big, fast ship to send after a boy in what was little more than a rowing boat. But if they saw him, he’d have no chance. And the ship was very, very close. He could see the figures milling about on deck. He could see the buttons on their uniforms shining as it loomed out of the darkness above him.
He quickly and silently brought his boat around, and looked up at the sentries. They were scanning the horizon for smugglers’ vessels. Luckily, nobody was looking straight down.
William thought quickly. If he could get back around the outcrop of rock without being spotted, he could loop around to the other side of the cove. By then he’d be too far away for his little boat to be seen.
Wincing at the sound each oar made and the noise of the water slapping against the hull, he rowed as quietly as he could back around the cliff. The moment he was out of sight of the naval lugger, he sunk his oars into the water again and rowed with all his might.
It was a race against time now. The ship was not in full sail, but it was catching some wind, and it would only be a few minutes before it rounded the cove and he came fully into its view. His boat had seats and oars for two more men, and was heavy enough to need them to get up any great speed, but on the way back, there would be no room for helpers, so he was on his own. His arms and legs burned with the effort as he raced the little boat across the cove.
Just as he reached the outlying rocks marking the boundary between the cove and the next beach along the coast, he saw the lugger’s bow appear like a dark shadow. It was in sail and gaining speed.
What now? He pulled the boat around, and started into the next cove. Perhaps he could find somewhere to shelter until the ship had passed. But as he skirted the final rock, he realised his problems were much more serious.
Where the shallow waters of the cove shelved off into the deeper channel, another boat was waiting. Bigger than the revenue ship, and older. Patched, scratched, splintered, and painted black, with dark sails. He knew it well enough. It belonged to the Harkler gang, and you did not mess with the Harkler gang.
The ship was low in the water, and that meant it was full of cargo. That in turn, meant it had just arrived, so as well as the thirty or so smugglers on board who would be ready to kill him on sight, there would be another hundred or so on the beach or rowing cargo to and from the ship, ready to kill him if he tried to land.
William did the only thing he could do. He tested the wind, hauled up his tiny square sail, yanked it tight, and headed straight out to sea. The wind was not strong, but he caught it well and started to pick up speed.
The shout went up almost immediately. First from the big ship, then from somewhere in the water behind him. He squinted into the darkness where he could just make out a small rowing boat. The rower had arms like tree trunks, and the boat’s bow lifted out of the water as it sped towards him.
He frantically dipped his oars in the water, adding his own strength to the power of the wind, and the boat picked up a little more speed. It would not be enough to pull his heavier boat away from his pursuers, but it didn’t need to be. He just had to stay alive until the smugglers and the navy encountered each other and he could slip away from them both.
He heard a shot from the big ship, and a hole punctured his sail. He ducked, but carried on rowing. The tub-boat was gaining on him now, and he could see the rower clearly. A huge, heavy-set man with a bald head that seemed to be nothing but a growth on the heaving muscles of his shoulders. To his left, the smugglers were running to the side of their ship. He could see them shouting and pointing at him. Those with guns were aiming them. Those without were signalling his position to the other tub-boats.
Away to his right, where the smugglers still could not see, the naval ship had also spotted his sails and was in full chase. It would be on him in seconds. Against all his instincts, he steered left towards the gunfire. It had the effect he wanted, and as the shots seared into the water around him, the big rower in the tug-boat lost his nerve and broke off the chase.
William turned back to the right, rowing hard and trying to get back out of range of the guns. They were firing randomly and in the dark, so as he headed away from the coast, he tried to keep his range from the big ship constant – just far enough that the chances of being hit were slim, just close enough that the swarm of little rowing boats now shadowing him would fear being hit themselves. It was a dangerous game, and he was running out of time.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The navy lugger reared out from the cover of the cove. The smugglers started to reload in panic as a crack of simultaneous gunfire erupted at them from the navy ship. The rowing boats were scattering as their occupants headed for land, sea, or just out of the way of the speeding ship.
The naval ship itself was also changing direction. William realised with relief that it was no longer chasing him but was turning to take the Harklers’ vessel head on.
As the wind grew in his sails, the sounds of shouts and gunfire gradually died away behind him. There would be a battle tonight, but he would not be part of it.
Eventually he could see no land in any direction and hear nothing but the sea. The stars were bright in the sky, and their reflections twinkled in the sea so that he almost felt as though he was drifting among them. His destination might as well have been Mars.
The wind was good, and the weather calm, but it took all night and all the following day before he caught sight of the French coast. He knew the beaches well and had a good idea where he could bring the little boat in, hiding it among rocky outcrops protected from view from the sea or the shore. To be on the safe side he waited for dusk and high tide before slipping in to shore, securing his boat, curling up in the bottom of the hull and finally collapsing into sleep.
This wasn’t going to be easy. The cart with its idol was important to the locals and William didn’t think that putting it on a boat and taking it out of the country, however briefly, would go down well with most of the people he did business with. The one trader who might be able to help was not someone he enjoyed meeting.
He kept off the main street and put his head down as he slipped into town, circling around behind a shabby row of cottages to De Cuir’s back door.
The fewer people who knew he was in town, the better. If things went wrong, they could go very wrong indeed, and William’s ability to trade here in France was the only thing keeping him and Elizabeth fed.
De Cuir’s home was dark and shabby, just like the man himself. He was thin, sour and unshaven. As he ushered William in, his eyes darted along the street to make sure nobody had seen the Englishman enter, and he closed the door quickly behind them.
Most of the people William dealt with in France were not criminals. At least, not real ones. They didn’t ask much about where the fleeces he sold came from, or where the brandy and tea he bought in exchange went. Like the farmers back home, they were not well off enough to refuse a good bargain, and they saw nothing wrong in striking one. Trade across the Channel was a way of life. Illegal and dangerous, but a way of life nevertheless.
De Cuir was different. He charged high prices and would rip you off if he got half a chance. But he could get you anything. Whatever you needed, somehow, somewhere, he would know someone who could lay their hands on it, if the price was right.
William sat on a hard chair in his back room, and explained exactly what he needed. The idol, the cart and the seeds. De Cuir listened, drumming his fingers against each other. William could see his narrow eyes darting from side to side, but his expression did not change.
When William finished De Cuir laughed dryly, without smiling. ‘Your crops aren’t growing so well, are they?’
William didn’t answer that. ‘Can you get me what I need?’
‘The beans I can bring you. They are no problem. This charm… There is only one Lady of the cart. She travels from one village to the next. The farmers, they make an offering to the Lady – and another to the cart driver. Then he goes away, and returns next year. It is a… a service.’ De Cuir waved his hand. ‘He follows the season of sowing. You see?’
‘You mean you cannot get it?’ said William.
‘I did not say that. The weather, it is not so honest with us this year. In the South, it has been warm early – the seeds have been planted. The Lady, she has finished her work, and come early to town.’ He paused. ‘But we… we are still too cold for planting. We have storms. The lady cannot do her work for two – three weeks yet.’
William smiled. ‘You mean it’s here?’
‘Possibly,’ said De Cuir vaguely. ‘There would be a price.’
‘Of course.’ William explained what money he had and that there was no way to negotiate – he could get no more. De Cuir looked disappointed, but William could tell he wasn’t really. ‘That’s all I have. We can make a deal, or not.’ William shrugged.
The Frenchman nodded. ‘The driver keeps her in a barn, and stays in town enjoying free food, wine and friendship wherever he goes.’ He pulled his lips tight, in what probably passed for a smile. ‘He would not notice if she went on a trip for a couple of weeks.’ He suddenly grabbed William’s wrist. His hand felt like an iron cuff. ‘But no more! For some reason, people look to me when things go missing here. I don’t want questions. You understand?’
‘So you can get it?’
‘Me? I will have nothing to do with this.’ De Cuir paused. ‘The cart is built to be pulled by two heifers. I will leave two for you at our usual place, and I will tell you where to find the cart. Anything you do will be your own decision. I want to know nothing more about it. You will give me half the money now, and leave the heifers and the rest of the money at the beach, where I will leave the seeds.’ He held out his hand.
William reluctantly handed over half of the money and De Cuir almost bundled him out of the house, checking up and down the street to make sure they hadn’t been seen before slamming the door shut behind him.
The barn was just a shed, and its roof was sagging, but there was no lock and no other building close by. William approached cautiously, leading the two mooing heifers DeCuir had left for him, but he soon realised that the Frenchman had been right – the barn was in the middle of nowhere. Until sowing started, nobody was going to make the journey out here to check on the idol in the cart. Certainly, at midnight, he felt sure he’d be undisturbed.
Inside, he lit a lamp and, sure enough, a little cart stood in the corner. The base of the wagon was old, very old. But its wheels had been replaced with new ones, several times by the look of their fixings. The cart itself had had rough sacks thrown over it to protect it from bat droppings. He grabbed them and pulled them away. Underneath, a full-sized wooden carving of a lady was built into the wagon as though it was a chair.
She sat bolt upright at the centre of the wagon, swathed in a deep blue gown and stared straight out towards William. At least, that was what he felt as though she was doing. He couldn’t tell in reality, because her face was completely hidden by a carved veil. Secured by twine, the wooden veil covered both the front and back of her head. In one hand she held a sheaf of wheat, and in the cart around her, carvings of fruit and vegetables were garishly painted. The decoration spilled over onto the sides of the cart where painted and carved leaves and berries intertwined with flowers and ears of corn.
It was quite a piece of work. Bright, colourful and imposing. Wherever he tried to look, William’s eyes were drawn up to the veil hanging in wooden folds over the goddess’ head. He knew, of course that it was solid wood, that there was no face behind the veil, and yet he felt as though there were eyes behind. He felt as though she was looking down. Watching him hook the cart to the two animals.
There would probably have been room for William to sit on the goddess’ lap and drive the cart, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to sit on her. The animals didn’t complain as he led them off.
The cart track was empty all the way back to the fork where it joined the main road to town. William put out his lamp and covered the Lady with the sacks as he headed on, but he knew he’d still be a fairly odd sight leading two heifers pulling a wagon at this time of night. He only had to stay on the road until it forked again and he could take the fishermen’s route down to the beach, but it felt terribly vulnerable.
He could see the outlying houses of the town just a field away. Some still had lamps at their windows, and he could see shapes moving about inside. If anyone looked out, they might see a shadow on the road and think it odd enough to come out and check.
The animals were well enough behaved, but heifers were not quiet by nature. As he passed close to the wall of the nearest house, one of them let out a long moan. William froze to the spot. If anyone had heard, then the game was up. Anyone hearing a cow here would assume it had got loose and was munching through their vegetable store. They would be sure to run out after it. He held his breath.
Nobody came. He grabbed the reins and led the animals away as quickly and quietly as he could, down the little rough track away from town and towards the beach.
He’d only gone a little way when he suddenly heard a shout up ahead, and then another. Someone was coming. He looked around frantically. The ground was flattening out on to sand dunes. Maybe, if he could get the cart off the track quickly enough, and if whoever was coming kept their eyes on the path…
It was a huge risk, but it was the only chance he had. He tugged on the reins, and the creatures tugged back. They wouldn’t move. He pulled again, harder this time, but the animal closest to him just tossed its head. He yanked with all his strength, but it was too late.
Three figures stepped out of the darkness in front of him. They were fishermen – he could tell by their dress – and they were walking straight towards him. One was carrying something heavy-looking in one hand. He swayed a little as he walked, and his friend steadied him.
As the three men stopped in front of him and slowly looked his cart up and down, William saw the man was carrying a bottle. This could get ugly. He looked around for the best direction to run.
The three men didn’t say anything for a few moments, then the man at the front leant forward to William and slapped him on the shoulder.
‘Bonsoir!’ he said in a loud voice.
‘Bonsoir,’ William replied cautiously.
‘Bonsoir!’ the others chorused. The three men smiled broadly and staggered on past him. They were so drunk they could barely stand. William thought they probably didn’t see anything odd about him driving his cart to the beach in the early hours. If they remembered it at all tomorrow, they’d never recall what he looked like, or guess what was under the sacking in the back of the cart.
He hurried on to where the sand dunes widened out to the shoreline. There was plenty of cover here, but he would have to work fast. He secured the animals and ran off up the beach to where his boat was hidden. It was a twenty-minute run to where the sand gave way to broken rocks, before he could wade out into the icy water and around a jutting cliff to the secret place where the boat was hidden.
Once he’d retrieved it and dragged it back into the water, he rowed as hard as he could to bring it back down to the sand where he could load it. He grounded it on the beach and used a couple of planks of wood to form a makeshift ramp from the sand up into the boat.
William led the two animals down into the water and released them from the cart. He would have to get it on to the boat by himself. He pulled it around to line the wheels up with his ramp. He was already worn out from the walk, the run and the rowing. It wasn’t an easy job.
The cart was a small one and didn’t really need two animals to pull it, but for one young man alone it was a struggle to manoeuvre it up the ramp and into the boat. Each time he inched the wheels out of the sand and on to the wooden planks, it would slip back or jolt off the side of the ramp. But he kept trying and eventually managed to get the wheels over the side of the boat. The cart dropped suddenly into the hull with a sharp crack, but luckily neither the cart nor the boat suffered any significant damage. William stood back to assess his efforts. The cart was sitting high in the boat. The shafts stuck out to one side. This would never work. He would have to turn it.
He grabbed hold of one of the shafts and pushed the cart around, edging it a little at a time until the shafts faced along the length of the boat. He tipped them down and they fitted almost perfectly, locking in to each side of the boat in the stern and leaving just enough room for him and the oars and mast. It was precarious, but it fitted.
Quickly, he led the animals back to the place De Cuir had set for the exchange. The seeds were there, in several large sacks. De Cuir had kept his side of the bargain. William left the heifers and the money and dragged the sacks back to the boat, piling them into the bow to give the craft some balance for its top-heavy load. The sun was almost rising now. It was time to leave.
He heaved the little boat back into the sea and climbed in. It was sitting very low in the water. Dangerously low. The Lady in her veil pitched from side to side, towering above him as he rowed out to sea. The tiny boat rocked unpredictably in the ripples.
Going was slow. The Lady blocked most of the wind from the sails, and France seemed to take forever to disappear from view behind them. Once it was finally gone, the wind picked up, and they started to move faster, but with the wind came waves.
By nightfall, William knew he was in serious danger. He had watched and felt the storm coming in with slowly rising fear, and now it was all around him, pulling, rocking and tipping the boat from side to side. The sky was dark and the sea was a rolling, sickening landscape of heaving mountains, rising, falling and erupting around him.
His little boat was a solid design. It was long and deep, which meant it could hold a lot more cargo than one would expect of such a small vessel. It was easy to turn, and it was double-ended, so that if he really had to, he could swap around in his seat and start going backwards to make a quick manoeuvre. It was also flat-bottomed, so although it rocked enough in small waves to alarm anyone not used to sailing, it only would tip so far and no further – meaning that it was deceptively stable, even in moderately rough seas like these.
The problem with a deep, flat boat was that if the waves really did get up then it wouldn’t tip or capsize. It would simply fill with water and go straight to the bottom.
All William could do was watch the waves, and fight to keep his little vessel angled straight into the worst of them so that it would ride them instead of taking their full smashing, tipping force against its sides, and hope to stay afloat until it was over. It was a constant and exhausting fight, and with every passing minute, it got harder.
The wind was strong now, and rain was slapping against the sail in rattling waves as the gusts changed direction. Looking up, a fork of lightning outlined the figure of Juliana’s Lady, rising in front of him as though rearing out of the water. Her unseen eyes seemed to stare through the veil into his.
Out in the dark, heaving fury of the water, it seemed to William that a power was rising. It was the same power he felt when he looked into the huge empty eye socket in the tomb. A raw, natural power that was the force behind the storm, the force that turned seasons, that grew the crops or ruined them.
And it was in Her, too, the monster in the tomb.
Nature, in all its cruel glory, had taken his father. It did not care about William, his little boat or even the whole village. Human desires meant nothing to it. That much he had learned from Marie. He would cling on or he would not, and the storm would roll on regardless until it ended.
He dipped the boat into another wave so wide and high it blocked out the sky until it carried him up above the boiling landscape. For a moment, in the rolling waves under him, he thought he caught a glimpse of Her huge eye, not empty now, but alive, ringed with dark scales, Her curved teeth open and waiting, hanging just below the surface. This wild, tearing fury was Her world. Her storm.
Then suddenly, he felt the boat tip forwards and they were ploughing down the side of the wave, and into the next rising eruption, the oars twisting and dragging as William fought to keep his top-heavy boat upright.
He was weighing the choice in his mind before he even knew he would have to make it. He looked at the heavy sacks of seed in the bottom of the boat. He could almost feel them dragging him down, making every turn harder, slower. He felt the swell rise again at the front of the boat and pulled hard to turn in to the wave, over it and down and back for the next wave.
Then he looked up to the Lady above him. She towered against the sky, glaring down at him from behind her veil. The sheaf of corn looked like a club now, poised to strike him as she rocked back and forth with every pitch of the boat.
The choice churned in his mind like the boiling waves, without him being aware of it, until a huge heaving mound of sea struck at the side of the boat, sending icy water brimming over the side and into the hull, and he realised he’d known he would have to decide ever since he’d seen how low the boat hung in the water as he’d paddled out from the French shore.
It was clear now, but a long way from simple. His tiny boat held two cargoes. One weighed him down, the other pitched and tipped him from side to side. He could not carry them both to England. If he was going to stand a chance of making it to the shore alive, one of his precious cargoes would have to go.
He fought the notion. Perhaps if he just kept turning in to the waves… He turned again and paddled hard up and through a steep swell. At the top, the boat tipped and crashed, rocking into the next wave. A wall of water struck him hard across the back, bending him forwards over the oars. His frozen hands barely had time to steady the boat before another wave crashed down on him. There was water all around his feet now.
No good. The choice was there, stark and icy. The seeds or the idol. If he returned without Juliana’s Lady, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. The fields would not be blessed. The village would see it as the worst possible insult to everything they believed in. They would surely turn against him and his mother. Everything would be in danger. Word would soon reach France of what he’d taken. He would never be able to return.
But if he abandoned the seeds to the ocean, the early crops would most likely fail again, and with nothing to sell, the village would be ruined. Within a year, the houses would be empty and those that survived would be forced to leave, to beg on the squalid, plague-ridden streets of London.
The icy water was numbing his skin. The oars burned in his hands as he hauled the boat around again to face another wave. He gritted his teeth and forced the muscles in his thighs and arms to pull again. He was gasping for air but he could only taste salt water splashing into his lungs, choking him.
A wave caught him side on, tipping the boat further and further over. The Lady’s outstretched arm with its bundle of wheat scraped the water as the next wave pounded in. He was going over. He was certain of it.
A wall of water crashed down on him, and everything was chaos. He was spinning. He could feel the boat against his legs, the oars in his hands, and he held on because if he let go of either he was dead. The water covered him. For a moment he thought he’d capsized, but no, suddenly there was air again, and the Lady was above him, white and ghost-like in a burst of blue-white lightning as she rocked and pitched.
He was still upright, but water slopped around his ankles, and the boat was lower in the water than ever. All his strength was draining from him. One more wave like that and it would be over. This was it. Now or never.
He felt the sacks of seed by his feet. They were soaked in salt water. Even if he got them home they might well be ruined. Above him, the Lady hovered, waving her bursting sheaf of wheat.
He felt the next wave building, sucking the water out from under the boat. It was a big one. The boat tipped backwards as William forced his aching arms to paddle hard up what felt like its sheer side.
They crested the wave, and already he could see the next one coming. It rushed at him, a huge dark monster rearing out of the darkness, foam tracing the shapes of scales across its wide arched back. In the second it took the boat to tip forward, he saw everything clearly, as if for the first time. He knew that monster would devour him when he reached the bottom, and as the boat pivoted, he made his choice. The seeds could be useless, but the Lady was definitely useless. He knew that. He had proved it. No arguments. No gaps. It was the truth, and here, now, at the top of this last wave, that was all that mattered.
He swung in both oars at the same time, and wedged them underneath the wheels of the cart. As he felt the boat start to fall, he jammed the oars against the sacks piled in front of him and pulled down with all his strength, levering them under the wheels.
The boat was in free-fall now, and gravity, for a split second was in retreat. As the cart started to tip he lifted both feet and braced them against the base of the cart. He pulled down as hard as he could with his arms and at the same time pushed with both legs. The cart shifted. Top-heavy, it tilted, and separated from the floor of the boat.
As the boat fell, William gave one last shove, and the cart toppled. Suddenly, they were two separate entities, plummeting down the side of the wave. He hit the bottom of the wave a fraction of a second ahead of the cart and brought his oars back into the water, digging them deep and pulling them around to greet the monster wave as it towered in front of him.
He ploughed into it, but with the cart gone, the little boat seemed to rise like a cork in the water, bobbing high on the back of the wave, rocking a little, but righting itself, almost immediately steady again.
William looked back. In the darkness, there was a shape. The cart’s heavy wheels had pulled themselves downwards so that the base sunk below the surface, and now all that could be seen was the Lady, bolt upright and pale in the water, holding her wheat. Her veiled face stared out at William as she drifted into the darkness. Above, the wind was less fierce. The waves began to calm. Slowly, the storm was fading.
It must have looked as though he was dead, lying exhausted in the bottom of the boat, unable to find the strength to lift the oars or turn the sail. As soon as he saw the cove ahead and knew he was home, his body simply gave up, and he let the tide wash him slowly in towards the shore.
He knew he should wait offshore for the safety of night, but he wasn’t sure he would make it to dusk. In the storm he’d lost all the food and small beer he’d brought for the journey. His legs and arms felt like useless lumps of meat. His throat burned with thirst.
As he felt the boat’s hull softly nudge the beach, a shadow fell over his face and he opened his eyes to see his mother looking down at him. She pulled him up out of the boat and held him tight, stroking his head. She was almost crying with relief.
‘I… I…’ William rasped, barely able to speak. He waved an arm vaguely at the sacks in the bottom of the boat. ‘The cart… I had to… I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s alright,’ she said, hugging him closer. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
But it did matter. Even as Elizabeth held him, he could see Juliana over her shoulder, hurrying down the beach towards them. She stopped abruptly and looked down at the boat. Her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed with fury. ‘Very well,’ she spat, her voice a hiss. ‘If your family no longer needs the help of my family, so be it.’
She turned and strode back towards the cliffs. William felt the darkness creep in around his eyes, and passed out.
‘Quick! The old tomb!’
William was lying in his bed when the shout came through the front door and woke him. Beside him were the remains of a meal and an empty cup. His mother must have somehow got him home and given him food, though he had no memory of it. His eyes were hot with tiredness and his arms and legs still ached, but the shout brought him crashing back into consciousness. He rolled out of bed and scrambled to his feet.
The voice was one of the younger boys from the village, but as he opened the door, he realised it could have been anyone. The boy was already gone, running off towards the woods, and everyone else appeared to be running too, up the hill and towards the old tomb.
Elizabeth appeared in the doorway behind him.
‘Go!’ she cried. They ran together, William forcing his wobbly legs to propel him forwards through the crowd.
By the time they reached the tomb, most of the villagers were gathered around it. The stones in the doorway had been torn away and thick, dark, oily smoke was churning out of the hole.
Beside the doorway stood Mathew Allen, holding a burning torch and grinning like an idiot. Close to him stood his mother and a group of uniformed customs officers. One of them held the printing block from the press, its metal letters dark with ink, incriminating words written backwards across its face. Another two officers held Marie, ink-stained and fragile. She didn’t struggle, she just stood, her neck stretched, holding her chin high.
Her eyes met William’s and she acknowledged him without changing her expression. He started to step forward, but an arm grabbed his from behind. His mother. She silently shook her head. There was nothing William could do for her now.
He watched helplessly as the officers thrust yet more burning torches into the library, then gathered up the printing block and a few other scraps they’d taken as evidence. A moment later Mathew Allen, still grinning, made a grand gesture to his fellow officers. William’s eyes filled with tears as they led Marie away.
As the tomb burned, the crowd began to drift off home. Juliana watched the smoke rise, then looked over at Elizabeth. As she turned to walk into the woods, she leaned in and whispered, ‘I told him where. But I didn’t tell him who. I could have, Elizabeth, but I didn’t. You should be thanking me.’
By the time William could bear to return to the tomb, the shoots of the newly planted beans were bursting out all across the fields. They were strong and green, and for the first time in a long while hope bloomed on the faces of the villagers, though nobody showed any sign of forgiving William for throwing the Lady into the sea.
Marie was gone, taken to London where the authorities were determined to make some kind of example of her. But she would fight hard, and the courts were not entirely without rigour. There was a chance at least she could make her case heard.
The fire left nothing of the books or the press. All that remained were pieces of twisted metal and pools of solidified lead. Only the stone was undamaged. The floor, the steps, the hewn bricks and the old skull staring, blackened, from the wall. William gazed into Her empty eye. It seemed vacant now, as if she was drifting in a deep long sleep.
He left Her and climbed out for the last time. Slowly, he gathered the bricks from the ground where they had been thrown, and one by one, he fitted them back into place, cleaning each to ensure a tight fit.
As he sealed the final brick, he packed the cracks with soft clay. In time it would harden, and the bricks would grow together, held by soil and roots. One day, he thought, the tomb would be opened again.
When She was ready.
That day seemed a long way off.