CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Marytè

She thought they would send the larger of the two henchmen. Instead, the Duke made the interesting decision of sending the slighter, weasel-looking man. ‘You’re the temporary Hollow Watcher?’ she asks, an eyebrow raised.

‘I am,’ he says without arrogance, and Marytè warms to him, just a little. Without the larger man beside him, he’s hardly intimidating at all.

‘Okay. So what do you need from me?’

‘Nothing yet. I do not have much experience in caring for hollows—’

‘The beekeepers care for the hollows.’

He reddens. ‘Of course. I only meant that one of the roles of the Hollow Watcher is to look after the hollows, keep watch over them. I believe the former Hollow Watcher, Stanislaw, already took detailed information about the hollows from each of the keepers and registered it with the Duke. I just need to confirm the numbers, that is all.’

Marytè places a hand on her hip. So her instinct was right. The Duke did know that Stanislaw had deceived him and now he wanted to know exact numbers of the hollows. She would need to tell the truth or she might put her family in harm’s way. She could not risk it. ‘I have fifty hollows. There were fifty-five, but I lost five over winter. One, well, that was where Stanislaw was found. And the other four were in close proximity to that tree.’

‘Did someone harm those too?’

‘There was no sign of interference. It just happens sometimes that when a master dies, the bees go too.’ Marytè swallows back the humiliation. She needn’t let it get to her. This man hasn’t a clue about the ways of the bees or their keepers. He just wants a tally, nothing more.

‘I see. These five hollows are empty, then? Waiting for a swarm?’

Marytè nods. ‘A few in our catchment, but there is no guarantee bees will take up residence. And even so, we cannot count those hollows in this harvest anyway.’

‘Why is that?’

Marytè frowns and the man steps backwards.

‘I just want to understand how it all works. That is all.’

She sighs. ‘Because the swarm breaks away from the original hollow and leaves behind all the honey and honeycomb. They have to work quickly in a new hollow to weave the honeycomb and store enough honey to last them through the winter. We never take from a new hollow or the bees will die.’

‘Ah. No, we do not want that. But they can be harvested from next autumn?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Will you be able to do it on your own?’ He makes a point of peering over her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about your husband’s recent death.’

‘I am not alone. I have my daughters to help, and my friends. Next spring my daughter will be wed so there will be a young man here the following harvest.’

‘Okay, good.’ He looks relieved and Marytè bristles. ‘Well, there isn’t time for me to personally count the hollows so I will be back at harvest to see what you’ve collected and ensure the fifty per cent is calculated correctly.’

Marytè purses her lips. She’s imagining the buckets of honey, all their hard work, being divided up for the Duke.

‘Have a good day.’

‘You too,’ she says, and as he walks unsteadily around the marshes and out of sight, she’s left feeling a little unsettled by the encounter. She shakes it off. There is nothing to be done. The Hollow Watcher’s replacement was inevitable. The Duke will not collect the taxes himself. That is beneath him.

The bees are loud today. They are in love with the warm weather and the abundance of flowers in the forest. She knows it will not be long now. There has been a repetitive, irregular sound coming from some of the hollows in the past few days. Bee hollows are busy environments, and the noise is constant. As the colony builds in strength the noise levels increase.

Marytè closes up the house and trudges towards the forest, around the marsh and over the bridge to be with her hollows. She finds herself at the newly carved oak hollow and wonders how she will climb all these trees on her own at harvest. Not all on her own, of course – Austėja will be there to help. Austėja will climb trees and collect honey too. She has only done this a few times in the past, more for amusement than to truly help. But now it is expected. Harvest typically lasts for days but if Marytè were to do it all on her own it would take weeks. And that is too long. The bees need time to replenish their supplies before they hibernate.

Austėja and Danutè have gone up to the church to donate their share of the crop. Beets, turnips, parsnips and onions. It will feed the priest, the caretaker and perhaps the Duke and his men too. She clucks her tongue. How would these men survive without them?

A roar echoes through the pines. Marytè stands upright, her right ear pressed to the wind. Her heart races and her skin tingles. A swarm is near!

The ear-piercing sound approaches. Two young men emerge from the thick woodlands with not one but two swarms, hanging from spruce branches, likely severed from the trees where they hung. The swarms are magnificent! She has never seen two so near each other and the sound is deafening: she can barely hear her own thoughts.

Tomas stalks over, his head held high in triumph. Jonas is more cautious, his focus on each step he takes, wary not to look out the corner of his eyes at the bees. It is dangerous during swarming. He holds the branch with two hands; it is heavy, weighed down by thousands upon thousands of bees clambering upon one another to form a tight armour around the queen. One big mass falling down to a point, like an upside-down ants’ nest. The drones zip around in a frenzy; their primary focus is to find a place to live.

Marytè has just the place. Her gaze drifts up to the empty hollow and she is pleased with the honeycomb sample she left behind. She beckons Tomas closer. Bees zoom around his face and he grimaces. Jonas stands back. She knows he will be disappointed, as will Austėja, but this is the way of things. Her daughter must marry a firstborn son. The bees are wise and they do not choose bad men as their keepers. They do not sting good men.

‘Come,’ she says. ‘Let us be friends. Lend me your little family.’ Kinship through bees. The words are drowned out by her new bees, but she doesn’t mind. They are glorious.

Bees dart up to the hollow and back to the branch held by Tomas. Back and forth. She imagines them telling their queen and the rest of the family all about the beautiful little home they have found. The size, what type of tree and how they will make it their own. Because they do. They will fill any holes and smooth out the rough edges and weave their honeycomb in the exact same manner they would if they’d found another hollow of a different size and shape. They all know what to do; they all have a part to play. That’s how families work.

Tomas shifts the branch within his grip, but it won’t be long until the pressure eases. She guides him to the trunk and the bees clinging to the branch begin to walk up the oak. Some of their kin fly overhead. Marytè and Tomas watch as they march towards the hollow. Some fly in and back out again as they acquaint themselves with their new home. Marytè is caught up with the spectacle of it all. It is some time before she notices the roar has dulled as the sound is contained once more in a hollow. She looks around and Jonas is gone. He is a good boy; he will find another hollow for his bees.

Tomas has turned away; he is rubbing at his arms and his neck. Marytè darts to him. She pulls up his shirtsleeve. ‘What’s this?’

He yanks his arm away from her. ‘It’s nothing. Just a reaction to nettle leaves I brushed up against.’

But the marks are on his neck too: round white welts with a pink centre. She leans closer and in one of them is a stinger left behind. Marytè baulks and steps away from Tomas. She feels queasy.

Is this punishment for going against the old ways and agreeing to a marriage within their community?

Tomas shrugs away. ‘It’s done now.’

She accepted his swarm and so the marriage is set as if they have shaken on it.

He turns and disappears the way he has come, scratching at his neck and his arms. Her mouth is dry and it is difficult to swallow as the realisation of what she has done dawns on her.

She has made a grave mistake.