Daughter Of The Forest (47 page)

Red was still working on his tiny piece of wood. He didn’t bother looking up.

“You know my feelings on this issue, Uncle,” he said. “I have no intention of letting good men throw away their lives for nothing. This feud is yours, not mine. Its origins are all but forgotten, so many years has it raged, so many lives has it wasted. Forgive me if I do not add my own, or those of my people.”

“Holding the islands is one thing,” said Ben, who was still poring over the map. “But you cannot hope to move beyond here, and here—you see this great tract of forest, that stretches out its arms almost to the sea? We were there. That is the strangest of places; deep, impenetrable, and fiercely defended. The terrain is steep and treacherous. There’s a huge lake beyond these stands of trees, and a stronghold within. Nobody gets closer than a day’s journey to that. It’s bristling with armed men, and if they don’t finish you off, hunger and cold and the sheer weirdness of the place soon will. If you wanted to make any impact, you’d have to go in much further north. Here, for instance.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Spoken like a true campaigner,” he said. “Sure you don’t want to come along with me, boy? Seems like you might be an asset. Can’t you spare the lad for a while, nephew?”

Red blew a little sawdust away, and put his work back in his pocket. He wiped the small knife on his tunic and stuck it back in his boot.

“I don’t make Ben’s decisions for him,” he said mildly.

“Well, boy?”

Ben laughed. “Not me, thanks. I’ve work to do here. Besides, fighting these folk is like fighting a tribe of—of ghosts, or spirits. Not that we didn’t make an impact once or twice. But—they have a habit of appearing and disappearing, and when they talk to you, it’s all in riddles.”

“And what about the weather?” put in John. “Fine one minute, pouring the next. You find yourself almost believing their tales of magic and sorcery, if you stay there long enough. I’m in no hurry to go back. Give me a flock of ewes and a pair of good shears any day.”

They were teasing him, I thought. But Richard was already off on another track, speaking as if to himself.

“Magic and sorcery. That reminds me.” He went to stand by the hearth, warming his back, his arms stretched along the mantel. His shadow was long across the room, his body outlined by the flickering flames. “You mention the lake, and the stronghold in the forest. I heard the strangest story from that quarter, a tale that could change the whole course of my campaign, if there were any truth in it. The lord of those parts is named Colum of Sevenwaters. Stories abound of his lake, and his forest, and his fortress; even more tales of the savagery of his fighting men, among whom were numbered his own sons. Those tales are true enough. As you are aware, it was in those parts that Simon was lost, and my own men butchered. I have wondered, often, if…but never mind that. Colum’s forces are no barbarian rabble. They are strong, well disciplined, and well armed, and they fight as if they had no care for tomorrow. As you said, young Ben, one would be a fool to mount an attack on such a man’s primary defenses. But, I am informed, things changed for Colum a year or two back. Just how, it’s hard to tell; there are many versions of what happened. One day he was a man with six grown sons. The next day he had none.”

There was a short pause. If you knew anything about Richard, you knew that he would never tell a story simply to entertain. There must be a barb in it, a hidden message for somebody.

“What happened to them?” asked Lady Anne.

“Well, there were a few theories,” replied Richard. “One was that they were on the lakeshore, and a great water spirit blew up a freak storm that drew them in and drowned them. Another, that they were poisoned by an enemy, someone such as I, seeking to weaken their father’s power; poisoned, and their bodies hidden somewhere in that vast expanse of forest. A third, that the boys went out mushrooming early one morning and were taken by the little people. They believe in the little people, in elves and faeries over there, you know. Odd, isn’t it, how they can keep a Christian priest in their house, can say Mass of a Sunday, and still have a head full of superstition and fancy? Yes, it was an odd tale. If it’s true, Colum will have less of the old fight left, less of the will to resist. Now could be a perfect time to strike.” He illustrated the last word with a sharp movement of his arm, fingers pointed. “Oh, and I forgot,” he said, and now he was looking at me where I stood in the darkness by the wall.

“There was a daughter as well. Disappeared along with her brothers. Clean sweep. I heard their mother was looking for them. Or was it a stepmother? Sent scouts out everywhere. But no trace. Just vanished into thin air. Like Simon. Maybe the pixies took them all. It was around the same time, or so I’m told.”

This time the silence drew out longer. I shivered. I thought they must all be looking at me, seeing me for what I was and who I belonged to. Had this simply been a stab in the dark, a lucky guess? How could Richard possibly have stumbled onto the truth?

“That would be heartbreak indeed, to lose seven children at one stroke,” said Margery softly. “A man might turn mad at such a blow.”

“I would not wish that on my worst enemy,” said Lady Anne. “But it pains me to hear you make light of Simon’s fate thus, Richard. I hope you will seek more news of him, when you return there. I cannot believe there was no trace of him at all. But that’s what Hugh tells me.”

Richard’s face transformed itself into a picture of brotherly solicitude.

“I will seek news, of course,” he said. “I have an excellent network of informants, which serves me well even when I am far away from those parts. You’d be surprised what I hear. But I think you must realize, sister, that the chieftains of Erin are as brutal as their men. They do not value their prisoners highly once they have—served their purpose. And Simon was very young. I think, after such a long time, you should not expect too much. Now if, as you say, there were some sign, some clue…”

He was looking at me again, a half smile curving his mouth.

“Perhaps I did not quite understand you, Uncle,” said Red quietly. “Are you suggesting that if my brother were captured and subjected to some form of torture, he would have been unable to withstand it? I’m sorry to speak openly of this, Mother,” he added, “but this is no time for playing games. Perhaps we might speak alone,” he said to his uncle.

“No need for that, my boy,” said Richard affably. “We’re all friends here, I trust. Apart from the little Jenny, maybe, who occupies such a unique position in your household that I can’t for the life of me work out just what it is. And as she can’t speak, we need not concern ourselves with what she hears, need we? You certainly don’t seem to think so.”

“Simon may have been misguided,” put in John, “but nobody could ever have accused him of lacking backbone. His strength of will was formidable in one so young.” That was true, I thought, remembering the desperation in those bluest of eyes, the hatred turned in on himself. He could not bear to believe himself a traitor. I was convinced that he was not one.

“He was only sixteen,” said Lady Anne. “We know what stuff he was made of; I have only to look at you, Hugh, to see him before me again. But he was just a boy, for all that courage and resolve. Perhaps this was more than anyone could take.” Her voice was tight with unshed tears.

“This is mere speculation, surely,” said Ben, a small frown appearing on his brow. “Besides, no Irish lord worth his salt could afford to lose such a prisoner. What about the hostage price? And they’d have an idea who he was, whether he told them or not. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Richard strode gracefully across the room. He took his time to speak, as if weighing his words with great care. “The undeniable fact is,” he said at last, “that all my men were slain. Each and every one. Except Simon. Now why would our enemy do that? Clearly, the boy was not preserved for who and what he was, for no ransom was ever demanded. Did he simply desert his mission in fear and vanish of his own accord? Hardly. Such a one does not blend readily into that race of black-locked, whey-faced fanatics. Besides, as you say, whatever his failings, the lad had more than his fair share of courage. And so it is far from speculation to suggest that they forced it out of him, the information that would betray his companions, and lead the enemy down on them by night. But we must not blame him. As you said, Sister, he was barely sixteen years old. He wanted to be a man. But when it came to the point, the fiber was too weak.”

I found, suddenly, that I was extremely angry, and before I could stop myself I made a gesture with my hands that said clearly,
No. You speak lies
. And suddenly, every pair of eyes in the room was turned sharply on me.

“I would dearly love to hear you speak, little wild girl,” said Richard, and although his tone was soft, his stare was as hard as cold iron. “Where do you come from? What could you tell us? And why do you suddenly look so fierce, like a mother wolf defending its young? You know something of this, I am certain of it. So convenient, to be without words. I wonder what your people would give, to have you safe home again.”

There was a short silence. I looked him straight in the eye.
I am not afraid of you. I am not afraid
.

“She’s a good girl,” said Margery unexpectedly. “She comes here with no ill purpose, my lord, of that I am sure.”

“Not only that,” said Ben with a crooked grin. “She wouldn’t have come at all if we’d given her a choice in the matter. Very averse to sea travel, is Jenny. She’s here by accident as much as anything.”

“Besides,” said John, “if you are suggesting some noble family would pay a ransom for her return, you are certainly wrong. This is a child who has fended for herself for some time, I am convinced. She has no family but this one to turn to.”

“Child?” Richard seemed like a hunting creature waiting to pounce. “The girl is of marriageable years, and comely enough in her wild, unkempt way. What future has she here, if what you say is true?”

“My brother and I had an idea, Hugh” This was Lady Anne, and sensed this part of the conversation, at least, had been well prepared. “He—we thought, since we are lacking in suitable company for her here, that Jenny might go to stay at Northwoods for a while. Richard is headed back there in the morning, and sees no difficulty in her joining his party. Elaine has several young companions, and has said she would welcome another. This would please me, Hugh.”

“Out of the question.” Red’s response was immediate and abrupt.

“Not so fast,” said Richard, his eyes narrowing. “There’s Elaine to think of as well, boy. Your betrothed. Don’t forget, I’ll be away from home again soon, and my daughter asks this as a special favor from you. It’s lonely for her up there with her father gone. She’d welcome the novelty.”

My heart quailed. I had little doubt of the true purpose of this request. It was not companionship for his daughter that he wanted. It was the information I could give him. And I sensed his interest in Simon’s fate was not simply that of a solicitous uncle. No, there was something more to this, I was becoming sure of it. Red had been right to suspect his uncle’s motives. Richard needed to know what I knew, and whether I would tell it to others. And he would be adept at making me talk.

“This could be a good idea, Hugh,” said his mother carefully. “You cannot be unaware that Jenny’s presence here has brought some—unrest—to the household and to the folk of the estate. Since Elaine has been so kind as to extend an invitation, surely it could do no harm to send Jenny to Northwoods for a while. It would relieve the pressure here greatly. Perhaps you have closed your ears to what people are saying about her and about—about your motives in keeping her here. It is a delicate matter. But this would be a wise decision, I think.”

Red’s mouth tightened. I thought, how little they know him, his own family. Even I understand him better. He cannot be pushed like this.

“It is my household, and my decision,” he said. “If Elaine is seeking companionship, let her visit us at Harrowfield. For her, there is always a welcome here. But the other—I will not consider it. And now, this conversation is finished.” He walked over to Lady Anne and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, Mother.” He looked at Richard, who was leaning on the mantel again, his eyes hooded by their lids, the quirk of his mouth mischievous, dangerous. “You’ll be making an early start tomorrow, I’ve no doubt,” said Red. “We’ll provide an escort as far as the bridge.”

Richard lifted his brows. “Seeing me off? Thank you so much. I’ll be sure and let Elaine know you’d like her to pay you a call. Let her see for herself how things are here. Of course, she must take charge of Northwoods in my absence. But I can spare her for a few days. For naturally the wedding will be held here. This will give her a good opportunity to plan the festivities. May Day, Anne and I thought, would be most appropriate. No need to wait until midsummer. This time my campaign will be swift and deadly. I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”

Then followed what I looked back on later as the last good time at Harrowfield. Richard was gone, and spring burst on the valley as if celebrating his departure. My little garden bloomed with brave crocus and tiny pale daffodils and fragrant herbs. The sun warmed the stone walls and the old terrier stretched her stiff limbs and ventured out to explore under the blossoming lilacs. I took to rising early and walking forth while the air was crisp and the day new. This way, I could almost imagine I was back home at Sevenwaters, and that everything was all right again. Almost. As often as not, I would walk to the orchard with its lichen-covered walls to find Red already there, cloak over his shoulders against the cold, ink pot on the bench beside him, quill gripped somewhat awkwardly in his large hand. Sometimes I would sit there for a while, and he would give me a grave nod of acknowledgment, and go on with his work.

It was clear to me that what he made with such care was some kind of record of the estate, where purchases and profits were marked down methodically year by year. And yet, I could see it was more, for I glimpsed intricate diagrams that seemed to show the layers beneath the soil, and the different roots of plants, and the way the rain fell and nourished them; and here and there a tiny representation of tree or leaf or flower, done with a delicate control. This was the man whose uncle chided him for playing peasants; whose hands were so big mine were swallowed up by them. I liked sitting there quietly with my back against the smooth stones of the wall, watching him work. It came to me how much easier such a task would be if he knew how to write. I began to realize what a rare gift we had been given, I and my brothers, when Father Brien chose to share his skill with us. For it had become plain that there were none at Harrowfield, save the household scribe, with the ability to set down letters and to decipher them. And the scribe himself seemed to struggle when asked to make out a message of any complexity. Had matters been different, I could have offered to help. That would have raised a few eyebrows.