From the Forest (8 page)

Soon, though, the aggressor and his useless owners disappeared into the wood. We calmed ourselves and continued. We came out of the wood and dropped down from the ridge, past the cricket field which Laurie Lee, the author of
Cider with Rosie
,
¹⁹
donated to the village. Even apart from its donor, this cricket pitch has to be one of the most romantic community amenities in the country – poised high above the white stone village and overlooking the green valley: the ‘myth’ of English rural life happens in this case to be entirely true. Victorious over the evil force that had threatened our passage through the forest, we ate lunch in the garden of the village pub, half bemused by loveliness and the sense of being in a fairy story.

It was a stiff climb up the scarp afterwards, and halfway up, just below the edge of the wood, we sat out among the flowers on the common and dozed a little in the warm sunshine before plunging back among the trees and continuing the walk. The path wound up and down, often running along the edge, between trees and fields; and there were huge old beech trees and slim straight younger ones and it all felt idyllic, a dream of green springtime. The wood felt enchanted and generous; it was like a fairy story, but I knew it was all more complicated than it felt.

The White Snake

Once upon a time there was a young man with clear eyes, a quiet mind and a gentle heart.

Not surprisingly, since these rare and precious virtues seldom lead to worldly success, he was a servant. The King, his master, treated him with benign contempt despite his dependency on the man’s goodness and good sense, but nonetheless the man continued to serve him loyally and rose gradually to a privileged position as steward and secretary, managing the household and keeping his master’s confidential papers.

One day the Queen lost a valuable ring and, since the man had access even to the monarch’s privy chambers, the King decided that he must have stolen it. Despite the man’s protestations of innocence, the King announced that if the ring were not returned by the following morning the man would be executed. Since he had not stolen the ring and indeed had no idea where it might be, the man was, not surprisingly, distressed by this announcement. He spent the rest of the morning putting his affairs in order and paying such small debts as were outstanding so as not to inconvenience people afterwards and then, in the afternoon, he went out for a last walk in the woods which he loved. And there, in a sunny glade strewn with fritillaries, purple spotted and delicate, he encountered a white snake, with bright gold eyes and a green forked tongue.

Conversing with snakes is dangerous, for they are subtle and in league with the Devil himself; but a man with clear eyes, a quiet mind and a gentle heart can do with impunity what others should not risk. Instead of seizing a stick and beating its brains out, the man approached the snake quietly and gently, and smiled at it. The snake stared back unblinking for a few moments and then, with a side-slip wriggle, it smiled, then turned and vanished into the long grass.

‘Strange,’ the man thought to himself, but within moments he realised that it was stranger still, because a nightingale began to sing somewhere just out of sight and suddenly he could understand its song and the depths of its passion and joy. Walking home in the gloaming, he realised that the snake had given him the capacity to understand the language of all the living things in the wood. And when he was back in the great courtyard of the castle, he could hear the giggly little gossip of the sparrows, which told him that a fat duck had swallowed the Queen’s ring when she had stupidly let it fall out of her window. Boldly, he arrested the duck and forced it to regurgitate the jewel, and after breakfast the next morning, he was able to return it to the King and avoid the death penalty.

The King was grateful and perhaps felt a little guilty, so he offered the man any post of honour that he chose. But, not entirely surprisingly, the man had lost confidence in royal generosity and declined. Instead, he asked for a horse and a little money so that he could leave this unreliable employment and seek a more independent future of his own. Eventually the King accepted this request and before the day was over the man had packed his few goods into a saddle bag and ridden off – as the heroes of stories must always ride – down the long track through the forest to seek his fortune.

When night fell he climbed into a tall tree for safety’s sake and curled up to sleep in a high fork of two branches and listened to the wisdom of bats, the adventures of owls, the endless sexual problems of nightjars and the tiny homely gossip of the four hundred different invertebrates who had made their homes where he now nested.

He travelled on. Late in the morning he noticed the trees turning from limes and oaks to alders and willows, and before long he came down to the side of a small lake; the track ran beside it and he enjoyed the happy sight. However, he soon noticed a splashing commotion in the reeds along the bank and, leaving his horse, made his way down to the water. There were three salmon smolts, bright silver, with their soft scales flaking from their panicked thrashings, for they had half stranded themselves in the thick reeds and could not fight their way back into the current that would carry them down to the sea. They were panting, exhausted, and bewailing their fate. He felt an instant gentle sympathy so he picked them up one by one and chucked them out over the reed beds and into the deeper water. They regrouped joyfully and stuck their heads out of the water, laughing and shouting, ‘Thank you, thank you. We salmon can remember the river our mothers swam in and the very gravel we were spawned on, and we will not forget your bright eyes, your gentle heart and your kindly mind. One day we will repay you.’

He travelled on. One afternoon he noticed that the road ran uphill and passed through scrub woods of pine and rowan, where the ground was dry and sandy. He heard a shrill, cross voice complaining that his horse was trampling a whole city to death and, looking down, he saw an ant hill, a great mound with the laborious workers and soldiers coming in and out, unresting and unhasting. On the pinnacle sat the Queen, regal and lovely with her tiny waist and elegant elbowed antennae. She was so small and yet so determined to protest and protect her people that his gentle heart was touched and he turned his horse aside, tethered it, and spent a couple of hours diverting the track so that future travellers would not harm the colony. The Queen drew up her army in formal array and they saluted him, chanting their great ant-warrior songs, and the Queen called out boldly, ‘Thank you, thank you. We ants remember; we solve complex problems by ingenuity and teamwork, and we will not forget your bright eyes, your courteous heart and your kindly mind. One day we will repay you.’

He travelled on. The track climbed higher and he noticed that the trees changed to silvery birches and scrubby juniper, and there were harsh crags of rock above the wood and fungi and moss around his horse’s feet. And from a rock cliff towering above him, he saw three black shapes come hurtling down, squawking and grumbling. It was three raven fledglings, not yet able to fly, but hurled from the nest by their intemperate parents. They flopped and flapped on the ground, and moaned and lamented. ‘We are helpless children,’ they croaked, ‘Our parents are an unkindness. We can’t hunt and so we’ll have to starve. Woe! Woe! Woe, evermore!’ The unnatural unfaithfulness of the parents reminded the man so much of his late employer that he was moved to sympathy. He jumped down from his horse and, with a single blow, hacked off its head and left it as carrion for the young ravens to feed on. They hopped onto the dead equine and started glutting themselves on its eyes. The man watched them, amused, and when they had eaten their fill they called out together, ‘Thank you, thank you. We ravens remember, we apply intelligence and strength and travel huge distances, and we will not forget your bright eyes, your generous mind and your warm heart. One day we will repay you.’

He travelled on, using his own two legs now, but with no regrets. And soon the track ran down into a wide green valley, through woods of oak and holly, through orchards of apples and cherries, and through pastures where the cows stood belly deep in grass under the shade of elms and ash trees. Eventually he came to a big city where there was such chaos and noise and hubbub that he could barely hear himself think, let alone the small voices of the wild.

And there in that city he fell in love with the Princess. You’d think he would have steered clear of royalty after his past experience, but no, in his generous heart and quiet mind he rejected all stereotypes and saw only her loveliness and her loneliness. He believed her hard shell was to protect her inner self from the flattery of the crowd and the over-indulgence of her father. He saw dignity in her haughtiness and good sense in her snobbery. Why should she give herself to a man who was unworthy, untried, unproven? So he went a-courting in the green springtime and declared himself a suitor, although many princes had died in that same cause, for she set her would-be lovers impossible tasks and demanded their lives when they failed.

First she led him to the seashore and tossed in a gold ring. He had to fetch it out from the depths and keep on trying until he either found it or drowned. He stood on the beach well aware there was nothing he could do and so just standing and looking and listening and enjoying the warm sunshine and the laughing waves. Then, suddenly, three salmon came leaping towards him, their long silver-and-red-flecked sides breaching the surface with power and delight. They had grown now in size and strength and had metamorphosed so that they could live in the salt of the ocean. Bravely, they let a wave cast them up at his feet, where they deposited a single oyster shell before the next wave pulled them back into the deep. The young man opened the shell and there was the ring. He laughed and took it to the palace.

But the princess had her pride and she did not want to marry a servant. She demanded a second task, another proof. She took ten sacks of millet seed and strewed them about her orchard. He had to gather them all, every last grain, back into the sacks by morning, or die. He stood under an apple tree, well aware there was nothing he could do and so just standing and looking and listening and enjoying the warm sunshine and the dancing froth of blossom. Then, suddenly, he heard a tiny rustling, a whisper nearly as silent as the growing of grass, a restless movement across the whole orchard; and there were thousands upon thousands of ants, a great army, orderly and well-disciplined, marching to the command of their queen and gathering every single seed back into the sacks. And the young man laughed and showed them to the princess.

But the princess had her pride and she did not want to marry a servant. She demanded a third task, another proof. She told him he had to bring her a golden apple from the Tree of Life. He did not know where the Tree of Life might be, and he was well aware that there was nothing he could do, so he put his small affairs in order, calculated that he had no debts to pay and went out for a last walk in the woods which he loved. He sat under a green linden tree and listened to the pied flycatchers chat about King Solomon’s mines and the hot, damp, insect-filled air far away in Africa where they had passed a pleasant winter. Then, suddenly, there were black shadows moving overhead and he looked up and there were three ravens playfully performing the aerobatic routine that ravens normally keep for their own lovers: rolling on their backs, falling through space, flipping over before they hit the ground, and croaking with amusement. And as he looked, one of them dropped a golden apple from the Tree of Life directly into his waiting hand. And the young man laughed and ran back to the city.

He divided the apple in two and gave one half to her, and together they ate it and her heart filled with love for him because of his clear eyes, his quiet mind and his gentle heart. They lived happily ever after.

Things are not always what they seem. This story began with a snake and ended with an apple, but paradise was not lost, it was found. They say that ants form destructive armies and march out against people; they say that fish are slippery and cold blooded; they say that ravens are messengers of doom and death. They say that gentle hearts win no fair ladies. None of these things is necessarily true.

Never underestimate the joy that a man can gain if he has clear eyes, a quiet mind and a gentle heart.