Path of the She Wolf (3 page)

Brigit tugged at Magda’s arm. ‘More horses,’ she cried, excitement overcoming her fear. ‘Your father the giant, a hooded man and the monk – there’s the monk with his famous dog!’

Then into the clearing strode Robert, the close-fitting hood that he always wore fastened tight about his cheeks, hiding the deep scar that ran from ear to chin, stout Brother James followed them, his dog Fetcher leaping at his heels. Magda ran to hug her father. Robert led a huge fine-decked stallion, a tall man with white close-cropped hair astride. The visitor was clad in good leather riding breeks and boots, and a fine purple cloak, a gold cross hung about his neck; they were followed by twenty men at arms, more pack-horses and a wagon.

‘Grand visitors for you daughter,’ cried John, stooping low to give Magda a kiss.

‘Marian!’ Robert bellowed, pleased as could be. ‘Come out and see who I’ve brought. Here’s His Grace the Bishop of Hereford wishes to meet the Forestwife.’

‘She’s busy,’ Magda hissed.

But the woven curtain that covered the doorway to the cottage was thrown aside. Marian came from the shadows into the light, her face pale, grey flecked hair ruffled, her apron soaked with fresh blood. In her arms she carried a tiny newly born child. She blinked at Robert stupidly, then looked past him to the bishop who still sat astride his horse.

‘Forgive us Your Grace,’ she spoke quietly. ‘It’s not the best time for visitors. This babe has had a struggle to be born, and his mother has just lost her life.’

There was a moment of silence then a small hiccuping sob came from Brigit. ‘You said . . . y-you said the Forestwife would save her.’

‘I did believe she would.’ Magda turned slowly, her face full of sorrow, and went to gather the distressed child into her arms.

Wearily Marian set about cleaning herself and organising a feast. She sent Tom to beg help from their friends who lived close by. Philippa the blacksmith’s wife and Lady Isabel came from Langden Manor. With them came Will Stoutley, Robert’s friend, who’d gone to work as Langden’s reeve when the old Lady Matilda died and Isabel became Lady of the Manor in her own right. They also brought
a strong young mother who was willing to feed the newly born babe along with her own.

Mother Veronica and Sister Rosamund came from their woodland convent where they lived as the Sisters of the Magdalen, and Gerta the old besom-maker, who lived close by with her three young grandsons. They all brought food and drink to swell the feast and soon the clearing was thronging with bustle and work.

John and Brother James butchered the deer, fixed up a spit and got fires going for roasting. A trestle table was set close to the fire as the evening turned chill. They worked fast together, for Robert was in the habit of bringing unexpected visitors to dine. Though never before had he brought anyone as rich and powerful as the Bishop of Hereford; Robert usually had quite a different way of dealing with bishops!

Magda took no part in the preparations but sat in the small shelter with Brigit, trying to give what little comfort she could, talking and soothing until the child at last fell exhausted to sleep. Marian busied herself with washing and wrapping the new babe, and then with food preparations, ignoring Robert and the bishop. Indeed the two men were soon so deep in conversation that no courteous words of ceremony or welcome seemed needed. They spoke together in low urgent voices and Marian recognised the note of quiet excitement in Robert. She knew it only too well.

‘What does this mean?’ she asked herself. ‘What wild scheme are we in for now?’

It was only when the meat was cooked and served with trenchers of fresh baked bread that Marian sat down and spoke to their guest.

‘Humble food, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘But fresh and wholesome.’

The Bishop shook his head dismissing her worries. ‘I eat very little,’ he said.

Marian could believe that; the man was thin as a willow wand. At least he was no pampered overfed lover of luxury as so many of the bishops seemed to be.

‘Marian,’ Robert stood up formally and bowed to the Bishop. ‘Let me present to you His Grace the Bishop of Hereford, Giles de Braose.’

Marian gasped and stared at the Bishop with new interest. ‘De Braose? Did you say de Braose?

Brother James laughed at her surprise. ‘We thought that would interest you.’

‘Are you . . .?’ Marian faltered. ‘Are you?’

An expression of pain touched the Bishop’s face, and he nodded. ‘I am the brother of William who died an exile in France. Matilda de Braose was my very dear sister-in-law, and well—’ the Bishop clenched his jaw. ‘You know what happened to her, and my poor nephew.’

There was a moment of quiet. All the forest folk knew only too well how the King had persecuted the de Braose family. He’d taken Matilda prisoner along with her son and it was whispered fearfully throughout the country that he’d starved them to death.

‘Did the King’s quarrel touch you . . . er, Your Grace?’ Philippa asked, curiosity getting the better of courtesy.

Giles de Braose swallowed hard, looking round at all their serious faces. He seemed touched by their concern but Marian got the impression of a man who rarely let his feelings show.

‘Me? I fled to France, but the king has invited me back and reinstated me. The fool thinks that I have forgiven him.’ A wry smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘Now I travel the Great North Road from Helmsley Castle, where Robert de Ros gathers together an army of northerners. The gold I carry will buy weapons and fighting men for those who support us in the South. We shall bring out our charter, the one that is true to the laws King Henry made, and demand that the King reinstate his father’s rule, and begin to deal justly with this country. If he will not, then believe me, his days are numbered, and at last my family shall be revenged.’

Marian nodded her head. Now it all became clear. There had been many whispers from those who passed through Barnsdale that even the most powerful northern barons were tired of King John’s constant demands. He invented new fines and taxes every day, funding battles on foreign soil that were meaningless to all but him. So now, at last, rebellion was truly in the air.

The Bishop’s men ate heartily of the King’s deer, but the Bishop took little food. The outlaws ate quietly, with restraint, thoughtful at the Bishop’s news.

Robert was fired with excitement. ‘We could muster a hundred archers,’ he suggested. ‘Poor men, ill-fed and ragged, but greatly skilled with the bow and they are full of bitter resentment and hungry for change.’

The Bishop looked stunned for a moment but then he accepted this offer of support, though it came from so strange a quarter. ‘Such men would be of value. I shall send word to you,’ he promised. ‘As soon as we are ready to move.’

‘We’ll come at once,’ Robert assured him. ‘We’ll march to join you, travelling day and night.’

Marian looked from the Bishop to the outlaw, uneasy at this willingness for battle. Though so different in their stations in life, yet still they were two of a kind. The same fanatical gleam was there in the eyes.

As the evening air turned cold Marian got up and taking a flaming brand from the fire she went to the newly built hut. Magda was sitting shivering on the floor with her arms wrapped about Brigit. The girl’s face was puffy and tearstained, but she slept.

‘I think we should bring her out to the fire now,’ Marian told her. ‘Even though it means waking her, we must warm you both and make her eat and drink.’

Magda moved gently so that the child began to wake. ‘Come, wake up now, sleepy one,’ she spoke softly. Then her tone changed and she asked angrily, nodding at the Bishop. ‘What is he doing here?’

Marian sighed. ‘He is Giles de Braose, brother-in-law to the great Matilda that the King starved to death.’

Magda’s eyes opened very wide. ‘The one who was locked up with her son and neither of them seen again?’

Marian nodded. ‘This man fled to France, but now he’s
back and, believe me, he is bent on vengeance. Now do you understand?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Magda. ‘Yes, I do.’ Then she turned to Brigit, who was stirring, and starting to shiver. ‘Come on, poor lass,’ she whispered. ‘Time to warm you up and fill your belly.’

At last the girl woke properly. ‘My mother?’ she murmured.

‘I fear that is true sweetheart. Your mother has gone, but now you must eat and drink and warm yourself, for you must go on living.’ Magda pulled her to her feet and led her firmly towards the fire.

Brigit was made to eat. She was too tired and miserable to argue and sat quietly nibbling at the food and warming her hands. Magda left her in Marian’s care and went to sit between her father and Tom. He rubbed her back and shoulders. ‘You’re freezing Magda,’ he said.

The Bishop watched Marian as she fed the young girl who shivered and wept, but obediently accepted the food. ‘This child,’ he asked. ‘She is the daughter of the poor woman who died and sister to that new-born child?’

Marian nodded.

‘Has she no father?’ he asked.

‘Aye, she has, but . . .’ Marian explained the man’s plight. ‘There is no money to pay his fine, and like so many he rots in Nottingham Jail.’

‘That is one thing that the barons will demand of the King,’ the Bishop said. ‘We shall put this wicked ruler into a state of fear and demand removal of the Forest Laws.’

Marian looked across at Robert, and stopped feeding Brigit for a moment, spoon in hand. Everyone turned quiet at the sound of the Bishop’s words. An expression of hope was there, just for an instant, on every face gathered about the flickering firelight.

‘Now that,’ said Marian quietly, ‘would really mean something to us. That would truly be something worth fighting for.’

The Bishop waved one of his men forward and whispered in his ear. The man at once took a purse from his belt and gave it to his master. ‘The barons can spare a little of their gold to pay one man’s fine,’ he said. ‘Who will take this purse to Nottingham and fetch the child her father back?’

Everyone smiled and some clapped. ‘I will take it Your Grace,’ said Tom willingly.

Brigit looked up puzzled as the purse was passed from hand to hand.

‘What are they doing?’ she asked.

Marian took her hand. ‘I believe they are going to get your father back for you,’ she said.

The Bishop and his men rode out of the clearing early next morning with Robert, and James to set them on their way. Tom went along with them on Rambler, travelling as far as Nottingham, the Bishop’s purse hidden in his jerkin.

Magda was soon at her most hated job, digging a rubbish pit, for the Bishop’s overnight stay had left the clearing littered with chewed bones and soiled rushes. She insisted that Brigit should help her. ‘It’ll take her mind off the waiting,’ she said.

Marian agreed, but towards noon she came to take Brigit to one side. ‘How old are you, honey?’ she asked.

‘I’m twelve,’ Brigit told her solemnly.

Marian sighed. ‘Old enough for sorrow,’ she said. ‘Old enough to know your mind. Come with me.’

She led Brigit towards the cottage, but when the girl understood where they were going she pulled back, knowing that her mother’s body still lay inside. Marian put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. ‘You do not have
to go in,’ she said. ‘You do not have to look at her, but you may feel better if you do. There is naught that is fearful to see.’