Path of the She Wolf (6 page)

‘Make way, make way! St Bridget’s nuns from Goldwell,’ Mother Veronica cried. ‘These children live close to Goldwell Priory. We have travelled all morning, coming as soon as we heard. We must pray with them.’

The captain hesitated, uncertain as to whether he should allow this seemingly holy intrusion.

‘Let us see the young sinners,’ the Prioress begged. ‘We must be sure that they repent. Should you deny this, why man, you’d risk your own immortal soul.’

The captain argued for a while, but his men shuffled anxiously and crossed themselves. At last he gave way and unlocked the door.

‘Only for a moment,’ he barked. ‘The Sheriff will be here at noon!’

Mother Veronica marched into the darkness of the cramped room, her equally plump sisters crowding close behind her. There was a moment of confusion and hubbub, then the deep clear voice of Sister Rosamund could be heard chanting prayers for the dying.

Mother Veronica appeared again. ‘Bless you for your mercy,’ she cried making the sign of the cross.

The guards bowed their heads as nine nuns followed their prioress out, one of them very small and stumbling a little on the trailing skirt of the habit. In the pressing crowd it was difficult for the men to see that more nuns came out than had ever gone in. As the Captain turned to lock the heavy door, onlookers pressed close behind him trying to get a glimpse of the ill-fated lads.

Once they were out and through the crowd, the nuns walked fast towards a group of horses sheltering beneath a great oak nearby. Isabel of Langden, already mounted on her own grey mare, held the reins.

A sudden shout of anger was heard above the muttering crowd. ‘Empty! Get after them. Unholy bitches! They’ve got the prisoners! They’ve taken them!’

The nuns picked up their skirts and ran towards Isabel. People milled about, arguing and pushing, unsure of what was happening, and uncertain as to whose side they should take. This unexpected turn of events was providing nearly as good a show for them as a hanging. The guards roared with fury, shoving folk aside, trying to follow their prisoners, swords drawn. The nuns leapt up onto their waiting horses with wonderful agility. Only aged Mother Veronica had to be hauled onto her mount. They set off galloping north, but two of the tallest nuns held their horses back, snatching up bows from their saddles. They pulled arrows from full quivers hidden beneath their long skirted habits and sent a hail of them flying towards the guards.

The men leapt back, too surprised to answer the attack with speed. Then Marian shouted as she wheeled her horse about. ‘Tell your Sheriff this – he shall not hang children! So says the Hooded One.’

The whispered name of the Hooded One flew through the crowd and at once the soldiers found themselves impeded. Buckets of overturned ale made the ground slip beneath their feet, while old men on sticks and small children stumbled against the guards. They roared with
anger, as they seemed to trip and tread in piles of soiled linen and clothing whichever way they turned.

The rescuers and rescued got back to Barnsdale exhausted but elated with their success. The nuns returned quickly to their convent and their prayers, cleaning the mud stained habits thoroughly, so that no sign or evidence remained. Gerta’s grandsons clung to her as she hugged and berated them in turn.

‘This calls for another celebration,’ Magda suggested.

‘No,’ Marian told her dryly. ‘Twas too much celebration that brought them close to death. We’ll have no more for the moment.’

The boys swore tearfully, they’d never drink again.

Later that night, when everyone had gone to their homes, Marian and Magda sat by the fire, quiet and weary. Brigit pounded roots in a wooden bowl, talking excitedly for once. ‘I boiled up purslane for a sick baby who’d eaten green apples, and pennyroyal for Freda’s birth pains. Then after Gerta had cut the cord, I gave her a warm brew of century to sip. Did I do right?’

Marian smiled. ‘I couldn’t have done better myself.’

Magda chuckled. ‘A great deal better than I could have done.’

Then she lifted her head, suddenly alert at the sound of a horse moving slowly towards them, winding its way through the secret paths. All at once it turned into the familiar stamping rhythm of Rambler’s hooves. They jumped up, snatching the lantern, all tiredness forgotten,
and ran outside. Tom came riding into the clearing with Brother James mounted behind him. John strode at their side, the faithful Fetcher lolloping after them.

‘Now we’ve got to have a celebration,’ Magda cried.

‘We’ll have a small one,’ Marian agreed. Then she sighed. ‘Where’s Robert?’

The men were tired and dusty from their journey. They sported a good crop of cuts and bruises but were otherwise unharmed.

‘You’re solemn for men who’ve just won a charter from their King!’ Magda cried.

‘Aye,’ Tom hugged her tightly, but still would not smile. ‘We’ve got good reason to be solemn. There was little in the charter for the likes of us, most of it favoured the barons – no real changing of the Forest Laws. All the King did was to grudgingly consent to give back the newest stretches of land that he’d put under the Forest Laws. We didn’t think much of that! But even that small gain didn’t last. Now the King says that he revoke’s the whole agreement!’

‘What?’ Magda cried.

‘I knew it,’ Marian shook her head.

‘The King has gone straight back on his word,’ James told them, grimly fondling Fetcher’s rough ears. ‘First he says he will, then he says he won’t. He claims that he was forced to grant it, and that makes the charter unlawful. The man can wriggle out of any hole.’

‘Aye.’ John agreed. ‘He’s sent abroad for more mercenaries and the rebel barons look for men and arms once more. They’ll be fighting again soon enough, you can bet
on it, but we’ll not be with them. It’s clear to us now, the barons care nowt for Forest Laws or commonfolk, they just want power for themselves.’

Marian pressed her lips tightly together, to stop herself from spitting out, I told you so.

The men brought news of Philippa’s husband, who’d stayed in London working at his blacksmith trade for the rebel lords. ‘They promise great wealth in payment,’ said Tom. ‘Rowan has stayed to help his father, but we doubt they’ll ever see their money.’

Marian waited until they were fed and warmed by the fire before she asked again. ‘And where is Robert?’

John shook his head. ‘He was with us this morning, but there was hell to pay as we passed near Ollerton. Great gangs of the Sheriff’s men marched everywhere, armed to the teeth. A guard picked me out as fellow to the Hooded One, so we had to split and run. Will insisted that he go straight back to Langden, he’s anxious to see that all is well with Isabel. Why do you all smile so slyly?’ John touched his daughter’s cheek.

The women told of the day’s events.

The men laughed and applauded them, but Marian thought she caught an anxious glance passing between John and Brother James.

‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘I know there is something! Is he hurt?’

There was a moment of hesitation.

‘He is hurt!’ she said.

‘He took a bash on the head from a huge rock,’ James said at last. ‘The king’s men drag about these powerful
new stone-throwing machines that they call the
trebuchet
. There’s many of our fellows have been stunned and many dead for they hurl great rocks with such a power.’

Magda shuddered at his words.

‘They can bring down walls, and towers with the things,’ John added. ‘And if you are in the wrong place . . .? Well Robert was in the wrong place as usual, but Philippa’s looking after him. She won’t leave his side. Better bodyguard than a bear, is Philippa. We thought it best to draw the guards away from them.’

Marian frowned. This was so unlike Robert, who was always in the thick of things. ‘He
can
walk?’ she asked.

‘Oh aye,’ John agreed. ‘Your man walks, talks, eats and drinks, but sometimes what he says is rubbish.’

‘Huh!’ Marian cried. ‘He always did talk rubbish.’

John smiled and nodded but he added solemnly. ‘He goes wandering off in the wrong direction, if you do not keep a tight hold of him.’

That really alarmed her. ‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ she whispered.

After the others had fallen asleep, Marian lit her lantern from the embers and went out into the darkness of the woods.

Marian’s search was fruitless and just as dawn light filtered through the trees, she returned to the cottage and fell asleep, exhausted. By the time she eventually woke again Magda had made oatcakes and the men had cleaned themselves in the warm waters of the Forestwife’s spring. James and Tom started cutting yew staves for new bows.

‘Robert’s still not here?’ Marian asked. ‘Nor Philippa?’

John shook his head. ‘Don’t fret. I’m going off to look for them. We hadn’t time to make plans and I don’t know which way they’ll come. Philippa might head for her home in Langden.’

‘I’ll come too,’ Marian insisted.

But before they had a chance to set off Brigit, who’d been fetching firewood, came running and pointing. ‘Gerta’s coming!’ she cried. ‘Gerta’s coming with an old woman who can’t walk properly. She leads her by the arm.’

Marian went towards them, ready to give aid as ever, but a shiver of doubt touched her as the they came closer. Was this not Philippa’s dark red kirtle and worn hooded cloak? But the bent, stumbling soul who leaned on Gerta could not be Philippa, who still strode tall and straight-backed through the woods, although she had aged. ‘Who is this, Gerta?’ she asked.

‘Prepare yourself,’ Gerta whispered. ‘I fear you’ll be shocked.’ Then she reached over and pulled back her companion’s hood.

Marian was indeed deeply shocked. It was Robert, but a Robert that she had never known. He trembled and clung to Gerta’s arm, his skin grey and sweaty. He stared up at Marian as though she were a stranger, mumbling words that made no sense.

Marian’s stomach churned. Robert had been hurt many times before, indeed he was covered with scars that she had cleaned and healed, but no stinking wound or rotting flesh had ever seemed as terrible to her as this clinging weakness or the blankness in his eyes.

‘I knew you’d be fearful,’ Gerta reached out to touch her arm. ‘But believe me, I’ve seen this before from a blow to the head, and still they may recover.’

‘Aye,’ Marian forced herself to be sensible. ‘I’ve seen it too and you are right, some do get better. Rest and good feeding may do a world of good. Let us get him inside by the fire. Have you seen Philippa?’

‘I have,’ Gerta agreed, miserably.

They steered Robert into the cottage and settled him
onto a straw pallet. As Marian fed him sips of a calming fever mixture, Gerta told them what had happened.

‘There’s much to tell and no time to waste,’ the old woman was very agitated. ‘I was alone, for Isabel has given my lads work up at Langden. Your friend Philippa came knocking at my door early this morning with the Hooded One at her side. She almost carried the man. Oh, I pray I have done right!’

‘Tell us,’ John spoke gently.

Gerta told them how Philippa and Robert had been tracked by some of the Sheriff’s men, right through Barnsdale. It seemed they’d recognised the much-wanted Hooded One and were bent on getting themselves a rich reward.