The Swan Kingdom (14 page)

Here my plan failed. I could not get myself up onto Mare’s back. My stiff, bruised legs and hips would not cooperate, no matter how I tried. The patient horse stood placidly enough at first, but after I slithered down her side in the fourth failed attempt, her ears went back and her eyes began to roll expressively. Finally one of the swelling blisters on my thigh burst, splattering gore over Mare’s withers and down my leg. Cursing, I admitted defeat, climbing painfully down from the tree trunk and sitting on it. Mare’s ears came forward again and she started cropping happily on some wild grass.

Breathing heavily, I was more tired from my brief exertion than I dared own. It seemed I was going to have to walk. Wonderful. I hauled the leather bags into my lap and used the ties at the top to knot them together so that I could carry them across my shoulders. When I had arranged them as comfortably as I could – which was not very – I looked back up at what I could see of the sky through the trees. Dawn had barely arrived. Isolde and Rother might not wake for hours – or they might already be searching for me. Time to move on.

I stood up and laid a hand against Mare’s neck, giving in to the temptation to lean on her for a minute, while she snuffled interestedly at my hair. Then I began walking and she followed.

I was grateful for her solid bulk that day. We walked at a steady pace, stopping only once or twice for my essential calls of nature and to eat a little. In all that time I saw no paths or trails made by men, no break in the thick forest cover. But it was not that which disturbed me. Where was the singing of birds? Where was the rustling of foliage, and small animals burrowing and calling out to each other? At this time of year the woods should have been swarming with life, but I hardly saw a single creature. The quiet pressed on me. I, who had been at home in wild places all my life, began to feel the trees closing in, curving above me and pushing down like the narrow confines of a cave.

I was glad when night fell. The gathering darkness hid the crush of trees, and the natural quiet of night-time masked the strange stillness. I risked a small fire – which was difficult enough to light with the lack of enaid – and ate some more of the contents of the sacks. Then I curled up in my blanket and cloak and fell into uneasy sleep. I had hoped for more dreams of the swans, of my brothers’ voices, perhaps some sign to tell me that I was travelling in the right direction; but my slumber was untroubled by anything more than the roots digging into my back through my coverings.

The day dawned grey, and a light drizzle filtered down through the trees. I was grateful for the slight shushing noise of the rain, even as I damned the heavy skirts soaking through and the mud that squelched up around my feet. I was weary and aching beyond belief, and my travel became a slow and disheartening trudge. Was I ever going to leave this nightmare? Or was this another spell of Zella’s, a trapping enchantment that would befuddle me and keep me wandering for ever? I froze at the idea, causing Mare to whuffle softly in question. The horsey breath on the back of my neck calmed me. No. I doubted Zella was capable of creating so friendly and valuable a companion for me as Mare. This was real life – in all its glory.

When, at midday, I stumbled out of the woods, I was so inured to the misery of the unending forest that I simply carried on walking for several minutes before the different light and the ease of walking broke into my trance of weariness. I blinked, shook my head and pushed back my hood to look around. I stood at the end of a neatly ploughed field, its boundary marked with a tall hedgerow. Below me, more fields stretched away in a series of gently rolling hills.

The fields lacked the bronzy-green glow of health that I knew from the Kingdom’s farms; there was mostly greyish mud, and little sign of new shoots. More worrying, the same odd quiet hung over these fields as in the woods. There didn’t seem to be any people about: no distant figures working the crops, planting or ploughing; no children running madly around the fields as I had once done. Where had all the people gone?

Turning to look up the hill, I saw a curl of smoke rising behind the wildly overgrown hedge near by, and the peak of a thatched roof. Reaching out, I could feel the presence of animals, bored and not very well fed, and – at last! – people, two of them. I offered a brief prayer to the Ancestors that the farmers would be friendly, and walked on, Mare following faithfully behind me.

I rounded the hedge and stopped dead in shock. I stared, Mare nosing at my shoulder curiously.

I saw not the square, stone Midland dwelling that I had been expecting, but a Kingdom-style wood-frame house, curved in the shape of the long oak boughs used to build it, walls of wattle and limewash, and thatching that ended only a few feet from the ground. To one side a pair of bored cows shared a small byre, and chickens clucked on the gravelled area before it. It looked incredibly homely and inviting to my eyes; but who would have built such a house
here
?

Before I could even begin to answer my own question, a young boy rounded the corner of the byre, a wooden bucket in his arms. He was large for his age, which I thought was about eight or nine, but skinny. He had a round face and straw-coloured hair that poked up in all directions as if he had run his fingers through it.

He froze when he saw me, his arms going limp and allowing grain to spill out from the bucket onto the gravel. The chickens converged on him in a squawking crowd, but his muddy-brown eyes never left my face. I was a little surprised by his look of stunned bewilderment, but supposed he might be frightened at the unexpected arrival of a stranger. I tried a tentative smile to see if it would reassure him. If anything his eyes grew rounder.

“Hello,” I said.

He gulped and carried on staring.

“It’s all right. I got lost in the woods, and I wondered if you could tell me where I am,” I said quietly, using the calm tone I adopted with frightened animals.

He blinked and stared some more. Did I look that awful? I raised a hand self-consciously to my hair, which was escaping from its braid as fast as it could and clustering around my face in twiddly red curls, and tucked as much of it behind my ears as would fit.

“Is something wrong?” I asked finally. “Should I go away again?”

The boy shook his head frantically, almost dropping the bucket entirely as he started into action. “No, no, Lady! Just … you just wait here, Lady. I’ll get my ma!”

He ran to the house, scattering grain left and right, and disappeared through the open doorway. I heard the sound of a woman’s voice raised – likely telling the boy off for getting mud and grain all over her floor – and then there was quiet.

A moment later, a short, middle-aged woman with untidy straw-coloured hair appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. The boy was behind her, whispering frantically and pointing as he came into view. The expression on her face – one of mixed curiosity and impatience – transformed when she saw me into shock and … oh, dear, was that
awe
?

“Lady…” she whispered, almost to herself, her eyes as wide as her son’s had been. “Oh, Lady. How did you come to be here?”

I stood completely still, struggling with myself. The look on the woman’s face, the tone of her voice … all made me want to turn and run from the little house as fast as I could. But I needed their help, and I did not know when I might be lucky enough to encounter people again. And I was so tired.

While I hesitated, she came cautiously towards me and executed a deep, slightly clumsy curtsy. “Lady, would you come inside?” Her voice trembled with anxiety, and she tore her eyes from me to look upwards, as if expecting to see something in the sky.

“I … why do you call me Lady? You don’t know me,” I said, eyeing her nervously.

“All of the Kingdom knows you. Please, come inside. It … it may not be
safe
.” She glanced up at the sky again.

All of the Kingdom … not safe?
What? I took a step back.

The woman lifted her hands pleadingly. “My son can care for your horse. Will, take the lady’s horse into the shed, and give it a good rub down and some grain.”

The boy scurried up to Mare’s side, his eyes still as round as hens’ eggs. “I’ll take good care of the fine beast,” he whispered in reassurance, laying a hand on Mare’s side. She looked down at him with interest, and before I could stir myself to do anything she was following obediently as he grasped a handful of her mane to led her towards the byre.

Unnerved, I had no choice but to step into the house. Inside, it was dim and warm. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the beams in the ceiling, and pots and treasures decorated the narrow shelf running along the top of the walls under the thatching. There wasn’t much furniture, except a large scrubbed table and four rough chairs. Another chair, finer and made for rocking, stood near the fireplace with a hooked rug at its feet, and a fire snickered quietly to itself in the hearth under a stone mantel. The faint smell of beeswax, herbs and baking bread filled my lungs. The smell, so familiar and yet completely forgotten in my time away, brought tears to my eyes, and I blinked furiously. Without even thinking, I had moved forward to stand in the centre of the room. The sound of the door closing and being latched made me spin round.

The woman turned from the door and gave me an apologetic look. “Must be careful.” She looked around her, then went to the rocking chair and pulled it back invitingly. “I’m sorry we haven’t much, but you can warm yourself by the fire.”

Her anxiousness brought a reluctant smile to my lips. “It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” I said quietly. “I’ve been away so long.”

The woman bit her lip, and I realized that tears were sparkling in her eyes. “Oh, Lady,” she whispered softly. “Poor thing… Please sit down. You must be so weary.”

I ducked my head in gratitude and accepted her offer of the chair, relaxing into the curved seat with a sigh as my bruised back and backside almost sang in relief. Most of the tension had gone from me now; I could see she meant me no harm. Yet I was still bewildered by her manner. Who did she think I was?

There was a quiet tap at the door – Will, returning from tending to Mare. The woman went to let him in, and latched the door behind him again. Then she turned to look at me. “I’m Olwyn, Lady, and this is my boy, William.”

“I’m glad to meet you,” I said, nodding at them, since they seemed to expect it. “Er … who do you think I am?”

The boy looked at me gravely. “You’re the lost lady – the queen’s daughter.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, staring at him. “What – how—?”

A sudden wave of dizziness made my head spin and I closed my eyes. I heard a flurry of movement and suddenly a firm hand was pushing me back and holding a cup to my lips. I opened my mouth automatically and gulped down the hot liquid, milk, honey and nutmeg.

“There there, now,” came the woman’s voice, suddenly soothing and firm as only a mother’s can be. “You’re naught but skin and bone, and weary as an autumn leaf. Just you rest there.”

I breathed deeply, dizziness fading, and opened my eyes to look up at her. She smiled and turned away to put the cup down, but I caught her wrist.

“I thought … I was still in Midland. This is the Kingdom, isn’t it?”

Olwyn nodded and patted my hand gently, before slipping out of my hold. She put the cup on the table.

“What happened?” I asked her helplessly. “What happened here?”

She sighed as she turned back. “A lot, My Lady. Much of it bad.” I opened my mouth to ask more questions, but she stopped me with a shake of her head. “I shall tell you anything you ask, Lady, later. After you’ve rested and eaten properly. It’d be a shame on my household if I didn’t look after you right, now wouldn’t it? So you rest there, and I’ll see what I can do.”

I closed my eyes as she bustled away into the room behind me. I was so tired, and suddenly content just to sit there in the warm and do nothing.

I heard the rustle of Olwyn’s skirts as she came back again a few minutes later, and opened my eyes to see her placing a heavy cauldron on the table, followed by fresh bread and a dish of butter. Will sat on the rug by my feet, warming his hands at the fire.

I watched drowsily as Olwyn ladled a steaming substance from the cauldron into bowls and placed one of them on a wooden tray obviously intended for me. I roused myself to say, “I don’t eat the flesh of animals.”

“This is a nice vegetable broth.”

She brought the tray to me, loaded with a full bowl and several slab-like slices of bread, thickly buttered. The delicious savoury aroma wafted up to my nose and sent a demanding growl echoing from my stomach. It was all I could do not to seize the tray from her hands. Instead I waited for her to place it on my lap before falling on it ravenously, scooping up the thick, pale green broth – redolent with the flavours of potato and lovage – with the butter-dripping bread.

Will left the fire and sat down at the table with Olwyn to eat his noonday meal, though rather less hurriedly than me. I finished minutes ahead of them and Olwyn looked up to ask if I would have more. I thanked her, but shook my head. I would let them finish their meal before I tried to question them again. I put the tray down on the floor near my feet and leaned back in the chair, allowing the weight of my body to send it into a gentle rocking motion. The light of the fire played on my eyelids as they fell closed…

When I woke it was night-time. The fire had died to a banked glow, and a worn quilt was tucked carefully around me. The room was dim; a single taper set on the table provided a soft, gold-edged illumination. Olwyn sat there in one of the chairs, hands busy with needle and thread. I watched her calm, occupied face, letting the peaceful normality of the scene soothe me. Then my throat tickled and I coughed. Olwyn looked up, her serene expression fading to the more familiar one of deference and faint anxiety. I was sorry to see that calm go. As long as I stayed here and disturbed the smooth flow of Olwyn’s household, her face would wear those worried lines.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you,” I croaked, coughing again.