The View From the Cart (25 page)

Again he nodded. ‘My mam.'

It was unthinkable. If my son died, then so would I, wandering lame and unprotected in this great cursed forest. Cuthman was not dispensible. I could not permit him to die.

I had to use what was to hand. Looking hard at Hal, trying to see into his eyes, where perhaps the demon would let itself be detected in a careless moment, I took a deep breath. ‘Do you love the Lord Jesus Christ?' I asked him. He scowled at me, and my heart sank. ‘Will you praise the Lord God with me?'

‘Ma?' Cuthman's voice came reedy and young. ‘What are you about?'

I turned and hissed at him, hoping the child wouldn't hear. ‘He might be a demon from Hell, come to turn you from your pilgrimage,' I whispered.

Weak as he was, Cuthman laughed. ‘I think not,' he said. ‘A nuisance, perhaps, but not a fiend. Make use of him - he's all we have. He may have skills as a bird-catcher.'

Angry now, I looked at Hal. ‘Can you snare us something to eat?' I demanded.

Bewildered, he shook his head, and I saw how impossible it would be for such a small child. Even if he knew how to set a snare, the long wait for something to happen by would see us all dead of hunger. ‘Then can you find food in some other way?' I asked, more gently.

With a shrug of his small shoulders, he turned and dived into the dense undergrowth alongside the track. It seemed to me that he had gone directly into a vicious thicket of thorny brambles, and I imagined him torn and bleeding and useless. Forgetting him for a while, I tended my son. It seemed impossible that he could have pushed the cart so far, for so long, in this weakened state. He lay curled up, eyes closed, hands clasped between his thighs. When I felt his brow again, it was still cold and clammy, with no hint of the burning fever that Hal had predicted.

I clamped my lips against all the questions I wanted to ask him. Had he felt ill all day? Did he know what ailed him? Did he have any idea of what would remedy the sickness? Important as they were, I concluded that rest and warmth were of greater value - and food. I clung to the hope that this was no more than extreme hunger, and that once he had eaten a bellyful, all would be well again.

But food might be a long time coming - if it came at all. I covered the invalid with all the hides and rags I could gather, and added my shawl. Then I huddled close to him, to share my own warmth, and sat still, waiting. My own belly griped with hunger, impossible to ignore, and I began to pray silently that Hal would find sustenance of some kind. Anything would do, I told God. A rotting carcase, more acorns, tiny birds - anything to fill the hollowness inside.

More likely, the child himself would be snatched by a newly-wakened mother bear, with cubs to nourish. Although the southern forests had been well hunted by the king's men, and bears were not numerous, we knew some remained. Even a boar could readily kill the slender Hal, if it so chose. Not for food, but out of a desire to keep its family safe or its territory uninvaded. And the bramble scratches would bleed, thus attracting all kinds of creatures with the smell of new blood. Wolves could pick up such a scent from great distances, and great hawks might be tempted to dive at him, snatching scraps of flesh from his living body, if he fell down.

Misery gripped me ever more fiercely as the sun sank and the shadows deepened. Cuthman slept uneasily, muttering and restless. We had not made our usual preparations for a night's rest. There should be a fire, and some shelter. Water, too, had become an urgent necessity. I fixed my eyes on the fork of a great oak tree, and promised myself that when the setting sun had passed that point, and the sky changed colour, I would rouse myself and at least go in search of water. There were springs and rills in plenty, and I had no real doubt as to my success. Leaving Cuthman alone and exposed was my main worry.

Just as the little patch of sky had become grey, Hal returned. As suddenly as he had gone, he emerged from the same bramble patch, and stood before me, empty-handed.

I spoke to him with the rage of hunger and thirst. ‘Have you the bare face to come back with nothing?' I demanded. In the evening shadows, I could not see his face at all, to read his expression. It was a few moments before I understood that he was beckoning to me.

‘What do you want?' I whispered, fearful of disturbing Cuthman.

‘Help me,' he said. ‘Over here. Quick.' An energy in his voice brought me some hope. Curious, I heaved myself up and began to follow him. Weakness from hunger prevented me from straightening my back, and I was almost bent double as I pushed through the undergrowth. There was a kind of tunnel between the brambles and roots and coils of ivy. Old beechmast crunched under my feet, once I was beneath the larger trees. Moss grew on some fallen trees, and I was hungry enough to snatch tufts of it as I trailed behind Hal.

‘Where are we going?' I asked, in a more normal tone.

‘Just here,' he pointed upwards, into the dense prickles of a holly tree. Fearlessly, he plunged his arms through the sharp spines and retrieved a large fish. Amazement made me numb. There was no explanation for this miracle. I looked around in the gloomy forest for some faery or angel which might have done this thing. But there was more. Thrusting the slippery creature at me, Hal turned again to the tree. This time he brought a smaller fish in one hand and a dangling dead frog in the other. Its legs splayed out, making a shape like the seventh rune, or perhaps like a little man. I had never before eaten a frog, and was unsure about the rightness of doing so, but I could see that it was big enough to provide us with some welcome flesh. Finally, he collected our water skin, full now and heavy. I took it from him and hung the strap around my neck, so that it slapped against my breast as I moved.

Hal led me back again, wasting no time. The big fish slipped through my fingers, so I had to clutch it to me, letting its slime stain my garments, disgusting me with the knowledge that I would carry the smell and the mark for days to come.

‘There is a river then?' I said, my wits at last returning. I could not hear water running, and wondered how far he had travelled to find it.

‘Aye,' he said.

‘Is it far?'

‘Aye.'

‘Have you eaten?'

‘Snails.' He shrugged and perhaps grinned. He could with justice expect a generous share of his catch, once we had made a fire and cooked it. It was a while later that I noticed that there were no scratches of any kind on his hands or arms, in spite of his encounters with the thorns and prickles of the brambles and holly.

We crawled back to Cuthman, lying conspicuous and vulnerable alongside the track. It was a terrible resting-place, but even with Hal to help, I couldn't hope to move my sick son. We woke him from his fitful sleep and I felt his head again. It was warmer, but still by no means feverish. His eyes were filmy and wandering and he would not speak. Quickly, we wrapped the gutted fish in what few green leaves we could find, and baked them in the fire I had built. The frog I left to Hal to deal with. It seemed to me an unnecessary extra, and I did not intend to eat any of it.

Cuthman ate slowly, chewing the half-cooked flesh over and over before painfully swallowing. I felt his throat and found great swellings on either side, which explained his difficulty. We drank almost all the water, which had a strong taste of plants and some bits of dead leaf in it. I could imagine the little boy leaning over a wooded riverbank, collecting the water from amongst weeds and rushes.

It was wonderful to eat, and we ended the day by edging into a hollow beside the track, covered with dry bracken and leaves. Nobody had passed us since we had sunk down there, and our fire was damped into a small glowing heap which would give us a little warmth, but not attract attention. Once more, Hal nestled against me, as if it were the only rightful place for him. I could feel his bones, sharp and fragile as a bird. Cuthman soiled himself, but I was too weak and tired myself to do anything for him. The next morning would be soon enough for that.

We spent seven nights close to that place, although we moved away from the track on our second day. Hal kept us supplied with food. When I asked him how he had found the river and caught the fish, he replied, ‘The man showed me.' At first I wondered whether Cuthman had somehow sent his spirit to guide the child. I remembered all the strange things that Cuthman had performed since he kept his sheep in their place on the moor with his sacred circle. He had been asleep, or out of his body throughout that first day, and I could see no sign of his real self being present. It seemed all too likely that my wonderings were correct.

But when I pointed to Cuthman and said, ‘That man, do you mean?' the child shook his head.

‘A shining man,' he said, looking over his shoulder at the dark forest behind us. ‘He carried me.'

Over the next days, he brought us five fat pigeons, a young wild pig - which terrified me by its squeals. Dense though the forest was, and seemingly deserted, there were sheriffs' patrols watching over the forest hogs, and to steal one meant severe punishment. Although all the omens were good, and Cuthman was blessed enough for all of us to feel safe, it was with rising gorge that I gulped down the pork meat and buried the bones deep under the leaf mould. Hal also found us some dried-up sweet apples, which were carefully wrapped in straw and tucked beneath a stack of logs. Someone would be coming back for them, I believed, but Hal said it was too late in the year and the owner must have died or moved away.

By the week's end I felt I knew Hal's shining man, heart and soul. I asked the boy to tell me more, and slowly he added detail to the picture. The man appeared without warning, and had long hair the colour of the woodland primroses which were just coming into flower. He told Hal he was fortunate to be with some very important people, beloved of God, and it was his task to save them from starvation. It was a moment before I understood that he meant Cuthman and me.

Cuthman remained ill for six days, but never frightened me as he had on the first day. Now we had food, I was convinced that all would be well, and that he would recover. I had no understanding of what had made him sick so suddenly, but was glad not to be riding in the jolting cart, and found small pleasures in fashioning a little home in the space between a spreading beech tree and a screen of mixed hazel and holly. The weather grew warm, and the full moon shone down on us at night. I knew, dimly, that it was Eastertide, but the days all ran together, and I could not say precisely when the Day of the Risen Christ arrived. I did not speak of Him, although I nursed the suspicion that Hal's shining man was the Christ Himself, come at this holy time to preserve the life of his chosen Cuthman, destined for greatness.

I shook and brushed our clothes and rags, laying them out in the sun to be freshened. One person passed along the path, but we were concealed by the bramble thicket and went unobserved. Cuthman did not smell pleasant, and Hal and I slowly shifted our sleeping hollow further from him, night by night. I delighted in the little body close against me every night, sleeping soundly with a full stomach and obvious pleasure at being with me. I groomed his hair, and gave him a mother's attentions. With every passing day, my spirits rose. The hope and good cheer in the birdsong, which rang out from sunrise to noon and then again in the late of the day, brought answering music from me, and I hummed as I had not done for a long time.

At the end of the week, Cuthman sat up and announced that he was better. He had scarcely spoken to Hal or me during his sickness, so the child and I had fallen onto each other's company, telling stories, singing softly and playing childish games. I cut and peeled a number of elder wands, and wove them together in a kind of mat, which I folded in two, to make a carrying bag for his daily food collection. The slippery white flesh beneath the bark was like the slimy skin of the fish, but it had its own powerful scent. Elder is a woman's plant, powerful in a pliant subtle fashion. As a child I was drawn to it, as to no other plant. The new young stems gave off a scent I found heady and attractive. Using them again in the forest, as a grown woman, I was transported to my earlier years by the associations of olfactory memory. The carrier I made did not work well. The weaving undid itself, until there were holes and loose strands. As it dried, the wood became brittle, and snapped.

‘You owe your life to Hal,' I told Cuthman, when he was himself again. ‘He found food for you. Without him, we would both have starved.'

Hal flinched at the scrutiny Cuthman gave him, and shook his head. ‘Not me,' he denied. ‘The man.'

‘I heard some talk of a shining man,' Cuthman said slowly. ‘What was that?' Hal and I looked briefly at each other, unsure of how to reply. The angel had informed Hal that Cuthman was his precious charge - it seemed strange that Cuthman himself did not know the truth of this. We were each of us shy of explaining to him how the food had been provided.

‘We think an angel has been watching over us,' I said, as if it were a mere trifle. ‘I did not see him myself, but he has showed Hal how to find food for us.'

‘I dreamed it,' said Cuthman, a complacent smile on his lips. ‘I dreamed the Christ Himself was with me. He told me our journey is half done, and we need make no haste for three more moons. There is work to do, holy men to meet. And - ‘ his face became serious, even worried, ‘ - and the evil woman will trouble us again.'

I would have liked to pretend I did not know what he meant, but the face of the woman in the hermit's pool came back to me, as vivid as ever, and I knew exactly what Cuthman had seen. But instead of feeling apprehension at this threat, I was stirred by a strange excitement. I was impatient to meet this creature who could send images of herself to strangers, and enter our dreams again and again. If she was a witch in the service of Satan, I trusted that my son had power enough to conquer her. But I took little satisfaction from that thought. It seemed to me that this person had things to teach me, matters that I needed instruction on, and I was impatient for her to come into our lives in all her abundant flesh.