| ` | |
|
Chapter Nine Ailyth left the clearing the following day in higher spirits than she had been in since she had plotted Matthew’s little trip to France. For a start, Granfer had let her sleep late and, instead of being woken to the sounds of nature going about its business and finding herself soaked with dew, she had woken up on a soft blanket of dry moss, feeling as snug and warm as she had in her own bed.
She had, true to her nature, felt worried that she’d wasted travelling time asleep, but Granfer wouldn’t hear of any talk about hitting the road until he’d cooked them breakfast.
“You need to be rested and fit,” he told her, pouring a thick meaty stew out of a cauldron which had been heated on the fire, and into a wooden bowl. “And a little time to take care of yourself won’t hurt.”
He reminded her, somehow, of Heloise; clucking over her like a mother hen and making absolutely sure that she was fit and full before gathering up a few meagre belongings and untethering her horse. The way he looked at her was almost paternal and Ailyth knew that, on this journey, he would be putting her needs before his own.
This was confirmed fairly early on as they left the clearing, and Ailyth realised that he had no horse himself. Instead he walked a little before her, taking her mare by the reins and chatting casually as they travelled.
“Do you want to ride?” Ailyth asked after a while. His shuffling pace was slow, and at times he had to lean against the horse for support. “I can walk, it’s all right.”
“Me ride, while a lady walks!” Granfer cried, puffing his chest up with slight offence. “Never!”
After that, although she was a little uneasy, Ailyth stayed on the mare. The ride was comfortable enough as the slow and steady pace made sure that her rump didn’t get too sore, and RiffRaff wasn’t being thrown about so vigorously, which he was naturally glad about. Even the paths grew more surefast, and the horse plodded on faithfully, much happier under the steady hand of Granfer.
Ailyth was enjoying herself more than she knew she should, considering the reason she was travelling home. As the forest grew less dense, the sun began to break through the trees and warmed her skin so much that she took off her heavy cloak and leaned forward sleepily against the horses neck.
So, when Granfer stopped suddenly she was not expecting to be nearly thrown from her steed and she gripped desperately onto the horse’s slippery neck, her fingers sliding down it’s mane.
“What is it?” she asked, righting herself in her saddle again.
Granfer put his finger to his lips and pointed. In front of them was a circle of stones, decorated with green clumps of leaves and smooth shining objects.
“Ah,” Ailyth sighed. “How sweet. It’s a faery circle.”
“No, not sweet at all,” Granfer replied grimly. “This has been left by the dark kind. Any traveller to place a foot in this circle would find the flesh melting clean away from their leg, and would crash on the floor for the dark ones to feast on.”
He seized a branch and began demolishing the charmed circle until it was just a mess of rotten leaves and random pebbles on the ground. It was clear, now that they had been moved from their ritual positions, that the shining objects were carefully polished bones, made lustrous by hundreds of faery hands clutching them. Ailyth felt her stomach turn.
Granfer moved slowly in a circle, one arm raised, brandishing the branch and waiting to see what would happen next. His shoulders tensed but, as nothing but unnerving silence followed, he relaxed and turned towards Ailyth.
He had just opened his mouth to speak when the air was filled with the sound of a hundred voices shrieking, and the rushing clamour of bodies hurling themselves from the tops of trees surrounded them. Dropping from the sky were countless creatures, each the size of a cat yet upright on their hind legs. All were decorated for battle, with their faces and chests painted green and blood red with the juice of woodland poisons, and their heads protected by the grinning skulls of forest creatures.
“Out of the woods, now!” Granfer cried, leaping onto the back of the horse and spurring it into movement. “We must make for the main road!”
“But the men...” Ailyth protested, confused by the rush of reptilian brownies charging towards them.
“Man can be killed, and can be easily defeated,” Granfer gasped, swiping at a brownie who was clinging onto the mare’s tail and grinning wickedly. “I have yet to hear of someone who has defeated an army of these vile maggots.”
The brownies were more troublesome than the brambles they had overcome, as the party turned back on themselves and rode the way they had already been. They sliced at the mares legs and hoisted themselves onto the horse at every given opportunity, and even climbed up Ailyth’s back so that they could scratch at her face.
“They’re dragging me off!” she screamed to Granfer as they swung from her hair, and she shook herself hard, but to no avail. RiffRaff sprung from his hiding place and tried to wrestle them from her, but he was no match as they swarmed him, and his shrill squeaking cut through the air like an arrow.
“Just hold on, we’ll be safe in a moment,” Granfer gasped back. “Steer to the right.”
Ailyth did as she was told, and saw an opening in the trees leading to pure light. Keeping her head down she rode towards it, holding on tightly to RiffRaff with one hand, and felt, just as the brownies had swamped her too much, her body grow lighter. One by one the brownies were growling and jumping off, plunging to the forest floor and shaking furiously as their prey escaped. At last the horse broke onto the open road, although one of the creatures seemed to be in some difficulty. His feet were tangled in the horse’s mane, and he let out a blood-curdling scream as the daylight hit his body, dissolving into a spitting burst of flames.
Ailyth and Granfer were quick to throw water over the singed hair, and the horse calmed a little. The brownies were already dispersing; returning, no doubt, to set up their trap again.
They slid off the horse as they came to a halt, breathing heavily.
“You knew,” Ailyth panted. “You knew that they wouldn’t follow us out of the forest!”
“Of course I knew,” Granfer replied indignantly. “What sort of old fool do you take me for? Those depraved abnormalities can’t leave the trees. They need them to live, they’re bound to them, by magic greater than I can perform. One step out into the open and they’d burst into flames, as well they know.”
“Well you could have told me!” Ailyth cried. “I thought I was going to be torn to pieces.”
“And you very nearly were! But luckily my common sense prevailed and I got us out of it, so stop your complaining and let’s get on!”
He looked up at Ailyth, his hair over eyes, and saw blood streaming down her face. “Better clear that up,” he muttered, immediately regretting having shouted at her. “Those cuts look nasty.”
“Oh,” Ailyth said, brushing her face and seeing her fingers tainted crimson, “it’s nothing terrible. Where’s RiffRaff?”
“Here,” a voice said weakly, and the rat dragged himself from behind the saddle. He too was bleeding, from a deep gash across his back. “I nearly had them at one point, but they took a chunk out of me.” He arched his neck back to look, and winced. “Am I dying?” he joked feebly.
“No,” Granfer said, and pulled a handful of leaves out from his pocket. Tearing them in half he told Ailyth to rub the sap into the rat’s wound and, hearing him squeal in pain, he knew she had done just that.
“Mint,” he said. “A very useful plant. You’ll be fine Riff’, I promise.”
RiffRaff seemed uncertain of this, but limped back onto Ailyth’s shoulder as best he could. It was the mare who had been injured the most, her legs torn and already blackening, and even mint did not seem to help her pain.
“We can’t ride her,” Ailyth said. “We’ll be lucky if she can ever carry weight again.”
“We should let her go,” Granfer suggested. “She’ll probably slow us down even further.”
Reluctantly, Ailyth took her saddle-bag and cloak from the mare’s back and placed a hand on her muzzle, before tapping her gently on her side. The horse appeared not to want to leave, and staggered back a few paces before gazing at the girl, almost pleading. Ailyth let her head drop a little, and began walking, leaving the mare staring after her.
“How can we make good time back to the manor when we’re walking?” she asked. “It’ll take weeks.”
“Well, they don’t seem too concerned,” RiffRaff said, and gestured ahead of them.
The road to Devon was teeming with people, all heading the same way. Some were on horseback, some were on wagons, but most were walking, carrying all their worldly belongings on their back.
“Good day for some exercise!” a man called out to them as he passed, a small boy on his shoulders and a wiry looking dog twisting around his legs.
“Where did they all come from?” Ailyth said.
“I’m...not too sure,” Granfer admitted, staring after the hordes of serfs. He trotted after the man who had walked on ahead and Ailyth could hear them exchange words. After a couple of minutes he ran back, a wild look on his face.
“They’re fleeing,” he said. “All of them, the kind gentleman over there believes. He said that he’s from Bristol, and that since the plague arrived they’ve been packing up their things and leaving in droves.”
Ailyth’s mouth hung open as she watched the crowd slowly press onwards. Families, children, old people with nowhere to go; all had abandoned their homes, their meagre possessions, everything they had ever known, to escape the sickness she had let come into the country.
“In Jesu’s name,” she whispered. “Where will they go?”
Granfer shook his head, and began walking towards the throng, with Ailyth fast behind him.
“It’s an Exodus,” RiffRaff said, in awe. “They’re looking for somewhere where they’ll be safe.” He nuzzled Ailyth’s cheek. “That means the plague still hasn’t reached Devon.”
“No,” Ailyth agreed. “But what about the rest of England? How many have died already? We need to get back, quickly.” She turned around to see if her horse was still there but, through the mass of people who had gathered behind her, she couldn’t see.
“Granfer,” she cried, running up to him, “Granfer, we have to hurry.”
“Hurry?” he said. “Of course we have to hurry. I know that girl. But you needn’t panic so!”
“What?” Ailyth said. “Look around you! Look at all of these people. They’ve left everything...”
“As a precaution,” Granfer said. “Look closer Ailyth.”
Ailyth frowned, and studied the folk nearby. Many were travelling with family, and even the older, lone travellers had started to chat to those they passed, and at times joined their groups. Children ran in and out of the protective huddles of their families, striking up immediate friendships with the other little ones that they met and playing boisterous games of ‘tag’ with them. The sound of joking and laughing ran through the air, as people recognised friends and ran to greet them. Yes, a few women were weeping quietly and hugging their babes close to them, but the atmosphere was one of hope, almost enjoyment, as though it were all just a big day out.
“They’re not frightened, Ailyth,” Granfer said. “I’ll bet most of them haven’t even seen the plague, first hand. They’re just being careful, making sure they’re somewhere safe. The plague hasn’t spread as much as you think.”
It was true, what the old man was saying. All around her were signs of life, not death. Fathers were being careful, making sure that their families were safe, but deep down no-one really believed that the plague would come to anything.
“I can’t understand why you’ve insisted on uprooting us from our home,” a woman sniffed as her family walked by. “For three years I’ve toiled on that place. It hardly smells of dung at all now! And what about my mother? Who’ll help her build a privvy now?”
The man grinned ruefully as he caught Granfer’s eye, and they could almost see him switching his brain off.
“Nag, nag, nag,” he muttered.
Ailyth bit her lip, but felt a little better to know that all was not lost yet. If there was any small chance that she hadn’t made matters worse by her detour to Bristol, she was glad to take it.
“Where will we sleep tonight?” she asked Granfer.
He shrugged in reply. “I can’t say I know,” he said. “We’re cutting across the countryside, going on a more direct route to Topsham...I didn’t think you’d be very keen on returning to Castle Cary.” Ailyth shook her head. “We’re probably...five days from there. Oh, mayhaps not, not now that we’re walking.”
“How can you walk all the way to Topsham?” a strange voice called out, and they turned back to see two men on a wagon riding towards them. “Miles away, that is. You’ll feet’ll wear out.”
Granfer drew himself up huffily and said “yes, well, we did realise that, but circumstance has left us little choice...”
“Oh, don’t take offence, ‘pa, I was only teasing with you.” He looked at Ailyth and gave her a friendly smile. “Afternoon, young lady.”
Ailyth smiled back weakly, and faced the way she was going. Granfer did the same, and they continued walking.
“’Cause you see, we’m going by your way ourselves,” the man said, whipping the back of his mule so that it pulled the wagon closer to them. “Well, we’re going to Plymouth, so that means we’ll be passing Topsham. Fancy a lift?”
Granfer began spluttering again, as though being offered a lift was the worst kind of insult that had ever been directed at him, but before he had a chance to answer, Ailyth spoke out.
“Yes,” she said simply. “That would be very kind, if you have space for us both.” She took Granfer by the arm and hissed in his ear, “We’ll never make it, if we walk. It could already be too late by the time we get there. And what if Heloise is dead, because we’ve taken so long? Then I’ll never be able to put a stop to all this.”
She hoisted herself up onto the cart, and held out her hand to her friend. “Come on,” she said. “I don’t want to leave you behind, but if you’d rather go back...”
Granfer shot her a filthy look, but climbed up onto the cart. Seating himself next to Ailyth, he took a look at his travelling companions and grunted.
The two men, introduced by the elder as father and son, were dressed in wildly colourful clothes, with cowls over their heads so that only their faces could be seen. The soft pile on which Granfer and Ailyth were sitting proved to be, on closer inspection, an assortment of wools.
“Wool merchants,” the elder man said holding his hand out for his passengers to shake. “I’m Canute, named after the great king of yore, and this be my son Ulfred.”
“Charmed,” Granfer said icily.
Ailyth, taken aback by her friend’s lack of warmth towards their two saviours, tried to break the ice and said, “Wool merchants. That must be a fine trade to belong to.”
“One of the finest,” Canute said proudly. “We been all over the country, and a little bit beyond too, selling our goods at the fairs, and ever’where we go folk say to themselves: ‘there be Canute an’ his lad, selling the best wool this side o’ Byzantium. Ever been to Paris?” Ailyth shook her head. “Beautiful place, Paris,” he continued. “Got this great big cathedral as high as the heavens theyselves, and what do folk there want?”
“Salvation?” Granfer asked sarcastically.
“Well yeah, salvation,” Canute said, taken aback. “But what they wants too is my wool!” He picked up a handful of colours and thrust them into Ailyth’s hands. “Feel them,” he said eagerly. “Feel how soft they is. Don’t get ‘um any softer than that, not even on they new-born lambs.” He chuckled to himself. “Ain’t that the truth, Ulfred?” he asked, jostling his son.
Ulfred smiled shyly and shrank back a little into his cowl, blushing as Ailyth looked at him. Clearly Canute was the more outgoing of the pair.
“And why are you going to Plymouth?” Ailyth asked, determined to keep the conversation rolling.
“Trade, why else?” Canute said in surprise.
“Aren’t you escaping the plague?”
“Naw. That little pox, it’ll burn itself out in a week,” Canute grinned.
Ailyth nodded, but didn’t say any more. She was half torn between warning him to be careful and keeping her own knowledge to herself, and it didn’t take RiffRaff’s reminder that there were plenty around who could overhear their conversation to make her keep her mouth closed.
“Is that why you’m going into Devon?” Canute asked gently. “Escaping the plague?”
“My daughter and I are merely going to visit her brother,” Granfer said abruptly. “He is a novice monk in Exeter Cathedral, and we will be staying in Topsham whilst we’re there.”
Canute narrowed his eyes slightly at him. “A monk, eh?” he said. “Well, no doubt God will keep you safe.” He looked out of the wagon at those on the road beside him. “Well, you’m not like this lot,” he said. “Running at the first sign of a runny nose. They been taking that Arab proverb to heart.”
“What?” said Ailyth, sitting up slightly as she was bounced against the pile of wool.
“ ‘Three things which each simple man
From Plague escape and sickness can, Start soon, flee far from town or land On which the plague has laid its hand, Return but late to such a base Where pestilence has stayed its place.’” “I see,” Ailyth said. “The first rule of the plague is to get away from it.”
“So they reckon,” Canute said. “I don’t know mesel’. If God’s got you marked, what can you do to escape?”
Ailyth turned to Granfer, and found him nesting into the wool, like a hare in it’s form.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Trying to go to sleep,” he muttered, his eyes wedged closed. “Travelling by wagon makes me feel a little, um, queasy.”
“That would explain why he was so reluctant to get onto the cart,” RiffRaff said quietly. “He’s going to be sick!”
“Shhh,” Ailyth smiled and, casting a watchful eye over Granfer once more, turned back to their new companions.
The journey flew by with Canute and Ulfred to talk to, and they had Ailyth and RiffRaff, hidden in her hood, enthralled with their stories of exotic, faraway lands. Not that Ulfred did any talking; as before, he was silent and watchful, staring at Ailyth like a runty puppy and blushing furiously whenever she talked to him. So enthralling was the conversation that it came as some surprise when they were shrouded in darkness.
“Whoa,” Canute said, pulling the mule to a halt. “Time to find somewhere to bed down, I reckon.”
“Where?” Ailyth said, stretching her arms.
“Little village , jus’ beyond that field,” he said. “No manor, it’s a place for freemen and women to live, so that means no lord to go begging to. Someone’ll put us up for the night.” He drove the wagon over the field and pulled up outside the first house they came to.
“Any room for four weary travellers?” he called in through the window.
Immediately a woman appeared. “No!” she snapped. “No room here, or anywhere else.” With a snort in their direction, she pulled a cloth over the window and disappeared.
“Pleasant sort,” Canute said, jumping down off the wagon. “Mind us cart, son. We’ll go and find us lodgin’s for tonight.” He helped Ailyth jump down, and then leaned over to Granfer and gave him a shake.
“Come on, old man,” he said. “You’ll be wanting somewhere comfertable to sleep tonight”
Happier now that he was on stable ground, Granfer no longer seemed to bear any animosity towards Canute. “An excellent idea,” he said. “Shall we proceed?”
As they walked into the darkened village, it was the sound of a cough that brought Ailyth to a standstill. RiffRaff dug his claws into her shoulder as he felt her body go rigid, and she wouldn’t go on even when Canute and Granfer tried to encourage her.
“Are you all right?” RiffRaff asked.
“I don’t know,” Ailyth said, her body swaying slightly. The cough still rang through her mind, echoing right to her soul. Coughing meant illness. Illness meant the plague. “No,” she said suddenly, a note of panic in her voice. “No, we have to go back to the wagon. We have to go somewhere else!”
“Ailyth?” Canute questioned.
“I’m not going into this village,” she cried, the walls of darkness closing in on her. Without realising it, she had brought her hands up to her face and was clutching around her neck as though that would somehow help her breathe. “Can’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Granfer asked. He tried to put his arm around her, but she shook him off.
“The plague,” she moaned, like a woman possessed. “The plague is here...I can feel it...it’s everywhere...it’s in the air...” She fell to her knees and began to struggle backwards, trying to fight off the invisible feeling of sickness that was clawing at her, filling her mouth with its bile. It was cloying, attacking her skin and rustling through her hair. “This is a place of death!” she cried.
“Quiet!” Canute hissed, trying to grab hold of her. “We got to stay ‘ere.”
“Let go!” she cried, twisting out of his grip. “I’ve already told you, I’m not going in there!”
Defeated, Canute let Ailyth free, and ran to the houses, desperate to find somewhere to stay before she woke the whole village up with her cries. At every door he was turned away by people too frightened by the plague to let a stranger in, until at last he returned to his fellows.
“There ain’t nowhere,” he said, exhausted. “We’ll have to kip in the wagon, and take it in turns to keep watch.”
Ailyth relaxed at this, and was already preparing to go, when a voice came out of the darkness.”
“With so many people on the road, I do not think that would be safe,” it said. “You may stay with me. I have no fear of God’s plague.”
An old woman came into view and smiled. “Haven’t we been told that God would strike the wicked,” she said. “I have lived a pure, simple life, so why should I be afraid?” She helped Ailyth to her feet, and the serenity in her voice made the girl comply, and soothed her initial panic. “Hush your wailing child, you will have a comfy floor to sleep on for tonight. I cannot offer you much, but what I have you are welcome to.”
The old woman’s house was little more than a hut, with no furniture save for a wooden table and a fire burning in the centre of the room, the smoke escaping through a hole in the roof. She offered them some broth, which Granfer declined but the rest accepted, and it was not long before they had all curled up around the embers and had fallen asleep.
Only Ailyth could not sleep. It wasn’t that the floor was too hard, or that the night was too warm, but the feeling of terror that she felt as she’d entered the village was keeping her awake. Crawling to the window, leaving RiffRaff curled up on her cloak, she gazed into the night, straining to see if there were any signs of death.
“You shoul’n’t be up,” a voice said quietly. Canute had walked up behind her, and was staring out of the window with her. “More trav’llin’ tomorrow.”
“I know,” she said, but continued to watch. Canute sat down beside her.
“You be frettin ‘bout the plague, ain’t you,” he said.
Ailyth nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve already seen what it can do. I know what it can do. In fact, I can’t understand why you are so unconcerned about it.”
Canute didn’t reply, and the hut was silent for a time, save for the rasping sounds of RiffRaff snoring.
“Why d’you keep a rat as a pet?” he asked her as together they listened.
“He’s one of God’s creatures,” she replied.
Canute made a sound as though he needed to say something, then stopped. “What is it?” Ailyth asked.
“I were going to say, there be a church in this village. Just a little ‘un. I thought...I thought that p’rhaps if you was worried, you’d like to go and pray.”
Ailyth gave a bitter laugh. “Do you think people haven’t been praying?” she asked. “Do you think, that for each person we saw on the road today, someone hasn’t been praying to keep them safe? Do you think that every time a babe gets a fever, its mother doesn’t beg God to put an end to the plague? No, Canute. There’s been enough praying. Can’t you see, it hasn’t worked.”
Canute drew away, and from the faint light of the fire Ailyth could see a flicker of hurt and anger cross his face. “God’s allus list’nin’,” he said.
“That’s what I thought,” Ailyth replied. “Until he took my love and my friend. I think God is too busy to listen.”
“You can’t say that!” Canute said. “God loves us. Don’t you think that p’rhaps this be His way of ridding the world o’ sinners? Sorting the wheat from the chaff.”
Ailyth stared at him evenly. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”
Canute frowned, and made his way back to the fireplace, but Ailyth stayed by the window, her eyes locked on the moon that stood out in the sky.
God, she thought, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bringing this onto your world. I’m sorry that I’m angry with you. But she didn’t ask Him for help. She knew that, however this plague was going to end, whatever had to be done, it was up to her.
|
