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Chapter Thirteen

The morning was warm, and the sounds of the village waking up with the early sunrise buzzed gently outside the small parish church, but nothing could calm Ailyth. She had sat, huddled, in the corner furthest away from the door all night, refusing to sleep even when RiffRaff and Granfer had nodded off, waiting quietly in the darkness. Waiting for Canute. He would only be a little way behind them, she knew that, and there was no way that she was going to let her guard down for a second.

“He can’t touch you while you’re in here,” RiffRaff mumbled as he nuzzled against her neck. “We’ve claimed sanctuary. We’re in a church.”

“We were in a church when he tried to kill me,” Ailyth replied coldly. “That didn’t dissuade him, did it?”

“It’s different here,” the rat replied. “The priest has given us his protection and besides, Canute doesn’t know where we are.”

Ailyth shook her head. “He’ll find us,” she said, knowing that what she spoke was true. “He’s been after me since we were in Bristol, he tricked his way into our trust.” She shook her head again. “He’ll find us.”

If Granfer hadn’t looked so exhausted after the battle which had taken its toll on an old man, she would have left immediately. Nowhere is safe, she thought. The only thing we can do is keep moving until we’re back at Topsham. Heloise will keep us safe there. But still the creeping feeling of doubt crawled over her skin as the night passed until, as morning came, she knew that Canute would follow her until the very end. The sanctity of the church wouldn’t protect her. Would anything?

“You look tired, my dear,” Granfer said as soon as he woke, pulling himself up slowly. “Haven’t you slept?”

Ailyth didn’t respond. Dark shadows decorated her eyes, giving her a gaunt appearance, and she fingered the hems of the white robe she was still wearing distractedly.

“We should really get you changed into your own clothes,” Granfer pressed on softly. “You don’t want to be forever reminded of...what happened with Canute.”

She shuddered slightly at the sound of his name, and RiffRaff stirred on her shoulder.
“No, I don’t want to leave her,” he murmured, tucking his black head under his body. “She’ll be frightened without me.”

Hearing him relive a distant nightmare brought Ailyth back to reality, and she patted him reassuringly. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “No one will make you leave me. I’m here.”

Ailyth bit her lip, and the old watcher could see her crumpling inside. “He tried to kill me,” she said quietly, struggling to keep the tears back. “Granfer, he tried to kill me, and I trusted him.”

Granfer wrapped his arms around the girl and let her weep. There was so much fear in her, and the shock that she had believed in someone who had turned so viciously against her had left her so that she could barely think straight.

“How can I be safe?” she wailed. “He’s not going to let the sanctuary of the church stop him, is he? He thinks he’s on a crusade, a mission on God’s behalf. He thinks I’m the child of the devil. He tried to sacrifice me!” She looked around desperately, as though suddenly realising where she was. “Oh Bendicte,” she moaned, “I can’t stay here. He needs to kill me in a church. If he gets in and finds me, he’ll just try to do it all over again. I’ll have made his job even easier...I might as well be sitting on the altar waiting for him.”

“Why not? He’s not going to respect the church’s rule if he thinks he’s on a higher mission, is he? And he’s a monk, they’ll let him walk right on in.”

“No,” another voice said firmly. A priest stood over them, with Ulfred at his side, and he held in his hand a polished sword. “This mad monk you speak of has no part in the church’s law. He is not one of our brothers, and he is not welcome here.”

“So you say,” Ailyth began, bitterness flooding her body. “Why should I trust you? Why should I trust the church? Why should I trust God!” she cried, springing to her feet. “He hasn’t helped me out so far, has He?” she screamed into the dark, smoky arcs of the ceiling. “Where was God when the plague came? Where was He when I tried to heal the old woman? Where was He when Canute tried to kill me? Where was He...when Tristran died?”

She sank to her knees as the memory of Tristran washed over her. “Why did He take Tristran?” she said in a broken voice. “Why did He let all of this happen?” She looked up at the priest with angry tears in her eyes, expecting him to be furious at her blasphemy in church but, instead, he laid a blessing on her head.

“I do not know why our Lord moves mountains. Nor do I know why He has seen fit for this plague to ravage the land. But ask yourself this, little one; did Canute kill you?”

Ulfred, maybe, Ailyth thought. But not Granfer and RiffRaff. They had been brought from Albion to protect her. God did not send them. She blushed slightly as a new thought occurred to her. She had seen evidence of Albion, she had stood at its borders and seen faeries work magic. Did that mean God didn’t even exist? She didn’t know anymore: everything she had been brought up to believe was in tatters.

“It most certainly is not!” the priest replied forcefully. “It’s the devil’s work, make no mistake.” He crouched down to Ailyth’s level. “Imagine God as a shepherd, and man as His sheep. We follow His orders, and He protects us. But sometimes sheep stray, and leave the flock. They try to do things the shepherd hasn’t asked them to do, but they still think that they belong to His flock. Canute, and his friends, and the Abbot who gave the commands, are like the sheep who have parted from the flock. But remember, not all of us are like that.”

She nodded in reply, but all she had heard was that she too had left the flock by joining forces with the faeries of Albion.

Ailyth bowed her head, and shrugged. “I’ve lost faith. All my life I’ve been taught that God is the only person we should worship, and that he’s the strongest, but it seems to me I’ve had more help from the faery world than from Him. Mayhaps he’s weaker than I thought.” She sighed. “I just don’t know any more, and I feel guilty for having doubts...like he’ll punish me. I don’t want to stay in this church.”

“Man makes guilt,” Granfer said. “Man makes rules. Man is the one who tells us it’s wrong to believe in faeries and God at the same time.” He sat down next to her, and RiffRaff hopped onto his lap to be petted. “In Albion, we believe in one power, and we call her the Mother Goddess. She makes the earth, she makes the trees and creatures, she makes magic. Who do you believe made the earth?”

Ailyth gazed at him, slowly beginning to understand what he was saying. “You believe that God and the Mother Goddess are the same?” she said.

Granfer shrugged. “We may be wrong,” he admitted. “But I’ve always thought of the power as a person. With their left hand they feed Albion, with their right hand they feed mankind, but the hands belong to the same body.”

He tickled RiffRaff under the chin. “Often the two worlds come together,” he said. “After all, as you can see, I’m sitting in a church right now. But you, Ailyth, did you never make charms against bad faeys, and leave gifts for the good faeys?”

Ailyth nodded eagerly, flashes of her childhood returning to her. “One of the farmer’s wives would give us children coppers and fresh bread and butter if we scrumped all of the small apples from the trees...we called it the piskies harvest, and if we didn’t eat them then the piskies would come and spoil the tree.” She smiled. “There were lots of things we did, but we didn’t believe what we were doing was real.”

“And now you know that they were real. Don’t panic, Ailyth,” Granfer said warmly. “At the end of the day, there are only two side; good, and evil. We all know you’re on the right side. You won’t go to hell.”

His confident words had brought Ailyth comfort, although she still couldn’t rest for fear of Canute sneaking up on her unawares, and being in a church made her see him in every pool of candle-light. I’ll drive myself mad, she thought as Granfer walked towards the priest. I won’t be able to rest here.

Taking the oaken bowl from the pockets of her cloak, she filled it with water from the font, assured of God’s forgiveness, and stood staring at it for a moment. Finally she forced the words “show me Canute” from her mouth, and waited for the pictures to form.

Canute was angry, she could tell that despite the rippling of the water as she tried to look closer. And he was standing in front of some trees, although there was no way of distinguishing that patch of woodland from the next. So, I still don’t know where he is, she thought, pouring the water back into the font, not thinking that, had the priest seen her, she would be out of favour for contaminating the holy water with her pagan spells.

To distract herself she turned to RiffRaff, who was scrabbling through her cloak, looking for food. He peeped out from under the hood as she called him.

“I was just thinking back to when I was a little girl,” she said. “We used to make necklaces out of apple blossoms to keep the faeries near. Heloise would go mad at us if we went too close to a faery circle...she said we’d be sucked into Albion, and we’d never be seen again.” She laughed to herself. “I suppose she knew what she was talking about.”

“When I was out with the other children, yes,” she said. “My parents were cruel though. Nothing would ever please them, and they had a habit of watching me like I was about to do something unexpected. And they were very strict. ‘Never forget that you’re a lady,’” she said, mimicking her mother. “I used to run off all the time.” She thought for a moment. “I was happy when Tristran was around.”

Letting herself become absorbed in the past for a while, Ailyth didn’t notice RiffRaff leap up onto her lap. Only when he began to clean behind his ears did she notice that he was there.

He cocked his head and considered the question. “I don’t know, really,” he said. “I don’t remember my mother, or any brothers or sisters. I don’t remember being young.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” RiffRaff replied. “What I do remember though, the furthest back I can think, is seeing Grethel for the first time...you know, Heloise.”

“I was walking around the edge of the manor house, watching the night shine off the water, and there she was; stepping out of the darkness in a long hooded cloak, with hundreds of stars shining over it.” His whiskered mouth twitched as he struggled to retrieve the exact details. “She was like the moon, walking on earth. She came towards me, and I felt warmer than I’d ever done before, and she picked me up and told me I had something very special to do. Oh, she told me all about you, Ailyth, and what was going to happen. I couldn’t say no. Not to her.”

Their reminiscences were interrupted when Granfer, Ulfred and the priest returned to them. There was a purpose in their steps, and Ailyth straightened herself up as they approached her.

“I’m sure. But perhaps it would be safer to be cautious. After all, wouldn’t it be better to wait until Canute has passed through this village, so that you are behind him. he can’t be chasing you then.”

The priest’s words took a few moments to sink into Ailyth’s understanding, but when they did her face shot up towards them with the speed of a thunderclap. “What do you mean, wait until Canute passes through this village?”

The priest looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, my dear,” he stuttered, “this is Crediton, and the only road leading to Devon and Kernow passes through here. He will have to pass through eventually.”

Unable to quite believe what she was hearing, Ailyth put a resigned hand to her forehead. “Can’t you stop him from coming through?” she demanded. “You have guards, don’t you?”

“We cannot bar entry to anyone, or the King would be most displeased with us,” the priest explained. “This is a public road. And besides, we might as well put up a sign saying ‘Ailyth is here’ if we tried to stop him.”

“Granfer and I will be staying in the house nearest to the entrance,” Ulfred explained. The moment we see him approach, a messenger will be sent to warn you to stay indoors. You will be staying with a young family, a little out of the way of the main road, and fairly hidden. He will not look for you there.”

A protest was already forming in her throat before Granfer took her shoulder. “Just listen to us this time, Ailyth. He’s right; better to catch Canute unawares. Now we will stay here until you and I are both fit and well, and this time you’ll listen to other peoples’ advice.”

It was as close as he would come to saying “I told you so,” and Ailyth realised that he was reminding her of the mistake she had made in trusting Canute after her illness. She nodded her head submissively, and picked up her belongings.

At least, as Ulfred had said, the small hut where she would be staying was well hidden on the borders of the village, and surrounded by a high stone wall that would be difficult to scale. There were no windows, and the only light that could get it would be through the open door or the chimney-hole in the centre of the roof. Around the building grew beans and carrots, and what looked to be onions and garlic, and Ailyth felt a tiny prick of hope in her chest as she saw how secluded the home was.

“This is Eoif,” the priest said, gesturing to a woman who was shaking out a rug, a baby tied to her hip. “The mistress of this household. And her little son Botolf.”

Ailyth smiled at the woman, who was barely more than a girl under a dirty white cap and yards of brown and orange material. The baby, swaddled tightly and with only his face visible, looked barely more than a few weeks old.

“Hello,” Eoif said, folding the blanket over her arm. “You’ll have to forgive me for not greetin’ you proper, but I always seems to have me hands full these days.” She gave a short, bawdy laugh and turned to the priest. “Are you here to sort out this little ‘uns christening?” she asked, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s been seventeen days since he was birthed, and I’m getting anxious now.”

“No, Eoif, I’m here because I need a favour from yourself and your good husband...where is he, by the way?”

“Out in the fields,” the woman replied, automatically suspicious now that something was being asked of her. “Getting ready for tomorrow’s harvest. Now, what would you want from us father?”

The priest glanced at Ailyth and explained the situation to the young mother. From time to time she would stare at Ailyth, but she didn’t speak until he had finished.

“I suppose there’s no harm in Christian charity,” she sniffed, moving towards the door. “And seeing as you is asking, father. But I got a babe in arms here, and I don’t want him put at no risk.”

“There won’t be any risk, I assure you Eoif,” the priest soothed. “What we simply need is a safe house, and yours is the safest house I could think of. Thank you my child.”

As the men moved away to go to their own watch posts, Eoif led Ailyth inside her humble house. Like the old woman who had given them shelter before, it barely contained any furniture; just a chimney, some pots and pans, a table and a crib for the baby. Hanging above the table were dried out bunches of herbs and a brace of pheasants ‘for a special occasion,” Eoif explained, clearly meaning the christening she was longing for her child to have. Setting the child down into the crib, the woman spread the rug back out onto the floor.

“I likes me home comforts,” she said and Ailyth immediately thought of the luxury she had enjoyed when living in the manor, and felt guilty. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that part of the hut had been tethered off, and a pig with a litter of piglets and several chickens had made their homes with the humans.

Despite her initial standoffishness, Eoif soon warmed to Ailyth and quickly heated her some pottage which looked as though it had been in the pot since the baby had been born. It was only out of politeness that Ailyth took it, and it took every skill she had not to vomit after the first mouthful.

“Mmm,” she said unconvincingly, “lovely,” and this appeared to be enough for her hostess, as she automatically ladled out another bowlful.

“So, why’s there a monk after you?” Eoif asked as they ate together. Ailyth didn’t hear her at first, as she was too busy staring at her meat and wondering if that was a maggot she could see squirming, and by the time it registered that the woman had spoken to her Eoif was muttering “fair enough. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” She didn’t ask after Ailyth’s business again.

As evening began to cast its spell over the manor of Crediton, Ailyth began to relax a little. Crazy though he was, Canute would not be crazy enough to travel by night, and she knew that she would be safe for another day. Instead of hiding at the back of the hut, unpleasantly close to the animals and their stench, Ailyth drifted to Eoif and watched as she swept some of the ashes out of the grate.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as the woman tipped the ash by the front door.
“Ah!” Eoif said, “you may ask, that you may. But I would’ve thought the answer to be as plain as the nosey on your face.”

“To stop the evil faeys from coming into our humble home in the night, and robbing us blind, o’ course!” she cried, finding it amusing that Ailyth didn’t know even this most basic part of house-keeping. “It must have been nice for you, never to have to worry about the otherworld sneaking into your house while you slept.”

“Guards, you say,” she muttered. “You must be a lady o’ sorts, then.” Ailyth nodded. “Then why aren’t you staying at the manor, with yer own kind, ‘stead of taking advantage of a well meaning husband and wife?”

“Yeah, you’ll be safe, but what about us?” Eoif grumbled, then put her hand on her hip. “Now maid,” she said, seeing Ailyth’s nervous face, “don’t take on. I di’n’t mean no harm. Here, come and sit by the babe, he’ll calm you down at any rate.”

Baby Botolf was gurgling in his crib contentedly, playing with some imaginary object above his face, and was so appealing that even RiffRaff’s heart began to melt as he peered through Ailyth’s hair.

“Happy little soul, ain’t he,” Eoif smiled proudly, and Ailyth smiled softly back at her, hoping that one day she too might be a mother. Not that it was likely. After Matthew, and unable to marry a dead man, she couldn’t see herself ever being married again.

Eoif hurried towards her and snatched them out of her hands. “Now don’t you be fiddling with they,” she scolded. “They got to stay in the crib whenever he’s in there, and for good reason.” She stared at Ailyth and, once more, the girl merely shrugged. “Good grief, do they teach you nothing of the world in that manor of yours?” she cried in exasperation. “Until he’s been christened, the...” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The faeries can come and swap him for one o’ they own!”

“Someone’s been misinformed,” RiffRaff hissed. “I can’t imagine Grethel being afraid of an old pair of tongs.”

But Granfer had been right. The world of man and Albion could coexist, as Eoif clearly demonstrated. As the sun finally set and it was time to sleep she prayed first to God, before adding in the direction of the ashes “and away, away wee beasties, you’re not wanted this night.”

Ailyth didn’t hear Eoif’s husband come into the hut before she fell asleep but, in the morning, he was splashing water on his face as the cock crowed.

Ailyth stared at him sleepily, wondering at first who he was. Only when Eoif wrapped her beefy arms around him did she realise that this was her man, who had stayed late in the fields harvesting the grain.

“Come on then, Lady Ailyth,” Eoif said, pulling off her blankets. “If you’re to be staying here, you’ll be helping us finish up today.”

“The harvest!” Eoif cried, as though she was having to explain it to Botolf. “Lack-a-mercy, we’ve still got work to do; it’s all got to be done by Michaelmas.”

Ailyth dragged herself off the floor, her mind spinning that somehow she had lost so many days during her travels. Hadn’t it only been the start of September when she had left Castle Cary? Now it was nearly the end of the month. She had dallied too long. Had Topsham finished the harvest? Would there be food to last them the winter?

As they left the hut, RiffRaff on Ailyth’s shoulder and Botolf on Eoif’s hip, dozens of other families came out to join them, from all ages; the very young to the very old. Each looked tired as they joined their friends, yawning, at the start of another long working day.

“Those are our fields over there,” Eoif said, pointing out to miles of stubble-shorn pastures. “We’ve finished them. Just one more field.”

Ailyth shielded her eyes to look into the horizon. There were more fields there and, unmistakably, wheat was dancing in the lazy sunlight. She quickly caught up with her new friend.

Eoif frowned. “They belong to a small village, a few miles away,” she said. “Can’t think why they haven’t got their harvest in yet, though.”

Together they walked to the large barn that stood by the fields, as the men and stronger women carried on towards the wheat, to gather it all in before the end of the day.

“What are we going to do, if we’re not collecting it all in?” Ailyth asked as they slumped on stools in front of a pile of yesterday’s unfinished grain.

Eoif threw a heavy wooded object towards her as more women and children came into the barn. It was made of two lengths of wood connected by a leather strap, and Ailyth eyed it curiously.

“It’s a grainflail, girl,” Eoif sighed as Ailyth inspected it. She picked up and handful of corn and showed her how to use it. “Look, pick up some corn, hold it over the sheet so nothin’ gets dropped, and beat the livin’ daylights out of it,” she said, thrashing the corn with her own flail. Grain fell from the ears of corn and landed unevenly on the sheet and, looking around her, Ailyth could see everyone else doing the same thing, chatting amongst themselves as they worked.

But within ten minutes Ailyth’s arms were cramped, and she struggled to breath as the air became dust. Her face grew as red as the poppies that bordered the fields, and she could feel sweat trickling down her nose, down her back; even down her legs.

Eoif laughed to see her struggle, and threw her and apple. “Take a break,” she said. “Get your strength back, then pace yourself a bit more.”

Ailyth bit into the apple savagely, juice running down her chin. “How do you manage it?” she asked as the other carried on chatting and threshing.

“You think this is hard?” Eoif smiled. “This is just the invalids’ and children’s work. The real work’s outside in the fields.”

Ailyth sagged at the thought, and glared at her grainflail as though it was an instrument of torture, preparing to start her work again. But she was saved at the last minute. As she had lifted her flail up one more time the door to the barn swung open, and the priest appeared.

A roar of annoyance filled the barn, and Ailyth could just make out individual voices calling out “oh come on! This has got to be finished by tonight!”