by Tony Walker
Blodeuwedd said, “The old language grew here in this forest. It made us what we are. When we lose it, we lose our essence. But your name, girl. What is it?”
Rebecca told her. “I believe mine is a Christian name, or Jewish,” Blodeuwedd said.
She looked at her. “But I see nothing of that in you. I smell the woods on you. The deep woods and water call you more than any holy book.”
Rebecca nodded. “Wait while I heat the stew. And would you like tea? Please sit.” She gestured to the rough chair that belonged to Gowan Fell.
Blodeuwedd sat down. “This is a man’s chair,” she said. “A man lives here, but he is not here now?” The intonation of the words was as if they were a question.
Rebecca frowned and said nothing.
Blodeuwedd did not persist, but waited until Rebecca had warmed the meal.
She ate it with gusto. “What meat is this?” she asked.
Rebecca looked to her feet and said, “Crow. It’s the best we have right now.”
“No matter,” Blodeuwedd said. “Black feathers like your heart made black with sadness.”
Rebecca was taken aback. “How do you know I am sad?”
“I see it,” Blodeuwedd said. “I know you. And I know the man who lives here.”
“Gowan Fell?”
“Aye and I know his people. I know their kind.”
Rebecca wanted to ask more, but she did not. Perhaps from fear of what she might find out.
Then Blodeuwedd rose and thanked the girl. “Here is a ribbon as thanks,” she said at the door.
“What colour is it?” smiled Rebecca.
“It’s only red.”
“Not incarnadine?” she laughed.
The woman shook her head. “Merely red. Red as blood.” Blodeuwedd paused on her way out as if something weighed heavily on her mind. She made a noise as if to speak, but finally said nothing.
“Will you be back this way again?” Rebecca asked the older woman as she left.
“Perhaps.” Blodeuwedd said, and then, as if an afterthought, she reached into her bag, took out a green ribbon, and gave it to Rebecca. “And this is green as life. There is a place in the forest you might find if you ever need to. At a join of the two streams, where the oaks give way to the ash and aspen, there is a white stone there that sparkles, half out of the water.”
The girl nodded. “I know it. It is a pretty spot.”
“It is my spot,” the woman said. “Remember me there.”
And with that, she turned and left.
Rebecca watched her until she disappeared into the trees of the Grizedale Forest and then closed the door and waited for the return of Gowan Fell.
When Gowan came back, he said little other than give a growl for his supper. He was not in his fair clothes but had changed to his normal working garb. He was covered with charcoal grime so Rebecca didn’t doubt that he had been working as he said he had. Underneath the smell of burning, that animal smell of his had grown much less pleasant to her nose than it once had been when she desired him. After supper, he took her. She told him no, but he took her anyway. And while Gowan Fell violated her, she hoped her father would come in with his woodman’s axe and kill the beast, but no one came; she was too far away from those who loved her and so she suffered his vileness and prayed instead to her gods of the woods and the forest to send deliverance.
As they lay there, she said, “Gowan, do you love me still?”
He laughed a bitter, dry laugh. “I love your cleaning and cooking and mending my clothes.”
“Nothing more?”
“And I love burying myself in you when I can not get better.”
She felt quick tears, but they were drowned by shame. What a fool she was. But she would not let him hear her cry, so she clasped her hands tight so her nails almost pierced her palms, and she lay there until dawn.
Gowan was up early the next morning. She heard the small birds of the wood in full throat outside as they sang their morning chorus and orisons to the rising sun. She lay there while he pulled on his clothes, not his work clothes but the better ones that she had mended and stitched. She knew he was going hunting again. And she wondered from the blood on his clothes, whether he merely seduced the girls, or maybe did worse.
She had been charmed by the beast he was, as foolish girls will be, and as the pretty ones of the Hawkshead village would be. But a beast was a beast, and a girl was not a lover to Gowan Fell, but only prey.
And so once he was gone, she dressed quickly, and she followed him. In the pocket of her dress were the red and green ribbons given her by Blodeuwedd. She gripped them as she ran. She followed him to warn the girl he snared so she could avoid the grisly fate that Rebecca suspected Gowan would enact.
She ran quietly down the deer path that led away from their rough dwelling and to the main road through this part of the forest.
Instead of going to the village, Gowan took another and went a way that Rebecca did not know. She watched him two hundred yards ahead, walking with an assured step, even whistling as he went, unconcerned and confident. After about two miles, the way grew broader and better trodden. Rebecca guessed they were approaching a village. Still Gowan did not suspect she was behind him. He had never looked behind at all, so secure was he.
Gowan went among the first low houses, thatched with sticks from the forest and bracken, walls made of rough stone whitewashed, flowers around their wooden shutters - lupins and red-hot pokers. The shutters were thrown open to let in the air of noon and Rebecca saw various good-men of the village greet Gowan warily, as if they knew him, but did not trust him.
She saw Gowan make his way to the tavern. And so, she thought, he had money, though he chose to give her none. Her use to him was housemaid and whore, no better than a slave.
How stupid she’d been to fall in love with him. She felt scalding tears on her cheek then she chided herself for a fool; tears would make nothing better, so she wiped them away and sat, near a cottage, within sight of the tavern door, so she would know when he came out. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. Gowan Fell would not suspect she was there, and even if he saw her, he would look past her hooded form.
And then after two hours, when the sun was still high, but flitting behind light clouds and not warm, he emerged. Again the village men nodded at him, but heads down, not meeting his eyes. And the girls and women, scattered out of his way like so many hens. All except one, a blonde girl who looked haughty and proud. She engaged Gowan Fell in talk and Rebecca felt a sting of jealousy in her breast. They tarried, and the flirting became more obvious. From where she stood half in the shadow of a wall, Rebecca saw a middle-aged village wife shake her head in reproach, but the girl was too taken up with the handsome Gowan Fell.
Rebecca saw Gowan reach inside his waistcoat and pull out a leather bottle. He offered it to the girl who with some little hesitation, as if pretending to obey the laws of propriety, eventually took it and swigged at it. Then grimaced and wiped the hot spirit from her lips. Rebecca saw the girl flush and laugh. Gowan laughed with her. He was a comely man, and Rebecca remembered the intoxication of his attention and how it brought a shiver to her breast and warmth to her loins, when she had first been enamoured of Gowan Fell.
And then, as surely as all such things are enkindled, the girl took his hand, and he led her down the path from the village. Again, Rebecca felt the sharp stab of jealousy. How she wanted to slap this girl and drive her away from Gowan Fell, but how now she also felt fear for the lass, foolish and vain as she surely was.
Rebecca followed them down through the beech woods as they went hand in hand, laughing and joking, towards the river. There they sat and Gowan Fell waited, as patient as a fisherman, for this blonde-haired fish to bite. It was she who moved in closer to him first, snuggling her side to his. And then, with the art of a master, Gowan Fell lifted his hand to caress the girl’s shoulder. She leant her head into his and together they watched the silver water drift by. Rebecca rem
embered and recognised so well Gowan’s artistry, his leisurely entrapping, so that a girl didn’t know if it was love or lust he was after and persuaded herself that Gowan was set on love and it was her own lust that drove things to their disrobing.
And then, Gowan stood. Rebecca did not hear clearly but it was evident that he wanted to piss. Pretending to be a gentleman, he did not do it there, but rather stepped away.
They had been there long, and the light was turning golden as evening came. Up in the sky above hung the pale moon, barely lambent with the sun only just going. But Rebecca remembered how it had blazed white these past few nights as it made its way to the full moon it would achieve tonight.
And so Rebecca took her chance. While Gowan went, she ran lightly across the ground. The girl almost cried out but Rebecca signed for her to be quiet. If she’d been a man it would be different, but the girl so no threat in another young woman.
Rebecca stood there before the girl and the girl stared back at her amazed until she said, “What do you want?”
“You must leave. Don’t wait for Gowan Fell.”
The girl scowled and said, “And who are you?”
“I am the wife who lives in the wildwood with Gowan Fell.”
The girl shook her head. “Gowan has no wife for he has told me he is a single man, and besides neither he nor you wear a ring.”
Rebecca frowned. “We are married by the ways of the forest, not the Church.”
“Then,” the girl said, “You are not married at all.”
Rebecca reached out to touch the girl. “For your own sake, leave now.”
The girl slapped her hand away. “I will not leave on the request of a jealous shrew. Gowan is with me now, so go.”
The girl got up and her eyes were angry and Rebecca thought she might strike her.
“He will rape you,” Rebecca said.
“It’s only rape if I don’t want him to. And that’s what’s bothering you.” At this she reached down for a stone and went to throw it at Rebecca. Rebecca also saw the shape of Gowan Fell returning from further down the river.
Rebecca felt fear. If he found her here, he would surely hurt her. She turned to run. She broke through a screen of branches and crashed through the undergrowth as a rock came thudding after her. She heard Gowan Fell’s voice scream, “Rebecca, I’ll kill you for this!”
Darkness had fallen on the forest before Rebecca got back to the hut. She arrived at their rough cottage when the tawny owls were calling from tree to tree above her head. Her way was lit by bright mother Moon, but her breath was ragged as she ran then walked then ran. The briars and thorns cut her along the way and lines of red marked her legs and arms like the bloody striations of self-flagellation.
And when she was home, she lit a rush dipped in tallow and waited in the smoky yellow light for Gowan Fell.
But he did not return, at least not immediately. And as she waited, she shivered, not with cold but with fear. The smell of beast was heavy on their hovel. If she had not minded it before the odour now almost choked her. It was his smell. The smell of a man, but the smell of something else too.
When he did not return after many hours, she ventured outside, her fear now replaced by a sense of resentment and growing courage.
She would go back to her mother and father. They would tell her how foolish she’d been and that would hurt her young pride. How she’d seen herself as a spring flower, or a young fox finding its way in the woods and fields. But now she knew she’d been a fool, taken in by a lout and woman beater. And worse, a rapist. She wept bitter hot tears, gathered her few things, and stepped out of the hut.
The moon was bright outside as she walked down the deer track, her heart beating fast in case she ran into Gowan Fell. But he was not there. The nightjar called, and she heard beasts snuffling in the undergrowth, but they meant her no harm.
And then she came to the wider path. She walked down the rough way, avoiding the puddles from an earlier shower of rain, stepping on the lush grass that grew in a line down the centre. This path took her some way back towards the village she’d fled from earlier, before splitting and leading her back to her parent’s house. She was lost in her thoughts of heartbreak and self-blame when she sensed someone up ahead.
She stopped. She listened and heard nothing. She listened harder, straining every fibre to catch what she’d hearkened to before, the subliminal warning that had made her halt. There was something on the breeze, but she couldn’t comprehend it. And then she realised part of what had stopped her was the silence, the unnatural silence of the wood, where before there had been owls and the flitting of bats, now there was nothing, as if the whole wood was holding its breath.
There were shapes down the path. They were the size of men and walked on their hind legs, but they were not men. As the breeze shifted, she caught their scent. It was the scent of Gowan Fell, but this time mixed with something more animal — something doglike or worse. He was with another of the same kind. Rebecca stood frozen with fear. And then the breeze shifted. She saw one of them raise his snout to the air, blackness silhouetted against the dark violet of the sky behind. He appeared to be sniffing. He had scented her out.
Rebecca turned and ran. She fled in the direction of her father’s house. She ran until her legs burned and her lungs were on fire and she didn’t stop running until she crossed the stone bridge dressed in moss and was at the edge of the forest near to where her father and mother lived. And there she stood, hands on thighs, gasping for breath. Gasping for breath, but at the same time looking back into the forest in case she was pursued. In case, Gowan Fell had followed her to her parents’ house.
She saw no sign of him, but when she had her breath back, she ran again. She stumbled and half fell through the pretty gate of her family house and along the path between the vegetables up to the door. It was deep night, and the moon rode high with her company of stars. Rebecca hammered at the door. It was her mother who answered. “Rebecca, what are you doing here? At this hour!”
Little Kirsten was beside her mother seeing who it was, then she rushed out and hugged her sister.
“Rebecca, answer me!” her mother said, tugging at Rebecca’s sleeve.
Rebecca’s face was wet with tears. Her chest heaved with sorrow and if felt like there was ice where her heart should be. She feared her mother would send her away again, back to Gowan Fell, that she would say, “You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.”
But then her father came to the door. He kissed her cheek and said, “Welcome home, my daughter. Come in and I’ll keep you safe.”
“You’re thin as a rake, girl,” her mother said. “I’ll get you some broth,” and she scuttled through to the kitchen to get food for her daughter. Rebecca was crying tears of relief to be back in the safety of her family. Her father and little Kirsten crowded round as she sat by the fire. They were burning cherry wood that gave off a sweet smell. The interior walls of the cottage were whitewashed, and the furniture was made by her father, sturdy and carved with the spirals and knots beloved of the northern people. He had his hand on her shoulder.
“What happened?” he said.
At first, she couldn’t speak. A mixture of shame and jealousy held her words back. Kirsten stroked her knee and gazed at her with concern. Then Rebecca looked up at the ceiling and without making eye contact she said, “Gowan went with another woman.”
Her father sucked his teeth. Then he said, “Well, that’s no surprise.”
Kirsten looked bemused, she was about to ask a question. Their father said, “Kirsten, go to your bed.”
“But father,” the girl said, “it’s only early!”
Just then, their mother returned, the broth steaming and with it a chunk of her homemade bread and butter from the family cow. She said, “Kirsten, do as your father says — bed!”
The little girl pouted and stomped her foot but she turned and did as she was bid. Not like me, thought Rebecca, watching her go. At the door of the living room, Kir
sten turned and said, “Rebecca, did you bring my dolly?”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. Her hand went to her throat. She had a flash of panic almost as if she had left a living thing to the mercies of Gowan Fell in that hovel in the woods.
Kirsten looked sad, but shook her head and smiled. “Don’t worry; we can get it another time.”
Rebecca reached into her pocket and pulled out the red and green ribbons given to her by Blodeuwedd. “Here have these. A kind lady gave them to me.”
The little girl’s eyes widened. She ran over and took the ribbons. “These are lovely!” she said. She leaned up and gave her big sister a kiss on the cheek, then she turned and left.
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You got those from the pedlar woman?”
Rebecca nodded. “She was kind.”
Her mother said, “I hope you didn’t invite her, or worse still, give her food and rest.”
“I did, mother. It was only hospitable.”
Her mother spat. “That one, that calls herself “Flower Face” is a witch. She was trying to grab your soul.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No, she was just a kind old lady.”
“Mary-Hannah,” Rebecca’s father said to her mother. “You demean yourself by repeating old wives’ tales. There is no truth in witches.”
Mary-Hannah said, “There are strange things in the forest.”
Ignoring her mother, Rebecca turned to her father and said, “I left Kirsten’s dolly! I must go back.”
Her father’s brow furrowed. “I think not. Let it be. I would rather you never saw Gowan Fell again.”
“But it was Kirsten’s favourite. She gave it to me. I can’t leave it with him.”
“You’re talking silliness, girl. You’re tired. It’s only a rag-doll.”
Then her mother spoke. “No, you should go and get it. He should have nothing of ours, that Gowan Fell.” She spat his name.
“I will go and get it, father.” Rebecca went to rise from her chair, but her father stopped her down with a gentle hand. “No, you won’t!”
“Not tonight, anyway,” her mother said. “Eat your broth. Then sleep. You can fetch it in the morning.”
