The Forbidden Land

by Kate Forsyth

  With disgust in his voice, he said abruptly, ‘Ye be a witch.’

  ‘Aye, that I am,’ Gwilym replied in his deep, harsh voice.

  ‘Do ye no’ ken that they burn witches in these parts and those that harbour them?’

  ‘So I believe,’ Gwilym answered.

  ‘So what do ye do here, risking your life and ours?’

  ‘I am here to serve my Rìgh,’ Gwilym answered.

  The farmer pondered him for a moment longer, his mouth compressed with anger. ‘Do ye no’ ken witchcraft is the working, o’ the Archfiend!’ he suddenly hissed at Tam. ‘Ye defile our land by bringing these abominations here!’

  ‘But dai-dein! The prophet himself has declared the Rìgh the messenger o’ God! And this wee lad here, he is the one that heals wi’ the laying on o’ hands. I have seen it wi’ my own eyes and I swear there is no evil-doing there. He is as innocent as a newborn babe.’

  ‘Auld Clootie has many faces, no’ all o’ them foul,’ his father responded.

  ‘As does God Our Father, and no’ all o’ them fair,’ a woman suddenly said. They all looked at the door where a short, middle-aged woman stood, regarding them all with twinkling hazel eyes just like Tam’s. She was dressed very plainly in dark grey, with rough sabots on her feet and a white apron tied around her plump waist. Her hands were red and coarse, but the skin of her round face was very soft and pale, wrinkled like hands left too long in water.

  ‘What sort o’ welcome is this to give to our guests, father?’ she scolded, coming forward to seize her husband by his elbow, and shaking his arm none too gently. Her head only came up to his chest but to all of their surprise, the big grim-faced man hung his head, abashed. ‘Has Tam no’ told ye again and again that the auld prophet has sworn that these be no’ workings o’ the Archfiend but the servants o’ Our God the Father, come to put the NicHilde back on her throne? What are ye about, to call the angel o’ death himself a uile-bheist? One would think ye had never heard the reading o’ the Guid Book!’

  ‘But, mother …’

  ‘No buts about it! I be ashamed o’ ye, father. Have we no’ heard tales o’ the miraculous doings o’ this dark angel? Did no’ the beasts o’ the field and the birds o’ the air fight at his command? Did he no’ show great mercy to those that had fallen, bidding the lad wi’ the healing hands to help them? Have we no’ all muttered against the cruel and corrupt Whore o’ Bride and wished that she and her loose-lipped bootlickers would all be swallowed up by a crack in the earth?’

  ‘Och, aye, but …’

  ‘Such a great gowk ye are!’ the little plump woman said affectionately. ‘It is only in stories that the earth opens up and swallows the evil-hearted. In real life, we must do what we can to hasten things. Is it no’ said that God helps those that help themselves?’

  ‘Aye, but …’

  ‘Well then! Look at the puir things, so dirty and ragged. We must bustle about and get them some hot water to wash in and something to eat, and ye, Great Tam, must go across to Jock o’ the Apples and Miller Dan and to the pastor, o’ course, and tell them what be happening. And rouse up Peter Goatkeep too; he be a wily lad, and Joe the Smith, and Jack Woolly too. Oh, and happen ye should send Wee Tam across valley way and tell Dick Dickson, for if he’s the last to ken he’ll be stirring up trouble and better he be here under my eye.’

  ‘Very well, mother,’ Great Tam said obediently.

  ‘Happen ye’d best go to Dick Dickson, Da, he might take offence if it be only me,’ Tam said. ‘I’ll go and rouse up Jock o’ the Apples.’

  His father gave a slow grin which greatly mellowed his face. ‘Aye, lad, and give my best to young Bessie too. She’ll be aye glad to see ye!’

  Colour flamed in Tam’s cheeks. He ducked his head and hurried out of the barn, leaving the lantern hanging from a hook. His father was quick to follow him, casting one last doubtful look about the barn and muttering, ‘Whatever be the world coming to, when we have witches and uile-bheistean breaking bread and tasting salt wi’ us!’

  ‘All things are possible with God,’ Killian suddenly said, taking them all by surprise.

  ‘Aye, that be the truth indeed,’ Tam’s mother answered, nodding her round grey head. ‘Indeed that be the truth.’ She suddenly came forward in a rush to kneel at Elfrida’s feet and kiss her hand. ‘Och, welcome home, my lady, welcome home!’

  ‘Thank ye,’ Elfrida said with tears in her voice.

  ‘We’ve been a long time waiting for ye,’ the old woman said. ‘But I always kent ye’d come home to us.’

  That night the men of the district all gathered in Great Tam’s parlour to look Lachlan and Elfrida over and to listen to Killian the Listener speak. Killian had been bathed and dressed in a long white robe of homespun cloth, his wispy hair and beard combed out. Around his neck he wore his wooden cross on its knotted thong of leather. His dark eyes were tragic as he told them how the Fealde had ordered him tortured in order to force him to sign a confession saying that all he preached was dictated to him by the Archfiend and not God himself.

  ‘But I would no’, for I kent I had heard the true singing o’ the angels,’ the prophet said and all the farmers shifted and muttered among themselves.

  Then he told of his daring rescue, and how the Rìgh’s people had risked everything to save him. Now his dark eyes glowed with fervour and his voice trembled with gratitude. He described how Tòmas had healed him and how he had heard a chorus of heavenly singing at the first touch of his miraculous hands.

  ‘Indeed, we are blessed, for God Our father has heard our prayers and sent this winged angel to save us from the dreadful tyranny o’ the corrupt General Assembly, and this young boy with the miraculous touch to heal the wounds o’ our people, and He has kept our sweet young NicHilde safe from harm so that she may rule us as was always God’s will, for is she no’ the appointed one, the heir to the golden sword?’

  Finn had been unable to bear the suspense and so she eavesdropped on the whole proceedings from outside the window, telling herself she was standing guard in case of betrayal. To her surprise it was the local pastor who proved to be Lachlan’s most fervent supporter. A roly-poly man with a shiny bald head fringed all round with cherubic grey curls, he was dressed in a long black cassock with a plain wooden cross at his waist. He looked as if he thought of little more than his dinner but he proved to be of a romantic temperament. The story of Elfrida, the disinherited young banprionnsa fighting to free her people, stirred his imagination. He had no difficulty in believing Lachlan to be the angel of death so many prophets had foreseen, clasping his hands together at his very first sight of the Rìgh and murmuring, ‘Night-winged and flame-eyed, the angel o’ death shall smite them, for they have forgotten the word o’ God!’

  Dick Dickson proved to be a thin oily man who continually rubbed his hands together as if washing them, and whose narrow dark eyes darted from one face to another. When he first came in, he had said with deep foreboding, ‘He who sups with the Devil should have a long spoon, Great Tam.’

  ‘Aye, but better a dinner o’ green herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred within,’ the pastor had immediately returned.

  Dick Dickson shook his head lugubriously. ‘The Devil can aye quote scripture for his own ends, Pastor.’

  Indignant colour surged up in the pastor’s round cheeks. ‘A fool may give wise men counsel, but they rarely thank him for it,’ he snapped.

  Patchy colour rose in Dick Dickson’s narrow cheeks. He sought for a riposte but finding none, merely shook his head sadly and said no more, though his ferret eyes watched everyone’s face avidly.

  Long into the night the discussion wound. The men of Kirkclanbright were by nature conservative and prudent, and reluctant to throw in their lot with pagans and heretics. Even Tam’s mother was troubled by the presence of witches in Lachlan’s retinue, even though Lachlan pointed out most persuasively that witchcunning was born into all people and therefore must be seen as a gift from God.
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br />   ‘By Him all things were created that are in heaven and earth, visible and invisible, human and unworldly, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him, He is afore all things and in Him all things consist,’ Killian the Listener said, clasping his wooden cross tightly, and the pastor nodded, though his kindly face was troubled.

  ‘And what shall happen to us if this winged pagan does win through to Bride and puts the NicHilde back on the throne and throws down the Great Kirk?’ Dick Dickson said then. ‘We shall be made to dance naked around the kirkyard and say our prayers backwards and boil the bones o’ murdered children for evil spells …’

  Lachlan interrupted him with a great shout of laughter. ‘Is that what ye think the Coven does?’ he cried when at last he caught his breath. ‘By Eà’s green blood! Och, well, happen it be like the stories we always heard about how ye sacrificed babes on your altars.’

  There was an indignant outcry. Lachlan laughed again. ‘I can promise ye this, there’s no boiling up children, though it is true witches often dance about naked. Never fear! The Coven would never make ye do so if ye did no’ want to. We o’ the Coven believe all must be free to think and worship as they please. None would be forced to pray in a kirk six times a day if they would rather be ploughing their fields, that I assure ye! We believe that living a good and compassionate life and having a care for others is a better way to worship the sacred forces o’ life than kneeling in a cold, draughty building, but each to their own!’

  ‘But is it no’ true that yon witches worship the Archfiend and do his bidding?’ the pastor asked anxiously.

  ‘Witches do no’ believe in the Archfiend,’ Lachlan said, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. ‘I had never heard o’ your Auld Clootie afore your soldiers came and invaded my land!’

  ‘Ye do no’ believe in the Archfiend?’ The pastor was perplexed. ‘But do ye no’ swear allegiance to him and all his evil minions, and chant the Lord’s prayer backwards and hang the cross upside down on your altars and …’

  ‘No, we do no’,’ Lachlan said shortly.

  ‘Gracious me,’ the pastor said. ‘I always thought ye did.’

  The humour suddenly returned to Lachlan’s face. ‘Nay, I’m afraid ye have as untrue a picture o’ the Coven as we used to have o’ ye, afore the NicHilde set us straight. Happen we shall all have to try and find the kernel o’ truth amidst the chaff o’ lies.’

  ‘If ye do no’ believe in the Archfiend, surely that means ye canna believe in God Our Father?’ Dick Dickson suddenly asked. Immediately the whole room stilled, the men turning shocked eyes from him to the Rìgh.

  Lachlan thought carefully before replying. ‘No’ at all,’ he said at last. ‘We believe there is a life-force that animates the universe, though we do no’ divide it into black or white, good or evil, male or female, night or day. We call this life-force Eà and believe she contains all these opposites within her, or him if ye so prefer. We believe Eà is all gods and goddesses, all devils and angels.’

  There was a little indrawn breath of displeasure and he went on with a sudden rush of words. ‘Eà has had many names and many faces, no’ all o’ them good and beautiful. We choose what aspect o’ that godforce we worship. To the Coven, it is the Eà o’ green forests that we look to for our blessing. Most o’ the folk o’ Blèssem see Eà as a farmer, a strong, kindly man who sows the seed and reaps the harvest. If I understand your religion correctly, ye look to the power o’ the sun and the heavens as your inspiration. Some choose to see Eà’s dark hideous face, the face of Gearradh, she who cuts the thread. That is their right, though it would no’ be my choice. One o’ the things we will do once we have overthrown the Fealde is make sure that ye all have the chance to believe as ye wish. If you choose to pray in the kirk six times a day, so be it. If ye choose to dance naked in the forest, so be it.’

  Many of the men were shocked by this and Finn, crouched cold and stiff outside, thought Lachlan had blundered. However, when at last the group broke up and went home through the dew-silvered fields, many looked thoughtful indeed. And the next day Killian the Listener spoke in the kirk, the light shining down through the tall plain windows upon his wispy white head. Every pew in the kirk was crowded with people, and many more stood at the back, twisting their hats in their hands and listening with rapt faces. Finn listened from the front pew, and though she did not understand much of what he said, the rhythm of his words broke over her in waves, filled with the sound of trumpets.

  ‘The time o’ God’s vengeance is at hand, for ye have been led astray by false words and false promises! Ye have lost your way and wander frightened in the wilderness because o’ the blindness and folly o’ your vain hearts. Ye have been seduced into sin, ye have been led into war and wickedness, ye have set yourselves on pedestals, thinking yourselves the judge o’ God’s intentions when the great workings o’ Our Lord the Father are invisible to our eyes and inconceivable to our hearts. Ye have allowed proud, greedy, deceitful masters to rule our land and our thoughts, you have cowered down afore their faithless commands in fear and cowardice, ye have forgotten the words o’ the Lord who spoke always o’ forgiveness and understanding, love and humility. Have ye forgotten that all things that creep and walk, fly and swim and slither, were made by Our Lord the Father, and were good in His eyes? Och, aye, ye who call evil good and good evil, who mistake darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter, the time o’ God’s vengeance is at hand!’

  Many in the crowd sobbed and cowered in fear; many were white-faced with trembling hands. It seemed Killian the Listener’s words struck deep into their hearts. His tone softened then. He spoke for a long time about forgiveness and compassion, about sacrifice and redemption. Finn was unable to help being moved by all he said, even though her sceptical mind found many things to question in his beliefs. Elfrida wept in the front pew and her husband Iain and Ashlin were absolutely engrossed. Even Lachlan was clearly touched by all the prophet said, once applauding spontaneously. At one point Jay leant across Finn to whisper to Dide, ‘The prophet has magic in his voice, same as ye or Enit. He could convert a cursehag, he could.’ The jongleur nodded in agreement.

  A new mood swept over the crowd. They wept now in repentance and shame, they lifted faces shining with new resolve. When at last the prophet ended with a resounding call to arms many shouted and threw up their hats. As Lachlan and his retinue walked out of the kirk, the last to leave, they found the people of Kirkclanbright waiting for them outside in tense silence. Elfrida stopped on the steps of the kirk, the sun shining on her fair head, facing the crowd with flushed cheeks. The people of the valley went down on their knees before her, the men holding their hats to their hearts, the women with their heads bowed low. All swore as one to give their allegiance to Elfrida NicHilde, the true banprionnsa of Tìrsoilleir, and through her to the MacCuinn, Rìgh of all Eileanan.

  So it was that when Lachlan rode out of Kirkclanbright the next day, his company was augmented by a platoon of men and woman armed with axes, scythes, cleavers, pitchforks and spades. Lachlan was greatly heartened by this first sign of the power of the prophet’s influence and began to hope they might have a repeat of their miraculous victory at Dùn Eidean, when they had broken the siege without needing to strike a single blow.

  The company was in good spirits as it marched along the road towards the downs rising ahead of them. They did not sing, as most soldiers were wont to do when on the march, and Finn heard to her amazement that the Tìrsoilleirean frowned upon music, singing and dancing, thinking them vain and frivolous. She wondered how Dide would be able to contain himself, for since she had been in his company a day had not gone by without the jongleur entertaining them all with his guitar-playing and singing.

  He showed no sign of strain, however. His battered old guitar was tucked away out of sight and he was every inch the sober soldier. Again his appearance and behaviour had undergone a subtle
transformation. Instead of the rolling gait of a sailor, he walked with the brisk steps and upright posture of a military man. Instead of the rough oaths of a sailor, he spoke like a soldier, saying no more than was necessary and with absolutely no trace of humour. The golden earring had vanished and his dark hair was neatly tied back under the cockaded blue tam-o’-shanter of a Yeoman of the Guard. He carried a sword strapped to his back and had a slim black dagger thrust into his highly polished boots, and wore a blue kilt and cloak like all of Lachlan’s general staff. He stood to attention when addressing the Rìgh and saluted smartly after being given his orders. It was as if he had never lived any other life than one of the Rìgh’s most trusted officers. Finn was sure that if she had told any of their Tìrsoilleirean companions that Dide was indeed a roving minstrel, juggler and acrobat, they would have scorned to believe her.

  Tam had reluctantly bid farewell to his sweetheart Bessie once more, having being appointed the company’s guide through the downs. Although they were no longer so concerned about running into enemy squadrons, given their increased size and strength, Lachlan had decided that they should still try and keep a low profile until they had rejoined the Greycloaks. Consequently Tam had led them away from the highway, taking them along a little-known route that wound across the downs and into the valley beyond, where Lachlan’s scouts had located the rest of the army.

  The downs were open rolling hills, bare of any trees but covered in long grasses that waved in the breeze. Here and there great grey boulders thrust up out of the grass in uncanny formations. Tam knew the name of every cluster of stones and the stories behind them. Most had names like the Devil’s Anvil, Satan’s Steps, Temptation Rock or Auld Clootie’s Footstep, so that Finn marvelled how much this Devil of the Tìrsoilleirean religion dominated their imagination.