Daughter of the Forest

by Juliet Marillier

  However, they were strong folk. When Richard quizzed Ben on his reluctance to join an expedition, on his firm wish to remain with Lord Hugh rather than test his skills in a real battle, Ben simply laughed it off. If he thought his manhood insulted, he gave no outward sign of it. Richard’s weapon against John was more devious. More than once I heard him trying to provoke a response, trying to engage John in a debate about the management of the estate, and its custodians’ responsibilities for the wider defense of the area. Hugh, said Lord Richard, was too intent on the future of his plantations, the purity of his stock, and the maintenance of his walls and fences. What of the western coast as a whole? What of his duty to his neighbors, and, more than that, to his mother? When was he going to do something about the people that killed young Simon? John was a taciturn man by nature. His habit was to get on with what had to be done, and speak only when necessary. He dealt with Richard as I would have expected, stating that he was Hugh’s man and he had never had any cause to doubt Hugh’s good judgment. Besides, it was the Danes that were the real threat, not the Irish. When Richard went a step further and began to ask how John felt about the security of his wife—such a sweet girl, with a bloom on her like a fine rose—and his newborn son, John simply got up and left the room.

  Lady Anne, however, was Richard’s sister. During the long days his uncle spent at Harrowfield, Red made more than one attempt to prevent them from speaking much alone together. But he could not do so entirely. He could not be in the house all the time, for the season was growing milder and the work of the estate was in full swing, plowing, planting, early lambing. So, one afternoon, Lady Anne and her brother walked in the garden for some time, deep in earnest conversation, and I watched them from the window of the long room where I sat alone, and wondered what she was telling him. That night at supper I noticed Richard’s gaze, narrow and penetrating, passing between myself and Red and back again, and I wondered how long it would be before the next time he found me alone.

  At last, one evening at supper, Richard announced that he and his men would be leaving next day. The sighs of relief were almost audible. He had overstayed any welcome he might have had. The whole household was constantly on edge and I believed not one of us would be sorry to see him go. Even Lady Anne made no protest. However, she did express a wish that we assemble for a cup of hot punch later that evening, to bid him farewell, and this request appeared to include both Margery and myself. A number of imaginative excuses had been found for me on previous occasions, but this time there was no way out, and so, somewhat later, Lady Anne sat in the hall with her brother and her elder son, and I hovered in the shadows, trying to be inconspicuous. Red was seated by the window, his hands busy with knife and wood. John stood behind Margery’s chair. A young maidservant had been despatched upstairs to sit with Johnny, but he was a good sleeper and she would have little to do. A map was spread on the long table and around it were two of Richard’s men and Ben, disputing the accuracy of some territorial line. The tone was friendly enough.

  “What’s your opinion, young Benedict?” Richard tossed this remark over his shoulder, casually. He had, for all his offhand manner, been listening carefully to their discussion. “Think we can take that watch tower on the northern end of the bay before midsummer? Hold that, and you’ve got a strong enough footing, and safe landing for your men. That’s been one of our problems; that and their tricky sailing. Never quite worked out how they do it. Come up on you out of nowhere, looming out of the mist in their cunning little boats. Never know when to be ready for them.”

  “They say it’s witchcraft.” This was one of Richard’s men, speaking with diffidence. “That each clan has a sorcerer, a magician, that can conjure up storms, and fogs, and winds, by invoking the power of the devil. They say whole troops of men have vanished in this way. Not that I believe it, of course. But there are stories.”

  “Stories put about for the sole purpose of striking fear into your foe,” said Richard with some cynicism. “A well-tested ploy. The same trick as painting your body, or beating drums for the advance. Takes the enemy by surprise, makes him edgy, puts a fear into him. There’s no witchcraft. A bit of luck, that’s all it is, and a good knowledge of the local weather. These folk are no more magical than you or I.”

  “Indeed,” said the other man. “For there are Christian priests among them, who surely would not tolerate such goings-on. Besides, who ever heard of hailstones as big as hens’ eggs, or a fog you could drown in? Who ever heard of a storm come up out of nowhere, or rain from a clear sky?”

  At that moment I looked at Red, and Red looked at me, and I remembered the touch of his hand through a blinding torrent of rain, the hard, warm grip of the only real thing in that violent, druidic downpour. That rain had saved both our lives. I read in his eyes that his thoughts were the same.

  “These tales go back a long way,” mused Richard, stretching out his elegant legs toward the fire. “It’s a strange place, with odd people. The more I learn about them, the harder I find them to understand. One day, of course, it will all be ours, and the remnant of these wild folk will simply be lost, through death or decay or interbreeding. They have a limited capacity to resist, with their superstitions and their irrational faith. They fight with such ferocity, it seems they hold their own lives cheap. They have lost their precious islands. That anchorage is ours. I hope to take the next step with my summer campaign.”

  “How soon do you plan to return there?” asked John politely.

  “Soon enough,” said Richard. “I hold my men in readiness at all times. I plan to take advantage of the first spell of good weather. So while you’re out in the fields, Hugh, playing the peasant, you can think of me and mine as we keep the place safe for you. As we rid our shores of this scourge, so you can run your cattle in peace.”

  “Oh, I will,” said Red. “Rest assured, Uncle, you are never far from my thoughts.”

  “Hmph.” Richard seemed to take this in the spirit in which it was intended. “I’d be glad to persuade young Ben here to come along with me this time. Show him a bit of action. But if he won’t, he won’t.”

  “You surely cannot plan to place an isolated garrison on the far shore, if you succeed in taking this piece of land,” put in John, clearly interested despite himself. “That’s asking for trouble. These local warlords, they have a knowledge of the terrain that far surpasses our own, and their forces are considerable. How could you man such a distant post? How would you supply it? The position would be extremely tenuous. What about the Norsemen? You’d be a sitting target. And what would be your intention in setting up there?”

  Richard laughed. “I suppose it seems small enough, in the scheme of things. My main advantage lies in the islands themselves; you are probably not aware of how great a force may lie concealed for a time there in safe harbor. In fact, I am perfectly positioned to provide support for an outpost on the far shore. That will prick their vanity, these petty lords with the unpronounceable names. That the enemy has a toehold on their sacred homeland, that will sting them. That will draw them out. Then we shall see.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “You cannot hope to establish yourself beyond the coast,” said Red bluntly. “If you plan this, you underestimate your enemy.”

  “Our enemy, boy, our enemy,” said Richard, rising to face his nephew who still sat at some distance, concentrating on his meticulous work with the little knife. “No, I may have been called many things, but never a fool. I simply wish not to become complacent. It is the islands that matter. Who holds the islands, keeps his coastline secure. While I have them, I have a grip on my enemy’s spirit. He believes them a source of magic, a fountain of power. While I possess them, he is weakened. But it is not enough to sit there and wait to be attacked. We must move first, show them our strength of will, show what stuff we are made of. And remember, I am not alone in this. I have the support of three of our closest neighbors, and a hundred of their best fighting men to prove it. Your own house
hold, Hugh, is the only one in these parts that will not be represented on my expedition.” He threw a glance at Lady Anne. “This shames me, boy. My own flesh and blood. But there is still time. Time to muster a small fighting force. They’ll need to be assembled and ready in six days’ time. I would welcome your support.”

  Red was still working on his tiny piece of wood. He didn’t bother looking up.

  “You know my feelings on this issue, Uncle,” he said. “I have no intention of letting good men throw away their lives for nothing. This feud is yours, not mine. Its origins are all but forgotten, so many years has it raged, so many lives has it wasted. Forgive me if I do not add my own, or those of my people.”

  “Holding the islands is one thing,” said Ben, who was still poring over the map. “But you cannot hope to move beyond here, and here—you see this great tract of forest, that stretches out its arms almost to the sea? We were there. That is the strangest of places; deep, impenetrable, and fiercely defended. The terrain is steep and treacherous. There’s a huge lake beyond these stands of trees, and a stronghold within. Nobody gets closer than a day’s journey to that. It’s bristling with armed men, and if they don’t finish you off, hunger and cold and the sheer weirdness of the place soon will. If you wanted to make any impact, you’d have to go in much further north. Here, for instance.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Spoken like a true campaigner,” he said. “Sure you don’t want to come along with me, boy? Seems like you might be an asset. Can’t you spare the lad for a while, nephew?”

  Red blew a little sawdust away, and put his work back in his pocket. He wiped the small knife on his tunic and stuck it back in his boot.

  “I don’t make Ben’s decisions for him,” he said mildly.

  “Well, boy?”

  Ben laughed. “Not me, thanks. I’ve work to do here. Besides, fighting these folk is like fighting a tribe of—of ghosts, or spirits. Not that we didn’t make an impact once or twice. But—they have a habit of appearing and disappearing, and when they talk to you, it’s all in riddles.”

  “And what about the weather?” put in John. “Fine one minute, pouring the next. You find yourself almost believing their tales of magic and sorcery, if you stay there long enough. I’m in no hurry to go back. Give me a flock of ewes and a pair of good shears any day.”

  They were teasing him, I thought. But Richard was already off on another track, speaking as if to himself.

  “Magic and sorcery. That reminds me.” He went to stand by the hearth, warming his back, his arms stretched along the mantel. His shadow was long across the room, his body outlined by the flickering flames. “You mention the lake, and the stronghold in the forest. I heard the strangest story from that quarter, a tale that could change the whole course of my campaign, if there were any truth in it. The lord of those parts is named Colum of Sevenwaters. Stories abound of his lake, and his forest, and his fortress; even more tales of the savagery of his fighting men, among whom were numbered his own sons. Those tales are true enough. As you are aware, it was in those parts that Simon was lost, and my own men butchered. I have wondered, often, if…but never mind that. Colum’s forces are no barbarian rabble. They are strong, well disciplined, and well armed, and they fight as if they had no care for tomorrow. As you said, young Ben, one would be a fool to mount an attack on such a man’s primary defenses. But, I am informed, things changed for Colum a year or two back. Just how, it’s hard to tell; there are many versions of what happened. One day he was a man with six grown sons. The next day he had none.”

  There was a short pause. If you knew anything about Richard, you knew that he would never tell a story simply to entertain. There must be a barb in it, a hidden message for somebody.

  “What happened to them?” asked Lady Anne.

  “Well, there were a few theories,” replied Richard. “One was that they were on the lakeshore, and a great water spirit blew up a freak storm that drew them in and drowned them. Another, that they were poisoned by an enemy, someone such as I, seeking to weaken their father’s power; poisoned, and their bodies hidden somewhere in that vast expanse of forest. A third, that the boys went out mushrooming early one morning and were taken by the little people. They believe in the little people, in elves and faeries over there, you know. Odd, isn’t it, how they can keep a Christian priest in their house, can say Mass of a Sunday, and still have a head full of superstition and fancy? Yes, it was an odd tale. If it’s true, Colum will have less of the old fight left, less of the will to resist. Now could be a perfect time to strike.” He illustrated the last word with a sharp movement of his arm, fingers pointed. “Oh, and I forgot,” he said, and now he was looking at me where I stood in the darkness by the wall.

  “There was a daughter as well. Disappeared along with her brothers. Clean sweep. I heard their mother was looking for them. Or was it a stepmother? Sent scouts out everywhere. But no trace. Just vanished into thin air. Like Simon. Maybe the pixies took them all. It was around the same time, or so I’m told.”

  This time the silence drew out longer. I shivered. I thought they must all be looking at me, seeing me for what I was and who I belonged to. Had this simply been a stab in the dark, a lucky guess? How could Richard possibly have stumbled onto the truth?

  “That would be heartbreak indeed, to lose seven children at one stroke,” said Margery softly. “A man might turn mad at such a blow.”

  “I would not wish that on my worst enemy,” said Lady Anne. “But it pains me to hear you make light of Simon’s fate thus, Richard. I hope you will seek more news of him, when you return there. I cannot believe there was no trace of him at all. But that’s what Hugh tells me.”

  Richard’s face transformed itself into a picture of brotherly solicitude.

  “I will seek news, of course,” he said. “I have an excellent network of informants, which serves me well even when I am far away from those parts. You’d be surprised what I hear. But I think you must realize, sister, that the chieftains of Erin are as brutal as their men. They do not value their prisoners highly once they have—served their purpose. And Simon was very young. I think, after such a long time, you should not expect too much. Now if, as you say, there were some sign, some clue…”

  He was looking at me again, a half smile curving his mouth.

  “Perhaps I did not quite understand you, Uncle,” said Red quietly. “Are you suggesting that if my brother were captured and subjected to some form of torture, he would have been unable to withstand it? I’m sorry to speak openly of this, Mother,” he added, “but this is no time for playing games. Perhaps we might speak alone,” he said to his uncle.

  “No need for that, my boy,” said Richard affably. “We’re all friends here, I trust. Apart from the little Jenny, maybe, who occupies such a unique position in your household that I can’t for the life of me work out just what it is. And as she can’t speak, we need not concern ourselves with what she hears, need we? You certainly don’t seem to think so.”

  “Simon may have been misguided,” put in John, “but nobody could ever have accused him of lacking backbone. His strength of will was formidable in one so young.” That was true, I thought, remembering the desperation in those bluest of eyes, the hatred turned in on himself. He could not bear to believe himself a traitor. I was convinced that he was not one.

  “He was only sixteen,” said Lady Anne. “We know what stuff he was made of; I have only to look at you, Hugh, to see him before me again. But he was just a boy, for all that courage and resolve. Perhaps this was more than anyone could take.” Her voice was tight with unshed tears.

  “This is mere speculation, surely,” said Ben, a small frown appearing on his brow. “Besides, no Irish lord worth his salt could afford to lose such a prisoner. What about the hostage price? And they’d have an idea who he was, whether he told them or not. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Richard strode gracefully across the room. He took his time to speak, as if weighing his words with great care.
“The undeniable fact is,” he said at last, “that all my men were slain. Each and every one. Except Simon. Now why would our enemy do that? Clearly, the boy was not preserved for who and what he was, for no ransom was ever demanded. Did he simply desert his mission in fear and vanish of his own accord? Hardly. Such a one does not blend readily into that race of black-locked, whey-faced fanatics. Besides, as you say, whatever his failings, the lad had more than his fair share of courage. And so it is far from speculation to suggest that they forced it out of him, the information that would betray his companions, and lead the enemy down on them by night. But we must not blame him. As you said, Sister, he was barely sixteen years old. He wanted to be a man. But when it came to the point, the fiber was too weak.”

  I found, suddenly, that I was extremely angry, and before I could stop myself I made a gesture with my hands that said clearly, No. You speak lies. And suddenly, every pair of eyes in the room was turned sharply on me.

  “I would dearly love to hear you speak, little wild girl,” said Richard, and although his tone was soft, his stare was as hard as cold iron. “Where do you come from? What could you tell us? And why do you suddenly look so fierce, like a mother wolf defending its young? You know something of this, I am certain of it. So convenient, to be without words. I wonder what your people would give, to have you safe home again.”