The Forest Wife

by Theresa Tomlinson

  ‘What?’ said Marian, staring in surprise. ‘I cannot see thee as a married woman.’

  Agnes laughed. ‘Well I was, and for many a year. I was happy with him too, though we wished for children, and they never came.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Don’t rush me, girl, I must tell it my way. We had a good life together . . . but then it all went wrong. It was the year of the great rebellion. The northern lords cut themselves off from King Henry, and there was a great call to arms. Adam was the best bowman in the county, he went to fight for the King. The Lord of Oldcotes sent him in his place, and promised us gold and gifts. But Adam didn’t go for what he’d earn, he went to fight for the King – the fool.’

  ‘You didn’t want him to go?’

  ‘No. King Henry cared naught for England, and his son is even worse. ’Twas yet another stupid quarrel, amongst those you’d think had power enough. I could not care who won or lost. But Adam would not listen to me, and well . . . he went . . . and there’s not a lot more to tell. He was killed, and when we got the news the Lord of Oldcotes turned me from our land. I was with child you see, and not young. It was clear I couldn’t do the work that was owed. I’d had my wish for a child come true, but it came too late.’

  Marian dropped the herbs, and took Agnes’s hands in her own. ‘All these years, I’ve known so little. What became of you?’

  ‘I found Selina, that’s what became of me. I wandered miserable, hungry and sick for days, no . . . for weeks, but at last I walked into this clearing. I’d heard wild tales of the Forestwife, but I was desperate, much like poor Emma. Selina took me in.’

  Marian sat silently, listening with growing sadness.

  Agnes smiled, though she blinked back tears.

  ‘I was luckier than Emma, for my babe was born alive and strong. We lived here with Selina for more than a year. Perhaps we should have stayed, but . . . perhaps what happened was meant to be.’ She squeezed Marian’s arm.

  ‘My brother lived in Loxley valley, and worked a small piece of land. I was strong again and wished to show him my son; so I went to find him. He made us both welcome, and begged us to stay. It was when we were there that we heard from Maud and Harry of tha mother’s death, and how the lord of Holt needed a wet nurse for his sister’s child. I thought to offer myself.

  ‘But what of Robert?’

  ‘He was almost two years old and he was strong, and ready to be weaned. A wet nurse earns as good a wage as any woman can hope for. I only meant to stay with thee for a year or so. I told them that my child had died. That’s what they wanted to hear. They wouldn’t want a nurse as might have put her own bairn first. My brother loved Robert and swore that he’d care for him as though he were his own. He kept his word, right to the end. I left them together, as well set up as any father and son. I thought I could save a bit of money and then go back to them.’

  ‘Well? What happened? Why did tha stay so long?’

  Agnes shrugged her shoulders and sighed. ‘I could not leave thee, when the time came.’

  Marian smiled. ‘Was I such a sweet child then?’

  ‘Nay. Tha were a poor, thin, grumpy little thing. ’Twas only I that loved thee. I could not leave thee to Dame Marjorie’s tender care.’

  ‘Huh.’ Marian twisted a lock of her hair between her fingers, then tugged at it. ‘So . . . he is angry that you stayed with me?’

  Agnes frowned. ‘Yes, he is, though he knows well enough that I loved him. How often did I go walking over the hills to be with him. I took him food and clothing, the best Holt Manor had. And when my brother was killed and Robert blamed, he came to hide in Beauchief Woods.’

  ‘But . . . ?’

  ‘No. He did not kill my brother, though there’s many a wild and stupid thing he has done. They were truly like father and son, and they had been quarrelling. Their neighbours knew it, and it looked bad for Robert. But he loved my brother, and could not have killed him.’

  ‘Even in rage?’

  ‘No. He could not,’ Agnes snapped. ‘So he hid in the woods, and Maud’s and Harry’s son brought me messages. Where do you think I wandered off to all those times? I knew they all thought my wits were fading, up at Holt Manor. I let them think it. Meanwhile I took him food and clothes and all he needed.’

  Marian’s mouth dropped open. ‘So when I ran away, and you followed me, he was left alone?’

  ‘Nay, nay. He’d been gone a while then. He had heard that the Sheriff was arming Nottingham Castle, and not too fussy who he took so long as they could draw a bow and not run from a fight. He’s a fine archer, Robert, just like his father, and ripe with anger. He craved a fight, so off he went, taking Harry’s and Maud’s son with him.’

  ‘Do you mean Muchlyn, the small one?’

  ‘Aye. He were always daft with Robert. Would do aught he told him. Maud and Harry were wild with worry, and I was vexed with him, but neither lad would listen, and they went.’

  ‘How is he hurt then?’

  Agnes shook her head. ‘I’ve not got it quite clear yet, but there has been trouble amongst the men-at-arms. He’s like his father, is Robert, in his passionate support for the King, and naught I can say will make him see sense. He found out that the Sheriff was really arming the castle for Count John, against the return of Richard. It’s ended in a quarrel, and they had to fight their way out and run . . . right through Sherwood Forest he’s come.’

  They sat in silence for a moment, Marian finding it hard to take in all she had heard.

  Agnes sighed. ‘So that is what he is like, my lovey. Do not take what he says to heart. Though he’s my son, he is a wild and reckless lad. I fear for him.’

  8

  Muchlyn and John

  LAUGHTER AND SHOUTED greetings could be heard out in the clearing. Philippa was returning with Tom, and it sounded as though Alice and her husband were with them.

  Agnes got to her feet, and rolled up her sleeves ready to return to her work. ‘Now tha knows the truth, lovey. Right or wrong, ’tis what happened, and cannot be undone. Can tha try to understand his ignorant way?’

  Marian frowned and nodded. ‘Aye, maybe I can.’

  There was a great deal of noise and chatter and explaining to be done. None of the other women was surprised that Agnes should have a son, and Robert was clucked and fussed over to his heart’s content.

  He said no more to Marian – indeed, he ignored her – and she kept out of his way, quietly getting on with the dreary chores, fetching the water, gathering wood, and feeding the animals.

  Two days passed, and Robert looked much better. He still winced and groaned when he moved or twisted; but his colour returned, and he did much chattering with Emma and Philippa. He told them tales of the short time he’d spent in the Sheriff’s pay; the mischief he and his friends had revelled in, and the chaos they’d caused. Emma listened shyly, smiling and hesitant. Philippa pinched his cheeks and slapped his leg. She said he was a grand lad, for the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire was known even in Langden for his meanness and cruelty.

  Once Marian carried a pitcher of water into the hut when they were talking. She felt a sudden hush as she entered, and noticed the tailing off of Philippa’s voice. ‘ . . . without her I’d have been branded, you see.’

  There was an awkward silence as Marian poured the water into a bowl. Then, as she turned, Philippa spoke up with her usual openness. ‘We’ve been telling Robert how you stole me away from Langden stocks.’

  Robert grinned shamefaced, and looked away.

  ‘Oh . . . have you now,’ said Marian, and went outside as quickly as she could.

  It was on the third day that Marian again had the feeling that they were being watched. The same low murmur of voices, and slipping away of shadows amongst the trees. She went about her tasks as usual, ignoring her suspicions, but when the first glooms of evening fell, she set off as though leaving the clearing, wrapped in her green cloak and hood. She hadn’t gone far before she turned round, kicked off her boots, and tucked
them under her arm.

  She had learned to move through the forest like a lithe green ghost, treading soundlessly through the undergrowth, her long dark cloak echoing the shapes and shades of the woodland. Stealthily she returned to the clearing, moving towards the great yew. Such a tree offered shelter from wind and rain, and a soft matting of dried leaves beneath.

  There they were, just where she thought they’d be, a big man with wide shoulders, sitting with his back against the trunk of the yew, and a smaller man hunched beside him on the ground. Marian smiled, she thought she knew the small man . . . and she certainly had no fear of him.

  Closer she moved, and closer still; then silently sat down between them.

  The big man leapt to his feet, light and quick as a wild cat. He whipped a knife from his belt.

  ‘Nay,’ she screamed, terrified by her stupidity. ‘I know thee. ’Tis Robert of Loxley tha seeks. I’ve news of him.’

  ‘What news?’ The big man caught her round the back of the neck, his great height lifting her from her feet, his breath stale in her face. The sharp blade of the knife pressed against her throat.

  ‘He is there in the cottage, with his mother. And I know you,’ she grabbed at the small man’s kirtle. ‘You are from Holt Cornmill. They call you Muchlyn, Maud and Harry’s son.’

  ‘Aye . . . tha knows me right enough,’ his voice faltered with surprise, ‘but who art thou? Leave her be, John, and let her speak.’ Muchlyn pushed back the steady clenched hand that held the knife at her throat.

  ‘I am Marian, I live with the Forestwife.’

  ‘Th’art . . . the lady. John . . . she is the one, the one that ran away from Holt.’

  John laughed and set her on her feet again. He sheathed his knife. ‘Tha’art a fool, m’lady, to creep up so on John of Hathersage – but tha’s a fearless fool, I’ll say that for thee.’

  Marian breathed out and rubbed her throat, trying to snatch back a bit of dignity. ‘I came to say . . . to tell thee both, that there’s shelter and food in the cottage of the Forestwife.’

  The two men followed her out of the undergrowth, and warily went with her to the cottage door. The big man towered above her, but Marian could see when the candlelight caught his face that he was nothing but a great, strong, overgrown lad. As soon as they saw Robert looking well and comfortable, they set their suspicions aside.

  ‘We lost thee, Rob,’ cried Muchlyn. ‘We saw thee jump from the steps, and we took our chance to run, while they followed thee. We knew tha’d seek the Forestwife – if tha lived.’

  Both lads had suffered a battering and bruising in the fight that had ended their service with the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire. Muchlyn limped and groaned as he set his foot to the ground. Agnes was soon mashing a comfrey poultice and wrapping up his leg.

  ‘Why, lad, how has tha managed to walk so far on that?’

  Muchlyn laughed, and thumped the big man’s thigh. ‘I had a great ox to carry me. I call him Little’un for he’s so tall. He calls me Big’un.’

  John laughed and thumped him back, making Much’s eyes water, so that they all had to smile and shake their heads.

  Robert struggled to his feet, though he winced with the pain. He made play of grabbing John by the neck, grinning into his face.

  ‘Want some fight, big man . . . pick on me.’

  ‘Be still,’ said Agnes, ‘or I cannot mend this lad’s leg . . . sparring like young wolves.’ She clicked her tongue.

  Marian backed away, crouching in the shadowy corner.

  ‘Tha’d best show Rob what else I carried,’ said John, his face bright with excitement. ‘I swore and blasted at him that he was so heavy for such a little ’un. Show him, Much.’

  Muchlyn’s eyes shone, and his dirty face cracked into a great grin. Slowly, from inside his kirtle he drew out a glinting silver cup, and then a platter, and then another cup, and more plates, all wrought in the finest chastened silver.

  The whole company drew breath as each piece was revealed.

  Robert put out his hand to touch and take one cup. He gave a cruel laugh. Marian shivered at the sound of it.

  ‘Now Much, tha’s made theesen into a thief. Tha’s wolf indeed. Wolfshead now, the same as me.’

  ‘Aye.’ Muchlyn grinned, pleased at that.

  Agnes found ale that she’d brewed from a gift of grain, and there was gossip and laughing and storytelling till late into the night.

  They stayed in the Forestwife’s clearing for two days. Robert was on his feet and walking well, and Much hobbled nimbly, supported on a stick that John shaped into a crutch. At first they were busy cutting great staves for longbows from the straightest branches of the yews, and ash staves for their arrows. They gathered up the feathers from the hens and geese, shouting with pleasure at the fine fletchings they’d make.

  But on the second day they gathered by the doorstep, cuffing each other and sparring restlessly and getting in the way. They ate as though they thought they’d never see another meal, shouting foul oaths at each other all the while, hopeless and uncomfortable at the sight of the miserable procession of those who sought the Forestwife.

  Tom hovered around them, listening to their yarns, copying their oaths, refusing his work, and leaving Marian to do the chores. John would follow Emma in her round of tasks, attempting to help her stack the wood that she tirelessly replaced when each slow charcoal burning was done. He did not tease her or touch her, but it was plain to see that she shrank away from him.

  Agnes watched them all anxiously, rubbing her stiff fingers, and shaking her head and clicking her tongue. Suddenly it was clear that they could not go on as they were.

  Agnes caught hold of Philippa’s arm. ‘’Tis no good,’ she said. ‘We must be rid of them.’

  ‘Aye.’

  Philippa firmly took John aside, and Agnes called Robert into the lean-to.

  Marian watched from the cottage doorway as Philippa wagged her head and folded her arms, speaking solemnly to John. She could not hear what was said, but the big lad listened well, his face serious. Philippa pointed to the tiny grave beside Selina’s.

  Then Agnes called Marian inside. Mother and son sat close together, Robert looking none too pleased. ‘These lads are on their way,’ said Agnes. ‘They are well enough to fend for themselves. Well enough to be looking to cause trouble here.’

  Marian said nothing, though she was glad enough to hear it.

  Agnes got up, and Robert awkwardly followed her.

  ‘Come here, both.’

  Agnes stood between them, taking each one by the hand. She spoke slowly and seriously. ‘You two are the ones that I love best in all the world. T’would be a blessing on me, if you could manage to agree.’

  They stood in silence for a moment, Robert and Marian both red-faced and staring at the ground.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Aye,’ they both muttered and nodded their heads. Then, very stiff and formal, Robert bowed to Marian, and just as stiffly she dropped a curtsy to him.

  All the women gathered to see them go.

  ‘Where will you be heading?’ asked Agnes, anxious again.

  ‘South,’ said Robert. ‘South, to where the great road passes through the forests. Full of rich travellers it is, yet close to Sherwood bounds, so that we may not starve for lack of venison.’

  ‘Aye,’ said John. ‘We shall do well enough there for a while.’

  Agnes sighed. ‘I do not wish to nurse thee for a severed hand, or hear tha’s died in Nottingham gaol.’

  Robert hugged her and laughed.

  ‘They’d have to catch us first, Mother. We are too fast and fine for them. And we have other plans that might find us a shelter and food for the winter.’

  ‘Oh aye, and where might that shelter be?’

  ‘We think of going north to Howden Manor, for we hear the Bishop of Durham is gathering fighting men there. Old though he is, he’s loyal to Richard still, and he’s making ready to take Tickhill Castle from Count John.’

>   ‘Can tha find naught to do but fight, lads?’ Philippa shook her head.

  ‘Nay,’ they laughed. ‘What else is there for such as us?’

  John bowed to Agnes. ‘I thank thee for our rest and food. We will not linger here, for you have strange sad ghosts that cry and moan about your forest. Isn’t that right, Much?’

  ‘Aye. John fears nowt, but he got the shivers when he heard the weeping that’s carried in the wind. It came to us beneath the branches of your great yew.’

  With much waving and calling the three lads went on their way, but Marian turned away from the others as they saw them off. She went back into the clearing, heading straight towards the tallest tree, her eyes sharp for every movement, listening for the slightest sound.

  9

  The Heretics

  THE CLEARING SEEMED strangely quiet after Robert and his friends had gone, though Marian had little time to notice it. The autumn gathering was in full swing, and Agnes fretted about her stocks more than ever.

  Marian and Emma tramped the woods with Tom, seeking out blackberries and crab apples for pasties and pies, elderberries for wine, and hips and haws for Agnes’s remedies. Then for the winter stocks they must gather and store chestnuts, hazelnuts, beech mast and acorns.

  Marian and Tom stood beneath the yew tree in the dusk, though they were weary from their hard day’s work.

  ‘I can’t hear it,’ said Tom. ‘Anyways . . . it don’t come every night.’

  Marian put her finger to her lips to silence him. She was determined that once and for all she would hear the weeping in the woods.

  They stood there still and listening, though there was nothing but an owl hooting, and the distant rustling that always came from the wind in the trees and the running of small animals.

  Tom sighed. ‘We could stand here till dawn and still not hear it.’

  ‘You go then,’ Marian snapped. ‘I’ll see to it myself.’

  Tom shrugged his shoulders and turned towards the cottage as though he might well take her at her word, but as he bent down to pick up their heavy baskets . . . it came. Just a faint eerie sound, so indistinct that it could have been imagined. Tom stopped and turned to Marian.