“Stand behind the lines! Bear coming through!”
After the performing bear, there was another round of dancing and not a little tippling before we were told to get behind the marks again, for ’twas time for the Cumbrian wrestling.
“If we left now, we might get home before your father learns that we’re gone,” Maisry said.
“And not see the play? What are you thinking of?”
Staring over my head at the knight, she didn’t answer.
A man stood in the center of the square (which he called a ring) and explained the complicated sport we were about to witness between the champion of the world and his challenger. They would do anything to get each other to the ground and ladies were warned to be of stout heart. The champion had a brown blob sewn to his chest which was a ram’s head; the challenger had a four-leaf clover. Naturally I was for the challenger.
And he won! ’Twas a fearsome long battle with much bleeding of noses and groaning and grunting, but finally Green put Brown flat on the dirt and a new champion was born, as the referee said. Two farmers dragged a fine ram in full coat to the center as prize, as we all cheered lustily.
We were jumping up and down. “Who were you for, Maisry?”
She came suddenly to a standstill. “Let’s move to the other side and to the front for the play,” she said, and she elbowed her way forward.
For a moment her tone distressed me, but I soon forgot it as the crowd quieted for the play. A priest climbed up the steps to the platform to explain the great event.
“We’re about to enact the creation of Adam and Eve here before you, the temptation of Adam, the temptation of Eve, and the expulsion from Paradise. Will you be quiet, please?”
He climbed down and the drum began a slow thump, like a heart beating. From a stairs behind the platform a man climbed to the center and raised his hands over us: he was all in white, wore a cross and a crown.
“That be God Hisself,” I heard from behind me, and I went all gooseflesh.
Next God reached down the stairs and pulled up a second man, dressed in white socks and shirt much too tight.
“And that be Adam,” continued the informative voice, “in his naked state.”
God continued to make broad gestures and next produced Eve, a man dressed exactly like Adam except that quinces had been put under his shirt. Adam made much then of losing his rib, as if it hurt, and the crowd went wild with pleasure.
Suddenly a woman at the back of the square screamed. We turned around in time to see the Devil coming through, all in red he was, with a tail and loathsome mask with evil eyes and a long tongue, and we, too, shrieked in terror. He danced back and forth toward Adam and held out a round polished apple; Adam refused it. The Devil ran among us as we fell back screaming, then pointed to his head as a thought came, turned back to the platform and went up to Eve who accepted the apple.
“Where’s the African snake?” I asked Maisry disappointed.
“Now who’s this bonny lass? Are you making merry, p’tite?” a man’s voice said above me in French.
I glanced up, startled to see the knight looking down from his charger. How had he come on me so close and so quietly? Maisry squeezed my hand hard and I realized I should pretend not to understand French, so I stayed mute.
“Come now, your name, little rabbit. Such nice gray eyes and coins to spend too.”
My mouth went dry, my stomach tight. He looked like a falcon with his black pouched eyes, deep frown and slick nose. His lips drew back in a sneering smile and two teeth were gone. I became aware of the heavy sweat on his horse, the sour stench from his oozing oily mail, his filthy hands holding his sword and reins and his hair chopped in uneven black patches. My knees trembled as he deliberately drew his sword and leaned toward me but, instead of stabbing me through, he used the point to raise the band from my hair. My heavy gold braids fell to my knees.
“So,” he said mockingly, “the fledgling is found.”
At that moment, God expelled Adam and Eve from Paradise and the crowd cheered. The unlucky couple dashed into the square and were surrounded by a whole army of demons in red, whacking this way and that, as everyone joined in the sport of hitting and yelling curses.
Instantly Maisry grabbed my hand and cried, “Follow me!”
She jerked me under two flailing sticks and I suffered a painful hit on my rump, then darted and angled back low into the screaming crowd! Behind us we heard shouts of protest as the knight tried to follow us on his horse.
“Out of my way! Give to!” the knight ordered.
We didn’t look back to see his fate for Maisry had dropped on all fours and was crawling under the wooden platform with me close behind. We bunched our skirts to our waists and scooted like brown cats under the boards. Half mad with fear, I followed my friend blindly, having no idea where we were going or who was after us. We emerged at the back and far end of the stage.
“Should we seek sanctuary?” I asked, eying the church.
“No sanctuary from that devil,” she replied grimly. “Come, and stay low!”
No need to tell me twice. I bent like a hunchback as she darted ahead, away from the church and behind a pigyard, then to a lilac bush, a cow-byre, a series of huts and trees till I was dizzy. Suddenly she pulled me inside a dark cot.
“I … see … some … body!” an ancient voice croaked from the floor. “I … see … some … body!”
“Aye, Gran, ’tis only me, Maisry. Here, dear, you’ve dropped your honey-teat.”
Maisry thrust a small dirty bag between toothless gums. “My grand-dam,” she explained. “She’s near blind, but a good soul withal. Get into the shadow.”
She pulled me away from the door and stood to the side herself so she could see out.
“Is he there?” I asked piteously
“I … see … some … body!” the crone whined shrilly.
“Go hold her hand, Alix, so she stays quiet.”
I crawled on hands and knees across urine leets to where the old lady rested on her pallet under the eaves. Her hand was like bark.
The squire passed the door not five feet distant. Another horse rode close.
“Did you see them?” the knight asked.
“A boy said they came this way,” the squire wheezed.
“Damn. The peasant girl may live nearby. Let’s circle the village, you to the left, me to the right, and meet back here. And ask everyone.”
We heard them ride away.
“We should run now,” Maisry told me. “If they start searching the cots, we’re lost.”
“I’m afeared.”
“Me too, but we must get back to the castle, Alix. Your father’s there already, and ’tis our safest place.”
I trusted her judgment more than my own. I’d never been away from the castle before, knew nothing of how to escape danger. Again we braved the dirt paths and soon arrived safely at the same wending way where we’d entered Dunsmere. We set ourselves as fast a pace as we could, close to a trot. Then, on the far side of a bend, we heard a horse neigh behind us. Maisry stopped and looked around desperately for cover. Nothing but bare fields, hedgerows, ditches. She pulled me through thick brambles bordering a ditch and again we bent low to run behind it.
The clop of hooves came closer.
At a corner, Maisry abruptly pulled me along the hedge of another field away from the path and away from Wanthwaite. For a while we thought we’d evaded him; then his horse neighed again. He was almost upon us.
Maisry whirled and spat through her teeth, “Do exactly as I say, Alix. Get into the ditch and find a spot where the hedge grows low to the water. Sink all the way in up to your nose—lean your head back so your hair doesn’t show. Don’t you dare move from there until I call you. Do you understand?”
“What are you going to do?” I faltered.
She gave me a rude shove and grunted, “Quick!” as she went back through the hedge and began to walk in the open. I plunged into the icy, muddy ditch and wade
d awkwardly toward a thornbush a few paces ahead where I stretched out on my side along the edge, allowing half my face to be exposed under the low cover.
Maisry had walked even with me when the knight reached her.
“Hooooa.” He pulled his horse short. “All right, wench, where’s your noble friend?”
Maisry truly didn’t understand French and made no answer. The knight repeated the question in poor Saxon.
“Noble friend? I have no noble friend.”
“Your noble mistress then,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “the blond beauty in Dunsmere.”
“Aye, yes, the blonde with braids. She stood beside me, I recall, but I don’t know her.”
I heard a jangle of coins. “These are all yours if you tell me where you hid the Lady Alix. Don’t look so afrighted—I mean her no harm.”
At the sound of my own name, I breathed in ditch water and almost choked. I put my hand over my nose to control myself and listened hard.
Clever Maisry assumed a wheedling whine. “Please, sir, I don’t know no Lady Alix but I think I know what direction the blond doxy went, if you’ll give me some coin. I’m only a poor girl and my mum gone with the falling sickness …”
He wasn’t fooled.
“Yes, you know her well enough. You hid her in the village, then led me on this wild goose chase as decoy. I think you owe me coin for my trouble.” He paused. “I’ll take it in labor and save you embarrassment.”
The word labor was filled with spite, as if ’twere a threat.
“Oh please, sir, no …” Maisry’s voice was breathless with fear.
I heard the clank of his armor as he dismounted, then a scream from Maisry. Quickly I crawled up the muddy bank and peered through the bush. What I saw made my heart burst. Maisry had started to run when the knight reached the ground; she might have escaped too, for he was too weighted down to give chase, except that he caught her ankle with a chain and she fell. Then he lumbered over her, smashed her cheek with his metal knuckles so that she cried out again. As she lay there whimpering, he began to undress. He unfastened his scabbard and let it drop with a clatter; next came his tunic; then the long process of his hauberk and mail; then his blouse and he was down to his leggings and breeches. He untied the leggings and finally dropped his breeches to stand naked.
Deus juva me!
He was not a man—he was a monster! For no mortal ever looked so, never like this naked knight. Between his legs grew a horn, aye, a protruding red organ as long and as hard as a boar’s tusk. ’Twas red in color and had a small head as if it might have a separate mind all its own.
Then it struck me what I was gazing on and I began to pray hard to overcome his evil. This was one of those monstrous offsprings born to a human woman and an incubus! In spite of his language, he must be a Scot for I’d heard all my life how the Scots mate with monsters, goblins, bears and boars.
Maisry gasped in horror and I thrust my fist to my mouth to keep my own cry in check. Should I go help her? Could I help?
The knight fondled his deformity and suddenly pushed Maisry to the ground. Then he was atop her and permitting his incubus-organ to bite her again and again as he pushed it against her. She turned away violently and our eyes met through the brambles! Instantly she mouthed “Get down! Hide!” and I withdrew into the stagnant water.
I seemed to be there forever. I knew the knight was dressing again, heard the clinking of his armor, then another hard thud, then the jingle of harness bells disappearing into the distance.
I waited for Maisry to call me. After all, someone else might be in sight.
My body was numb, the silence absolute.
Gradually and soundlessly I again rolled onto the bank and looked through the bush: Maisry was still lying on her back, unmoved as far as I could see.
“Maisry,” I whispered.
When she didn’t answer, I rose to my knees and strained to see in the direction the knight had ridden. No one in sight. Shakily, I stood all the way. The faint throb of the drum still sounded from Dunsmere and invisible crows cawed from above but otherwise there was no sound or movement. The fields lay black and empty, the sky was a lowering gray.
I pushed through the hedge and looked down. Benedicite, what was this? Maisry was twisted in a strange position, her legs splayed apart. Then I saw blood gushing from her wounded crotch and her stomach streaked red!
“Maisry, what happened?” I cried.
I dropped to my knees to pull her dress down. Who would have dreamed that the horn was so sharp? That it could cut Maisry’s skin to ribbons? Awful! Awful!
“Oh, Maisry, sweet Jesus save you! Do you think you can walk?”
I took her hand and looked into her face. ’Twas lying in the dirt in a position that never was, for her head was cut neatly off her shoulders!
The last thud! While I’d waited, he’d drawn his sword across her throat! Or mayhap his sharp incubus! Everything blood. Maisry’s blood!
“Aaaaaauuuuu!” ’Twas an inhuman howl and had come from my heart, for I had done this! I had forced Maisry to come on this pilgrimage! She hadn’t wanted to, had tried to dissuade me but I wouldn’t listen. Oh, my God, how can I bear it!
I fell atop her mutilated body, still warm, the blood still warm. I would have kissed her dead face only it was detached, not there. Oh, surely ’tis a nightmare! This cannot be real! This blood, these tears, oh, God!
No nightmare.
I lay on her, my breath shallow. How can I face Dame Margery? How can I live with my guilt? How can I live without Maisry?
Should I have come out when he said my name? Could I have saved her? Another guilt: aye, I could have offered myself for it was I he sought.
With harsh sobs, I hugged her close, my smiling curly-mouthed Maisry gone forever. I prayed for her, talked to her, hoping her soul was still near. Gradually we grew cold together, she in her thickening blood, I in my ditch water. My teeth chattered and I listened to the heavy stillness around me.
There above, the screech of a kite come to peck at Maisry, and I spread myself protectively over her. Then more silence.
The drum in Dunsmere—when had it stopped? Where was the sun in its run? Had I been here long?
I thought of the incubus-knight. He would have had time to get back to Dunsmere by now, to search for me, to ask people if they’d seen me with Maisry. Surely someone had and someone would talk when they heard that silver jingle. I sat up, my brown garb sticky with blood.
The fields seemed different, ominous, evil. I should have saved Maisry, but soothly she had died to save me. Was I going to betray her sacrifice by becoming still another victim? Methought I heard hoofbeats though it could have been my own heart, but I knew I must get back to Wanthwaite.
Quickly I bent over the dear tangled body to give it its last rites and ministrations. I said a fast prayer and blessed her on her journey, crossed her arms, arranged her head so it seemed to be part of her again, closed her eyes, weighted her kerchief across her face with a stone. From her clenched fist, I took the red ribbon for remembrance.
Then I stood and got my bearings. Wanthwaite’s towers were visible to my left though a heavy cloud had settled on them while the sun, now small and pale as a sparrows egg, hung timelessly above. Grimly I picked a course along hedgerows in case I was forced to hide again.
I wanted my mother.
THE CLOUD OVER WANTHWAITE WAS SMOKE.
Dazed, I stood on the far side of the river and tried to understand. Flames still rose from the swaled bailey, but what was the damage behind? Heavy chains squeezed my heart so that each beat was painful, but I fought to keep a clear head. Surely the iron gate had held, surely my father had long since returned and raised the moat bridge, surely all within were safe.
Still, best be cautious.
I dipped my headband in the water and tied it across my nose and mouth against the smoke, then began my slow ascent. No worm in the ground ever moved more invisibly than I did as I climbed through the hanger, fl
attening myself against one tree trunk after another, ever alert to human sounds or movements.
My horse Justice was gone, and I trembled with fear. As I neared the palings, I relaxed my vigilance somewhat for the flames were still flickering and there was so much burning stuff on the ground that I had to keep my eyes low. Moreover I didn’t imagine anyone was lurking in the midst of the fire.
At last I reached the moat, prepared to turn into the kitchen courtyard gate on the other side of the bridge, but instinctively first sought the donjon where my father might be stationed.
There was no one at the window.
And the iron gate was open.
As I took in the awful significance of those facts, an iron gate inside my own head clanged shut: Don’t look ahead, take each revelation as it comes. For I had to proceed.
The bailey smoke was cast behind me now so I could remove my kerchief. The acrid smell was stifling and there was a constant crackle of timber burning; otherwise ’twas eerily still. No humans, no animals; even the flies had departed.
After many tentative starts, I rested my weight on the plank bridge across the moat and began to cross, picking my footings with care. Even so, one board squeaked and sounded to my ears like a tree crashing! I paused a long moment, waiting for a response which didn’t come. I continued.
Rather than go through the main gate, I again turned to the kitchen courtyard. Inside I saw a stew still bubbling, and in spite of myself felt a surge of hope. Then I went through the second gate to the main courtyard.
I leaned weakly against the wall, not understanding the grisly sight before me. All the flies in the world had descended upon Wanthwaite and formed a living buzzing mountain in our court. The enthusiasm of the beasts sickened me as I gazed at their blue-black bodies.
One round whitish object lying apart took my attention and I stepped forward to study it. ’Twas a bald human head, its open eyes crawling with flies—Sister Eulalie!
I clapped my hand to my mouth to hold back my scream.
Shield of Three Lions Page 3
