Quiet fell as the villagers stared. Then resentful muttering rose all around.
“Has the Hooded One gone mad?”
“Drunk?”
“Stupid?”
But Marian put fresh roast meat on to a trencher and passed it to the Sheriff. “It’s plain but wholesome,” she told him. “Eat up!”
Warily the Sheriff began to nibble at his food.
“When we have feasted,” Robert bellowed, “we shall see our Sheriff dance around our Samhain fire.”
There was laughter then and protests faded. Soon everyone was eating and drinking again.
It was noon the next day by the time they all woke. They’d slept late on the floors of Langden’s huts, now they yawned and stretched and wearily prepared to return to their homes.
But before they went, Isabel gathered visitors and villagers alike around the still-smoking mound of the manor house. Lady Matilda was carried out on a litter and gently lowered to the ground. Then John led forward the Sheriff and his horse. The man was pale, clearly still fearful that they’d kill him.
Once more Robert ordered the man’s hands untied. James and Mother Veronica unrolled two carefully written sheets of parchment that they’d been working on. James read them out loud, so that all the assembled villagers could hear.
“I Gilbert de Gorre, High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire and Derbyshire, do solemnly declare that the Lady Matilda of Langden shall dispose of her daughter Isabel in marriage where she will. This I assert in the name of His Majesty King John, who as Shire Reeve I represent. To be witnessed by Veronica, Prioress of Saint Mary Magdalen’s nuns, and Sir Walter of Stainthorpe, Knight of the Order of Saint Lazarus.”
A ripple of surprise and agreement went around the gathering as at last the villagers began to see some sense in Robert’s madness. The Sheriff was given pen and ink and he glumly signed both papers.
“Now,” cried Robert, “fasten him to his horse.”
The Sheriff’s face was red with shame as he was roughly tied on to his horse, wrong way round. Robert rolled up one of the parchments and thrust it into the Sheriff’s jerkin. Walter of Stainthorpe took up the other, handling it carefully in his gloved gauntlets.
“This copy shall be kept in the preceptory of Bitterwood,” he said. “Should the agreement be broken, I shall call upon my Templar brethren to bring about the execution of justice.”
The Sheriff nodded, sick at the very thought. Robert bent forward and spoke low to him.
“Thank your lady wife for your life!” he hissed.
Then he slapped the horse’s backside and Tom led the miserable man away from Langden towards the bounds of Clipstone.
Later that day the Knights of Saint Lazarus saddled their horses and packed the armour and weapons that had provided disguise. Walter of Stainthorpe strode close to where Alan stood with Tom.
“Boy?” he called in his husky voice. “We have need of one strong fellow to come with us and help us with our steeds and goods.”
“Me?” cried Alan, his face lighting up.
“Who better?” Walter asked.
Alan took a step forwards eagerly. “I’ll come, sir, willingly, but might I not stay with you? I’d serve you, sir in any way I could.”
“Aye? Indeed!” Walter cried. “Would you learn to be my squire?”
Doubt and delight showed clear on Alan’s face. “You’ll have me?”
“Certainly! You shall be my squire, and if you train hard to fight and pray, maybe in time you shall be knight!”
Then as Alan went with Tom to collect his few belongings, Walter of Stainthorpe went down on one knee before Mother Veronica. He took her hand in his great gauntlet.
“Madam, I am still your knight,” he said.
When at last it was time for them to go, Magda went to Alan hesitantly. She took his hand and pressed it to her face. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I am happier than I ever thought to be. Some day I’ll come back and spar with thee.”
Epilogue
The Forestwife and her friends gathered at Langden for the Christmas feasts. The sturdy new manor house had been built with great effort before the coldest weather came. New Langden Manor was smaller and cosier, and Matilda and Isabel insisted that Christmas there was better than ever, with their friends all gathered about them.
There was sudden anxiety when in the middle of the meal, a red-faced kitchen lad announced the arrival of men and horses in the Sheriff’s livery. Everyone got up from the table fearfully and ran to the door. Worries were soon turned to delight. It was not an armed guard, but a packhorse train, loaded with warm rugs and fine worked wallhangings. A present to Lady Matilda from the Sheriff’s wife.
Winter passed and Langden and Barnsdale knew peace. The simple Christmas gifts had done much to calm nagging doubts, and as spring returned the forest folk planned their May Day revels once more.
*
It was May Day morning and inside the Forestwife’s cottage, the fire was crackling.
“Hold still!” Marian cried.
Magda found it hard not to wriggle as Marian fastened the laces on the fine white linen gown that Isabel had brought for her. This year Marian had insisted right from the start that she was far too ancient to be the Green Lady.
The old one nodded mysteriously. “It should be Magda,” she said. “Best she learns soon what she must do.”
Magda frowned. “What do you mean? Can you see what my life shall be?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I cannot see it all, sweetheart, but this I know. That fine worked girdle round Marian’s waist shall one day be yours.”
Magda caught her breath. “I shall be Forestwife?”
Suddenly loving and fearful, she went and put her arms around Marian’s neck.
Eleanor smiled. “Not for a long time yet, but some day.”
“But if Robert is old or gone, there’ll be no Hooded One to help me.”
Marian and Eleanor both laughed and Eleanor spoke firmly. “There will always be a Forestwife and there will always be a Hooded One.”
In the distance they heard faint voices singing sweetly, but Magda was not satisfied.
“Who will he be?” she insisted.
Eleanor shook her head. “Look to the Green Man,” she said.
“I thought that would be Father or Robert.”
Magda was uncertain about dancing with the Green Man if she didn’t know who it was hidden inside all those leaves, but there was no time left to worry. The singers were at the door, demanding to crown her. Marian kissed her.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “You will enjoy being May Queen.”
Eleanor flung the door open and the hut was filled with children. They crowned Magda with sweet-smelling hawthorn and dragged her out to the maypole by the trysting tree. Robert and John were waiting there for them. Marian went to hug them both, while the children ran off into the woods.
“Who can he be?” Magda whispered, her heart thumping wildly.
At last the children were returning, dragging the strange leaf-clad figure out from the shadows into the sunlight.
Magda bit her lip and twisted her fingers together. The Green Man came dancing towards her . . . then suddenly she caught her breath and smiled with understanding. The Green Man was tall and beautiful, but as he danced and twirled, he dragged his right leg just a little. Magda held out her arms and ran towards him – the magical Green Man.
About the Author
Theresa Tomlinson was born in Sussex. The daughter of a vicar, she spent her early childhood in various places in the north of England. As a child she had no interest in writing, but she loved reading. Her main interest was drawing and painting. She attended Hull College of Art, and later trained as a teacher at Hull College of Education. She taught as an infant teacher for five years.
Theresa and her husband live in Whitby, North Yorkshire, where Theresa spent her childhood. Over the years she has acquired an outsta
nding reputation for her historical novels, particularly those, like Wolf Girl, set on the north-east coast of England. Shortlisted twice for the Carnegie Medal and for the Sheffield Children’s Book Award, Theresa takes a keen interest in the area where she lives.
Recent visits to Turkey have fuelled her enthusiasm for the ancient mythology of that part of the world. Her scrupulous research has resulted in two epic stories, The Moon Riders and Voyage of the Snake Lady.
Also by Theresa Tomlinson
Little Stowaway
(Picture book with Jane Browne)
The Flither Pickers
The Rope-Carrier
The Cellar Lad
The Herring Girls
Riding the Waves
Dancing through the Shadows
The Forestwife
CHILD OF THE MAY
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 47977 3
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Penguin Random House Company
This ebook edition published 2011
Copyright © Theresa Tomlinson, 2011
First Published in Great Britain
Jonathan Cape 9781856815130 2011
The right of Theresa Tomlinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
RANDOM HOUSE CHILDREN’S PUBLISHERS UK
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
www.randomhousechildrens.co.uk
www.totallyrandombooks.co.uk
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Child of the May Page 10
