by Jacky Gray
‘It’s important, you mustn’t touch anything. I’ve been reading books about how poisonous they are. I got it wrong; you can eat the berries, as long as you spit out the pips. And the poison doesn’t merely affect us, but cattle, pigs and especially horses.’ He was concerned after his detailed research.
‘Why would they plant so many trees if they are so poisonous?’
‘Because the wood is so useful. Most of the longbows were made from yew, they still are.’ He explained how in olden days archery was a skill every man in England, be they nobleman or peasant, had to learn.
She paused, trying to remember what Professor Cathair had told them. ‘Isn’t yew supposed to protect against evil?’
He nodded. ‘That’s why you find yew trees at holy sites like sacred groves.’
‘I remember. And churchyards. Hasn’t it got special powers for talking to spirits? Like at Samhain.’
‘Correct. And it’s used in sacred carvings.’
‘Like those in the meeting house?’
‘Exactly. That’s why the woods are protected.’
Patricia’s attention was caught by a thin line of cloud crossing the full moon. They stopped for a moment to admire her beauty and seek her protection before continuing in silence, both caught up in their thoughts.
Fences surrounded the forest, with frequent signs warning of the dangers. Normally they both obeyed the laws, but tonight, their purpose was justified. Ignoring the signs, they climbed over the wooden slats. Archer lit the lantern, holding it high so they could make their way through the rows of yew trees. ‘Where did the parchment say was the best place to search?’
‘In a clearing, near to ferns.’
In some places, the trees were very close together, making it tricky to find a way through. Archer stopped for a moment. Something felt wrong. He couldn’t say exactly what, merely that his warrior instincts were protesting about the danger. Closing his eyes, he tuned into the environment. It had been an unusually hot day and the air was thick with a resinous mist which seemed to burn the inside of his nostrils.
Patricia stopped in alarm. ‘What’s wrong Archer?’
He started to feel light-headed – not good. ‘Cover your mouth and nose, there’s a strange vapour in the air, it’s making me dizzy.’
She pulled her shawl up to cover her nose. ‘There’s something else. You were worried before we even reached the vapour.’
‘Just a hunch. Did you tell anyone you were coming here?’
‘No, why?’
‘I just have the feeling we’re being watched. I hope it’s not Renegates.’
She took his hand. ‘Did you hear something?’
‘No, that’s what’s so strange, I can’t hear a thing. Maybe it’s this vapour. My head’s starting to buzz.’ He shook his head and pointed to the left. ‘Come on, we need to press on. The trees seem to thin out a bit over there, it’s probably a clearing. If we can’t find it there, I think we’ll have to go back. I don’t like this at all.’
Just before they reached the clearing, she stopped, pulling on his hand.
He was keen to finish the task and leave the forest. ‘Come on, it’s not much further.’
‘I’ve just remembered. I did tell someone. Adelisa was asking about …’ She got no further as a horn blew and they were surrounded by a group of howling demons wearing red masks. The crude black circles painted around the eyes made them a vision of hell.
Archer fought bravely, trying to use the lantern as a weapon, swinging it into the face of one of his attackers and hearing a satisfactory crunch as it squashed into a nose. Patricia screamed as she was grabbed and he turned at the noise. In the brief distraction, someone smashed his arm with a heavy blow, knocking the lantern to the forest floor where it went out. They swarmed over him like flies over raw meat. He tried to resist, but there were far too many of them and he ended up on the ground. Several of them took the opportunity to land an extra punch while he was helpless.
‘Someone pick up the lantern; we don’t want to start a fire. Not with all this wood around.’ Archer recognised the patronizing tone of the boy in charge. Two black horns attached at the top of his mask, marked him out as the leader. ‘Bring them over here.’
Arms pulled Archer up and dragged him across the clearing. His first thought was for Patricia and he shouted at the two brutes holding her. ‘Let her go. It’s not her you want.’
He struggled against the four who were crowded around him hanging onto his arms. A nod of the horns gave the signal for two of them to kick his legs from under him. He was once more on the ground with someone kneeling on each limb and a fifth one on his back.
‘Why wouldn’t we let her go? If it wasn’t for Patricia, we never would have got the chance to hold this council hearing. Thank you, my dear. You played your part well.’
She trembled with shock, shaking her head in denial, but Archer couldn’t see anything except a pair of fancy boots he knew to be Edlyn’s.
‘Now, if you’d like to go home, your work is done.’ He whispered to one of the boys to make sure she got home safely without talking to anyone.
Returning to where his victim lay, Edlyn stood so close to Archer’s head he had to move it to avoid his nose being crushed under the boot heel. ‘Archer, you have broken the sacred rules of Hengist. You will be tried. Then we, the Hengist junior council, will decide your punishment. Get him up.’
Two boys hauled him to his feet, but they hadn’t reckoned on his powers of recovery. He lurched backward unsteadily, taking advantage of their instability to launch himself forward, butting his head into Edlyn’s stomach, winding him badly.
Edlyn shouted his protest, swearing violently. Every boy in the clearing piled into the mêlée which followed. Except a mêlée is usually a team event, but no one was on Archer’s side. Once more he was kicked and punched from all sides. He gave as good as he got, biting at anything which came close to his face. This was no time for mercy; he poked work-hardened fingers into as much yielding flesh as he could, going for eyes and nostrils when he could see them. His own lantern was smashed over his head in the blow which finally ended their misery. But his was only just beginning.
7 Poison
Archer woke as something stung his face so badly he thought they were splashing him with acid. As a drop reached his lips, he realised it was simply water; the stinging was a mixture of blood and sweat running down his face. He couldn’t feel anything in the rest of his body; his limbs were strapped tightly round the trunk of a huge yew tree in the centre of the clearing.
‘You shouldn’t have done that. Now your punishment will be even worse.’ There was no mistaking that voice.
‘What happened to the trial?’ Archer refused to be intimidated, especially by such a coward.
‘Everyone voted guilty while you were asleep.’
‘Bunch of cowards. Ten onto one isn’t fair. And you haven’t even got the guts to show your faces. Is that because they are so ugly, Edlyn? Melvyn? Beorn?’ He went on to name one or two others and as he did, they took off their masks until only Edlyn and Melvyn were wearing theirs. Archer felt a breeze on his body and glanced down. They had taken his tunic and in the moonlight, he could see dark lines of smeared blood.
‘With a face like that, he dares to call us ugly.’ Edlyn held up a large yew branch. ‘Right, for the crime of associating with Magi girls, the punishment is three lashes. Who will take the challenge?’
Melvyn came forward and took the branch, slashing it across Archer’s arms and chest three times.
The blows were weak and barely made an impact, he could put up with that all night. Archer resisted the impulse to laugh, keeping his tone neutral. ‘Is that it? You’re merely going to tickle me?’
A couple of the boys snickered and Edlyn glared at them before continuing. ‘For the crime of trying to befriend the Outil, the punishment is five lashes. Who will take the challenge?’
No one moved. Edlyn glared fiercely at the Outil boys until Raven stepped forwa
rd. Archer had beaten the blacksmith’s son recently in a practice. Raven had fallen to the ground with many of the other lads laughing at him.
This penalty was different: Raven was stronger, his blows harder. He’d picked an older branch with some deadwood which bit into Archer’s flesh like thorns, scoring fresh scratches through his skin.
Archer didn’t flinch for the first four; the last one caused all the damage. A loose twig pulled across his face, breaking off so he had to spit out the small needles caught inside his mouth. The bitter taste reminded him that the leaves and branches were highly noxious. He thought about saying something then stopped himself with a wry grin. They were all exposing themselves to the poison.
‘Oh you liked that did you? Does the old witch feed them to you? Is that where your strength comes from?’ Edlyn was encouraged by the nervous laughter. ‘Boys, give me some twigs, Archer’s hungry.’ He scrunched them up and stuffed them into Archer’s mouth.
This had gone beyond a jest and Archer tried to spit them out, but they were sticky with resin. He croaked the single word, ‘Poison’ through bruised and bleeding lips.
Archer’s tormentor pretended to listen hard. ‘What’s that you say, you want more? My, my, you are hungry.’ He scrunched another handful and stuffed them in.
Waiting until his aggressor had finished, Archer spat out as much as he could, then roared the word. ‘POISON.’
‘Oh dear, are the berries poisonous? Never mind, there were only one or two. You might have a bit of a bad tummy tomorrow. Tut, tut, you spat out all your food, that’s not polite. Maybe we should hold your mouth shut ’til you swallow.’
‘That’s enough, Edlyn. You’ve made your point.’ Beorn glared at him in disgust. ‘I think he’s had more than enough punishment.’ Throwing his mask on the ground, he strode off, leaving a stunned and chastened group behind.
Archer looked into their eyes and saw several different emotions – horror, shame and extreme discomfort. What had started out as a silly prank had become something much more sinister.
Edlyn tried to resume, brandishing the branch. ‘For daring to be cheeky to a Magi boy, and the heinous crime of being rude to him, the punishment is seven lashes. Who will take the challenge?’
Everyone else had reached their limit, so he turned and started thrashing Archer himself. He got no further than three when two angry juniors took the branch off him and flung him to the ground. The rest of the boys had melted away when the four figures ran into the clearing, but Edlyn was so absorbed in his task he neither heard nor saw them.
Tybalt cut through the ropes with a sharp knife and Patricia helped Archer to the ground and gave him some water. Archer rinsed out his mouth three times then tipped the rest of the water over his body. Only then did he reach for the tunic, his eyes still closed.
Tybalt was curious. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘They were whipping me with yew branches.’
‘Archer, you need to bathe properly, you’re covered in cuts and scratches.’ Patricia understood the danger.
Tybalt, however, did not. ‘I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss. A few cuts will soon heal.’
‘Everything about the yew is poisonous. It will get into his blood through the cuts.’ She was near to tears as Archer’s words slurred.
‘It’s not just that, I may have swallowed some.’
‘How?’
‘Some leaves got in my mouth.’ Despite his weakened state, Archer would never tell tales. It wasn’t honourable.
Finn, one of the lads holding Edlyn, was listening and came over to find out the full story. ‘They wouldn’t have just got in your mouth. Was it that little runt? Was he stuffing them in? That’s the kind of mean trick old donkey-brain gets up to.’ He glared at Edlyn. ‘I’m fed up with him bulling everyone into joining in his twisted little games. I’ll make him talk.’ He grabbed Tybalt’s knife. ‘I’ll chop his balls off and stuff them in his mouth, see how he likes eating poison.’
Archer didn’t know Finn well enough to know it was mere talk; he’d trained with him and knew his strength. Right now he looked more than mean enough to carry out his threats. With his last reserves of strength, Archer pulled himself up and staggered a few steps to the small group. The third boy, an Outil called Fletch, was holding the cringing Edlyn as Finn threatened him with the knife.
No one knew exactly what happened next. Patricia screamed as Archer lunged for the weapon and Finn turned in surprise, knife in hand. It sank into Archer’s forearm, cutting through several layers of tissue before Finn had the sense to let go.
*
Rubbing the scar as if to wipe out the memory, Archer thought back to that night, wondering if Edlyn really knew the leaves were poisonous. The coward had taken his chance and fled while everyone else tried frantically to stop the blood flow and get Archer properly washed and back to the village.
Archer knew nothing after that, only what he’d been told.
*
The three boys had carried him to Ganieda who knew exactly what to do as the toxins in his body set up a horrendous fever.
Apparently Finn, Fletch and Tybalt took it in turns night and day to keep him cool and cover his wounds in the foul smelling poultices Ganieda produced. Archer was semi-naked throughout. Clothes would have stuck to the repeatedly scabbing wounds and may have infected them further.
On the fourth day, the fever finally broke and Ganieda fed him with a healing broth. He lost a lot of weight and it took another week before he’d recovered enough for her to permit visitors. By then, he was going out of his mind with boredom, but when he saw his first visitor, he gave her a cold stare and turned to Ganieda. ‘Get that treacherous bit – Get her out of here. I never want to see her again.’
Patricia turned and ran out, tears streaming down her face, bumping into a startled Finn on his way into the room.
8 Saviour
‘What was all that about?’ Finn sat down by the bed.
‘Just a nasty little madam with the gall to come into my chamber like she’s innocence itself.’ Archer tasted the bitterness of betrayal.
‘But she was – is – innocent.’
‘What do you know about it?’
‘Everything. We’ve been talking to her. She hadn’t got a clue about any of it.’ Finn built up her case. ‘She probably saved your life.’
‘What’s up with Patricia?’ Fletch came in, sitting down on the other side of the bed. ‘Thought she’d have been a bit happier now you’re out of danger.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, Patricia was cooking this up with Edlyn from the start.’ Archer’s face darkened with scorn. ‘Telling me tales about some Magical Moonflower.’
‘It’s not a tale.’ Finn was adamant, then he back-tracked. ‘Well the moonflower bit is rubbish, but she didn’t know that.’
Fletch interrupted, keen to tell his bit. ‘Apparently Edlyn and Melvyn created that old parchment. They got Adelisa to put it somewhere Patricia would find it.’
‘Then Adelisa pretended to show an interest, acting as though it was true. She kept on at Patricia until she nagged you to go with her.’
‘I suppose it did look convincing.’ Archer shrugged, wincing at the pain this small action invoked. ‘I fell for it too. Not completely, I had a few suspicions. But I really wanted to help her for Alessi’s sake.’ He shook his head. ‘So that’s it then, she was used. Poor Patricia.’
Fletch wasn’t about to let it go. ‘That’s not the half of it. She waited ’til Edlyn’s henchman left her house and risked going out in the dark alone …’
‘Without a lantern.’ Finn added his two-penneth.
‘… to wake Tybalt. He didn’t think he could manage on his own so he came to get me…’
‘While she came to get me. Talk about disturbing a sleeping lion. I had a real go at her, nearly had the poor girl in tears…’
‘What, a nice-tempered lad like you Finn? Surely not.’ Archer could barely get a word in with this barrage
of information, none of which he really wanted to hear.
‘Yeah, well. I said sorry afterwards. Anyway, she led us to the spot and we did the hero bit and rescued you.’
‘So really I owe you two my life, then. And Tybalt.’
‘That’s still not the half of it.’
Archer grinned. Fletch was really getting into this storytelling lark, when Finn would let him. Which wasn’t right now.
‘Yeah. While she tended your wounds, I heard her saying something about the poison getting into your blood. And you said about swallowing some leaves. I had to find out what had gone on, so I grabbed the knife …’
‘And tried carving your name in my arm. Thanks mate.’ Archer held out his arm with the angry red scar.
Finn’s eyes slid away in embarrassment. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to …’
‘Don’t worry about it. Ganieda said it probably saved her having to drain it. The arm was full of poison; it took a lot of damage. And you’ve given me my first proper battle scar. Can’t be a true warrior without one.’
Fletch had let Finn have the limelight long enough. ‘Anyway, back to Patricia. She insisted we dipped you in the river to get rid of the poison before we carried you back home. Smart girl.’
‘That must be halfway now.’ Archer looked hopeful.
‘Just about. Except Fletch didn’t mention the bit about stuffing her fingers down your throat.’
‘I was just coming to that. She said if any of the poison had reached your belly you’d die before morning. Said we had to make you sick so it would all come out.’
‘And none of us was man enough for the task.’ Finn was reluctant to admit weakness. ‘We started arguing about whether it would work because you were unconscious…’
‘So she just went ahead and did it. It wasn’t pretty, but she cleaned you all up again afterwards.’ Fletch risked a cheeky grin. ‘I think she liked that bit.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Archer fell for it.
‘Simply that if Ganieda had let her, she would have been bathing your naked body twenty-four hours a day until the fever broke.’
