by Miriam Bibby
As Matthew watched, the Frog emerged from the river, shook himself hard like a dog, and went to fetch the sack. Some large boulders lay on the ground at the base of the cliff and the Frog disappeared behind these. He remained away for some time, and when he returned, he was wearing an old cloak. Matthew's eyes narrowed. How had he disappeared like that? Then, he realised that there must be caves lying under the rocky outcrop. River caves marking an earlier course of the river and now hidden behind the boulders. The Frog was sitting on a rock on the shingle and looked as though he had no intention of moving for some time. Matthew decided to risk a look under the tree from which the rope was slung over the gorge.
Here he found a few other sacks, filled with hay and some fragments that he thought might be from horse loaves and some metal hooks. Making his way back to the top of the cliff, he peered over and was alarmed to see no sign of the Frog. Then to his relief, the Frog, totally naked, suddenly reappeared with some more sacks and the metal hook on which he had slid the full sack over the river. The Frog, with a shivering look of distaste on his face, entered the river again holding onto the crossing rope with the items held in his other hand as best he could above the water. Despite this, the sacks were wet when he reached the far side. The Frog got out of the water, shook himself again and prepared to dress.
Matthew, taking a different course from the way he had come, headed back towards the camp as swiftly and secretly as he could. Somehow he must find a way to return to the cave to confirm what he thought was there. That was going to be more difficult than it had been this morning. For one thing, he felt that the Frog would be more cautious and suspicious if he left the camp; and for another, he had no more drink with which to ply the others.
* * * * *
Luckily, the women had managed to find some more food and drink the previous day and so all was peaceful again when Matthew set out the following morning. Knowing where the Frog was headed, Matthew made sure he set out on an entirely different way soon afterwards. By running swiftly he found himself arriving at the edge of the forest overlooking the drop into the gorge. He paused under cover of the trees and looked out. There was no sign of the Frog. Inching carefully forward, sometimes on his stomach, Matthew got to the edge of the rocks overlooking the river. The rope was still vibrating and he saw far below him, the Frog removing a full sack. This he took towards the caves and disappeared.
An observer might then have thought Matthew had gone completely mad. He stripped all his clothes off, ran back into the forest and found a heap of dried leaves. The clothes were quickly buried in the leaves which he left in as natural a condition as possible, to make it look as though there had been no disturbance. Then, passing one of the hooks over the rope that led into the gorge, he launched himself into space. He slid rapidly down over the roaring water and the tree was soon looming up ahead of him. Letting go of the hook just before he hit the tree, Matthew took it from the rope, dropped to the ground and wriggled backwards to attempt to hide himself. Lying flat on shingle and rock, he saw the Frog come out from under the rocky overhang and glance about suspiciously. Life on the road had made the Frog more sensitive rather than hardened him and Matthew was aware of this. The Frog was suspicious and constantly on the alert. The hook was the only weapon that Matthew had - if it came to that, which he genuinely hoped it would not. Moving his eyes, but not his head, Matthew caught a glimpse of the still vibrating rope across the river. Well, that could have just been the breezy air. As soon as the Frog looked downstream away from him, Matthew shot backwards into the cold water and ducked under. Holding his breath for as long as he could, he took a few swimming strokes back towards the waterfall. When he finally surfaced, he was as far away as he could and facing the shore. There was no sign of the Frog. Matthew blew out breath and water and spat, both with the cold of the water and irritation at his submersion. Then he crawled back out onto the bank and ran, half crouching, under cover of the overhanging cliff.
He waited, shivering and listening hard. After a while he heard the Frog cough. There was a rustling sound and the sound of a rock being thrown. Matthew tried to put an image to the sounds. Possibly a stone being removed from a heap of sacks and dropped onto the ground? He waited - and waited. There was nothing but silence and the water - and possibly, another sound further away, an indistinct sound. He crept along under the overhang and peered out. There was no sign of the Frog and there were no sacks waiting on the shore. Matthew hazarded a guess that he had crossed the river. He crawled further forward. All was still quiet.
Matthew stood up and walked forward cautiously. He found that by sticking to the cliff he could work his way round towards the point at which the Frog had disappeared yesterday. He sensed more than saw the entrance to a deeper cave and paused; this would be a perfect place for the Frog to surprise him. More waiting; more watching; more listening. Nothing. And then - a slight scuffle - and a definite snort. Nothing happened after that.
Matthew stood up and walked boldly round, hook at the ready. He saw the entrance to a cave where, in addition to the boulders that provided a natural barrier, there was an inner fence made from wooden spars, logs and even planks, scavenged from somewhere, blocking his view. And behind this - he didn't have to see, he knew from the unmistakable and heady smell of urine, muck and sweat - there was a horse. He looked around. No sign of anyone. He peered through a chink in the timbers and saw, moving restlessly between two rock outcrops to which were attached ropes was a horse. The horse, in fact.
Matthew plunged back into the river again. He gained the top of the cliff in long strides, quickly dug his clothes from under the leaves and put them on. He set off after the Frog and soon caught sight of him in the distance. Then, taking to a detour, Matthew moved with speed towards the camp, managing to arrive there, breathing slightly hard, before the Frog returned. He sat down on the ground near the Frater, who, unusually for this time in the morning, was wide awake.
"Been praying, have ye?" he said amiably to Matthew. "Great ones for praying, like I said."
Matthew nodded. The Frater frowned slightly.
"Yer hair's wet."
Matthew nodded, overcoming the desire to gulp air.
"I - we - always wash before praying," he said finally, in as relaxed a manner as he could. "Plenty of clean water about." He told himself that these were definitely sentiments he could understand and so he probably sounded truthful.
"Aye, I knew that," said the Frater and from the smug look he gave Matthew, he was entirely convinced. At that moment the Frog came back into camp and although he had a vague air of suspicion about him, Matthew comforted himself with the fact that suspicion was the natural condition of the Frog and Clink.
The Frog gave Matthew a look through half closed eyes then ignored him. The Frater greeted the Frog.
"Seen me ass, have ye?"
"Now why would I have seen it?" said the Frog, belligerently. "It'll have wandered again. No wonder, if you ask me."
Matthew did his best to ignore both of them and began to rummage about for something to eat. Beside him, the Frater and the Frog began to bicker. There was no sign of Clink or the women. Matthew, in an attempt to look relaxed, leaned back against a tree trunk and began to eat the leftovers he found. His heart was still beating fast, and not entirely from the exercise.
* * * * *
The ass had wakened at dawn and after a large yawn, begun to graze. All was peaceful in the camp. The Frater was snoring and there were no little children around to climb on its back or poke it into a trot. Not that it minded that as much as carrying that extremely large human who made such noises while he was asleep.
The ass moved further into the wood and found a patch of tastier grass, with a few clover leaves still growing in it. Munching contentedly, it took step after step slowly away from the camp, always grazing. Then, a delightful smell entered its nose. It was the smell of horse loaf, containing barley, although the ass did not know that. It just knew that somehow a fragment of something
extremely tasty was lying on the grass and it munched it up right away. The delicious taste lingered on its tongue and it drew in a long breath in order to bray its satisfaction. Then, the ass thought better of it and let out the air in a soft wheeze, like an abandoned bag-pipe. For there was another fragment lying nearby and why should that terrible human be made aware of it, to come and claim it from a poor starving animal? The ass picked up the second fragment and chewed, slowly, contemplatively and in a state approaching ecstasy. Never had it tasted anything so marvellous before.
Chapter 9: "Is thy servant a dog?"
When Sarah got to the churchyard, she realised how hot and breathless running had made her. She hadn't realised she'd gone so fast. It was surprisingly balmy and warm within the old lichen covered wall, as though spring had decided to stake a an early claim in amongst the worn old stones. In the graveyard lay those who were peacefully sleeping, waiting for Judgement Day. Ordinarily, Sarah would have found this knowledge so unsettling that she would not have entered the churchyard alone. Today, though, there was a delicious smell of new and green things and birds were singing. Besides, she was not going to be alone. She did briefly wonder if God were watching her and then decided that if he was, then it was only because she was doing his will.
She still could not quite believe that it was true. She knew that the fourteen days would be up tomorrow because she had been keeping tally. She had so believed that what she had seen would come to pass that she had almost missed the message. Of course it would have been no good if Robert had sent a note; he could read and write, but she could not. As she hadn't been expecting to hear from anyone but Robert, she had thought nothing of it when one of the younger children, Harry, had said he needed to speak to her. It was only afterwards that she remembered that Harry was related to Robert. At the time, she had thought it would be of no importance, since the younger children were always running errands for the older ones: just a message for her mother or father, that was her first thought.
"Sarah - you're to go to the churchyard." That was typical of the way the younger children delivered a message. As little information as possible, if they remembered at all. So she responded in the same coin.
"What for? Who says so?"
"You're to go to the churchyard, I tell you," persisted the child.
"Says who?" said Sarah.
Harry rubbed his bare feet together in a disinterested way and said, "You have to go to the churchyard."
"Do I have to give you a slap?" said Sarah, exasperatedly.
"No," said Harry, looking confused.
"Well, why then? Who said so?"
"Robert."
"Robert? Robert - " Then Sarah suddenly realised and grabbed Harry by the shoulders.
"When? When did he say that?"
"Ow," said Harry. "Let go."
Sarah released him. "Are you telling the truth?"
"Yes," said Harry, looking surprised, as though the last thing he had expected was to have his honesty questioned.
"You'd better be! You know God punishes liars!"
"I am," said Harry, starting to look unhappy. "Robert said I was to tell you to go to the churchyard and meet him because he wanted to tell you something. He said he would give me a penny and I'm not telling lies!"
"When did he tell you?"
"This morning."
"How long have you been in finding me?"
"Don't know. Shall I come with you and get my penny, then?"
"No!" shrieked Sarah. Then, seeing the look on his face, she added, more kindly, "But if what you say is true, Harry, then I will give you another penny."
"C'n I have it now?" asked Harry.
"No. But I'll meet you ... at the old elder by the big pool, you know where I mean."
"When?"
"After noontime. And Harry, don't follow me."
So Sarah had whirled around and fled to the churchyard, believing all the time that Harry had got it wrong, or that Robert would have been there and left in impatience, or that it might be some other Robert with some other message of no importance. But why the churchyard? The churchyard spoke of seriousness. It was a place of secrecy and seclusion. It could surely mean only one thing.
It was only when she arrived there that she remembered the intense feeling of heat in her vision. If anything, it was even hotter in reality than in the dream. She looked around. It was not summer, but there was that unmistakable sense of new life, the first day of the year that was warm enough to be filled with the promise of a real summer. She rested by the church porch, wondering if there was anyone about, worried slightly in case she should be found. What would she say?
Where was he? There was no sign of Robert and for a moment she thought Harry had been lying. Or was this some prank played by one of the others? Her eyes narrowed and the brows drew together. Was this Agnes? Oh yes, she could well imagine that. Agnes calling Harry to her, all sweetness, saying that she had a message for Sarah, but he was to say it was from Robert. How they would all laugh at her ...
"Bitch," she said, under her voice, feeling hotter than ever.
"Sarah!" A voice calling to her from the old yew that grew by the far wall. There were several of these ancient trees, two by the lychgate and more overhanging the walls.
"Robert!" she breathed. It was really true then. And now, to her amazement, he was walking towards her, just as he had done in her vision, with his hands out to her. She was stunned by the clarity of it, as though the other occasion had been the reality and this were the vision. She reached out her hands to him and he took them in both of his.
"Sarah ..." his face was very serious. "I'm glad you came. Sarah ... I have something to tell you."
"Oh, yes, Robert," she said, smiling, "of course. I'm listening."
"Sarah, I'm to be wed ..."
For a moment, she could not believe what she was hearing. What a strange way of putting it. "I'm to be wed." Not, "We're to be wed", or the more expected, "Sarah, will you marry me?" No. "I'm to be wed." What did he mean?
She was looking into his face and it was just as it had been in her vision. Exactly as it had been in her vision. Just ... the words were wrong. This was not what she expected.
"Sarah, I'm to marry Agnes. I thought you would like to know. We both hope that you'll be happy for us. We hope ... you'll find somebody you love and he loves you."
No. This was not right. This was ... all wrong.
"No!" she shouted, her fist to her mouth, tears, breaking out in sudden fury. "No!"
Then she turned and ran, back through the lychgate. Robert started after her and then stopped. This was a situation he could not make better. He felt sorry, so sorry for her.
* * * * *
Sarah was determined on confrontation. Although she was vaguely aware that she had not followed Meg's instructions to the letter, she dismissed this as of no consequence. Everything had been just as she had witnessed it in her vision - the warmth, Robert's appearance, even his clothes: all just as she had seen them in the mirror. Everything, except what she expected him to say. Angry, and certain that she had been misled, she was sure that there had been some underhand dealing with Agnes. Now she thought of it, Agnes had seemed very pert. One day Sarah had caught her smiling and when she asked Agnes outright what was the cause of her mirth, Agnes had just replied "'Tis a fair day, that's all." Sarah was sure now there was more to it than that and she was determined that Meg would admit this, one way or another.
The first time she went to the inn she was told that Meg was not there. The second time she went and was told the same tale, she insisted that she would wait. And this she did, in a little parlour that opened onto the hallway that led from the front entrance of the inn and so she saw Meg on her return, walking past, and was out of the parlour in an instant.
"A word with you, Mistress." Sarah's face was hot and her eyes hurt and angry. The response she received was unexpected. The woman turned to face her and looked directly into her eyes. Sarah's anger was quelled slightl
y by the intensity of the gaze.
"You did not heed my instructions. Do you recall what I said to you?"
Sarah, recoiling slightly, said, "You said that Robert would send me word, and he did ... and ... "
"And?"
"That I should come to you on hearing of it," muttered Sarah, looking down. Then, suddenly filled with grief at what had happened, she looked up pleadingly, "Oh, but I thought no harm would come of it! I was sure ..."
Meg was looking at her with a certain sympathy.
"It was as you saw it - but you did not see all."
Sarah continued to look at her, bewildered.
"Sarah - " Meg's voice was warmer now. "This is hard for you now, but sometimes we can only see part of what the future holds for us. Sometimes we cannot see that the outcome of an event has both good and bad in it for us, always. Presently you can only see the bad in this, but if you could trust in the future - and yourself - you would know that good will come to you. That - I can promise. I can - foretell that there will be someone for you."
Sarah listened. Her emotions were as clear as an April day; full of promise at one minute, then clouded and bursting into rain at the next. "No!" she said, stamping her foot. "There can be no good comes of this. Don't speak to me of good. It's not just, it's not right! It's wrong! It's me he loves, me!"
"Sarah - "
"Leave me be! And I'll tell you this - there's no good will come to you either. No good at all!"
