The Highwayman's Curse

by Nicola Morgan

  Suddenly, with a cry, the old woman rose to her feet.

  “Aye, when the tide did rise, they did drown.” Her voice, cracked and shrill, pierced everything. And now she stood, small but strong. With her tiny, birdlike eyes staring at each of us in turn, she slowly pointed a bony finger towards us.

  There was venom in her voice and it struck fear into my heart.

  Chapter Ten

  “Be these the men? Be these the devil’s men?” Before anyone could answer her, the old woman spat her words at us, her eyes burning with fury now.

  “I curse their heid an’ all the hairs upon their heid; I curse their face, their eyes, their nose, their tongue, their teeth, their neck, their shoulders, their heart, their stomach, their arms, their legs, an’ every part o’ their body, from the top o’ their heid tae the soles o’ their feet, afore an’ behind, within an’ withoot.

  “I condemn them tae the deep pit o’ Hell, tae remain wi’ Lucifer an’ all his fellows, an’ their bodies to the gallows, first tae be hangit, then takken down an’ left tae rot wi’ dogs, an’ swine, an’ other foul beasts, abominable tae all the world. An’ may their light go from oor sight, as their souls go from the eyes o’ God, an’ only in three thousand year will they rise from this terrible cursing, an’ mak satisfaction an’ penance. An’ so I curse their souls.”

  I could not speak, could not breathe after her words. Already my skin seemed to crawl with a creeping chill as though the words of her curse already had such power.

  We were innocent! We had no hand in the old man’s death, nor Tam’s terrible injury. Yet how could these people be made to know the truth? Or, with such a curse on our shoulders, was it too late?

  Into the silence came a rough laugh. It was Red, his head thrown back in mirth. “Look at ye! Afeard o’ an old woman’s words! Ye had better fear our intentions and the stomach o’ the sea, no’ an old wifie’s words. She talks o’ things long past. They are the words o’ a mad woman and no’ for ye.” And he made a movement of his finger across his throat, grinning again.

  The woman sat on her haunches again, her eyes glazed and unseeing now.

  I knew not what to believe. The words of the curse were powerful. There was hatred in them, which seemed for us, even if Red said she meant it not for us. And perchance her words would have power even so. Mayhap a woman like that has such power, once her mind is detached from the ordinary world and lives with madness. I had heard of such things, the powers of lunatics. It is said that such persons hear the voice of God. Could the old woman have such power?

  There was little time for these thoughts. The men who still held us dug their fingers painfully into my arms and we were pushed towards the side of the room opposite the door, where Mouldy and another man were moving a large wooden chest. This other man was the one whose religious strength meant that we would not be killed until the Sabbath was past – and I feared that this time could not be far off now. I suppose by the time the tide rose over our heads, the Sabbath would be past and his conscience clear.

  Where the chest had been, they scraped dirt from the floor and revealed a wooden door set into the ground. With a tapering piece of metal, Mouldy prised open the door and lifted it up. A gust of chill air rushed through the room, bringing with it the odours of the sea, dead fish, seaweed and rotten wood. In the fireplace, the flames drew themselves tall, swaying backwards, the smoke gusting outside the hanging chimney hood and swirling instead around the head of the old woman. And still she sat, her lips moving, her eyes closed.

  Bess looked at me. A little fear showed in her now, I thought. And how might it not? To think of drowning…

  “Wait!” we both said together, my voice little more than a croak, hers light and high, a woman’s voice. Did anyone notice? Perhaps it would help us if they did? I still did not know, could not decide. The two men pushed us again towards the open hatchway.

  She spoke again. Her words came fast. “My friend has some knowledge. Of bones and such injuries. He can cure your child, can return him to life, I swear.” She should not make such claims! The boy was past earthly help, I was sure. And yet…

  Before I could add my voice to hers, there came a sharp, barked word from behind me. “Wait!” It was Red. He stood up, a little unsteady on his feet, and walked slowly towards us. Towards Bess.

  He knew.

  Thomas made a movement as though to stop him, but Red silenced him with a dismissive gesture. Thomas looked to his father, Jock, who merely shook his head, and looked intently at Bess, too, his eyes narrowing.

  I knew now that Red, and perhaps Jock, too, had guessed that Bess was a girl. If I had wondered before if perhaps it might save us, when I understood the look in Red’s eyes I saw that it would not. How could I have been so foolish as to think that they might treat us more lightly if they thought Bess were female? In my old life, perhaps, where gentlemen treated ladies as though they were fragile, petal-soft – but here? Where only the laws of the wilderness held sway?

  Now Red had reached Bess. Everyone was silent, even Mad Jamie, who had stopped chewing on a stick which he kept dipping in a pot of something and who now looked wide-eyed as Red removed the kerchief slowly from Bess’s throat. She looked at me then and I knew what she was thinking. She needed me now.

  It was I who had brought her to this place. I had been wrong.

  “Yes,” I said, loudly, desperately, “I have a way with sick creatures. I can do all that your bonesetter might do. I can mend your child’s arm and I know I can save him.” Heat rushed to my face as I considered what I was saying, the promise I was making – if I failed to keep it, what would they do to me then?

  But I could only buy some time.

  And all the while I watched Red, his finger under Bess’s chin, tilting it up, leering at her. She did not turn away. I worried what she might do. Once before, I had seen her held in a man’s sway like this and on that occasion she had spat in her captor’s face. No good had it done her or us, though I had not blamed her and I would not blame her now. Though again it would do no good.

  But what difference would it make? Little enough.

  “I have need o’ a wife,” said Red. “But I have no need o’ the wife’s lad.” He did not glance at me as he said this, only walked round Bess, looking at every part of her as she stood there, the muscles in her face tight and still.

  Thomas laughed. “Ye are o’er old for a wife.”

  “Mebbe, but I would look after her better than ye did your own wife!” retorted Red. Thomas leapt towards him, but was held back by Jock. Mouldy pushed me and Bess once more towards the trapdoor. Another man was there – who I think was Billy, the gentle-seeming giant of a man with a worried soft face. “Poor Billy,” Jock had called him. I think he was somewhat simple, with little understanding behind those odd-shaped eyes. But he was strong, that much was obvious. He looked from one man to another, awaiting instructions.

  Now I could hear the rhythmic crashing of waves in the far distance, the hollow moaning of the wind as it whirled through whatever tunnels must twist their way between this place and the ocean. I shivered, clamping my teeth together so that no one would see my fear.

  Now Jeannie spoke. “Are ye all eejits? Are ye no’ thinking? Jock? Are ye having one o’ your sore heads again? We could use these two, and the Lord kens – if the lad can save our Tam, then why should we throw him to the tides?”

  Jock scowled. “Woman, I’m no’ needing your words o’ advice. When there’s thinking to be done, leave it to me.” He passed his hand across his brow. “Aye, my head’s sore, but no’ so sore that I canna think for myself.” He paused, as though coming to his own decisions. “Aye, the lad can try his hand wi’ Tam – for there’s no’ any other hope. The lass, well, she is wee and thin and could be o’ use. Think on it, Thomas – if Tam canna go down to the cave then we’ll need one that can.” I did not know what he talked of, but it seemed as though there was hope for us yet.

  If I could save the boy. If not…
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br />   Red took hold of Bess’s arm, but Jock stopped him. “Red, ye’ll no’ have the lass. She’s o’er young for ye.”

  Thomas laughed, loudly, in agreement with his father. With a whisky-sodden roar, Red drew back his arm as if to hit him, and would have done so had his father not held his arm up to block the blow. Jock stood with some difficulty, swaying somewhat and screwing up his eyes against the pain in his head, but staring at his son angrily.

  There was conflict here. A father who seemed to suffer from some ailment, who seemed to be losing his strength, and two sons who fought each other. Another son, the quieter one with the obedience to God – I did not know his spirit as yet. But I knew that Red was a dangerous man. He reminded me in no small way of my brother. A fiery temper and volatile eyes, a bitter bile, and hating most of all to be held in check.

  The look in Red’s eyes was dangerous. Whisky inflamed any reason he might have had and it was only his father’s next words that stopped him from going further. “Red! Think on Tam! He is in danger o’ his life and ye can only think on your pride! I am your father and I will be obeyed!”

  At that moment, without warning, Red rushed towards the door and ran from the dwelling.

  Jock looked after his son, anger on his face, before turning back to me. “And now, what can ye do for my grandson?” He did not smile, and still there was a threat in his eyes, but he was doing the only thing he could. He was using reason. As was I.

  My senses were dizzy, from hunger and fear, and from the confusing change of events. Only a few moments before, we had faced a journey to an unknown cave where we were to be drowned. Now, suddenly, the men who had been hungry for our deaths looked to us with a kind of hope. Jeannie, holding Tam’s head in her hands and pinching his cheeks to waken him, pleaded with her eyes.

  I had no choice. I must act. And pray. And do whatever could be done.

  “I need some whisky,” I said.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Iona, liquor for the lad!” said Thomas.

  The girl looked at me hesitantly from beneath her river of red hair and handed me a cup, near full of whisky. I knelt by Tam, and, first looking at Jeannie so that she would see I meant no harm, I tipped the cup slowly against his lips. She saw my meaning, and lifted his head, using one finger to open his mouth. The fumes waked him somewhat and he looked into my eyes with an empty gaze, seeming nearer death than I wished him to be. The liquid slipped down his throat and he choked and spluttered. Jeannie held his head fast with one strong arm, his mouth open with the other. With much spilling, we slowly poured the whole cup down Tam’s throat, though much was lost along the way.

  It took two cups of whisky before his eyes closed and his body went soft, a smile on his thin face. Already his breathing was easier, though I knew this would not last for long. The whisky was for one purpose only – to make what was to come easier. For the boy, and for us as we listened. For I would not have the child scream as I set his bones.

  As well as its use in relief of pain, it is well known that whisky or any such spirit is fair powerful for bringing a person out of collapse. And I think a boy could not have been nearer collapse than Tam.

  Now I told Jeannie what I needed. “You must hold the child’s arm above the elbow. You will need to be strong, as I must pull the bones away further than they were meant to go, before I can set them by the feel of them. Are you able to do this?”

  How I was able to command this older woman in such a way, I know not, but from somewhere came the strength. From necessity, I suppose. And because they looked to me to do what they could not.

  Jeannie nodded, glad perhaps to be told what to do, to be acting instead of listening to the arguing of the men. She tucked a strand of dusty orange hair beneath her cap, and wiped some sweat from her brow. Her eyes looked tired and dull, the skin beneath them dark and sagging, a deep line etched between nose and mouth. I could not tell her age but I suppose she must have been around forty-five or more.

  I turned now to Bess. “Be ready to tie the arm as we did before. Will you do that?” She nodded, and looked at me without smiling, though without anger either.

  Everything was in my hands.

  Jeannie settled herself on the other side of Tam, kneeling, placing a folded cloth beneath his head for comfort, and held him by the arm above the elbow. Bess and I began to untie the bindings. Men shuffled positions behind me, muttering. I looked not at them and I tried to put them from my mind. A dog scratched itself near by and the fire hissed and crackled.

  Kneeling on the hard floor, I laid my hands on Tam’s deadened wrist. Its coldness was shocking, its greyness ugly. No lifeblood flowed in it at all. This was a limb which would rot and die for certain, if I could not straighten it properly. I knew little enough how to do it, but I could visualize those displaced bones and surely it must be a matter of common sense how to pull them straight. Common sense and a deal of resolve.

  I must save the arm and thereby the boy’s life. There lay our only hope. Without that, we would find ourselves drowned at high tide.

  Dizzy specks swarmed across my vision. Unable to quell my panic, I took my hands from Tam’s wrist. “More whisky,” I said. Moments later, a cup was placed in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I took several large mouthfuls, gasping with the shock of it. And, in the spinning amber haze that followed, I took Tam’s wrist again.

  Quickly, firmly, I pulled the hand towards me.

  The boy moaned, and a line of drool came from the corner of his mouth. The reek of whisky was everywhere, its heat still in my head, somehow separating my mind from what my hands were doing.

  It was as though I watched myself from above. I saw myself cup the broken arm beneath my hand, watched my fingers feel for the edges of the bones beneath the swollen flesh, felt them slide apart as I pulled his wrist again. I felt a space between the edges, was aware of Tam writhing beneath me, though oddly I heard no sound, only the rushing in my head and my own words, “Be still! Stay quiet! I have nearly finished.” I think Bess turned her head from what I did with my fingers; I know her eyes were narrow as slits, her mouth clamped shut as though she would keep a scream inside.

  With a crunch which I felt but did not seem to hear, the bones slid onto each other beneath my fingers, fitting like a jagged stick, safely, straight. “Now,” I said to Bess and, while I held his arm steady with both my hands, she tied the piece of wood to him again, her fingers fumbling at first but soon finding their way. And now, though I know not why I did this except either by some instinct or because of some dim-remembered saying from one of my father’s kennelmen, I placed my hands on the boy’s upper arm and shoulder, massaging the life back into it. And I would swear I saw some colour return slowly to the pallid flesh.

  For some long moments, we watched, all of us. I stood up and felt the blood rushing to my own feet after I had knelt for so long.

  I know not what the reason is for any of this – whether some miracle of God, or that the boy would have recovered even without me, or whether perhaps I have some hidden skill in medical matters – but the boy lay quiet and peaceful now and, though fast asleep, yet with a rosier complexion and smooth breathing. I think perhaps he needed only to sleep and the whisky gave that to him. Perhaps sleep took away his mortal fear, quietening his heart and soothing him. I believe it was not anything else I did.

  Whether in truth it was my action that saved that boy’s life mattered little, for his family thought it was. And I was happy for them to think so.

  Tears were in Jeannie’s eyes, as she looked gratefully at me before lifting Tam and lying him down more comfortably in the box-bed. She covered him with warm blankets as he muttered in his drunken sleep.

  Now the strength went from my legs and I found myself on the floor, my head spinning.

  “Give the lad some food!” called Thomas, picking me up and slapping me heartily on the back. And very soon I was being led to the table, where a wooden plate with a steaming meaty substance was placed before me and anot
her for Bess. I had not eaten since the day before and it was difficult not to gulp the whole plateful without pause.

  I know not what that food was, but it was tasty indeed. I think it had oatmeal and some finely chopped meat, lamb perhaps, with a thick dark gravy to bind it together. Heavily salted it was, and with a fiery taste. This was what the girl had been stirring when we arrived. I tried to look my thanks at her but she would not glance my way. Well, I have indicated before that I did not like her and I did not.

  A piece of doughy cake was placed beside me and gestures made that we were to wipe our plates with it. I did so, and took much pleasure from the crumbly, savoury stuff, rich with the taste of toasted corn or somesuch. It was warm and comforting, and at the end of it I felt a great deal better.

  Still my head ached from my earlier injury; still it spun with the effect of that and the whisky; but I felt now no fear and my stomach was full. I had reason to be content, after so much danger.

  I could not tell what was to come, but it could not be worse than what we had faced. Bess’s black eyes seemed once more to smile at me. She looked tired, though, very tired, with shadows above her cheeks, her face pale as opal, her hair straggly and limp. And her lips, usually so red, were now bloodless.

  “On your head be the consequences,” she had said. But I had saved our lives on this occasion. I had been right to come here, and if it had been a close thing, then close things are what make life worth the living.

  Now, perhaps, we could begin to live our lives?

  I thought perchance we could stay here a few days and then move on. I thought that we could rest, eat, give the horses time to recover from the journey, and then leave, proceeding to whatever life might have in store for us.

  But it was not to be.