Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  Cal reported back from the farmers’ meeting as he and Lyrelie joined with Senna and Jarl for dinner. He’d barely got through describing the main business when the door knocked. Lyrelie let in an extremely concerned Alfun, followed by Cora, Freya and Verat, all bearing platters of food.

  “We could not wait to finish eating, knowing you would be discussing this too.”

  “Please, join us – ’twill be like a Freya-share.” Senna smiled as they dragged the settle over to give enough seats.

  Alfun seemed to have lost his appetite as he spoke of the dreadful disease sweeping the lower counties. “It started in Dorset; just after midsummer, a ship from Gascony brought it in – they say it’s the rats as is spreading it. Bristol is overtook and people are dying within a week. A horrible death.”

  “Bristol! Of course.” Jarl smacked the side of his head. “I knew I’d heard the name recently.”

  “Isn’t that where the quarry foreman disappeared to?” Alfun’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yes.” Jarl said no more, but Senna sensed an unspoken consensus that maybe the wretch got his just deserts.

  Cal spoke first, adding how Fabian’s cousins had fled Southampton after rumours of deaths there.

  Not to be outdone, Verat picked up the story. “There are suspected cases in Salisbury and Winchester, and they’re predicting it will reach London long before Samhain.”

  “How is it spreading?” Senna frowned. “Surely the King has put a stop to all travel until a cure is found.”

  “That would be sensible, but nothing seems to have happened so far. Anyway, several people wondered if you could create some kind of tonic people can take to stop it.”

  “I have already looked into it. We shall need everyone to help if I’m to make enough for the entire village and all the harvest workers.”

  “Alfun suggested as much at the meeting and people are willing to help.” Cal looked to the older man for confirmation.

  “Aye, and Farmon requested that you give a talk about preparing for worst. Like the one you gave at Imbolc.”

  “Father was keen to point out how all the crops you suggested have done exceptionally well, especially the cabbage, spinach and onions.”

  As Cal spoke, she caught Jarl’s gaze, urging her to explain the measures they’d all been taking. She smiled. “That is excellent, because those are exactly what people need to be eating to get themselves in the best health to prepare for this awful pestilence.”

  Alfun nodded. “We’re all turning green with all the vegetables you would have us eating. But I’ve never had two crops of spinach before. I have no idea where you got the idea for that from.”

  “Lyran.” It was time to start letting people know the truth. Only Freya and Verat reacted with surprise and confusion. Cora had obviously informed her husband.

  Verat laughed nervously. “You mean he left advice in his notebooks. But I thought they were stolen.”

  Alfun glanced at his wife. Her nod had him recounting how he and Lyran found a cure for the disease killing most of the livestock. “I had forgotten, but I have the recipes and instructions from all those years ago. Lyrelie asked me for them to add to the notebooks she’s compiling.”

  Senna could tell he was trying to give her time to decide, but there was no other way; Verat and Freya would have to understand Lyran’s role if they were to properly support Lyrelie and Cal through the coming moons. She took Freya’s hand, and Cora took Verat’s, who immediately looked to his wife, his question clear. Freya shook her head, clasping her husband’s other hand.

  Senna cleared her throat. “I’m afraid you will find this a little difficult to believe, but please trust this is not a jest. Lyran’s spirit is still with us. For the past year, he has been watching over us, protecting all those he loves, and helping us to deal with the threat from men such as Domenyk.”

  “You mean he is … a ghost?” Verat gulped.

  “People may call him that, but not the sort who haunts people, trying to frighten them.”

  Freya nodded slowly. “More of a good spirit – like an angel. A protector.”

  Lyrelie could restrain herself no longer. “Exactly like that. He’s my guardian angel, watching over me.” She glanced at Cal. “Over all of us.”

  “Humph. Doesn’t seem as though he did his job too well. Where was he when Zane attacked Cal at Yule? Or when Domenyk accused you of all those horrible things?”

  “You make a good point, young Verat. Unfortunately, some of those things had to happen so we could discover and punish the murderer of myself and Constable Bryce.”

  Verat’s reaction suggested he heard the voice clearly. But Freya gasped as she pointed behind him where the translucent shape of a man took form.

  “I cannot stay like this for long, but I needed you to witness this, otherwise you would have doubts. We need to be sure of your absolute cooperation. Yours too, Freya.”

  As they nodded, Lyrelie’s delighted squeal startled them. “Da. You have been practicing.”

  Lyran smiled. “But you still cannot touch me I’m afraid.” He addressed them all. “You all have an enormous part to play in the future of this village. In the next few moons, the pestilence will reach here and many will die. I have left instructions for measures to minimise the losses, but some people will be more resilient than others.”

  “How do you know all this?” Verat voiced the question others had been thinking.

  “I do not have time to explain. You will want to become upset about the friends and neighbours who succumb to the disease, but you cannot waste energy berating yourselves. Trust me when I say they will be moving on to a better place where they will not be in pain.” As he spoke, the glow dimmed until he had all but vanished.

  “Please make sure you all drink the tonic Senna has prepared. It will give you the best chance to survive.”

  Senna brought a large pitcher to the table, pouring everyone a beaker of the thick, dark liquid.

  Verat sniffed it, pulling a face. “What is in it?”

  “A mix of herbs, spices and other nutrients designed to protect you from the disease. Lyran suggests we should have a beaker of it once a week for the next moon.”

  Freya sipped it. “It is not as bad as it looks; I can taste honey, ginger and … is that cinnamon? Or clove?”

  “Both. Apparently the body has what Lyran calls natural defences, and this tonic builds them up. As do the foods we’ve all been eating.”

  “Am I the only one who can taste liver?” Cal sipped again. “And is that marjoram? Or thyme?”

  “Does it matter? We know herbs are good for us, so drink up.” Lyrelie tilted his beaker so he gulped it down.

  “And now, here’s the nice bit.” Senna brought out two platters of oatencakes. “I didn’t want to mix the sweet and savoury elements, so I have made two types.”

  “And we have to eat one of each type every day? What hardship.” Verat grabbed one from each platter. “I cannot imagine how I will survive.”

  “That is the point – so you will survive.” Cal grinned, and they all joined in, with varying degrees of foreboding.

  ~*~

  Jarl stood next to his wife on the dais, scanning the concerned faces of every man woman and child in the village. It was a crush, but Senna felt it important the children should attend so they would become used to the severity of the situation and the importance of vigilance.

  She was tired, having spent several days journeying to Oxford to speak with Lyran’s professor friends about the latest news of the disease and what measures they were taking to prevent the spread.

  He could not fathom the indifference of the city’s administrators; they seemed oblivious to the dangers. After speaking to a few, it became clear they all quoted from the same report. The third time he heard the phrase “all the signs point to it only spreading a few dozen miles out of the coastal towns,” he became angry at their complacency. On requesting the source of the report, fortune smiled – the senior professor respo
nsible would deliver a lecture on the subject that very hour.

  As he and Senna sat in the college hall, he listened with growing disbelief as the professor dismissed the rumours as hysterical exaggeration.

  “In my opinion, it spread so quickly within towns like Bristol because of the vast over-population and unsanitary conditions. As long as people throw their waste into the streets, there will be rats. And mark my words, ’tis rats spreading the pestilence.”

  “But we do the same.” The objection came from a man in the garb of a shopkeeper. “Our streets are just as narrow as theirs.”

  “Stop doing it. Take your waste outside the city walls.” The professor’s smirk suggested it was a simple solution.

  “It’s no good if I do that unless everyone else does.”

  “I do not intend to walk that far with a bucket of slops.”

  This objector wore a magister’s robe and the professor winked at him. “So get your maid to do it.”

  Furious at the arrogant attitudes, Jarl prepared to leave when a lone voice posed a pertinent question.

  “Why are you so certain it will not reach Oxford?”

  “Because it only takes a few days from the first fever to the awful buboes which swell to the size of apples. The affected people only last a few days after that, and then they are buried.” The professor maintained a detached tone, distancing himself from the horrors he described. “Apparently, in Bristol there were not enough of the living to bury the dead, and anyone who touches a victim catches the disease. So no one left the city and eventually there was no one left to infect.”

  He paused at the alarmed gasps, then adopted a dark tone. “And it’s not as though the rats can ride horses.”

  Jarl had heard enough. Trying to control his anger, he left the room unobtrusively. His time would be better spent talking to the militia; they would be better informed and have decent strategies for containing an outbreak. He had scant knowledge of the city, and was trying to determine their options when Senna caught his arm.

  “You were right to leave; the man had little clue of the realities of the situation. We should try Professor …”

  “Senna. Jarl. I had no idea you were here.”

  They turned at the familiar voice.

  “Ranly. If we knew where you would be staying, we would have called there first.” Jarl shook his hand.

  “Sorry. I left in a bit of a hurry. Lyran suggested I speak to the professor, but the man was on his way to Coventry, so I accompanied him. Have you eaten?”

  “Now you mention it, I’m famished.”

  “That’s settled. Let us find a tavern and trade stories.”

  Jarl’s stomach rumbled, bringing him back to the village hall where Senna brought to a close her summary of what they’d learned in Oxford. “The important thing is to ensure that all waste matter is kept away from the houses. The Professor suggested communal bonfires at the end of every street and wells dug on the edge of the village for the slops of any houses without drainage. Unless you are prepared to bury it.” Her nose wrinkled and most of the women cringed while many of the men chortled.

  “I apologise for airing such an unsavoury topic, but disposal of waste matter is a crucial element in combatting this pestilence. And making sure you wash your hands.”

  “And we have to eat a special diet?”

  “You already are. Lyran did a lot of research about which foods are best to eat for good health and energy. We do very well in this village, because we eat plenty of pottage with onions and mushrooms which keep us healthy, and we use herbs like garlic and marjoram.”

  “I thought it was all the honey and ginger. I like a cake, me.” Dagda’s comment had all the women laughing.

  “Honey is one of the best cures, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know. Along with cloves and cinnamon, although these are harder to come by. And every single berry you eat is strengthening your resistance to disease.”

  Senna paused for the laughter and appreciative nods of the women. “Honestly, we cannot have too much honey, so if any of you want to keep bees, you will be helping all of us. That is why Farmon’s been surrounding his crops with wildflowers and clover. It encourages the bees and, as you can all see, his crops have thrived.”

  “We thought ’ee just liked the pretty flowers.” The man’s comment had everyone laughing, and Farmon stepped forward on the dais, mincing like a girl.

  Then he became serious. “You may mock, Fabian, but the results speak for themselves. I’ve followed every piece of advice from our gifted healers, and each one has resulted in bountiful abundance. If you ask me, they have the very ear of Gaia herself.”

  His sincerity suggested he appreciated the effects of such good fortune, and he gave people a moment or two to echo his sentiment with heart-felt applause. Finally, he brought it to a close, gesturing at Lyrelie. “My talented daughter-by-marriage has studied all her father’s fancy books. She and Senna have recipes for tonics and oatencakes to help fight off the disease if you should be unlucky enough for it to attack you.”

  As Lyrelie stood to say her part, Jarl felt Senna stiffen in the seat beside him. He took his wife’s hand, understanding her unease. No matter how much time they’d had to prepare, he really was not ready for this.

  8 – Samhain

  Lyrelie listened to her mother addressing the crowded hall, her insides churning at the thought of speaking to such a large audience. Cal squeezed her hand, and she felt something akin to confidence travelling from his body into her heart, giving her courage. She dearly hoped she would not have to deal with hecklers as Farmon had done, but they seemed to recognise the importance of this topic as she explained how they had created separate lists for herbs and food according to the three purposes of preserving food, building defences and fighting infection.

  “You will notice some items appear on more than one list; these are the things you should try to eat a little of every day.”

  “Please tell me you mean honey and ginger.” Dagda clasped her hands in mock prayer. “And cloves.”

  Lyrelie smiled, realising this was not a heckle, but use of humour to reinforce the message. “Right again, Dagda. If anyone cannot think of the best thing to include, simply remember Dagda and her honey, ginger and cloves.”

  “That’s all very well for the women and those with a sweet tooth, but what about the menfolk?” Fabian’s comment saw a few people nodding.

  “As my mother said earlier, you cannot go wrong with greens, onions and mushrooms, flavoured with garlic, fennel and marjoram.”

  “All this talk is making me hungry; why don’t you speed it up? Unless you are going to hand out some food.”

  “Will yer put a sock in it, Fabian? Give the wee lass a chance.” One of the quarrymen thumped him on the back, eliciting several approving grunts.

  “Funnily enough, that is exactly what we intended. Senna devised a recipe for oatencakes which includes many of these herbs. She is recommending you all have one savoury and one sweet every day.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “We shall be giving a set of these lists to the leader of every tithing, and Freya has kindly agreed to illustrate them to ensure everyone gets the correct herbs.”

  As her friends moved through the crowds with platters of the goodies, she sat down, glad to relieve legs which wobbled under the effort of keeping her upright.

  “You were wonderful.” Cal pushed his chair closer so he could sit with his arm around her until she gained a measure of tranquillity.

  “I forgot to mention about …”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Do not fret. They are being bombarded with so much information I doubt they will remember much. Apart from the oatencakes.”

  Lyrelie smiled, thinking how wise her husband could be. She barely took in anything from Osman’s speech about banding together to improve the sanitation. When Jarl stepped up, she tried to concentrate as he detailed the measures to keep the disease away. Much of it made sense as he spoke
about policing the perimeter, border controls and setting up a communication web with their nearest neighbours to give an early warning.

  By the time Ranly stood, almost every person in the room had reached the limit of their tolerance, as evidenced by the groans.

  He held up his hands. “Apologies to you all, and gratitude for lasting this long. Tomorrow morning, there will be a meeting for the chief and deputy from every tithing to organise the working parties for each of the tasks. Every man and woman will be expected to do their bit to protect our village, so if you have skills to offer …”

  “The quarrymen know a thing or two about digging holes.” Brom called out. “I’m guessing we can help with those drains Osman was talking about.”

  “Excellent. I recommend we halt work in the quarry for a week or two until everything is in place. Just the clerk will remain to keep an eye on it and deal with the existing orders and any other enquiries.”

  Lyrelie shuddered. The mere mention of that place still had the power to open a path to grief about her father. However, she realised Lyran’s presence and chats had helped her to come to terms with the pain.

  Then her mother stood to invite everyone to a shared meal on Friday, suggesting they all try to bring something using Lyran’s special ingredients. “We will be providing a potion which you should all drink to give a special boost to your body’s defences. It’s very important every person has a small beaker of this to give themselves the best chance.”

  “Is this the tonic Farmon mentioned?” Dagda performed the necessary function of asking the question many people were thinking.

  “It is similar to the tonic you can all make, with some extremely rare supplements. But the main difference is that it will have been made with the energy of the henge and blessed by the full moon.”

  “And whatever magic you and Lyrelie have.”

  “That goes without saying. Its potency is such you should only need a small beaker for it to work.”

  The next two days were ridiculously busy as Senna showed Lyrelie, Cora, Marena and Freya how to prepare the necessary herbs and spices for the various potions. She insisted that the final ingredient could not be added until the full moon ceremony.