‘Take some water from your flask and be sure to spit out any residue. You don’t want those plants in your belly. They’ll poison you dead.’
Polly is still groaning on the floor in clear agony. ‘Oh, God. She’ll die from this torment.’ Agatha sobs as she rinses her mouth out. Ruth taps me on the shoulder. She has Poppy, Cannabis and St John’s Wort in her hand. Poppy and Cannabis for pain relief and St John’s Wort to relax the mind. There’s no time to wonder at Ruth’s expert choice and blending of the medicinal plants. I nod in approval and she hands them to Agatha, who chews the newest prescription and gives them to Polly to eat. Immediately the patient starts to calm, the creased lines of her forehead relaxing.
As we tend to the newly delivered woman I’m aware of Ruth doing something to the baby behind me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hope that the little girl isn’t too horrified by the scene. Then I remember the bloody sacrifice on the heath that she participated in. The child has seen much worse than this. I listen to Polly’s heart. Her pulse is slowing down. Her muscles are loosening. I look at Hannah smiling. ‘There is hope for her.’
Hannh is about to reply when we hear the sound of crying softly behind us. As one we turn and look to see Ruth gently massaging the baby’s heaving chest. Instantly, Agatha is by her side and she sweeps the newborn from the ground. She cradles it in her arms, holding it close, speechless with happiness. I stare at Ruth in amazement, my mouth hanging open. She stares right back with those silent brown eyes. She looks down and slowly opens her fist to reveal the crushed skins of two mandrake berries held between her fingers.
Chapter 11
It is late afternoon and Agatha is stoking a fire lit in the green grounds outside the chapel at Soutra Aisle. I have brewed a strong tea from fresh Tea leaves and Chamomile blended to stimulate Polly’s blood and calm her mind. She gently nurses her newborn boy and her eyes shine with happiness and pleasure. Hannah’s beauty has returned as her anxiety is assuaged and I remember the desire I felt for her under the firelight in Fala. In the plain sun her innocent, frank loveliness is even more apparent. Delicate freckles spread across her cheeks and, watching her mouth, quick to smile, I think on my shyness in Agatha’s house with a foolish grin. I have learned some lessons in love since then.
Agatha and Hannah cannot stop murmuring soft kind words over Ruth. They thank her repeatedly and, getting no reply, they coo over her more. ‘My! But it is queer that the child cannot speak and yet understands so much. She would make a better midwife than any we have around these parts.’
Agatha rubs Ruth again on her back but the little girl barely looks up. She is weaving again. She has torn some cloth from the hem of Polly’s dress, stained red from blood, and is fashioning a simple bracelet for the child. In silence she ties it around the wrist of the newborn baby. ‘Aye, that’s right child. A red wristlet to keep away the evil eye and bad spirits.’ The exhausted mother speaks. ‘This little boy has God and you to thank for his first breath. I will name him Boone, as he is a gift, long expected and almost lost. You are too young to be his Godmother yet.’ She takes up the baby and dandles him on her lap. ‘But I will teach him of you, Ruth. From the first day that he can understand words. You will always have a home to come to in Fala until the day you die.’
‘Hola! You there.’ We turn to see Malina approaching from the north. She walks with a purpose and in almost no time at all she appears above the flames and our little group. She takes in the scene for a moment before speaking in an even tone. ‘Is that the smell of a new baby boy in the air?’ The burning fire casts a large shadow behind her slight frame. Suddenly I am aware of the gathering dusk.
‘Yes, Lady. He has been delivered by Master Weed and his very life snatched from the jaws of death by this clever little one. You must be her mammie.’ There is a smile on Agatha’s lips but not in her face. She is afraid.
‘But what can they mean, good Weed?’ Malina asks me.
‘Young Ruth here did something extraordinary this afternoon.’ I cannot help but feel proud of the child and her swift action. ‘She saved two desperate lives. Administering Polly here with just the right herbs to help her labour pains and recovery. But more than that, she used the crushed juice of deadly Mandrake to quicken the heart of the child, stillborn to life in a matter of seconds.’
Hannah touches the baby’s foot and waggles it playfully. ‘Little Boone supped on poisoned Mandrake before touching his mammie. A risky gambit that one. He will grow into a strong man, be assured of that. Wouldn’t you say so Agie?’
‘Let me hold him.’ Malina says.
‘An’t please you Lady.’ Polly hands over the quiet child and Malina inspects it.
‘Tsch, what is this?’ She removes the red bracelet in one deft move. ‘It is unhealthy to swathe the child in bloody garb. These good people of the town know little of the dangers of such trinkets. The baby could put it to his face and sup. Blood rots in the belly.’
‘Twas only a charm given by the child as saved him. The little miracle-worker.’ Polly’s exhaustion and elation make her bold even as the other women shrink from Malina.
‘Miracle-worker? I doubt that very much. She just saw Weed in the garden picking herbs and copied him. She can’t speak a word and has been senseless all her life. Most think her silence is a curse bought on by God or the devil. I wouldn’t want her near a newborn of mine lest the curse is catching. Still, the baby lives for now.’ Malina hands back the infant to his mother. ‘There is a chill in the air. Perhaps you should be headed home before night truly falls.’
‘But Polly is still weak. And Agatha and Hannah are worn out too. I though perhaps they could spend the night here and return tomorrow.’ I speak but Malina gives me a straight look and all protest goes out of me.
‘And where, pray tell, would dear Agatha sleep? There is hardly room here for we three and no door to the chapel. The chill breath of midnight would come upon infant Boone and extinguish the spark of life so recently kindled within him. You wouldn’t want that would you, dear Polly? And Hannah, my lovely, you wouldn’t want to sleep on the cold, wormy ground?’ Her eyes spark grey with the strength of her will.
‘Perhaps you’re right and it isn’t safe here,’ I turn to the women of Fala, now crowding by the fire. ‘If you are strong enough then you should return.’
‘But it’ll be dark ’ere we reach home.’ Polly declares unhappily.
‘No, Pol, it’s time we should be going. There’s warm homes waiting for us back in Fala and a proud father too. Your old man will be worried sick by now. It’s best we go.’ Agatha seems eager to be away but before anyone stirs Ruth jumps from the ground and goes to Polly, holding her arms out to the new mother. Polly hands the tiny baby to Ruth who kisses Boone gently on the forehead before she passes him to me.
‘Well gi’him a kiss, Weed. It’s bad luck to moon over a baby and not to kiss it.’ Says Agatha as she and Hannah help Polly to her feet.
I lay my lips gently on the baby’s head before returning him to his mother. They turn to leave and I am sad to think that I will never see these honest folk again. Avoiding Malina’s gaze, I hand Agatha a dose of each herb blend. ‘Here, take this. One to help with pain and the other to stave off infection. Remember. One to chew well in the mouth and eat and the other as a poultice on the skin. Don’t get them confused, mind!’
They thank Ruth and me and bid a polite goodnight to Malina, receiving a stiff nod in return. As they walk off in silence they cut a striking picture: three women dressed in simple shawls and taking an easy pace. They lean against one another tenderly with the newborn baby at their heart. Ruth stares after them and then grabs something off the ground, runs to them and hands it to Agatha. It is the shreds of the red bracelet.
‘What is she doing with those people?’ Malina speaks quickly and quietly.
‘She is just giving them a blend of the tea we are drinking.’ I don’t know what compels me to lie to my lover but I do. Ruth turns and when she sees Malina she c
onsiders a moment then heads away from us in the direction of the medicine garden.
Once we are alone Malina looks at me bitterly. ‘Weed, you fool.’
Her anger perplexes me. ‘What troubles you? They came here looking for aid and what could we do but help them?’
‘What could you do but help them? You could have turned them away, Weed. The child is strange and it will arouse suspicion. A mute healer so young? One who brought a baby back from the dead? It will be the talk of that town within a day. They’ll come. They won’t understand what they see. They’ll grow impatient. Then fearful. Then violent. It always goes the same way.’ She looks archly at me. ‘You know what people can do, Weed.’
‘These women can’t mean us any harm.’ I defend myself but already I regret what has passed here today. Malina is right. I should have protected this place from the prying eyes of strangers.
‘Oh? And how do you know them so well? Agatha, Polly and lovely Hannah?’ Her head inclines towards me and I feel like I am being measured.
‘I knew them first in Fala town, the same night that I saw you upon the heath.’ My eyes flit from Malina’s face to the grasses that root between us.
Malina gestures to the retreating women; their figures are indistinguishable and they appear as one disappearing over the horizon. ‘The omens are bad from that direction.’ She turns to me and my heart freezes in her gaze. ‘Today I have augured in the forests. A bat flew low from the north. From Fala. It carried a snake in its teeth as it passed. Death approaches.’
‘But I met them on Beltane Eve. A blessed night. Surely that is a good omen.’ I go to Malina and take her hand in mine.
‘A blessed night? You are simple as a flower, Weed.’ She slips her hand from mine. ‘You have everything backwards. When you saw me at the great fire, what did you feel?’
‘It was a dreadful sight but I was excited.’
‘The fire was awful to behold and it is an apt ritual for that night. The spirits are abroad on Beltane, demanding of flesh. We spill blood to appease and entreat them. The blessed year doesn’t begin until six months hence, with the coming of Samhain, which men call All Hallows Eve, All Saints’ Day. That is the bountiful time for making new acquaintances, when the harvest is full and plenty. There are no good meetings to be encountered on Beltane. The year’s cycle begins in autumn with the coming of darkness and winter. The spring, this gay and breezy season, knows its place at the bottom of the heap.’ Malina looks up at the rising Moon. ‘Bring back the dark, I say. Bring back the fires.’
Malina’s words bring chill fear to my mind. I think on Green but again I am denied my commune with the roots of the earth. I reflect on the company of plants; they are so simple, so different from Malina. It is hard for me to read what she is thinking. ‘When I saw you on the heath, I felt as if I was drawn to you, and now that I have met you and know you… I can’t help myself. I think that I don’t want you to go away from me. Not ever. I trust what you say. But the danger from Fala, can it be certain?’
‘A Haruspex can only interpret the signs, but seeing these women brought here by you today, it is clear that they will bring trouble. Especially to the child, my charge. Yet the omens do tell us one thing. The grief that comes is great. I fear I must leave and take Ruth away from this danger. What were you seeking when you welcomed death to Soutra Aisle?’
At her words a physical pain manifests within me and I speak quickly. ‘I sought nothing. I am still learning the ways of people; I have forgotten so much of my old life. I didn’t see the danger.’ I sink in misery. ‘Malina, ever since I can remember I have been like a leaf in the wind, reacting to circumstances around me. Just here in this garden for the first time I knew simple ease and rest. Since you came here.’
‘Yes. I have come.’ She walks up to me and brushes my dark hair out of my green eyes. Her touch reminds me of our passion.
‘I don’t think I have met anyone like you before.’
‘Trust your instincts, Weed. You haven’t. You and I could be wonderful together, fearless of normal men. You talking to the plants and me reading the animals. We fit together well, don’t you think? All the power of nature at our fingertips.’
‘What do I know of power?’
‘Really, Weed, don’t be so dense. What do you think it is to be able to talk to plants, to make poison, to kill?’ Her hands leave my face. She looks directly into my green eyes. ‘To speak to the sun?’
Since Malina’s arrival I have though little of my vision beneath the sun’s rays. My journey of terror into the soil and the pleasure it brought me. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘I am a Haruspex, Weed. I keep my eyes and ears open. Anyone listening for a hundred miles would have felt it.’ She turns her back to me. ‘Probably others would come here if you waited long enough. But these days even those who feel the veins beneath the earth are afraid to walk them when they quake.’
‘But not you.’
‘What do you think?’ A vision of her fire-lit nakedness is thrown into the kernel of my mind and I reel from it.
Night has fallen hard about us now and thick clouds cover the Moon and stars. The clear day seems a distant memory and I can hardly recall the baby who was birthed on this ground scant hours ago. I am deeply disturbed by Malina’s talk of leaving. So much so that when Ruth appears quite suddenly at my feet I almost do not recognise the child. She proffers up to me the trousers I had been working on, now completed by her hand. In her hair she wears a delicately wrought chain of daisies. Their dainty white and yellow flowers should be closed with the coming of dusk but hereabouts the buds stay open for my pleasure.
‘It seems a bond has grown between you,’ Malina’s voice is cold. ‘She wants to know your art. Perhaps she sees in you someone to help to bring back the sensibility of her mind and mouth. Then she could tell us her true tale.’
I barely hear what Malina says. I only want to know one thing. ‘But are you leaving?’
‘Not tonight, Weed. Come with me and let us go into shelter together.’ Malina takes my arm, winding it about her waist and leads me gently away to the chapel. ‘If the child wishes to learn more about the ways of nature then let her sleep here on the ground.’ I turn back and see Ruth standing alone in her white smock upon the grasses, shining brightly in the moonless night.
Chapter 12
Malina and I make love for the second time that day. In her smooth warm body I forget all worry and care. This prized intimacy is novel to me and even when we break from the act of lust, I delight as much in Malina’s company as in her sweat and touch. I want to whisper my hopes and dreams to her. I want to know everything about her. My possessions are few but I want to give her everything I have. When Malina finds the Duke’s sword I can hardly wait to share it with her.
She runs her fingers along the hilt and asks me plainly, ‘This blade is finely wrought. Where did you get it?’
I raise my head on one hand, naked at her back, and reply with easy candour. ‘It is my weapon. I used it to fight and best my enemy.’ I ask myself if I am confessing or boasting, but I don’t care either way. I trust this woman and I can tell her anything. ‘He forced me to desecrate a garden and revolt nature. I made amends for that crime. Now I keep it to remind myself of the cruelness of what I did.’
Malina waves scornfully. ‘Cruelty and kindness are not important notions for us, Weed. Our nature guides us to strength and that is the only goal of consequence.’ She turns to me. ‘And what of you? Do you want to see the hidden side of the earth as I do? Do you seek power as I do?’
‘I think that if there is anything I seek it is simply to belong somewhere. To find my true place in nature.’
Malina slides her body closer to mine and nestles her head on the crook of my arm, looking into my face. ‘Perhaps it is with me that you belong.’
I move my free hand up her body until it reaches her navel. ‘When I am with you all other thoughts fly from me.’
She smiles. ‘Of course, We
ed. We are a man and a woman. We fit together.’
‘Sometimes, the way you talk of evil omens and your easy way with death, I think that I fear you a little.’
She blows my black hair out of my face, only to watch it tumble back down over my green eyes. ‘I am more evil and more good than any creature. One who gives herself completely to hate can easily give herself to love. You cannot have the first without the second; they are two sides of the same coin.’
‘Until I met you I didn’t think that I was capable of love. Plants, after all, don’t feel that emotion.’
She takes my hand. ‘You talk foolishly sometimes. Plants exist in the generous hand of the Sun. Eternal, limitless: it is the totality of love.’
‘I have felt the kiss of the sun. Its intensity half drove me mad. All life in the Green world was held for an instant in the palm of my hands. I could give that life or take it away.’
‘Have you ever felt that intensity again or before?’
‘Yes. With you on the heath and here in the chapel.’
‘Well there’s your answer; you have felt love in all its glory. Plants exist in love. For the beasts of the field it is the opposite.’
I kiss her gently. ‘Animals don’t feel love.’
’No, but they have fear. A terrible fear of death. That is the animal’s curse. That lamb on the heath. I could feel its fear and see the future in its last guttering terror. It is a powerful tool but fear is finite and so is death. Terribly finite and dreadful.’ Malina’s eyes shift away from mine and for a moment I don’t recognize her face. ‘That is the plants’ blessing; they never really die. Love and life in the Green world is endlessly renewing. And what wouldn’t I give for that?’
I kiss her again. ‘And do you feel my love for you?’
‘Of course. I am Haruspex and I am womankind. Within us is the love that creates life, albeit for a short time. The womb is our burden. So much is consumed in that terrible act of birth. Man’s way is different. His wish to create forces him to look outside of his body and into the world of nature to fulfil it. That longing is man’s and there is power in his passion. Procreation is a distraction that forces women to default on that point, unless we are very clever.’
Weed: The Poison Diaries Page 7
