Weed: The Poison Diaries

by Jane Northumberland

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘No. Certain people are just drawn to each other. We knew you’d find one of us eventually. And it happened to be me you found. Good news for you.’ I look down into the waters again and behold on the shallow floor what looks like a stone circle in the seabed.

  ‘What’s that in the water now?’

  ‘The stones? Circle of life, circle of death. One of those ones. All precisely calibrated to the sun or the moon. Everything was done ever so precisely in those days. It’s all ritual. More something to focus on that anything else. No one hardly even notices them anymore. Poor things.’ Connell seems to lose himself in his exertion for a little while. ‘Some thought that it would be best to have you killed, Weed. They thought that if you and Malina got together then you’d get up to all sorts of mischief.’ He smiles at me broadly. ‘Only I knew better than that. I knew that you’d see her for what she was. That’s why I let her on the Isle; that’s why I engaged her in her game. Trying to drown me in the fish pool! How monstrous! Plus her treachery in stealing the root you sought. If you’d not witnessed all of that then, who knows? You might be with her still.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to drown to teach me a lesson.’

  ‘Well. I had to drown and you had to be impaled. Who said it would be easy?’ There is a great splashing sound as two large bird-like creatures break the surface of the water before diving back beneath its waves.

  ‘What was that?’ The beasts fly out of the sea again, leaping around the boat as we speed through the chopping sea.

  ‘Great Auks! Aren’t they funny fat creatures!’ Their curious bodies wheel through the air happily, belly flopping and splashing up great curtains of water. ‘They look just like big penguins! We have an escort for the ending of our journey. Very good luck, those old birds. Here they come again.’

  ‘And are these the souls of dead men and women too?’

  ‘No. They’re just birds, Weed. Sometimes things are exactly what they seem and sometimes they’re not. It’s a great skill to be able to tell the difference. You have to work on that, Weed. Judgement. Listen to the Green word around you. There’s rare wisdom in growing things and few as can read them. Play to your strengths, Weed. Come on now. We’re almost here. That’s Lesbury Quai up ahead. You’ll be back at Alnwick by lunchtime!’ As we approach the shore, several fishermen wave at us.

  ‘Do they know you?’

  ‘Of course. I’m the mad hermit who lives in the castle on the Holy Isle. World famous, me.’ The prow of the Red Dragon hits the stone mooring platform and I turn to Connell. He sits in the bow of the boat with a grin on his face.

  ‘So this is it. I have to go.’

  ‘Indeed you do, Weed. Remember what I’ve said. Trust your roots. When they tell you to go then go. When they say jump then jump. What are they telling you now?’

  I think for a moment. ‘My roots aren’t telling me anything. But the roots back on the island told me to head to Alnwick Castle.’

  ‘Quite right, Weed. That’ll do for now. Now come here.’ Connell rises from his seat and approaches me. He embraces me quite tenderly and kisses me on both cheeks. ‘And here.’ He reaches inside his robe and produces the Duke’s sword and my old pocket belt. He must have saved them from the grotto. ‘You might find these useful. Now go, Weed. Go!’

  I stand on the slimy promontory and watch as Connell pushes off from the shore. ‘Goodbye, Connell.’

  ‘You’ll be fine, Weed. Watch out. I’ll be thinking about you. But remember. Stay focussed. You will be a lens for the Sol Invictus again! Don’t shrink from that power. You’ll manage. I have faith in you!’ He calls out to me and pulls out to sea. I watch as he slips into the distance, his oars lapping at the gentle waves.

  Chapter 21

  The journey from Lesbury to Alnwick is a short one but before I reach the fortified palace I note how busy the countryside is. I remember with fondness how I called this place home for a bare span of time some weeks ago. When I left Alnwick it was a frail skeleton but it has come to life in frenzy. As I travel inland from the coast, the road swarms unpleasantly with caravans of carts all carrying goods and servants. I join the noisy throng, trying to blend in with the crowd, and hope that I will go unnoticed in the grounds when I arrive.

  I wonder if the Duke would know me if he saw me again. And if he did recognize me, would he greet me or punish me? When I first entered the castle after my travails in Europe I appeared as a child and drew no attention or challenge. Once I had forced my ingress I was able to poison the palace workings from the inside, persuading the good Duke to thin his retinue of servants to a derelict corruption. Together we enjoyed peace from the outside world amid a conspicuous consumption of narcotics. I cannot be sure how well his mind has adapted to reality after our fun at the beginning of the year.

  As the great walls of Alnwick round the horizon their immensity is revealed in the midday sun. Majestic and aloof from a distance, at my approach the quotidian muck of a working castle is detestably apparent. The noise of the crowd entering and exiting the grounds is deafening, the smell of people and horses revolting. The entire town of Lesbury from which I arrive is a deserted hamlet compared to this hive of activity. I look about myself with unease; this is not my natural environment. I keep my head down as I am sucked towards the entranceway on the swelling foot traffic. My adrenaline is pumping. I don’t want to look at anyone or attract the slightest attention to myself. I notice two guards standing idly at either side of the portcullis and, too late, I remember my sword.

  ‘Ho! Who goes there?!’ A skinny, spotty youth, who has the bearing of one wearing his father’s uniform, points at me. ‘State your business here.’

  His mate seizes me roughly. I do not like to be handled so and a rage within me wants to use my sword against him. I have bested many better than these in recent weeks. Then a gentler nature proffers that I could simply turn around, leave here and find my own way again. I have done it before. I am asked my business and at the gates of Alnwick castle I consider the question. Malina, Connell, Strychnine and now Gwirdrych; a list of creatures who compel me to wander here and there. I remember Connell’s kindness, but did he nurse me to health only to set me on this course? Leading me around on his island and in his boat? Advice and instruction is so easy to take. Until the next calamity occurs.

  I am shaken from my reverie by rude hands. So much is circumstance: I am here now, so be it. I suppose that I must do as I’ve been asked. I suppose I will look for Gwirdrych, though I am weary of the cares assigned to me by others. A half-truth then for the guards: ‘I was a gardener here, sirs.’ The last word I spit. ‘I have merely come to see how my charges fare in this late spring weather.’

  A look is exchanged between the pair and the first one speaks again. ‘And a dainty sword you carry for a gardener.’

  ‘I have been travelling the road for many weeks. Surely you above all know how dangerous it is to walk abroad unarmed.’ I look at their thin rusty blades with contempt. ‘And yet I relinquish my sword to you good fellows. In truth I do not want it anymore. Accept is as a present from me to the Duke.’ It is after all the Duke’s sword to start with, I silently add, before handing the blade over to the frowzy creatures.

  ‘Aye, then take it we will. Be sure to go about your business in the gardens only. Enter the Keep and you’ll have this sword back on the sharp end. Know that we will have words with the head groundsman and steward about you.’

  ‘As you wish.’ So much for entering incognito. I shrug off their gruff restraint and enter through the portcullis and barbican to the vast grounds of the castle. The outer bailey of Alnwick is awash with industry and many dozens of gardeners are working the soil. The Duke appears to have commanded the raising of an ornamental garden; it looks like a formidable enterprise.

  My eyes lead me to the centre of the bailey where I planted the malign little spratling I found in a muddy ditch. Who would have thought it was an important growth or that now, weeks
later, I would beg it for counsel? The mean creature of memory is gone and I see in its place what looks like a peculiar tree with many feathered branches. Its aspect is so strange that passing gardeners stop beside it to gaze at it, though it must be as familiar to them as their own tools. Can Gwirdrych have grown so tall in so short a time? To repair directly to its trunk and seek an audience with the sun so high and the grounds so busy would draw question. I resolve to make a tour of the gardens and wend my way slowly to its middle as the day progresses and the troupe of labourers diminish.

  At the perimeter of the curtain wall, at the furthest edge from me, there stands an arresting sight: a cathedral built of glass and crystal, with nave and transept arranged in a cross and a lucent dome ascending above. It is an awesome growhouse of surpassing beauty, newly constructed and glinting in the sun. It warrants a closer look and I start towards it. Along my path to the left and right grow herbs and bushes, perennial and deciduous, decorative and luxuriant. I do not find medicine beds but before very long I come across a magnificent Rose garden. Passing through those thorny beauties I hear many voices calling to me.

  ‘It’s Weed. Sweet Weed. Why don’t you tarry with us a while?’ I stop to admire a great Dog Rose bush. ‘Will you talk to us?’

  The scent of sweet petals wafts on the air. ‘The Lord who owns these lands has grown you up beautifully.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Weed? Our lord owns no land. How can you own land anyway? We grow at the behest of our own rare master. A great Prince of plants makes his home here. We are blessed by Mab for his presence.’ The Dog Rose wags its leaves in pleasure.

  ‘Gwirdrych.’

  ‘Strange walking Weed speaks his Green name.’

  ‘So there are two lords here. One of blood and another of Green.’

  ‘Whatever, Weed. If you speak with Gwirdrych be polite and name no strange red lord of the garden. He doesn’t like the Air Sniffers.’

  I leave the colourful shrubs behind me and walk further around the curtain wall towards the growhouse, marvelling at the awesome size as it becomes more apparent. Even from this distance I can see the geometry of its interlocking gilt ribs, each bearing a perfectly cut crystal pane. It is admirable for men to construct such an edifice to growing. The Duke’s good purpose meets with my approval. Already I am able to hear from within the familiar songs of several powerful Green things. I listen to them raise hosannas to the sun and by the time I reach the entrance I am eager to pass inside.

  The atmosphere within is warm, musty and still, heavy with the scent of pollen. I immediately recognize an abundance of aphrodisiacs and narcotics fit for the most energetic hedonist. By the entranceway is an entire suite of Psilocybin mushrooms and behind them I see Poppy and Cannabis, Morning Glory, Salvia Divinorum and Ayahuasca, all to stimulate the mind. To inflame the libido: Cup of Gold, Clary, Borrachero and Ditatree, among many others. The Borrachero shrub is an especially beautiful plant. Great cascades of white blooms like long thin trumpets hang heavily downwards in curtains and canopies with small yellow fruits growing on the branches. Its name in Spanish means ‘the drunk one’; the fruits are an aphrodisiac and intoxicant.

  ‘Hello, little ones,’ I greet them, eating of their delicious fruits. I breathe the air, balmy with the zest of life and take a moment to lie still on the rich soil amongst the growing things. As Borrachero takes its effect I gaze up at the roof, watching the rays of the sun penetrate deep within this monument to medicine and poison. My body relaxes and I think of Green, letting my essence pass comfortably into the earth. My cares seep away in this magical construction of reflected and intensified sunlight. It is sweet to be with my brothers and sisters again.

  ‘……Mmmm, Weed, is that you?’ Somniferous Poppy makes his greeting.

  ‘Weed. Whoa! He’s never been here. Wow. Is it really you?’ The Ayahuasca plant is feeling talkative. ‘Have you been at the Mushrooms yet? They’re good.’

  ‘Yes. We’re great. Have some.’ The little mushrooms squeak up at me.

  ‘The last time I was in a room of fungus I almost died, mushroom.’

  ‘That couldn’t have been one of us. We don’t mean anyone any harm.’

  I spot the beautiful blue and purple plant of some old friends. ‘Are you well used, Morning Glory?’

  ‘Hardly, Weed. The Duke’s the only one that ever tries us, and that but rarely. It’s Borrachero and Ditatree that are in most demand these days.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Mab alive, Weed. But there is hardly anything left of my bark.’ The Ditatree does indeed look quite bald. ‘They’re constantly in here stripping us down. Borrachero over there almost had to run to seed last month, he was so badly clipped. I’m all for love, as you well know, but there’s such a thing as too much of a good thing.’

  ‘Aphrodisiacs are busy in spring.’

  ‘And come wintertime there’ll be plenty more of those little walking beggars coming into the world.’

  As I sit happily amongst the chattering plants I slowly become aware of a whispered conversation coming from without the glasshouse. ‘She’ll come today for the Duke’s daughter-in-law. I pray that she can bring it off.’

  ‘Oh, Anusia. How could you let it happen?’

  ‘You’ve seen the fellow. How could I resist?’ I peer out from my low perch and see two young women crouched by the curtain wall on the other side of the thin glass. One is wringing her hands in anxiety while the other strokes her hair trying to comfort her.

  ‘And he’ll not marry you?’

  ‘Marry me? He’s already married! And to the housekeeper. Dear God! I shall lose my position if anyone finds out about this. Homeless, without a man and pregnant on the street. Oh, my mother was right!’

  ‘Nonsense. I’ve heard that the sisters can work wonders with their herbs. Who else have you told about your poor situation?’

  ‘Only you. Do please look out for those good women when they come. Oh! Unless they go and tell the steward! Oh Lord, I shall go mad with worry.’

  ‘None from up that way is nobby nor hoity-toity. No stuffed shirts. They’ll understand a young girl’s predicament!’

  ‘Uh! It’s those walkers again. They’re the worst for splitting my bark right open. Keep them at bay for at least a day or two, Weed. Please.’

  ‘I think they might have had enough, Ditatree.’ I get up from the glasshouse floor and the women jump at my sudden appearance. They look at me in open-mouthed horror before running as fast as they can back to the Keep. I watch their backs as they retreat and see again the white-feathered tree growing at the heart of the garden. I feel rested and content in this marvellous construction but I know I am hiding from my encounter with Gwirdrych.

  I pick a final yellow fruit of the Borrachero shrub and slip it into my pocket belt. ‘Cabrón, you horny goat. What have you got in mind for later? Bravo!’

  ‘Hush Borrachero! Your medicines are not only good for love. They are a pleasant poison for any mood.’

  ‘My sweet fruits inflame the senses, Weed. But no need to enjoy them alone.’

  By the time I leave the glasshouse it is late afternoon and the grounds are thinning out. Most of the gardeners have left for the day or are taking tea at the margins of the castle wall. I steady my nerve and proceed towards the great tree standing at the centre of the bailey. Drawing nearer, I notice that although it is the size of a tree it has no brown bark trunk. Instead a thick, leathery green stalk grows proudly amidst an efflorescence of pale white feathered leaves. They look something like the stalks of pampas grass but the feathers hang down more thick and lustrous. They sway in the breeze and pale filaments float loose on the cool air. Seeing it up close I feel certain that this is the lank tendril I planted here weeks ago, but vastly grown. And when I hear its greeting, there is no doubt.

  ‘Meat Ears!’ The voice assails my ears. It is haughty, full of malevolence and stronger than the last time I heard it. ‘Stamping and stomping. Thumping and crushing.’
/>   ‘You look different from when I planted you. You’ve grown hugely.’ I touch one of the soft feathers.

  ‘Mouth of mulch.’

  ‘I am here to make amends for what I did.’

  ‘Rootless!’

  ‘I ask for your help against Malina.’

  ‘I do not hear you, Walking Rot!’

  ‘But you must. I know your true name.’

  ‘Only the Green know my name, Blood-Soused!’

  ‘Strychnine told it me.’

  ‘Strychnine.’ At his words a bush of the deadly poison grows at my side and many pale yellow fruits sprout from its limbs. ‘Sup and die, Meat!’

  ‘If I do not die then will you help me?’ I pick a toxic Strychnine fruit and eat it. Crushing the bitter juices in my jaw.

  ‘More, Iron Sap.’ Although I do not feel poisons like other animals, they do have an effect on me. Nevertheless I pick half a dozen further fruits and eat them one by one. I have never before consumed so many at once. They gurgle unpleasantly in my belly.

  ‘How do you feel, Frail Flesh?’ The plant spits its question.

  ‘Well enough.’ Although this is not entirely true. Flashes of white sparks like tiny, bright fish are dancing in the air at the periphery of my vision. They seem to lunge at me and then withdraw just as suddenly. ‘I am part animal but I am part Green also.’

  ‘Lying lips! Seedless!’

  I have the sensation of everything happening very slowly. My skin itches and crawls unpleasantly. I am light headed, dizzy but I resolve not to show it. I must get the measure of this meeting. ‘I know the power of the great cycle. At Soutra Aisle I was a lens for the sun. I have met with Mab at Lindisfarne.’

  ‘You are Red, not Green. You prove it by your words. Lindisfarne is what men call it. Medcaut is its name, Fetid Guts!’

  Indeed the Strychnine boils in my stomach. My arms and legs spasm painfully, tingling in the throes of poison. Unable to stand any longer, I sit heavily to the floor. The grass beneath me is a carpet of green velvet. I find that I must stretch out upon it. I cannot focus and my head is numb. I am being watched and tested by a hostile consciousness and I fear that I am failing the test. There was a word, a name that I was supposed to remember, but it eludes me. ‘I am truly sorry that you will not grow at Lindis– at Medcaut again. That Mab has lost you from the cardinal root. It is a corruption that I have brought to the law of the Green.’