Wild Wood

by Posie Graeme-Evans

  As the fighters filed past, I put my hand on Rauf’s arm. “This is a sorrowful time. We must all respect the dead. Gossip will not be helpful.” But I saw that the cause was lost when he looked at me. He was as frightened as any of the others.

  Maugris watched Godefroi place his wife’s hand beside her body with great gentleness, as if to soothe a bird that might escape. Bemused, my brother shook his head and muttered, “Bayard, we need—”

  I said abruptly, “I can see what is needed.” I thought Godefroi’s actions as strange as Maugris did.

  I ran up the stairs from the chapel. A forcing bar would be in the smithy; perhaps we could lever it between the doors. If not, an ax must be used.

  One floor above, voices came from the great hall, though the murmur was subdued. I did not wish to be seen and left the keep wrapped in my cloak, the hood over my face.

  The wind chased me inside the smithy as I opened the door. It too was deserted but with enough light to see what was needed.

  Behind the forge, a long bench stood against the wall. Whatever else he was, the new smith was an orderly man; his tools hung from pegs or were grouped in half casks close to the forge. I found a hammer with a massive head, a flat bar with a rounded point, and a new-made ax also. Damage to the chapel doors could not be hidden, and the sound of blows would echo up into the tower, but the blade was honed well and would quickly bite a hole if that is what we had to do.

  Returning, I hurried down the last of the stairs past Godefroi. His eyes were fixed on Flore’s face. He made no sign he had seen me.

  I showed Maugris what I had. “There’s an ax as well.”

  “We should try to force it first. There will be less noise.”

  “How much light remains?”

  “Begin.” Maugris was calm, but a glance at his torch was my answer. It was half burned away, though the second was less consumed.

  The lock was fatally well made, and the doors sat tight against each other. With some effort I worked the point of the bar into what gap there was and stood back as Maugris hammered with the head of the ax, trying to break the tongue of metal that held them closed. All we did was splinter the wood and disturb the dark with the crash of the blows.

  “The point must be driven down harder.” We were both sweating as the first torch died. “Give me room.” Maugris had the hammer poised. “One, two, three!” He struck, and we both felt the lock shatter. Under our weight, the doors burst apart.

  No cross, no candle stands, no sacred ornaments remained. And there were no trestles. The tabernacle had been stripped.

  Godefroi walked in behind us. “He has taken the monstrance. And the pyx also.” Slowly, his face turned scarlet, swollen with fury.

  Apart from Easter, Christmas Day was the most sacred feast of the year; tomorrow, also, the grave had to be dug and Flore laid in the earth. For that we had to have a priest, and the furnishings of the altar returned to their places. If the funeral mass was not held, the people of Hundredfield would believe we had truly been deserted by God. And most particularly, Flore would be all Matthias had claimed she was. For her sake, and for the honor of the Dieudonné, the malice of the man could not be permitted to prevail. We must do what was possible immediately and deal with the rest as it came.

  First the bier was to be placed before the altar—three men to do the work that six had done before.

  Maugris said, “Bayard, you take the foot and I the head. Godefroi—”

  Our brother had gone.

  We found him kneeling in the vestibule beside his wife. At first I thought the soft murmur was prayer for her soul, but closer, I heard what he said:

  “We left you alone, my dearest child. God strike me for that unless you can forgive me.” He stroked Flore’s face tenderly, leaning close to the mouth of the corpse as if to kiss her.

  Maugris cleared his throat. “All is well, brother.” He knelt too. “Come. You and I and Bayard will carry your lady in together.”

  Godefroi stared into the chapel. “It is dark. She must have candles around her, many candles. Where have all the candles gone?”

  Maugris measured Godefroi’s expression, as I did. His face was confused as a child’s. “First we shall prepare for tomorrow, brother. You and I will take vigil with the Lady Flore, and then she is to be buried. That is what you told Matthias.”

  Godefroi spat on the flags and held his wife’s hand against his chest. “That man shall never upset you again. I swear this.” He smoothed the hair from Flore’s brow as if it had become disordered.

  “I will ride to the priory and bring another priest. Will that please you?” I spoke to Godefroi, not the corpse.

  “As you hear, lady. Do you find Bayard’s offer acceptable?” Godefroi leaned down. Kissing her brow, he nodded to me. “The Lady Flore is well pleased.” He stood, apparently calm. “It is time. We have her permission.” His face was serene again and his tone sensible, if you discounted the words.

  We bent, all three, to lift the makeshift bier. And as we approached the chancel, torchlight glimmering on the silver God above our heads, sadness grasped and held me so hard that in my heart I called out to Him, Accept this woman, Lord. Love her. She has done nothing wrong.

  And it came to me that I was glad Flore would be buried beside my mother, for hers had been a kind and tender heart. Godefroi’s wife had had too little kindness in this place. Our mother would understand that this girl would never hold her own daughter, never hear the child learn to speak, never see her a grown woman or give her to her husband as a bride; yes, our mother would understand such anguish.

  We laid Flore on the tiles at the foot of the altar, but as Godefroi knelt beside her corpse, and Maugris and I held our sword hilts high above them—the warriors’ cross—I saw something.

  The air was thick with shadow, it is true, but it seemed to me that Flore’s eyes moved beneath their lids. From shock, the sword dropped from my hand. My brothers turned at the clang of the blade on the floor, but they did not see what I had seen.

  I bowed my head as if shamed, staring at the dead girl’s face. And if I could, I would have asked, Are you still alive? And if you are not . . .

  In the Lady Chapel next to the Madonna’s shrine were candle stands that had been too large and too heavy for the priest to steal. Maugris and I set them around the bier on which Flore lay. Lit, they were a circle of stars, just as Godefroi had wanted.

  “You must leave us now.”

  Maugris said, “Brother, allow one of us, at least, to—”

  “You do not understand,” Godefroi said gently. “This will be the last night I shall have with my wife on this earth. You would not grudge me that, Maugris?” Godefroi turned to look at me also. “Or you, Bayard? I wish to keep vigil alone.”

  What point was there in saying more?

  My last sight was of Godefroi kneeling beside his wife, the pommel of his sword held up like a cross over her body. And Flore seemed happy.

  If I could have run from the chapel, I would have.

  18

  THE PRINCE of Wales will today visit Brixton, the site of recent riots in London. Ahead of the visit he expressed the wish that his marriage to Lady Diana Spencer may provide an opportunity for the British people to—” The transistor radio clicks off as Jesse enters the kitchen.

  “I don’t mind. Truly. I got used to hearing the news in the hospital. It was on all the time.”

  Alicia puts a kettle on the Aga and says pleasantly, “Hardly news. The country’s obsessed. You can’t turn the radio on or pick up a newspaper or even talk to the butcher without being bombarded by ‘the wedding.’ Tea?”

  Jesse hasn’t slept well and she’s woken up worried. “Let me help.”

  “Oh, I can just about manage.” A friendly glance, though slightly cool. “Besides . . .” Alicia points at Jesse’s sling. “So what about some toast? Or there are eggs and tomatoes.”

  Jesse says impulsively, “Toast. But only if you let me make it.”

 
; “And yet, here’s some I prepared earlier.” Alicia opens the warming oven with a flourish and lifts out a silver toast rack crammed with crustless triangles of brown toast as if she’s Julia Child. “Get the butter if you like, it’s in the fridge. Jam’s on the table.” She puts the rack on a cork mat.

  It’s a first for Jesse to eat breakfast with napkins in silver rings and china with gilded crests. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

  “We all have to eat.” Alicia carries the teapot to the table. Sturdy, brown earthenware. “Have you seen Rory?”

  “Not so far.” Jesse’s got that uncomfortable feeling again. Alicia’s manners are impeccable, but there’s something.

  “More trouble than he’s worth, that man.” Alicia offers the pot.

  As Jesse holds up her cup, she says lightly, “Could be worth a bit, though, when he sets up in Harley Street one day. Maybe when he’s really famous and really, really old, he’ll die and leave everything to Hundredfield.”

  A grim little laugh. “That’s years away. Or not, as the case might be. Lots of times I’ve positively yearned to murder Rory Brandon.”

  Is that a joke? Jessie’s not completely sure. “Rory told me he was born here and that you played together as children. That must count for something. When the will is finally read, I mean.”

  Alicia hesitates. “True. But then his mother remarried and they moved away. Cancels out, I’d say.”

  And that’s a world of loneliness, right there.

  “Um . . .” Jesse hesitates. “I just wanted to ask, if you don’t mind, that is . . .” Half formed, the words bubble from her mouth.

  Politely, Alicia cuts the knot. “Could you pass the jam?”

  “Oh. Yes. But, what I meant was, were you serious last night? The invitation? I really, really don’t want to impose.” Jesse’s always been a blurter. She hates that.

  “Of course. And you’re not.” Alicia chews placidly.

  “It’s just that, well . . .” Jesse hauls in air as if there’s not much left in the world. “I was surprised, you see, and . . .” Alicia nods patiently. “I’m just more accustomed to doing things on my own. I came to England on my own and planned on coming to Scotland by myself as well, because I really have so many things I need to do. But . . .” Jesse hesitates.

  Alicia picks up the pot. “More tea?”

  Jesse shakes her head. “No. Thank you.” She dithers, then surrenders. “You see, it is true that Rory’s made a difference. To recovering from the accident, I mean. And I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Plus I do want to get better, so I’d like to say yes. Just for a few days. If that’s okay?” Jesse finishes in a rush.

  Alicia butters another triangle. Applies jam. “It seems to me Rory owes you. That could be good.” A brief, quite wicked smile as she takes a bite.

  Jesse exhales. “Um . . .”

  “Yes?” Alicia is patient when she has to be.

  “Rory did say there’s a village quite close.”

  “Newton Prior. Yes, it’s not far.”

  “Walking distance?”

  Alicia shakes her head. “Not unless you’d enjoy a really, really long hike. It’s a decent ride too, only we don’t have horses these days.”

  “Oh.” A crestfallen silence.

  Alicia decides to be nice. “I’ll be going to town a bit later today. I can give you a lift if you like.”

  “I don’t want to be a pain, though.” Jesse smiles briefly; being dependent for simple moving around is not her idea of a good time.

  “Or I could just get what you need?”

  “It’s only an aerogram.”

  Alicia doesn’t ask what for, and Jesse doesn’t tell her.

  “You don’t have to go to the village for that.” Alicia gets up and rummages in a kitchen drawer. She puts a couple of flimsy blue sheets on the table.

  Jesse looks at them. Okay, it’s decided. She’ll write to her parents and post it today. “Thanks. That’s great. By the way, is there a library in . . .”

  “Newton Prior?”

  Jesse nods. “That’s it. Is it a big place?”

  “Not very. But there is a library.”

  “Final question.” A nervous grin. “How far is Hundredfield from Jedburgh?”

  “An hour, maybe more, maybe less, depending on traffic once you hit the main road.” The expression in Alicia’s eyes is kind.

  “Good to know.” Maybe I can get a bus. “Thanks.”

  Something cold nudges Jesse’s knee and she jumps, dropping her knife.

  Alicia ducks under the table. “I warned you. No cadging!”

  “Me or Ollie?” Rory strolls in from the passage.

  “Ow!” Alicia hits her head as the dog scrambles up, wagging and barking. “Ollie! Be quiet.”

  “Sleep late?” Jesse’s suddenly busy with her toast.

  “Me? Never. Had a quiet stroll, that’s all.” Rory swipes what’s on Alicia’s plate.

  “Get your own.” She slaps his hand.

  Jesse watches the byplay. Alicia’s enigmatic, but now Rory’s arrived, she seems happy.

  “So.” He drops into a chair, pulling the toast rack toward him. “Going to stay?” He selects a piece and lays butter down in slabs.

  Shameless. Jesse says, “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  “Jesse’s agreed to stay for a few days. I’d say you’re one pretty lucky doctor.” Alicia smiles faintly.

  The butter knife stops moving. “That’s great news. Really wonderful.”

  He means it. Jesse remembers the hospital—the professional young specialist-in-training, not exactly the warmest man on the planet, and now he’s morphed into something else, and the power relationship between them has changed; it’s almost as if he’s a supplicant. That’s confusing.

  “In that case”—Rory beams—“why don’t I take Jesse into the village? Show her the sights before we get stuck in.” His general benevolence sweeps up both the girls.

  “You could introduce her to Helen while you’re there. She’ll be delighted to meet Jesse. She’s always so proud of your work.”

  Jesse feels oddly put out. So, I’m work. “Helen?”

  Rory flicks her a glance. “My mum.” He leans forward. “She’d love to see you too, Licia. Why don’t you come with us?”

  Alicia says steadily, “Oh, I’ve got more than enough to do here.” It’s a definite no.

  Rory goes to say something, but instead plucks more toast from the rack and scoops butter beside it.

  Alicia pushes the jam pot across the table. “You might like this. Vary the taste.”

  “Thanks.” The irony heads straight over Rory’s head. Or not. “So, Jesse, what do you think? Nice relaxing drive?”

  She eyes him with suspicion. “Actually, I’ve got things to do. Alicia’s told me there’s a library in the village.”

  Rory grins. “Before we go, though, you might like a walk around the castle? Give you a feel for the place.”

  He’s trapped her and they both know it. Staring out at the stars last night, Hundredfield had seemed enchanted; today, in the bright morning, nothing hides the bones of the buildings she drew whole. They’re waiting. Don’t be so fanciful!

  “Ollie loves a walk.” Alicia scruffs the dog’s ears and his tongue lolls in a dog smile. “We could all go together. One big happy family.”

  They’re talking over her head again, as if Jesse were a child. “Um . . .”

  “We fight too much for that.”

  “Okay. Yes. It would be good to walk around Hundredfield.” Jesse didn’t mean to speak so loud. Half apologetically she says, “But I need to write something to post. Before we go into town.”

  In the small silence, Alicia stands. She’s looking at Jesse’s sneakers. “You’ll need some Wellies. The spring under the keep is misbehaving again. It breaks out just when we think it’s gone to sleep; mind of its own, always has had, though it’s worse if rain’s on the way.” She gathers plates and takes them to the sink.


  “I thought I heard rain last night.”

  Drying her hands, Alicia abruptly says, “You’re mistaken. I’d have known. You can stack the rest, Rory.” She holds the door open and ushers Jesse along the passage to another vaulted room. “The boot room was the buttery once.”

  “As in butter?” Jesse has vague thoughts of milkmaids. She chafes her arms. It’s certainly cold enough to keep milk fresh.

  Alicia, sorting through a large basket, dives deeper. “Try these.” She holds up a pair of green rubber boots. “As in butts. Wine butts.” She waves the Wellies. “Beer and wine were kept here for the household.”

  “It’s a big room. They must have drunk a lot.”

  “Big castle.” Alicia sits to pull on another pair of scuffed Wellingtons. “The water wasn’t safe, that’s why everyone drank beer.”

  “Even the kids?”

  Alicia nods. She stands. “Your turn.”

  Jesse wriggles her feet into the boots; oddly difficult with only one hand. “What are all the buckets for?” A collection of steel and plastic pails is stacked high in one corner.

  “Oh, this and that.” Alicia leads the way up the stairs and pulls open the great front door. Outside, she shades her eyes against the morning sun. “You get a good view of the whole site from here. A lot of the buildings are ruined and some that existed once are entirely gone, but it’s easy to see where they were.”

  I know. Jesse chokes off the thought.

  “Shall we take Jesse as far as the keep?” Rory has joined them. He speaks quietly, the joking tone gone. “She might like to see it.”

  Only might.

  Alicia looks at her guest appraisingly. “Don’t let him bully you, Jesse.”

  “He couldn’t if he tried.” Jesse turns to look at the building behind. “Tell me a bit about this part first?”

  “Well, this is all that remains of a much bigger structure, of course.”

  Jesse nods. She remembers it from the first drawing.

  “So, it was built in the early to mid-thirteen hundreds, though it’s still called the New Range. In the old keep”—Alicia gestures to the tower in the distance—“the whole household—servants, dogs, family, retainers, all of them—lived on top of one another with almost no privacy. But fashions changed and the New Range gave the family their own house for the first time.”