“Now Maddie. Toastin’s drastic fer the poor likes of us. Best we don’t go givin’ the good Lord ideas when he’s got so many of his own to be workin’ through.”
“T’ain’t funny, Mister Talbot.”
Jeremy put down his work and looked closely at Madeleine. Her chin dimpled and wriggled. She gnawed her lip in consternation.
“Sorry, missy. Sometimes, when ye get old, ye forget to remember ‘ow serious life can be. Let me tell ye this, an’ this is for true. What got done to them ‘oly fathers didn’t get done by us. They was all gone when we came. All but Brother Bones, who we all was reminded of this mornin’. An’ ‘e was in that exact same place an’ state when we found ‘im.
“Best we could figure was maybe the plague. They’s a row o’ graves in back. Best we can guess is that Bones was the last. He buried ‘is mates, one by one as the pestilence carried ‘em off. Then sat ‘imself down under God’s bright eye an’ let it take him, as well. ‘Twas fear alone that made us leave ‘im there. You know – if it was plague ‘n’ all – nobody much wants to touch them remains. But Owain says – an’ he’s right, him – ‘e says we can’t have the good friar sittin’ before God’s ‘oly alter without an ‘ead on ‘is shoulders. So we been provoked to action by yer holy curiosity. This very mornin’, ol’ Bones is bein’ gathered up – all ‘is bits an pieces – an’ bein’ placed in an ‘ole next to his brothers. I ‘spect he’ll drop by in yer dreams to thank ye, real soon.”
Madeleine had actually rocked back on her heels at the mention of plague. She’d heard tales of it, and of villages wiped out – left in the possession of ghosts and forest creatures. But she’d never imagined such places could be nearby. She looked to Jack for confirmation and he nodded his head feebly.
“But that don’ make sense!” she stammered. “If there was plague . . . an’ the others died . . . why’d he stay?”
“They was his fam’ly, Maddie! Folks don’ run away from fam’ly! Even if it sometimes looks like they’s runnin’, they generally jus’ takin’ the long way back home. You should know that! Meself, I reckon ‘e jus’ saw it as a chance to have ‘imself a wee chat wi’ God. Maybe ask some pointy questions, ye know? Maybe get t’understand the good Lord’s thinkin’ a bit better. It’s important to talk, doncha think? An’ to listen. Prob’ly not many of us listen as good as we should. I know it’s one o’ me own few faults.
“And as for t’other – stealin’ away you an’ young Annie,” Jeremy continued, “I reckon our Jack’s got some explainin’ to do there, alright! Might be a chance right now for ‘im to practice ‘is speech – an’ for you an’ me to practice our listenin’, eh Maddie? Any road, when Owain comes back, he’ll be needin’ to have it right.”
They both turned to look at Jack, whose blush was lost in the crimson flush of his fever. “Aww. Me ‘n’ Rog’, we was only out to steal somethin’, us! Hopin’ for a pig, before they all got the winter slaughter! When you an’ t’other one showed up, I jus’ got this idea that, maybe, if we brought you back ‘ere. . . you could . . . you know. . .”
He fell silent and rolled on his side, his face away from them. Madeleine shook her head, the old familiar anger rising in her throat. “No. I don’t know! Could what?”
And Jeremy repeated after her, softly, “Tell us, lad. Could what?”
For a moment, it seemed that Jack would not answer them. Then he turned on them suddenly, thrusting himself up on an elbow. Tears were coursing across his cheeks, his mouth was twisted and his eyes desperate.
“It’s ‘im!” he cried. “Somethin’ ain’t right in ‘im! He’s ‘urtin’. . . inside! We can all see it! Nobody talks about it but we can all see it! But nobody does nothin’! So I thought . . . ! I did somethin’!”
Madeleine and Jeremy looked at each other in puzzlement. “Who, lad?” asked Jeremy. “Who’re ye talkin’ about?”
“You always said his life was charmed, you did!” Jack wept. “But ‘e needs somethin’ now. . . somethin’ . . . a special charm, maybe. Somethin’! Why don’ ‘e eat nuthin’? Why don’ ‘e wanna do nuthin’? Why’s ‘e always tired out? Huh? He ain’t right!”
“Ahh! It’s Owain yer on about, then?” asked Jeremy.
Jack’s face seemed about to dissolve before them. “I couldn’t stand it if ‘e died,” he whispered.
Madeleine stared at the weeping boy, amazed to see him crying over someone else’s pain when he’d endured his own so patiently; and also perplexed about his thought to involve her and Anwen in Owain’s health.
“Well?” Jack asserted, wiping tears and snot onto his sleeve. “Women know about that stuff, don’t they! ’Bout charms ‘n’ plants ‘n’ healin’ ‘n’ stuff? If you’d a mind to, youse could . . . prob’ly. . . figure out a way to help ‘im!”
His eyes were pleading for her to say yes. Yes, I know a plant to make a charm to put against a pain. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t say it because she didn’t know it. She heard Jeremy start to speak: “Jack, boy. I’m sorry! I shoulda seen . . . shoulda realised . . . how worried ye’d be. There ain’ nothin’ . . . “
Madeleine was backing away, shaking her head. There were women in the village who did know these things, of course – old women, who knew every plant in meadow and forest; who knew healing properties and preparations. Even her own mother knew some . . . enough to be able to make a poultice that could draw out pus. Blackberry leaves for burns, dandelion for boils. There were simple things that girls like Anwen, Maude and Madeleine, of necessity, learned by watching and listening and fetching. But there were also dangerous secrets involved. Even those old women could sometimes leave a person mad or in agony or dead.
“I. . . can’t!” she cried. “You . . . you. . .” Even Jeremy turned to look at her with a new-found curiosity. Of all the things she might have expected, she had not expected to be needed – to be counted on. Not by these people – not by anyone! She turned and ran from the building.
She ran out into the brisk morning – into the remnant yard once turned and planted and harvested by the lost holy men. As she ran, she thrust her little fists about in the air – boxing the wind. How she cursed Jack Sorespot and Roger Ringworm and their ruinous old protectors. In only two days, they’d turned her life on its head – stolen her from her life, nearly had her eaten by wolves. And her courage! The one thing she’d always had in abundance – more than either of her sisters – more than anyone! They’d tried to diminish that! She could not have hated them more if the devil had smiled at her from a perch on their shoulders.
Stumbling, half blinded with rage, she turned away from the door, anxious not to be in sight if they came after her. She flung herself around the corner and pulled up short in front of the dreaming Brenton LeGros. He’d parked himself against an east-facing wall and spent the morning soaking up the sun and the valley’s boundless sense of peace. His enormous feet were stretched out and crossed before him, his head leaning back on the boards of the dormitory, his hands folded in his lap. Even sitting, his eyes were nearly on a level with Madeleine’s. One of them opened a narrow slit, to take in the panting girl, and stayed open in a curious, dispassionate sort of peek. He and Madeleine knew each other, of course. In a village as small as Clun, where so much of the work was communal in nature, it was inevitable that everyone would know everyone.
Still, from Madeleine’s point of view, Brenton had always been as near to invisible as someone can get – even more so since his return from the wars in France. Where the other young men had returned full of boasts and cockiness and worldly stories, Brenton had returned with a fathomless silence in him. People said it was his wound. Probably it’s still trying to kill him, they said. But he does a share of the work, was the consensus, so let him be.
Madeleine stood to one side of him, not looking at him. Her tolerance, never a robust thing, was worn as thin as the newly winterised sunlight; her patience as thin as the watery mucus that dripped from her nose. She shuffled her feet, sniffled
and felt the cold air flow into her lungs. She thought to turn away. Then her anger rolled over in her, like a hangman in his bed, and she rounded on Brenton.
“What you gonna do, then? You gonna sit here like a statue? ‘Til spring comes ‘round? Eh?”
His second eye popped open and his head shifted fractionally, to see her more squarely, but he didn’t reply.
“What you doin’ ‘ere anyhow, Brenton? Two days ago, you were workin’ in the fields in the village. Now yer ‘ere . . . captured . . . in the forest! Nobody made you come!” An idea began to take form in her mind. “You can leave, ye know? These ol’ men – they couldn’t stop ye, ye know! Big as ye are!”
Still he didn’t answer, but his brow did wrinkle slightly and his lips pursed into a querulous little pucker. That seemed promising to Madeleine.
“Big as ye are, ye could jus’ up an’ go! But I guess ye couldn’ find yer way back to the village, though” she sneered. “Could ye? Like me ‘n’ Annie. . . we’d get lost in them woods. Maybe freeze or get eaten by wolves or stolen by fairies. If you was goin’, though, an’ ye knew the way. . . me ‘n’ Annie, we could go with ye!”
Brenton’s mouth opened, like a finger-sized hole in someone’s pocket, and Madeleine fell silent, watching, waiting for something of value to come tumbling out. But his eyes turned away and the little hole closed up again.
“I wanna go home, Brenton.” She felt a new trembling in her stomach, as though she would vomit again. “I’m afraid! I want . . . my da’!”
Brenton unclasped his hands, placed them on his knees and leaned forward, freeing his back from the warm planks of the building. His eyes swung back to her, wide, clear and dark.
“Madeleine,” he said, his voice a deep, comforting hum. “Maddie! Ye never cry, do ye? No matter how mad ye get! No matter how frightened! You’re not like a reg’lar girl, at all!” She drew breath to protest, but he didn’t give her the opportunity. “Don’t ye know ye got nothin’ to be frightened of ‘ere?” he continued. “Don’t ye see that? These men . . . they finished hurtin’ people a long time ago.”
She looked at him in confusion. Finished? What could he be talking about?
“That’s why they’re ‘ere, in this valley!” he continued. “They’re jus’ tryin’ to stay out of ‘arm’s way. Bit like meself.”
“They stole this valley!” she began, in outrage. “From them holy fa. . .”
Brenton pulled her up with a wave of his hand. “No they didn’t. You know better‘n ‘at, Maddie. These days, the world’s full o’ empty places where nothin’ but ghosts live. This was jus’ one of ’em. ‘Til them ol’ men come.”
“Well, they stole horses an’ swords from them knights!” she cried, feeling about for a stronger argument. “You can’t say they didn’t! They’re thieves. ‘N’ Owain Glyndwr! You know! He’s . . . He’s. . . !”
“He’s what, Maddie? An ol’ man? A tired ol’ man? Who’s not been seen nor heard of in more years’n a chicken’s got feathers? I know they stole from them knights! But think what’s been done to them, girl! You saw ‘em las’ night, bringin’ out their scars. There ain’ a one of ‘em’s not been killed five times over. By men jus’ like them knights! But even so, they jus’ took the ‘orses an’ let the men go!”
“So they says!”
He nodded and looked to the ground. “So they says.” When he looked back to her, she saw the first sign of uncertainty in his eyes. “It’d be good to know that for sure, wouldn’ it.” He nodded again and gazed thoughtfully out at the woods. “Which is one reason why I am goin’ back to the village.” He glanced at her and smiled. “An’ yes, I b’lieve I can find the way. An’ yes, you an’ Annie can come with me. An’ no, I don’t reckon anyone here’ll be concerned to stop us. You’ll be as safe as I can make you. An’ before ye ask, no! It won’t be today. ‘Cause I gotta get some strength back in me legs first. Your sister’s only a speck of a thing, but she’s a dead weight after a few miles. An’ no, we can’t go tomorrow. But mos’ prob’ly for sure, in a couple o’ days. In time for the celebrations. That cover all your questions?”
As quickly as that, the lump that had been lodged in Madeleine’s throat, like a stopper in a bottle, shook loose and she coughed it out in a little laugh. She watched the huge young man close his eyes and lean back against the timber wall, a little smile playing on his lips. In two minutes, she had heard more words from him than many had heard in a year. For the first time in an age, she felt like hugging someone and he was in danger of being it.
“Brenton?”
“Yes Madeleine?”
“One more question?”
He opened his eyes again and gave her a look of exaggerated patience.
“What celebrations?”
Brenton turned his head and gazed at her, wide-eyed. “It’s Samhain, girl! In two days time! All Hallows Eve!”
All Hallows! Hallowe’en! The day the veil between the living and the dead peels down to its thinnest. An image flashed behind her eyes of ‘Brother Bones’, his skull lying with its puzzled expression at her feet. She did not want to be here, where he had died, on Hallowe’en. In case he hadn’t gotten any satisfactory answers from God.
* * * *
For Madeleine, then, the time to be passed was fixed. In a ‘couple of days’, she would be setting for home. The question only remained, how to pass that time.
For starters, she set off to look for Anwen, to tell her the news. It was simply a matter of going to the stream and following it along the valley floor. Anwen’s laughter and chatter, soon heard, assured her she was going right. On a green bank that overhung the stream, she found them, Richard jigging a fishing line slowly up and down in a deep pool, Roger watching in slack-jawed concentration and Anwen dancing about them. She’d arranged a line of sticks and was hop-scotching from one side to the other.
“Three little sisters, as happy as can be,” she was chanting.
“Their father wants some misters who’ll take them home to see
Which will let him kiss her and make a faithful wife,
Which can tell his future and which will take his life!”
Even without knowing what Madeleine knew – that Brenton would take them home – Anwen was as chirpy as a robin in spring.
“Look, Maddie!” she called on spying Madeleine. “Look what I found!” She held up a small cross, woven from plants. “St John’s Wort! I made us charms! Richard says All Hallows is comin’, an’ I reckon we could use somethin’,” (she frowned exaggeratedly at Roger) “to keep the Devil away.” Roger snorted with derision and Anwen thrust out her tongue.
“Well there you go!” said Madeleine, coming very close to joining in the merriment. “That Jack Sorespot musta been thinkin’ better’n I gave ‘im credit for! He jus’ tol’ me these boys stole us away into the forest hopin’ we could bring some healin’ to this place. ‘Cause we’re ‘women, he says, an’ women know stuff!”
“Haw!” Anwen crowed and gestured at Roger. “Hear that, Roger? We’re women! Not jus’ fraidy little girls, like you said! An’ women know stuff! So you should jus’ take the charm an’ be thankful!”
Madeleine’s laughter faded rapidly. She nodded and, “Saint John’s Wort!” she said quietly. “That’s what keeps the devil away, for sure! Or vervain!”
“What I said,” Roger taunted, his hand going unconsciously to the talismans he wore around his neck, “was, me ‘n’ Richard ain’t scared o’ no ol’ devil, so we don’ need your little girlie charms!” He stuck out his tongue again, but Richard held out a hand to take the charm. He slipped it inside his jerkin and returned his attention to the water.
“You’ll be scared enough when he taps ye on your shoulder and whispers a greetin’ in your buggy ol’ ear, Roger Ringworm!” said Anwen, her eyes flashing. “Everyone knows it’s the stupid folk the devil starts with. An’ you, Master Ringworm, are the king of stupid!”
Roger coughed, sniffled, wiped his nose on his sleeve and mutt
ered, “Shut up, you!”
Anwen danced up close to him and pushed his chest. “Shut up yerself! Look at you! You got a cold today, ain’t ye?” she said. “What you doin’ ‘bout that?”
“Huh?” he croaked. “Nothin’! Wipin’ me nose! Why? You wanna wipe it for me?”
“Ha!” Anwen sneered. “Listen to you! ‘Ask a fool a question . . .’ my pa’ says, an’ ye jus’ get stupid back!’ Any other fool’d fetch himself some horehound from that garden by the church. Maybe do a little somethin’ to help hiself. But not you! Oh no! Hey! Here’s a better idea! Why’n’t ye jus’ go off an’ steal someone away from a perfeckly happy life and hope they’ll . . . ”
“That’s right!” interrupted Madeleine. “There’s horehound! I saw that! An’ other stuff! Heaps o’ other herbs ‘n’ stuff. Musta been planted by them monks! I don’ even know half of what it . . .” Madeleine grabbed Anwen’s wrist and wrenched her in the direction of the church. “Come with me,” she demanded. “Maybe we can be useful!”
* * * *
And that solved the problem of what to do with the day. Horehound was a plant they’d both gathered from rocky outcroppings many times in their lives. And they’d seen it made into drinks and syrups and ointments, to treat colds, chest complaints and wounds, not to mention a dozen other ailments. They spent the afternoon picking and crushing and bruising and mixing and boiling. For Annie, it was a way to pass some time but, for Madeleine, it quickly became a fascination. When it came to the point of spreading their concocted ointment on Jack’s leg wound and forcing medicinal drinks into both he and Roger, she found herself feeling strangely assured and focussed. She later caught herself listening for changes in their coughs, looking for changes in complexion, touching foreheads to gauge temperature. She felt like an axle with a newly fitted and greased wheel.
She even found herself, at Jack’s urging, watching Owain for signs. He put on as hale an exterior as he could, but he couldn’t hide the wincing, slow-footed greyness that surrounded him. He smiled often and sometimes the smile made her think of the one Brother Bones had given her in her dream. But other times, it made her think of the smile the skull had given her from the church floor. She could see that Jack’s concern for him was well founded, but the tiny store of knowledge she’d unearthed in the back of her mind was too elementary by far to offer any insights.