Arcadia

37

By late morning the next day, a passing fox might have paused, sniffed the air cautiously, then quietly changed its course to avoid a small copse of trees deep in the forest of Willdon. It would have known by the faintest of smells that something unusual lurked there. An inquisitive beast would have found, curled up in the perfect blanket of dry leaves left over from the previous autumn, two recumbent forms, lying in each other’s arms in a pose of complete friendship. One, the shorter, snored gently. The other, the taller, grunted in her sleep as she relived in her dreams the remarkable events of the previous twenty-four hours.

As the sun rose in the sky, a large fly settled on the nose of the taller figure, and slowly, after a moment’s careful thought, decided to investigate the possibilities of food up the left nostril. The intrusion provoked a response. The girl sat up and slapped her own nose with her hand, causing her to cry out in pain and surprise. The sound made her companion roll over and groan, then open an eye.

‘I’m sleeping,’ she said.

Rosalind did not answer; instead she was too occupied trying to make sure that whatever it was that had crawled up her nose was gone. By the time she was satisfied, she was fully awake and standing up. Only then did she realise that, if she had been dreaming, then the dream, quite against all custom, was continuing to run its course. She was, indeed, dressed as a man, having evidently spent the night sleeping in a wood with a singer she had met, in some entirely unlikely land which was as real as the fly up her nose. The shock was so great that the alternative — that she should be in double French — never even crossed her mind. Instead, she sat down heavily and burst into tears.

Her companion was more perplexed than sympathetic, although she too was beginning to realise the enormous consequences of her presence there. She had fled from her master after trying to murder him. Fights and physical violence were one thing; laying him out cold was quite another. This time she had gone too far. Curiously, though, she did not regret it in the slightest. What possibly could happen to someone as beautiful and as gifted as she was? She had lost her master. She would find another. She would never starve and now she could sing as she wanted, not as Rambert said she must. She was free.

She was also hungry. As, indeed, was Rosalind when, after five minutes of constant crying, her companion had done nothing whatsoever to comfort her.

‘Are you finished?’ Aliena asked when the sobbing finally came to an end.

She nodded.

‘Good. Horrible noise.’

‘I’m upset. Don’t you see?’

‘Of course I see. But what do you want me to do about it?’

‘You’re meant to cheer me up.’

‘Very well. Cheer up.’

Aliena brushed the leaves off her clothing and stood up, then stretched herself.

‘I want my breakfast.’

‘So do I.’

It was at this precise point that the shepherd — looking for a stray ewe and curious about the sounds of life coming from the little copse — discovered them.

He was a good-looking man in his way, with an open face hard and tanned from life in the fresh air, gnarled hands and strong chest and arms. He approached, saw the pair sitting on the ground and, after a few moments’ contemplation of the scene, smiled broadly.

‘Ah, young lovers! Good morning to you both, good sir and young lady. It is a fine day to awake so.’

‘What?’ Rosalind said in utter astonishment, not least because for the first time she found she could understand much of what he said.

The shepherd winked. ‘You’ll have been at the Lady’s Festivity, I’ll be bound,’ he said, ‘“where love blossoms and fair affections thrive,” as they say.’

Rosalind stared open-mouthed. She understood that wink. It was left to Aliena to reply.

‘Indeed, but as it is said also, “love does not always welcome the light, nor the eyes of strangers.”’

‘That is certainly true, young lady. But what is hidden is often the most valuable.’

Aliena nodded appreciatively. ‘You are a very learned shepherd.’

‘And you are a lady of refinement, but what of your silent companion here? Is he so exhausted from his night’s labours he cannot even talk?’ He winked again, which Rosalind found offensive. Aliena, however, seemed to be enjoying herself.

‘Ah, good shepherd, “his virtues do not lie in his words,”’ she said, at which the man laughed heartily.

‘“He who labours, hungers after,”’ he responded. ‘In that case, you must allow me to offer you the sustenance you require, you and your young man. I have a poor abode, small and rough, but it is comfortable and welcoming to those of good heart. In it there is porridge and milk fresh from the ewe; bread and butter, honey from the hive. All that man or woman could desire. Or almost all,’ he added with another wink.

‘Lead on, then, good man,’ Aliena said with a curtsy, ‘and let us be honoured by your hospitality.’

‘As my house will be honoured by your presence,’ came the reply.

He whistled to his dog, which bounded up and sniffed around the newcomers, then walked off. Aliena dug Rosalind in the ribs. ‘Wasn’t that lucky?’

Rosalind, however, was still in a state of indignation. ‘But he thought... he thought... He winked at me.’

‘You are dressed as a man, you know. Your hair is short, and those clothes cover up your shape very effectively. So of course he winked. Don’t you find it funny?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, dearest Rosalind, don’t be cross! It is a beautiful morning, we are in the forest, we are going to eat. What more could woman (or man, in your case) want?’

‘You have no idea,’ Rosalind said.

‘We can talk about that later. In the meantime, we must eat, and pay for our food.’

‘How are we going to do that? I have no money.’

‘Nor I. We must pay in entertainment. We must give you a new name, to go with your manhood.’

‘Why?’

‘How are we going to cross his threshold if we are not presented to the house spirits?’

‘Oh. Silly me,’ Rosalind said.

She found the meal in the forest cottage even more enchanting than the world of the grand house. Unlike the squalid abode of Aliena’s teacher, it was fresh and clean and airy, more a shelter than a house, open to the elements, with a table outside under a little awning of creeper from which hung delicate purple flowers that gave off a faint but agreeable scent. They were presented to the house as Mistress Aliena and Master Ganimed — this a name that Aliena came up with on the spur of the moment — and breakfast was served, although this was marred a little for Rosalind by the frequent toasts from the shepherd that the fruit of her loins be sturdy. But the food was all simple and delicious.

‘How do you do all this?’ she asked when they had finished eating. ‘All this food? Where does it come from?’

‘Why, my friends give it, in exchange for looking after their flocks, of course. I have a deep cool hole to keep it fresh; the milk I get myself, the fruit I pick myself. The water comes cold from the stream. What more could I desire, which nature does not provide?’

For a moment she agreed, and then Rosalind thought of her mother’s new washing machine, the comfy new sofa, the iron, the radio... there was no point even mentioning such things, though. She would have to explain how they worked, for a start.

‘Isn’t it cold in winter?’

‘Oh, I don’t stay here in winter, young sir. I take my flocks back to their owners and rest myself with them, one after the other, until spring comes again. It is only in the snow months that it is truly difficult to be in the open.’

‘What if you get ill, or something like that?’

‘Then I get better again. If I do not, then I die,’ he said simply. ‘How else could it be?’

Rosalind had no answer to that one, although she felt instinctively that there should be more to say on the topic, so she lapsed into silence while Aliena carried on the conversation. She was beginning to get the hang of how the ordinary people spoke, but it was still an effort to understand, and an even greater one to say anything. She let her mind drift and watched the shadows dance on the ground, feeling the warmth of the air. It was going to be hot today. She should be tired, but her senses were so alive she felt no fatigue, just a sort of dreamy state where she was aware of everything, but only as a bystander. She even stopped wondering where on earth she was. If, indeed, she was on earth.

She came to as she heard Aliena saying that it was time to move on, that they had trespassed on his hospitality for long enough. The shepherd was in no rush, though; Rosalind got the feeling that he didn’t have much company, alone in the woods, and was grateful for the diversion.

‘Where are you going?’

‘We don’t really know,’ Aliena said. ‘Into the forest. We need... time. And privacy.’ Here she glanced archly at him.

He nodded knowingly. ‘I understand. I was young myself once. It is natural that you wish to know each other first. But you cannot go into the forest. It is dangerous if you do not know it. A good friend to those it accepts, but not safe for anyone else.’

‘We don’t have much choice.’

‘Have my cottage.’

‘We can’t!’ Rosalind said, and instantly regretted it. The man’s face fell, the disappointment clearly marked.

‘You must forgive him,’ Aliena interrupted quickly. ‘He is a stranger and does not know our ways. He thinks only of the inconvenience to you, and of our unworthiness for such kindness. Not that your cottage is unacceptable to us.’ She gave Rosalind a look.

The man’s face brightened. ‘There is no inconvenience, as today I lead my flock up into the hills to settle them for the summer, and will not return for several weeks. As for your unworthiness, then mine is the greater.’

‘We will not fight over such things,’ Aliena replied. ‘We both accept your kindness with the greatest of pleasure and honour. Don’t we, Ganimed?’

‘Oh... yes. Of course, honoured. Very,’ Rosalind said.

For two days and nights, then, Rosalind and Aliena lived in perfect happiness in the cottage, cooking, sleeping and talking. Rosalind was delighted; she had never had a proper girlfriend before, someone to talk to without restraint, to gossip and speculate with. Aliena was like her in one thing: she was still at an age when all is believable, if explained by a friend.

So Rosalind told her of her home and her life. Of the pergola in Lytten’s basement. Of her bemusement and slightly giddy feeling about being in a world which Aliena took for granted.

‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘you call it Anterwold.’

‘That’s its name.’

‘Yes, but it’s so very like what someone told me once. In fact, all of this could almost be his story...’

‘... What’s a school?’ Aliena interrupted. ‘Do you mean a college?’

‘... Hockey?’

‘... A gas cooker?’

Aliena listened, questioned and doubted nothing.

‘I wish I’d brought a record player,’ Rosalind said wistfully. ‘There’s my grandmother’s in the loft. It’s a wind-up one, so it would have worked. We could have given a party, invited everyone.’

She started to sing ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’, and Aliena listened carefully, then, after a couple of verses, joined in. Together the two girls sat on the porch of the shepherd’s cottage, carolling their way through the Broadway classics.

‘Oh, Rambert is going to get such a surprise when he hears me again,’ Aliena said happily. ‘He will disown me, cast me out. He will die of a heart attack from shock and despair. Let’s sing that last one again.’ And they did.

‘Tell me about that boy Jay. Is he married?’

‘I should hope not. That would be very deceitful of him. Why?’

‘Oh, just wondering.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘Of course not.’

Only very slowly did they acknowledge that this blessed interlude was just that — an interlude. They had run off into the forest without much of a thought. Now they had to decide what they were doing there. The second morning, Aliena stood up. ‘We should go and get a little kindling and some fresh water. If you want to eat today, that is. So, come, my strange friend from another world, if that is what you really are, let us walk. I’ll get the water, you get the sticks. Then we must talk about what to do next.’

A few hundred yards into the deep forest, the two girls split up, Aliena going to the right towards the stream with two large leather buckets, Rosalind to the left with a canvas bag, open at both ends so that it could store sticks of varying length. She needed dry, short branches but there weren’t many to be found; forests, she was learning, did not just mean close-packed trees.

She walked on, keeping a careful watch, until she saw ahead of her a large, handsome grove, almost perfectly circular, of tall broad oak trees standing isolated amongst low-lying scrub. It seemed almost impenetrable because of the bushes growing all around it, but the next group of trees was some way away and she didn’t feel like carrying heavy wood unnecessarily. So she circled it in the hope that there was some gap or hole she could squeeze through.

On the far side she found one, although it gave her pause when she came to it. It was, quite obviously, deliberately shaped. There was a distinct, clearly maintained hole in the undergrowth, and outside were two stone columns, one on either side. A pathway passed between them and on either side of the track was a large amount of mouldy food, which had been picked at and scattered by birds and wild animals. Although the columns gave it a sort of grandeur, the debris and mess cancelled that out, as it made the area around look more like a rubbish tip. Bones stuck out from rotting meat and the half-chewed carcasses of chickens and small animals. Vegetables and fruit lay in sticky piles, covered in flies and ants.

Rosalind crouched down and peered into the dark hole that led inside, but could see nothing. She was suddenly in a quandary. She wanted wood, and this was the best place to get it. She was curious about all the food scattered around, but she also had a profound sense of apprehension.

There was no sign saying Keep Out, no barrier or fence, but it didn’t seem like a good idea nonetheless. On the other hand, it was just a clump of trees and it would undoubtedly provide the firewood she needed. Besides, monsters didn’t exist.

Rosalind advanced, passed the two columns and listened. Nothing beyond the usual sounds of woodland. She took another few steps and paused again. No tell-tale snaps of twigs as someone followed her. No slithering of snakes. No growls of predators. She relaxed a little, then took a few more steps.

‘Such a silly I am,’ she said to herself. ‘Why shouldn’t I get wood here? There’s no one around. It’s entirely safe.’

She bent down and picked up her first stick, which she put in the shepherd’s pannier, then saw another a few steps ahead and picked up that one as well. It would only take a few minutes and she’d have as much as she could carry. Eyes to the ground, she picked her way forward, deeper into the copse, quite forgetting her nervousness of a few moments ago.

Then she got to a dark clearing in its centre and stepped forward to pick up the last twigs, just perfect for kindling. That done, she straightened up.

And screamed. And screamed and screamed before she dropped her pannier of carefully collected wood and ran, tripping over wood and briars, until she burst sobbing into the outside world again.