The Enchanter's Forest

Chapter 8

The Broceliande felt subtly different from the Great Wealden Forest. Riding in the patchy sunshine, watching Joanna in front of him carefully picking her way, Josse tried to work out what the difference was.

There was much more water here, for a start. Back in England, the Great Forest spread itself high up on the ridges, on uplands where the land was well drained and where it was rare to come upon even so much as a thin trickling stream, never mind any standing water such as a lake or a pond. Here in Brittany the forest was lower-lying and it was filled with small meandering rivulets; the air was alive with the hypnotic sound of running water. There were many places where springs came bubbling up out of the rocks and at some of these sites anonymous visitors had left small offerings, presumably as gifts to whatever spirit they believed resided in the spring. Riding gently along, his eyes half-closed and his mind and body filled with joy, Josse could well believe there were spirits all around, moreover ones whose present mission was purely to make him happy through every one of his senses.

In addition to being noisy with the sound of water and alive with numinous spirits, there was something else that made this place so different from the sombre woodlands of the Weald. The Breton forest seemed. . Josse screwed up his face as he tried to put a name to the impression he was receiving. It feels younger, he thought, smiling at himself for his whimsy. You can wander in the Great Wealden Forest and think yourself back in some age before time began and where man had yet to plant his footsteps. The Old Forest is unchanging and ever watchful and it does not like intruders. Whereas this place feels green and young and so full of life that it makes a man want to sing aloud from sheer happiness.

His eyes on Joanna’s bottom as she rode ahead of him, he wondered if his sudden desire to sing might have more to do with her than any benevolence he might or might not be receiving from the trees around him.

He was still trying to get used to the headiness of being alone with her. Well, alone except for Meggie, but her presence was an enchantment in itself. This morning she was riding with her mother on the golden mare — he could have spent all morning simply watching his child’s lithe and graceful little body and the way the sun caught glints of gold in her dark hair — but, during much of the long journey from Hawkenlye, Josse had been in the close company of his daughter for hours at a stretch and their fascination for each other had not faded; quite the opposite, in fact. Well, it was not to be wondered at since they were making up for the first sixteen months of Meggie’s life during which neither had been aware of the other’s existence.

Josse listened to Meggie’s fluting voice as she asked her mother yet another question; the ‘Why?’ game was a current favourite and could, as Josse well knew, go on for hours if the child was not distracted. Aye, he thought, his daughter was a delight and he already loved her profoundly. Regarding Joanna, he was aware that neither the situation nor his own emotions were quite so straightforward. Travelling from England in the company of Gervase and Sabin, the other couple’s presence had been a barrier to any intimacy between him and Joanna and it had seemed quite natural to treat one another politely but with the reserve of near-strangers. Joanna, indeed, had spent quite a lot of time sitting in the prow of the ship staring out at the sea, and Josse, after initially feeling slightly hurt that she should so detach herself from the rest of the company — oh, all right, from him — had finally understood that, given what he knew of her usual habits of solitude, she was probably finding the constant presence of other people quite difficult to cope with.

Then there had been last night in Dinan and that business in the inn. Josse had not liked the look of the man who had come blustering up to their table and he had felt the threatening presence of danger lurking somewhere just beneath the surface; in him, as it always did, this instinct had set his fighting response in readiness and in the aftermath, once the confrontation had been avoided, he was for quite some time left feeling jittery and jumpy. But Joanna had dismissed his anxiety, saying only that she had known the man when she lived in the area and that he had reason to hold a grudge against her. Josse was not reassured; the man had said something about his brother having gone unavenged and what was more there could be no question of mistaken identity because he had called Joanna — or the woman he had believed to be Joanna — by name.

Besides, Josse knew very well what had happened to Joanna when she had lived in the Dinan area. When they had first met, she had told him how, wed to a bully of a man many years older than herself, she had fervently wished to be rid of him and even gone so far as to insert a stone in his horse’s shoe in the hope of bringing about a fall. Josse had no idea what sort of power the brother of Joanna’s dead husband might wield locally but, even given that it was extensive, then surely he would be on very shaky ground if he went ahead with trying to brand Joanna a murderer on such slim evidence and for a crime committed so long ago?

Josse thought about that. Then the aspect that worried him more slid into his mind and he remembered how the furious man had said there was witchcraft involved.

Witchcraft.

Now it might not be feasible to prove that Joanna killed her late husband. But if anyone came at her with accusations of witchcraft, that was a different matter. She wouldn’t deny it for one thing or, if she did, she’d do so in terms that to an outsider would be equally damning.

Witchcraft.

Oh, dear God, and they were on the wrong side of the narrow seas for accusations of witchcraft. Here, if you did not obey the dictates of the church you were excommunicated and if you persisted in your heresy you were executed in one of the worst ways imaginable.

They burned witches in France.

It would only take one interested observer of that nasty little scene in the inn to pass on what he had overheard to the religious authorities and the might of the church would be on their trail.

And then. .

Biting at his lip in his anxiety, Josse felt a sudden slight flow of blood as the skin broke and he winced at the small pain.

I must stop this worrying, he thought. Look at Joanna; is she concerned? No. We’re out of the city now, we’ll have shaken off anyone who might have tried to follow us and in any case, in all likelihood the man realised he was mistaken and has given up the pursuit. Joanna and I are out in the forest, going deeper into its sanctuary with every step. Nobody can touch us here; we’re quite safe and I might as well relax and begin to enjoy myself.

When, a little later, Joanna turned in the saddle and said, ‘Meggie and I are ravenous. Let’s stop by that inviting lake up ahead and eat,’ he agreed with alacrity. And, as the three of them made a secluded and comfortable temporary camp in the shade of the sheltering trees, he gave himself up to the various profound pleasures of the moment.

It was not through any relaxation of Josse’s watchfulness that the unseen presence in the trees went unnoticed. Although he was a big man, the secret watcher was very, very careful to keep himself hidden; nobody saw him if he did not want them to and, even had Josse scoured every inch of the surrounding woodland, it would have made no difference. The man was dressed in garments of soft, muddy shades and he was accustomed to adapting his movements and his breathing to the rhythm of the natural world. In his hiding place he sat perfectly still and watched. Presently, as Josse and Joanna packed up the remains of their meal and prepared to depart — the watching man noted with approval that they were careful not to leave any sign of their presence — he leaned infinitesimally over to his right in order to see which way they set out.

Satisfied that he knew enough to be sure he would be able to follow, he sat still once more and waited until it was time to set out after them.

Josse and Joanna rode on through the long afternoon. It was less than a fortnight past the summer solstice and there would have been light enough, even in the forest, to have gone on for some time yet. But Meggie was clearly tired and, as Joanna pointed out, they were in no desperate hurry and there was therefore no need to ride beyond the endurance of any of them. So, when her searching eyes found what she was looking for — a sort of apron of land set within the loop of the meandering stream that they had been following for some miles — she suggested to Josse that they stop and make camp for the night.

He reined in his big horse and sat looking at her. She met his eyes briefly and then looked hastily down at the ground; straight away he knew the same thoughts ran in her mind as in his. He paused, took a steadying breath and then said, in what sounded remarkably close to his normal voice, ‘This looks a good place. Shelter from that stand of trees and water in the stream.’

‘Yes, and the stream loops round on three sides of us, with the thicket across the neck of the loop forming the fourth side,’ she added quickly, as if as eager as he to speak of ordinary things. ‘Anyone approaching will alert us either by splashing across the water or breaking through the brambles.’ Glancing in that direction, she said with a grin, ‘And I wouldn’t suggest that as the best way.’

He echoed her smile. Dismounting, he said, ‘What shall I do? Cut some branches or something to make a shelter?’

‘No!’ She sounded horrified. Quickly she explained. ‘Sorry, Josse, but we never abuse the forest by taking living wood. I’ll see to the shelter and I’ll make a fire. Could you — er. .’ Watching her frown, he realised with amusement that, since she would doubtless be used to seeing to every aspect of a night under the stars all by herself, he was quite redundant and any task she came up with for him to do would be to save his face rather than to help her out. ‘What about the horses?’ she suggested, her expression lightening. ‘They look as if they could do with a rub down.’

‘Then they shall have one.’ Pausing, he said, ‘Do you want Meggie’s help? Or may she come with me?’

‘I can manage without her. Meggie, would you like to help me or Josse?’

With not an instant’s hesitation Meggie said, ‘Josse.’

Josse and Meggie finished their appointed task and, sitting down on the springy grass, Josse took his daughter on his lap and they watched Joanna putting the final touches to their night’s lodgings. He was full of admiration for the speed and efficiency with which she had worked; in no time she had put together a simple framework of dead wood — mainly old leafless branches — over which she had placed bunches of bracken tied on to the frame with lengths of twine. The finished shelter was in the shape of a shallow arc, its base secured to the feet of two young birch trees and its top curving out and covering a space large enough for three people to lie down. She had taken note of the direction of what wind there was and the shelter had been placed so as to protect them from it. She had found several granite chunks, each about the size of a fist, which she had set down in a circle in front of the shelter; within the circle a fire had been lit. On the fire a small cooking pot sat, propped up on three more stones. Water could be heard bubbling in it and there was an appetising smell carried on the steam that issued from it.

She met his eyes. ‘That’s our supper,’ she said.

‘Mm. What is it?’

‘A sort of broth. It’s mostly barley grains with onions and herbs, and when it’s nearly done I’ll add some dried pork strips.’

‘I didn’t imagine you would eat meat,’ he remarked.

She smiled. ‘I don’t unless I have to, but we’re on a long journey and it’s demanding a lot of energy. I won’t be much use if I’m faint from hunger and, away from my home, I have to make the most of what’s available.’

‘I see. It’s like being on campaign — soldiers say that you’re never choosy again once you’ve really known hunger.’

‘Quite.’

‘How are our supplies?’ he asked. They had brought provisions before leaving Dinan, adding these to what remained of the purchases they had made at various ports along their sea route.

‘We’ve got plenty for now.’

‘How long-’ He stopped. He was enjoying himself far too much to want to know how long before they reached their destination.

‘Yes?’

He looked up at her — she was approaching with a flask in her hand — and said softly, ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

As if she knew full well what he was thinking — she probably did — she gave him a very sweet smile. Then she went back to her broth.

They ate their simple supper, finishing off with slices of a spicy apple tart brought from a Dinan baker. Meggie played in the shallows of the stream for a while, Josse holding tight to her hand, until it was time to settle her for the night. Warmly wrapped in her soft blanket, her stick doll cuddled in the crook of her elbow, she was heavy-eyed and almost asleep even before her parents had finished saying goodnight to her.

Josse and Joanna went to sit on the top of the bank above the stream. Josse, at a loss as to what to do next — he knew full well what he wanted to do, but whether or not he should was another matter — drew up his legs and clasped his hands around his raised knees. His eyes fixed on some vague point in the middle distance, he felt rather than saw Joanna lean closer towards him.

Then, her head suddenly on his shoulder, she put her arms around his neck, turned his face towards hers and kissed him.

The surprise quickly ebbed and soon he was kissing her back, the frustration of days in her company when he couldn’t touch her combining with his deep love for her — the love that had been a part of him since first he met her — to give an edge of hunger to the embrace which he sensed she felt too. When, after a considerable time, they broke away, she looked into his eyes, grinned and remarked, ‘Oh, but I’ve been longing to do that!’

There was so much that he wanted — needed — to ask her. What her life was really like out in the forest. What her people did, how they lived, what they believed. Whether she spent much time with them or was in the main alone. Whether she had made friends, female or male. Whether there was anyone-

But she was unfastening her tunic. Slipping it over her head, laying it carefully on the ground. Removing the white undergown. Standing naked before him — he noticed, among half a dozen far more imperative impressions, that she wore a charm of some sort, a claw, perhaps, on a chain around her neck — and pulling him to his feet.

‘Josse, I’m hot and sweaty and I need a good wash. Shall we bathe together in the steam? There’s some deep water down there, on the outside of the bend, and a gently sloping pebbly beach where we can get in and out easily.’

He could not take his eyes off her. Her body was not exactly as he remembered — well, she has borne another child since last I saw her naked, he reasoned; my child — and her breasts were heavier. But the life she led had put its mark on her, for she was lithe and strong and he could see the line of long, powerful muscles lying beneath her smooth skin. She watched him looking at her and did not move until at last he raised his eyes to meet hers. Then, opening her arms, she said, ‘Dear Josse, you are a little overdressed for bathing. May I not help you remove your garments?’

Then he was laughing for the joy of it, accepting her help with the laces of his tunic, feeling the sudden surprise of the cool evening air on his bare skin as she stripped away his hose and lifted his undershirt over his head. Very soon he too was naked. Together they slid down the low bank, stepped into the stony shallows and immersed themselves in the peaty, green-smelling water of the forest stream.

He did as she did, working up a lathery, milky liquid with the leaves of a pretty pink-flowered plant that grew on the stream banks — she said it was called soapwort — and using it to wash his hair and his body. It was a novel sensation and he felt his skin tingle.

The sky was darkening. Lying on his back, floating in the cool water, Josse looked up and saw the first of the stars appear. Then she was beside him, the warmth of her against him making him realise that he was becoming chilled. As if she knew, she took hold of his hand and led him out of the water, where she fetched lengths of linen with which to dry themselves.

He did not know what to do next. She had kissed him, aye, and then taken off her clothes and stood before him without a stitch on before helping him out of his garments too, but then that had been as a prelude to bathing and maybe it did not mean anything among the people who were now hers. Maybe they all undressed as a matter of course and it was not taken to mean that — er, to mean anything. If she would just give me a clue, he thought desperately, because if I make a move and it isn’t what she wants, then spending further time together will be-

But what it would be went out of his head because she stepped forward into his arms, folded her own around him and, pressing against him so that he could feel every inch of her from her breasts to her firm, rounded belly and her strong thighs, she stretched up so that she could whisper softly in his ear and said, ‘Josse, we could make love if you wished.’

Then there was no more speech between them, just the sounds, soft at first but quickly becoming urgent, of two people who care deeply for each other setting about demonstrating their love. She had spread blankets on the grass and gently he laid her down upon them, cradling her head on one arm while with his free hand he traced the outline of her features, only then letting his fingers follow the line of her neck downwards until he was touching her breasts. Her response was swift and, delight flooding through him, he felt her sure touch on his chest, his belly and down into his groin. It was as if she remembered exactly what gave him the most pleasure; fiercely aroused, hungry for her, he sensed that she was as ready for him as he for her and it was soon over.

They lay wound in each other’s arms. Her head was on his chest — her hair was still damp — and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. He had envisaged getting up, dressing in their undergarments and creeping in beneath the shelter to settle for the night beside Meggie, but, when he made a move to rise, she shifted her weight so that she lay right on top of him and he could not move.

He could just make out the laughter in her dark eyes. She said softly, ‘Spent and ready for your bed so soon, sir knight?’

To which, as he felt his body stir again, there was really only one answer.

Later, lying snug in the shelter with Meggie’s soft breathing and the gently rhythmic tearing of grass as the horses grazed nearby the only sounds, he had to say what was uppermost on his mind. ‘Joanna,’ he whispered, his mouth right up against her ear so as not to disturb the child, ‘should we have — I mean, I hope that I did not take another’s place out there just now.’ Full of confusion, he did not know what he was trying to say. Or, he thought honestly, the trouble was that he did know, all too well, but was afraid that he had not the right to ask.

There was a pause before she replied. Then — and he thought he heard the love in her voice — she said, ‘Josse, I understand what it is you want to know, or I believe that I do. You are asking whether or not there is another man in my life. It is not easy to answer you, for reasons that I hope to be able to make clear to you in time. I have lain with another since I lay with you’ — despite his best efforts he could not prevent his instinctive reaction, although he managed to restrict it to what sounded like a faintly disapproving grunt — ‘on two occasions. But’ — she hesitated, and he sensed that this was not easy for her — ‘it is not quite what you must be thinking. He — it was someone who is of great importance among my people and it’s as if I was being awarded a great favour by being the recipient of his attentions.’

‘He didn’t make you do something you were reluctant to do?’ He of all people, who knew the particular horrors of her past, needed to ask that.

‘No, dear Josse, I was as eager as he.’ She reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze, as if aware that her words would hurt. ‘He gave me this’ — Josse felt his hand being raised up to her neck, where she clasped his fingers around the pendant that she wore — ‘and I have his protection.’

‘It’s a bear claw, isn’t it?’ Josse said.

‘Yes. He is a bear man.’

There was silence as he tried to make sense of those last five words. Then: ‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s a power figure. Someone who has trained so extensively in the ways of our people that he has acquired strange abilities quite outside the realm of what humans usually are considered capable of. Including the ability to shape-shift and adopt the form of a bear.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Josse stated flatly.

Her only answer was a soft laugh. ‘Yes, Josse. Of course it is.’ Then she yawned, released his hand, turned on her side and, after a murmured ‘Goodnight’, settled herself for sleep.

A bear man. God’s boots, Josse thought, whatever will she have me believe next? He smiled; perhaps she had been teasing him, seeing how far-fetched a tale she could tell him and still be believed.

The problem with that was that, although he knew she would not hesitate to tease him about most things, her beliefs and the ways of her people were the exception. But a man who could turn into a bear! No, no, no, it was just not credible.

He lay, warm and comfortable, with the woman he loved and his beloved, adored child beside him, listening to the night forest sounds all around. The rushing water, the soft footfalls of the horses, the faint stirring of the wind in the treetops. There was the sound of a hunting owl. . and there the faint and distant squeak of some small rodent, the sure sign that the bird had just found its supper.

I am a long way from my known world out here, he thought sleepily. The rules by which I live my life may not apply here, where the spirits of the wildwood hold sway. His eyes closed and, in the sort of split-second dream that comes when sleep is close, there and gone before it is really registered, he seemed to see a misty-edged figure that appeared to be made of smoke, blurred and vague all but for the eyes, which were bright and pierced like fire. His own eyes wide open again, he stared out into the darkness, his heart thumping. But then, as sleep took him again, he remembered Joanna’s words: I have his protection.

They were Joanna’s words, aye, and he recognised them. Which was odd, really. It might have been because he was drifting into sleep, but he thought he heard the words spoken in slightly different form and in a man’s voice: You have my protection.

Funny what you dream about, Josse thought with a smile. Then he too was fast asleep.

A long way away, back in the Great Wealden Forest of southern England, a man went in peril of his life.

He was taking a risk this evening in riding alone but frequent habit had removed the threat of danger — they never saw a soul on the track — and now he was feeling all but invincible. It was his custom to ride home through the gathering darkness of the warm summer nights, talking idly with his companion when, as he usually did, he had one and relishing the exercise after a busy day, enjoying the soft dusk air on his face, the rapid and skilful swooping of the bats and the sounds of the forest as its inhabitants settled for the night.

It had been a good day. Well, they were all good days now. Everything was going smoothly and his predictions were proving to have been accurate, if a little on the cautious side. Oh, admit it, he said to himself, smiling broadly, it’s far, far better than I dared hope for and so far shows no signs of grinding to a halt.

He made a mental note to order more supplies. If he put in his request early tomorrow morning then with any luck the goods should arrive by-

There was a sound in the deep woods over to his left.

He drew his horse to a halt and sat quite still, listening.

Nothing.

But no, there was something. Was that a person, moving stealthily through the shadowed undergrowth. .?

Afraid now, he kicked his horse to a trot, then to a canter. Fool, he berated himself, so to ride your luck, when simply by making certain you obeyed your own rules, this could have been avoided!

This. What was this? Fighting down the panic, telling himself he was running like a frightened child away from some dread thing that wasn’t even there, he slowed to a walk and listened again.

He could hear no sound but those that he and his horse were making.

He smiled, shaking his head at his own foolishness. Soon be home now, he thought cheerfully, and what a welcome I’ll get when I put this little lot — he patted the heavy leather bags hanging from his saddle — down on the table before her. Her dark eyes will light up, she’ll tell me how clever I am, then she’ll get up, take my hand and walk me over to where she has set out good food and costly wine to greet my return.

He had noticed with appreciation the improvement in the cuisine of his household. Why, he thought now, his pretty wife must be enjoying the delicious food and the costly wines as much as he, for he was sure she was putting on weight. She would not like that, he was convinced of it, for she wore her gowns in a style to show off the contrast between her full breasts and her tiny waist. But the more rounded contours of her body certainly pleased him. .

Perhaps tonight she would invite him back to her bed. It had been so long, so very long, since he had lain with her. While he could accept that, in her eyes anyway, there had been reasons before why she should withhold her favours, surely that no longer applied now? He had found the goose that laid the golden eggs and she, perhaps even more than he who was working so hard to ensure those eggs kept coming, was enjoying the benefits. Even that bitch of a mother of hers must grudgingly have to admit to herself, even if not to anyone else, that her son-in-law was turning out better than she had hoped.

Why, then, he wondered miserably, did he feel like a stranger in his own home? Why, on his regular visits back to the house to bring home the takings and check that all was well, did he have the distinct feeling that both women would have preferred it if he stayed at the shrine? Dear God — a surge of anger flared swiftly through him — did they think he liked living out there among the whining, whingeing pilgrims and the sweating, deceitful toughs who guarded the property? The pilgrims moaned about everything from the aches and pains that had driven them to the tomb to the quality of the food, ale and accommodation that he offered; the toughs were singularly dull-witted and to a man they stank. Was it unreasonable to expect a bit of a welcome from his wife and her mother when he came home for a bathe, a decent meal and a good night’s sleep? Especially when, each time he returned, he brought yet more money with him?

His earlier happiness had evaporated. Maybe I won’t go home, he thought mutinously. Maybe I’ll turn left when I quit the track that runs around the forest and instead of going home, head for London. I’ll find a nice little house and a comely woman to share my bed, and I’ll dress us both in fine velvets and silks and find the longest, showiest plume for my hat that money can buy.

It was a pretty picture but its appeal did not last long. There was only one woman he wanted in his bed; the trouble was, she did not appear to want him in hers.

He sighed. He thought, I’ll just have to-

He did not complete the thought. At that moment a sound immediately behind him startled his horse, which leapt forward in alarm. Clinging on — he had lost a stirrup — the man tried to gather the horse but it was alarmed and had the bit between its teeth. The dim light beneath the trees hid what awaited man and horse a short distance along the track, so that the first the man knew of it was when the rope stretched across the path at neck height took him under the chin and threw him backwards off his horse.

The horse, thoroughly terrified now, galloped off down the track, stirrups and money bags banging against its sides and adding to its panic.

The man lay quite still on the track.

After a moment a broad-shouldered figure materialised from out of the darkness under the trees. He stepped quietly on to the path, where he bent down over the prostrate figure and felt for a pulse, the stout club that he held in his other hand held ready.

There was no pulse; the encounter with the taut rope had broken the victim’s neck, just as the big man had predicted. Quickly he rolled the body off the path and a good distance into the undergrowth, pushing aside brambles and lodging the corpse deep in a thicket. He spent a few moments making quite sure he had left no sign that the vivid, surging greenery had been disturbed. Then he padded softly back along the track and located the place where he had tied the rope, deftly unfastening it and coiling it up in order to loop it over his shoulder. Pausing for only an instant to sniff at the night air and without another look at the shady and secluded spot where he had left his victim, he melted back into the forest. He would walk in the shelter of the trees and the undergrowth until he came upon the horse which, or so he guessed, would soon recover from its panic and slacken its pace until some tasty-looking clump of green and succulent summer grass caught its attention. When he came across it, grazing peacefully by the side of the track, the man would step out from beneath the trees and catch hold of its reins.

For now, the important thing was to get away from here. Leaving the body of the dead man to cool in the darkening night, he went silently on his way.