Child of the May (17 page)

“No!” Philippa chuckled. “Hanging’s too good. We should roast him alive!”

As darkness fell, the villagers fetched out trestles and stools and set them up around the still-burning ruins of the manor house. They brought trenchers of fresh-baked bread, piled high with nuts and fruit and little honey-sweetened soul cakes. Small cooking fires were lit around the main blaze and children set to turn the spits. Soon Langden was full of delicious smells as roasting fowls were slowly cooked. Jugs of good barley ale were brought from the cottages and Isabel gathered her friends for a strange feast.

The Knights of Saint Lazarus were given the seats of honour. They accepted politely but remained in their own small group, keeping a distance from the crowd.

Tom, with Alan at his side, went hesitantly towards the quiet, hooded fighting men. Walter of Stainthorpe turned and saw their approach. He held up his hand to stop them.

“Show tha clapper,” Tom told Alan.

The boy snatched up the clapper that swung at his belt and sent it clacking. There was sudden quiet as all turned to see what was happening. The leper knights looked at each other for a moment, but then Walter of Stainthorpe pulled up a stool and beckoned the boy to sit with them.

Robert sat with Marian, deep in thought, his face mottled in the flickering light and shadows. He was silent despite the celebration all about him.

“What is it?” Marian took his hand. “Why are you so miserable, when we are celebrating? Never have guisers been so welcome at a feast. You saved us!”

“Aye, but for how long, sweetheart?” he asked.

Marian frowned too then, and sighed. She could see that he was right. How long would it be before the Sheriff’s men came hunting them, their numbers swelled and weapons sharp.

“But just a moment!” said Robert. “I think I have an idea.” A slow smile touched the corner of his mouth.

“What is it now?” Marian demanded.

Robert cracked out laughing. “I have it!” he said. “John, bring the Sheriff here!”

John looked a little surprised but did as his friend asked and dragged the terrified man from the hut towards the fire.

“Aye,” said Philippa. “I said we should roast him!”

The Sheriff buckled at the knees with fright and Philippa burst out laughing.

“Untie his hands!” said Robert. There were gasps of surprise from all around, but Tom quickly cut the Sheriff’s bonds.

“Where’s Magda?” Robert cried. “Come here, honey! Do you remember our feast in Nottingham Castle?”

“Aye,” she cried.

“Now we shall return the compliment. The Sheriff’s lady made us guests and showed us a little kindness too.”

“Yes,” Isabel agreed. “The Sheriff’s lady let me bring my mother safe home.”

Robert picked up a stool and courteously invited the Sheriff to sit and eat. The man was white-faced and petrified, but sat as he was bidden.

Quiet fell as the villagers stared. Then resentful muttering rose all around.

“Has the Hooded One gone mad?”

“Drunk?”

“Stupid?”

But Marian put fresh roast meat on to a trencher and passed it to the Sheriff. “It’s plain but wholesome,” she told him. “Eat up!”

Warily the Sheriff began to nibble at his food.

“When we have feasted,” Robert bellowed, “we shall see our Sheriff dance around our Samhain fire.”

There was laughter then and protests faded. Soon everyone was eating and drinking again.

It was noon the next day by the time they all woke. They’d slept late on the floors of Langden’s huts, now they yawned and stretched and wearily prepared to return to their homes.

But before they went, Isabel gathered visitors and villagers alike around the still-smoking mound of the manor house. Lady Matilda was carried out on a litter and gently lowered to the ground. Then John led forward the Sheriff and his horse. The man was pale, clearly still fearful that they’d kill him.

Once more Robert ordered the man’s hands untied. James and Mother Veronica unrolled two carefully written sheets of parchment that they’d been working on. James read them out loud, so that all the assembled villagers could hear.

“I Gilbert de Gorre, High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire and Derbyshire, do solemnly declare that the Lady Matilda of Langden shall dispose of her daughter Isabel in marriage where she will. This I assert in the name of His Majesty King John, who as Shire Reeve I represent. To be witnessed by Veronica, Prioress of Saint Mary Magdalen’s nuns, and Sir Walter of Stainthorpe, Knight of the Order of Saint Lazarus.”

A ripple of surprise and agreement went around the gathering as at last the villagers began to see some sense in Robert’s madness. The Sheriff was given pen and ink and he glumly signed both papers.

“Now,” cried Robert, “fasten him to his horse.”

The Sheriff’s face was red with shame as he was roughly tied on to his horse, wrong way round. Robert rolled up one of the parchments and thrust it into the Sheriff’s jerkin. Walter of Stainthorpe took up the other, handling it carefully in his gloved gauntlets.

“This copy shall be kept in the preceptory of Bitterwood,” he said. “Should the agreement be broken, I shall call upon my Templar brethren to bring about the execution of justice.”

The Sheriff nodded, sick at the very thought. Robert bent forward and spoke low to him.

“Thank your lady wife for your life!” he hissed.

Then he slapped the horse’s backside and Tom led the miserable man away from Langden towards the bounds of Clipstone.

Later that day the Knights of Saint Lazarus saddled their horses and packed the armour and weapons that had provided disguise. Walter of Stainthorpe strode close to where Alan stood with Tom.

“Boy?” he called in his husky voice. “We have need of one strong fellow to come with us and help us with our steeds and goods.”

“Me?” cried Alan, his face lighting up.

“Who better?” Walter asked.

Alan took a step forwards eagerly. “I’ll come, sir, willingly, but might I not stay with you? I’d serve you, sir in any way I could.”

“Aye? Indeed!” Walter cried. “Would you learn to be my squire?”

Doubt and delight showed clear on Alan’s face. “You’ll have me?”

“Certainly! You shall be my squire, and if you train hard to fight and pray, maybe in time you shall be knight!”

Then as Alan went with Tom to collect his few belongings, Walter of Stainthorpe went down on one knee before Mother Veronica. He took her hand in his great gauntlet.

“Madam, I am still your knight,” he said.

When at last it was time for them to go, Magda went to Alan hesitantly. She took his hand and pressed it to her face. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I am happier than I ever thought to be. Some day I’ll come back and spar with thee.”

The Forestwife and her friends gathered at Langden for the Christmas feasts. The sturdy new manor house had been built with great effort before the coldest weather came. New Langden Manor was smaller and cosier, and Matilda and Isabel insisted that Christmas there was better than ever, with their friends all gathered about them.

There was sudden anxiety when in the middle of the meal, a red-faced kitchen lad announced the arrival of men and horses in the Sheriff’s livery. Everyone got up from the table fearfully and ran to the door. Worries were soon turned to delight. It was not an armed guard, but a packhorse train, loaded with warm rugs and fine worked wallhangings. A present to Lady Matilda from the Sheriff’s wife.

Winter passed and Langden and Barnsdale knew peace. The simple Christmas gifts had done much to calm nagging doubts, and as spring returned the forest folk planned their May Day revels once more.

It was May Day morning and inside the Forestwife’s cottage, the fire was crackling.

“Hold still!” Marian cried.

Magda found it hard not to wriggle as Marian fastened the laces on the fine white linen gown that Isabel had brought for her. This year Marian had insisted right from the start that she was far too ancient to be the Green Lady.

The old one nodded mysteriously. “It should be Magda,” she said. “Best she learns soon what she must do.”

Magda frowned. “What do you mean? Can you see what my life shall be?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I cannot see it all, sweetheart, but this I know. That fine worked girdle round Marian’s waist shall one day be yours.”

Magda caught her breath. “I shall be Forestwife?”

Suddenly loving and fearful, she went and put her arms around Marian’s neck.

Eleanor smiled. “Not for a long time yet, but some day.”

“But if Robert is old or gone, there’ll be no Hooded One to help me.”

Marian and Eleanor both laughed and Eleanor spoke firmly. “There will always be a Forestwife and there will always be a Hooded One.”

In the distance they heard faint voices singing sweetly, but Magda was not satisfied.

“Who will he be?” she insisted.

Eleanor shook her head. “Look to the Green Man,” she said.

“I thought that would be Father or Robert.”

Magda was uncertain about dancing with the Green Man if she didn’t know who it was hidden inside all those leaves, but there was no time left to worry. The singers were at the door, demanding to crown her. Marian kissed her.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “You will enjoy being May Queen.”

Eleanor flung the door open and the hut was filled with children. They crowned Magda with sweet-smelling hawthorn and dragged her out to the maypole by the trysting tree. Robert and John were waiting there for them. Marian went to hug them both, while the children ran off into the woods.

“Who can he be?” Magda whispered, her heart thumping wildly.

At last the children were returning, dragging the strange leaf-clad figure out from the shadows into the sunlight.

Magda bit her lip and twisted her fingers together. The Green Man came dancing towards her . . . then suddenly she caught her breath and smiled with understanding. The Green Man was tall and beautiful, but as he danced and twirled, he dragged his right leg just a little. Magda held out her arms and ran towards him – the magical Green Man.