Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

Joanna thought about that for some time. Then she said, ‘Does Gervase know?’

‘I have no idea. I have not asked him and I certainly haven’t told him of my observations.’

‘Thank you.’

‘For what? For not gossiping and spreading unsubstantiated rumours like a fat goodwife in the market?’

Joanna grinned. ‘For precisely that.’

There was silence between them for some time, broken by the sound of Meggie’s deep, steady breathing. Then Sabin said, ‘I’m going to marry Gervase.’

‘I know. He’s a fine man. He has a true heart.’

‘You know him?’ Sabin sounded surprised.

‘No, Sabin. I met him for the first time when we embarked upon this journey.’

‘Then how can you say with such certainty what sort of a man he is?’

‘I’m doing one of my magic tricks,’ Joanna said ironically.

‘ Are you?’

‘No. Sorry, Sabin — I really shouldn’t make jokes about it. No, magic has nothing to do with it. I’ve been trained to study people and to look beneath the facade that they present to the outside world. They — the people who taught me — explained to me that-’

‘How do you do that?’ Sabin demanded eagerly. ‘Can you teach me? I’d love to be able to see right into people!’

‘I could teach you, yes, but it would take months.’ Ruefully Joanna thought back over the hours and hours of instruction that she had received. But then, thinking that her reply had sounded a little dismissive, she added, ‘You can make a start by watching how people look when they speak. For example, a man who either stares fixedly and intently into your eyes or keeps evading your glance is probably lying. You could also study what they say; someone who talks incessantly about themselves and never asks about you is likely to be self-centred and selfish. Watch how others are in their company. Someone with whom little children and animals are instantly at ease is usually trustworthy, for creatures and the young of our own species use all their senses and see with clear eyes.’

Sabin was slowly shaking her head. ‘It’s logical, isn’t it, once it’s explained?’

‘Yes,’ Joanna agreed. Then, for she found herself liking the outspoken young woman beside her more and more, ‘We’ll meet again, Sabin. Be sure of that. Then, if you wish, I’ll teach you some more.’

Sabin gave a satisfied sigh. ‘I’d like that.’ Then she yawned, turned on her side and said, ‘Goodnight, Joanna. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.’

‘Goodnight,’ Joanna returned. ‘Sleep well.’

But presently Sabin whispered, ‘Did you really kill him?’

‘Thorald?’ Joanna felt herself stiffen at the very name. ‘He was a bully who beat my son and repeatedly raped me. But I did not exactly kill him.’

‘What does that mean?’

Why not tell her? Joanna thought.

So she did.

‘I put a stone in his horse’s shoe in the hope that the horse would stumble and throw him. Then I sat in a darkened room and, with my eyes closed, visualised over and over again the same scene, in which the horse pulled up very suddenly and Thorald flew straight over its head, landed hard and broke his neck.’

‘And was that what happened?’

‘It was exactly what happened.’

There was a silence. Then Sabin said warmly, ‘Good for you.’

Silence descended again. Sabin’s breathing deepened and she began to snore faintly. With a smile, Joanna reached across and gently turned her on her side.

Joanna lay awake for a while longer, thinking about Sabin, about Gervase, about the bright sunshine that was going to bless their wedding day and the garland of ivy and wild flowers that Sabin would wear in her pale hair. Her thoughts turning to tomorrow, and to the prospect of setting out on the road to the forest with Josse beside her, eventually she too slept.

In the morning the party met up in the dining area. The inn served a hearty breakfast and, thinking of the long roads that lay ahead, all of them ate plenty. Then they went outside to where the horses were standing ready for them, and soon were setting off out of the shady inn yard and into the bright morning sunshine, heading through the busy streets towards the town gate that opened on to the south.

The party stayed together for some miles, following the road that wound its way south-eastwards to Rennes. For the first part the road followed the river Rance, taking the same line along the river valley, and the going was level, steady and easy.

Looking ahead, Josse could see the dark outline of a dense forest; it seemed to take up the entire horizon. Calling to Sabin, he said, ‘Does your road lead through the forest?’

‘I think that Gervase and I must veer off to the east,’ she replied. ‘I do not know the road, for this is the first time I have been so far north in Brittany, but I asked at the inn and they told me to turn left, on the road that bends away from the river.’ Standing up in the stirrups, she gazed ahead. ‘I believe that I can see the place where the road forks, and indeed it appears that our road leads through an area where the trees are thinner.’

The party came to the junction and drew up. ‘Josse and I must follow the river a little further and then turn to the south,’ Joanna said.

‘Then this is where our paths part,’ Gervase said. Reaching out, he took Josse’s outstretched hand, then leaned close to Joanna and gave her a kiss. ‘Look after this little girl,’ he added, patting Meggie’s cheek, ‘and each other!’

‘We will,’ Josse replied, kissing Sabin in his turn. Joanna and Sabin embraced. Then Josse and Joanna watched as Gervase and Sabin rode away. The pair turned once or twice to wave, then rounded a bend in the road and were out of sight.

Josse took a deep breath. Then he said, ‘Well, Joanna, now it’s just you, me and Meggie.’

She turned and gave him a smile. He was both surprised and delighted by its intensity; whatever happens over the next few days, he thought as they urged their horses on down the riverside path, I am going to make absolutely sure that I enjoy it.

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.