Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

He pondered that. ‘Do you often wake in the night when sleeping in the open?’

‘Hardly ever. We — my people usually feel safe when out in the wilds and the depths of the forest. Safer than when we have to be close to civilisation,’ she added wryly.

‘Is it because you all seem so-?’ No, he thought. Now was not the moment to question her about the dangers that the outside world might or might not present for her, even given that such dangers really did exist. And, he added honestly, given also that I really want to know about them when, all the time she is apart from me, I do not see what I can do to protect her.

No. There was a more pressing matter.

‘D’you think, then, that these nocturnal noises — if they were real and you and Meggie didn’t dream them — were made by something that your sleeping mind perceived to be a threat? Not, for example, by a natural source such as some animal that is active in the dark hours making its way back to its burrow?’

‘A threat?’ She shrugged. Then, considering what he was suggesting, said thoughtfully, ‘If there really was a noise, then yes, I’d agree with you and say that, for all that I did not truly feel afraid, it was made by something or someone that does not belong in the forest at night.’

Her words went through his head over and over again as they rode under the increasingly hot sun of the July day. They were still deep in the forest — Joanna estimated that they should reach its northern fringes that evening — and the trees provided welcome shade. They also provided a thousand places where someone following the little party with evil intent could hide himself. Josse kept his hand close to his sword hilt. As ever, the dual presence of a sharp dagger in its scabbard on his belt and a sword by his side was enormously reassuring. Whoever he is, just let him try, he thought grimly. I’ll be ready.

They stopped for the night in a shallow dell just beneath the summit of the rounded hump of a low hill. Birch trees grew; there was a trio of them set almost exactly so as to give a roughly circular space in their midst. Joanna, recognising a place where the spirit forces waxed strong, knew that by pitching their camp in the birch-circled dell she would be able to call on unseen helpers for aid should it become necessary.

All day she had felt eyes upon her. Perhaps on Meggie or Josse; she could not really say. But she had been puzzled by her own reaction, for sometimes she felt that the eyes were kindly and benevolent, sometimes that they held at best hostility, at worst. . She had not let herself dwell on that.

The trouble was that she had now guessed who might be behind this stalking presence in the woods. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. But having solved the mystery brought no relief whatsoever: quite the contrary, for the man she had in mind was vicious, ruthless, had no respect for the law and was out for her blood.

All the time they had been on the outward journey and at Folle-Pensee, her delight in being out in the wildwood with Josse had been overwhelming, so that practically everything else had been drowned out. But now that they were once more close to the outside world, she had remembered that disturbing scene in the inn at Dinan.

It’s too many years that my poor brother has gone unavenged , he had said, but at last the day of reckoning has come.

And was he — no, not him; more likely some hired killer — now out there in the undergrowth, biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike? She had been terrified on that awful night in the inn that he meant to have her arrested and thrown into jail so that they could accuse her of murdering her husband and hang her. But in truth, all that she recalled of Cesaire told her that it was not really his way to act according to civilisation’s rules. It was surely far more likely that he would just have her quietly killed. After all, what honest man would simply accept Cesaire’s word that she had had a hand in Thorald’s death? It just did not seem possible that she could be arrested, tried, convicted and executed on such slim evidence. Nothing could be proved against her and, with Thorald rotted in his grave these many years, he wasn’t going to speak out against her and back up Cesaire’s accusations by confirming that yes, his wife had loathed him and had in all likelihood been behind his death.

No. If Cesaire wanted her dead, then this was the only sure way.

She frowned, for still her reasoning did not satisfy her. If indeed whoever was out in the forest following them, spying on them, was indeed Cesaire’s hired killer, then why did she not feel afraid all the time ? Why did her moments of alarm always seem to be tempered with another thought? A thought, moreover, that did not arise from her own mind but one that seemed to say, loud and clear like someone speaking quietly in her ear, Do not worry, you will be safe.

Perhaps it’s the spirits of this forest, she thought. Perhaps they read in the very fabric of time and place what will happen. They see the threat and the danger, yet they also see that Josse and I together will defend ourselves and our daughter and emerge unharmed. They know I can and will fight if I need to and they are aware of Josse’s strength and courage, of his great protective love for me and for Meggie.

She was still not totally happy with the explanation. But she had a feeling it was the best she was going to come up with.

In the dell between the birch trees, Josse built a small fire and Joanna prepared food. Aware that they would be back in inhabited regions tomorrow and able to purchase supplies, she was lavish with the portions and shared out the last of the victuals given to them by the people at Folle-Pensee. It was a feast and soon Meggie was drowsy and yawning, lying relaxed in her father’s lap, one thumb in her mouth and the fingers of her other hand delicately pulling at and twiddling the hairs on Josse’s forearm.

She adores him, Joanna thought. And as for his feelings for her, well, I have rarely seen a man so love a child. Mind you, she reminded herself, I have few examples of fatherly love by which to judge. But then she did not really feel she needed such comparisons; Josse, she knew full well, would be equal to the very best of them.

She got up, moving quietly so as not to disturb Meggie, and set about packing up the remains of their supper. She made sure that, apart from the blankets that they would use overnight, everything was neatly stored away ready for the morning.

At the back of her mind — and steadily making its way to the front — was the unwelcome thought that whatever noise she had heard the previous night was quite likely to come again; perhaps from closer at hand this time. And if she was right, and the source of the noise really was what she believed it to be, then it would be as well if they were able to take to their heels just as fast as Josse could remove the horses’ hobbles and saddle up.

She returned to the little camp among the sheltering birches. Looking up at the trees, she selected the largest of the trio and went to stand close beside the beautiful trunk. Guard us, Lady of the Woods, she said silently, you whose powerful spirit is present in these graceful, silvery trees. Stay with us, please, and let no harm come to Josse, to Meggie or to me. Then she took the sharp knife from its sheath on her belt, nicked the flesh on the inside of her elbow and allowed seven drops of her blood to fall to the ground at the roots of the tree. She stood for a few moments, head bowed, her concentration profound. Then, feeling the warm flow of reassurance, she went back to Josse and Meggie.

The child was asleep already, rolled up in her soft blanket and snoring gently. Josse looked up with a smile. ‘You missed story time,’ he remarked.