Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

Again, some force emanating from the huge bones seemed to reach out for him. But this time he had come prepared. Not allowing the fear to take hold, he strode on to the very edge of the gaping wound in the earth and, standing on the grave’s lip, said softly, ‘Lady, I do not know who you are but I have good news. This place is now closed and I give you my word that I shall do my utmost to find out where it was that you were brought from so that I may return you to your rightful place.’

He paused, listening intently.

Other than the sweet, treble song of a wren somewhere in the undergrowth, silence. Except. .

Except what?

Straining his ears, it seemed to him for a brief instant that he could hear the sound of long, regular breathing. And a — what was it? A sort of pulse, slow and steady, as if the very heart of the earth could be heard beating.

He sank to his knees. He was tense and expectant, every sense alert. But, he realised in wonder, he was no longer afraid.

He edged forward so that he was looking down on the bones. They really were enormous and, were it not for the high esteem in which he held the infirmarer, he would have doubted her firm assurance that this skeleton belonged to a woman. If it was indeed a woman, he thought suddenly, then it was somehow even more of an outrage that her bones lay there exposed for all to see. He tried to think what he had with him with which to cover her, and recalled that he still carried his travelling blanket, rolled up and tied to the back of his saddle.

Running back to Horace, peacefully grazing by the outer fence, swiftly he unfastened the blanket and returned to the grave. Then, kneeling down again, he attacked the problem of how best to tuck it around the bones. The steep sides of the grave had been faced with stone at their lower levels — something he had not noticed before — and he now saw how skilfully the job had been done: the stone sides met the slab that formed the base at exact angles and the fit was so tight that very little earth seemed to have penetrated the pit. The dark metal plaque on the far side of the grave, with its false claim that these were the bones of Merlin the Enchanter, was propped up by a rough chunk of sandstone.

Sandstone, and it was unworked. Yet the lining and the base of the tomb were surely granite, beautifully shaped with loving care.

Something began to stir at the back of Josse’s mind.

He leaned down into the grave. Half expecting a smell, he detected nothing but a slight earthy tang, by no means unpleasant. Laying the blanket within reach on the graveside, he edged his upper body down over the lip of the tomb and, eyes alert, looked very carefully all around the bones, trying to see if anything lay beneath them.

With his head right down in the grave, he soon found what he was searching for.

There was virtually nothing left of the leather bag except for its top, where the leather was doubled over to hold the drawstrings. But its contents had proved more durable and now they lay in a tidy little group beneath the skeleton’s right hip.

Unable to tear his fascinated eyes away, Josse silently enumerated them.

There was the clawed foot of some bird of prey: probably a kestrel, he thought. Next to this lay a knife made out of some metal that, during its long immersion in the ground, had acquired a greenish sheen; its handle was of bone and carved into the shape of a dragon. There was also a razor with a handle of stone, two small shells and a set of matching stones which, when Josse reached down and picked up a couple, had strange designs carved into them. There was also a collection of small animal bones and a large amber bead.

He pulled himself back out of the tomb and knelt on the grass. Then, making himself act before the enchantment took over and he could no longer make such decisions for himself, he reached for his blanket and, with all the tender care of a father tucking up his child for the night, laid it across the skeleton and fixed it as well as he could so that every part, except for the ankles and the feet, was now hidden from view.

The strange force that had filled the clearing seemed to fade a little, as if the respectful gesture had somehow diminished its potent anger.

And Josse, sweating and gasping, collapsed on the grass.

He lay there for some time, listening to the natural and very welcome sounds of the forest reassert themselves. The birds sang, a light breeze rustled the leaves and from somewhere near at hand he thought he heard water running.

He closed his eyes and some of the various anxieties that he had been carrying seemed to seep out of him, leaving him relaxed and drowsy. It was almost as if a soft voice was murmuring in his ear, saying Sleep, sleep . .

He slept.

He was suddenly wide awake, disturbed by some faint sound that echoed through his head but that he could not identify. It had seemed to his dreaming mind that somebody had called his name, but that couldn’t be right.

But then he heard it again. Josse .

And, sitting bolt upright so fast that his head swam, he found himself staring up at the Domina.

‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice sounded cold.

‘I came to tell her that it’s over. The tomb is closed and I was going to try to find out where he found her — where her true resting place had been — so that I could return her there.’ He met the Domina’s secretive eyes. I have nothing to be either ashamed or afraid of, he told himself firmly. Standing up — he felt at even more of a disadvantage crouched at her feet — he added, ‘Only I now think I was wrong.’

‘About what?’

‘About thinking that Florian found the bones elsewhere and moved them here.’ He paused, watching her closely. ‘This woman has been here all along. Hasn’t she?’

There was a long pause, and then very slowly the Domina nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Who was she?’ he asked eagerly. ‘How-’

But the Domina did not appear to hear, or, if she had, she chose to ignore his question. ‘The man Florian did indeed discover her grave,’ she said. ‘He came into the forest around the time of the spring equinox and he was in great distress, so severe that it was in his mind to make an end of his life and hang himself from one of the oak trees. He had been searching for buried treasure, having heard a rumour that coins had been found deep within the forest. He came across this clearing and noticed the hollow in its centre. He began to dig and instead of finding treasure, he found bones.’ She looked away, into the tomb. ‘A rib bone was detached and had been brought up near to the surface by some burrowing rodent. It was the end of this rib that Florian first found. Excited, for where there were bones there might also be valuable grave goods, he dug and he dug and he went on digging until he discovered that a whole skeleton lay buried here.’

She sighed, sadly shaking her head.

‘And Florian’s instant thought,’ Josse said slowly, ‘was how he could turn his discovery to his own advantage. In his desperate need for money, he came up with the idea of pretending that they were Merlin’s bones — no doubt he, like everyone else, had heard about what the Glastonbury monks have done. Florian realised he could not claim that he had discovered the bones of King Arthur or his queen, since it’s said they lie at Glastonbury, and so he settled on Merlin.’ He shook his head. ‘Who would have ever dreamed that this skeleton is that of a woman?’

‘Your nun did,’ the Domina observed drily.

‘Aye, but then Sister Euphemia is vastly experienced in matters of the human body.’ A thought occurred to him and he voiced it. ‘You seem to know a lot about Florian’s discovery of the tomb. Why, if you were aware of him and what he was doing here, did you not stop him?’