Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘As far as I recall from what I was told, the words were Say what you will, I don’t believe Merlin the Magician is buried up there .’

‘But I don’t believe he’s buried anywhere!’ Josse protested. ‘I didn’t mean I wasn’t convinced by the stone slab and the spring — I was, believe me!’

The Domina smiled. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, it was not I who had to decide.’ She paused, staring from one to the other. Then, very softly, she added, ‘You were both clearly affected by some strong emotion. That your sorrow had a very different cause never even crossed your assailant’s mind.’

Josse’s sword arm drooped. Putting his free hand to his thumping head, he said, ‘How do you know all this?’

‘The Long Men just told me,’ she said serenely. ‘They are sorry for the mistake and they hope that you will understand. They are not,’ she added, ‘well versed in the ways of men and women.’

But something was still not quite right. . fighting the growing sense of confusion, Josse said, ‘You prevented us from killing them, lady, before they told you this. Why did you-?’

Joanna, close beside him, dug her elbow into his side. ‘Enough,’ she murmured.

‘They were about to attack us!’ he cried, refusing to leave it. ‘The one in the lead stopped me drawing my sword! And where are they?’ He spun round, trying wildly to look in every direction at once.

‘They’ve gone,’ Joanna said, putting her arm round his waist and hugging him. She glanced at the Domina. ‘I don’t think they’ll be back.’

‘You will not see them again this day,’ the Domina confirmed.

Josse sank to his knees, then, the agonising pain behind his burning eyes at last overcoming him, lay down on the ground. He was aware of Joanna’s concern and he heard the Domina say quietly, ‘Tend to your man, Beith, for he is hurting and he needs you.’

Your man, he thought. I like that.

He felt Joanna’s cool hand on his head and then there were other small noises as she opened the leather pouch at her belt; he thought he heard that running water sound again. Presently something almost too chilly for comfort dripped on to his brow and then, pressing a little cup to his lips, Joanna whispered, ‘Drink this, Josse.’

He drank. It was cool and tasted of moss. Or herbs. Or something. It made him very sleepy. He let himself relax on to the short grass. Something soft was placed beneath his head and he thought he felt Joanna’s lips on his cheek in a tender kiss. This is all very pleasant, but I must sheathe my sword, he thought dreamily. The dew will fall and the blade should be covered. .

Then he fell asleep.

Aware as if in a dream of Joanna helping him on to Horace’s back, Josse sat slumped in the saddle as she led the big horse along narrow forest tracks, twisting and turning this way and that, until at last they reached her hut in its secret clearing. He felt a sharp stab of pain in his head as she got him off Horace and inside the hut, where it was all she could do to make him drink an infusion that she hastily prepared from her stocks of herbs on the shelves in the hut.

He lay stretched out on the sleeping platform and she covered him with soft blankets. He tried to keep his eyes open — there was so much he needed to know — but sleep was overcoming him relentlessly.

‘It’s all right, dearest Josse,’ Joanna murmured.

‘But how-?’

‘No more questions till the morning,’ she said very firmly. Then she lay down beside him, curled up against him and, immeasurably comforted by her warmth and her presence, at last he surrendered.

He woke to the lovely sensation of having his forehead massaged with a feather touch by very small fingers. There was the sweet, sharp smell of lavender oil. Seeing his eyes open, his daughter said, ‘Does it still hurt, Josse?’

He was not entirely sure but he thought not. To test this out he raised his eyebrows and lowered them very quickly four or five times in quick succession, which amused Meggie so much that he did it several times more. Then she had to try, and in the resulting laughter one of them managed to upset the little dish of oil.

‘Sorry,’ he said to Joanna when presently she came into the hut. ‘Some of the oil got spilled.’

She sniffed. ‘It doesn’t matter. This hut always smells of some remedy or another and lavender is one of the better ones.’ She came up to stand in front of the sleeping platform. ‘You look better. How’s the head?’

‘It’s fine,’ he assured her. ‘Whatever you dosed me with last night has mended me.’

‘Just a pain killer,’ she said.

‘A strong one, and it made me sleep like the dead.’ She did not reply. ‘Were you, I wonder,’ he added softly, ‘hoping that it would also serve to confuse me, so that I could no longer tell what really happened late yesterday from the weird and unlikely things that cropped up in my dreams?’

Her dark eyes were steady on his. ‘Yes.’

‘It didn’t work,’ he told her. ‘I can still see that image of my sword swinging down in a blow that should have beheaded him, yet-’ No. Whatever had happened next had completely gone, if indeed it had ever been there in the first place. ‘And you with that lethal knife of yours, I could have sworn you cut the other man’s throat.’

‘Sssh!’ She put a warning finger to her lips and belatedly he remembered Meggie, sitting just behind him. He turned but she seemed absorbed in making a very neat plait from the fringed ends of one of the blankets.

‘Meggie, Josse and I are going outside for a while,’ Joanna said. ‘We won’t be long, then we’ll come back and I’ll prepare some food. I’ve put a pot of water over the hearth to boil and, because fire and hot water can hurt, you must stay up there where it’s safe, yes?’

‘Yes. Stay,’ the child agreed.

‘She’s very obedient,’ Josse said as he and Joanna walked slowly over to the far side of the clearing.

‘She’s very sensible,’ she replied. ‘When I tell her to do or not to do something, I try to explain why, and usually — not always — she accepts without too much complaint.’

Something within Josse protested at the thought of a child not yet three years old being sensible . ‘Does she never just play or be naughty?’ He could hear accusation in his voice.

Joanna smiled, not to be ruffled. ‘Oh, she does both of those.’

They had moved into the shade of a great oak tree. Birds sang in its dense green foliage and from near at hand came the rushing sounds of a stream. He said, ‘So, what happened? Did the Domina turn those two men to mist just as our weapons struck?’

He had intended sarcasm, but surprisingly she nodded. ‘Yes, sort of,’ she replied. ‘They had something to do with it too; the uninjured one is a very powerful man and his abilities far exceed those of his brother. Actually I think brother is not to be taken literally, only to imply that they are united in the clan. The men are, I believe, no more than distant cousins.’

As if, he thought, it made any difference. ‘So why didn’t the stronger one undertake the task of following us?’ he demanded. ‘For one thing, his greater power might have allowed him to realise the truth about what we found out at Barenton so that he wouldn’t have launched his attack on us. For another, maybe if it had been he who fought that — that whatever it was that came to our defence in the Broceliande, he might have emerged the victor.’

‘He might,’ she agreed. ‘They would indeed have been more evenly matched.’

Still she seemed serene, quite unfazed by his angry comments. With an exasperated sigh, he said, ‘Joanna, I don’t understand supernatural powers and I never will. But, since it seems that twice recently people wielding such powers have tried to kill me, I do think that you might at least try to explain.’