Kate Sedley - The Midsummer Crown

My throat was so parched that I could barely swallow, every joint screamed out in pain, cramp had both legs in its grip. My bowels, like my bladder, were full and would shortly humiliate me even further by emptying themselves. I should stink as badly as the room in general where the dog, unhampered by any such inhibition, had fouled the rush-strewn floor throughout the night.

Once more, I made a desperate attempt to free my wrists. In a second the creature was up and baring its teeth, but so long as I remained still, I guessed it wouldn’t attack me. I recalled my earlier assessment of its character; that it was a stupid animal who would slavishly obey orders, but whose enterprise and initiative had been eroded by cruelty and lack of affection. In that moment, I almost wished it would attack. I felt that death would be welcome. There was no hope of escape. The homestead was so isolated that nothing and no one ever seemed to pass that way. No sound disturbed the silence except the soughing of the wind in the trees. .

It was with total astonishment therefore, that I saw the door of the cottage slowly opening. Seconds later, the daughter of the house, the young girl I had seen weeks before trying to escape the clutches of her mother, stepped across the threshold.

‘Hello, who are you?’ she asked, staring at me in astonishment.

‘The dog!’ I croaked in a voice I barely recognized as my own. ‘Beware the dog!’

The brute had risen to its feet at the opening of the door and now stood facing the child, hackles raised and teeth bared in a way that made me tremble with fear. She, however, seemed entirely unperturbed.

‘I’m not afraid of him!’ was the scornful reply. Pointing one small, rosy finger at the animal, she yelled, ‘Lie down and go to sleep!’

And to my utter amazement, the beast did just that. It stretched its full length among the rushes and closed its eyes. A moment later, it was snoring.

Meanwhile, the girl had advanced into the room and was studying my face intently. ‘I know who you are,’ she announced. ‘You’re that man who was here — oh! — a long time ago when my sister was ill. Why have you come back?’ But she spoke without curiosity and evinced no further interest when I ignored the question.

‘My hands are tied,’ I whispered hoarsely. ‘Can you find a knife and cut me free?’

Without another word, she fetched a large, wicked-looking blade from the cooking bench and hacked through the rope which bound me. I regret to say that I didn’t even stop to thank her, but staggered outside to the lean-to privy which I had noticed yesterday at the back of the cottage and then, when I finally emerged, to the barrel of rainwater where I bathed my face and badly bruised wrists. Finally, as the sun lifted clear of the horizon and the dawn chorus sounded ever louder from the neighbouring trees, I stretched my limbs and filled my lungs with the cold, sweet morning air.

When I returned to the cottage, this remarkable child was calmly filling two beakers from a jug of her mother’s home-brewed ale. She pushed one towards me and I swallowed the contents gratefully.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in London?’ I queried.

She nodded and shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I got bored sitting on that cart with my sister and a load of cabbages and that stupid boy who’s been living here for the past two weeks. So, when my father wasn’t watching I escaped. I knew he wouldn’t come looking for me because he had to be in London by yesterday evening. I heard Mother tell him so and he mostly does as she says. I shall get whipped for it,’ she added philosophically, ‘but I’m used to that. I’m always escaping. I was escaping that day you were here. One day, when I’m a bit older, I’ll escape for good.’

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Albia. What’s yours?’

‘Roger. Who was the boy who was here, do you know?’

‘No. He was no fun.’ Her tone was contemptuous. ‘He did nothing but sleep, like I told you, or when he was awake he wouldn’t eat and just grizzled and cried for someone called Rosina.’

My heart went out to Gideon. Little did the poor young devil know that the person he was crying for was not his friend and protector, but one of the people responsible for all the evil which had befallen him. I decided there and then that whatever punishment was coming to Rosina Copley — and it would not be pleasant — she deserved every second of it.

‘I must be on my way,’ I said, and again this strangely incurious child nodded her head.

But she was eminently practical, too. ‘If you’re hungry, there’s bread and cheese.’

I realized that I was, very hungry. And I also realized that after all I had undergone in the past few days, my limbs were like lead and my head felt as if it were stuffed with old rags.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

While we ate, I asked Albia if she knew anything about the young woman who dressed as a boy.

‘Oh, her!’ My youthful companion was dismissive. ‘She’s only been here once or twice. Since the boy came, so I think she must be something to do with him. She’s strange. She says she doesn’t care for men, but she dresses like one. That’s stupid. But Mother liked her very much. Father was angry about it, I don’t know why.’

I didn’t enlighten her and we finished our meal in silence. Indeed, I had a job to stay awake, especially after another two beakers of ale. Consequently the sun was rising in the sky when I finally climbed out of the hollow to the ridge above and set out on the long walk back to London. The horses had been taken, of course, by Piers — Pernelle — and the woman Margaret, and Albia had confirmed that the carthorse was the only beast of burden that her father owned. My hope must lie in some friendly carrier giving me a ride.

I awoke with a start to instant awareness and the horrified realization that the light was fading. I knew at once what had happened.

I had found the path leading to the main track with none of the difficulty I had experienced going in the opposite direction the previous day. The track itself was busy as always, and there was no dearth of carts heading for the capital. But the drivers were a singularly surly bunch and not one of them was prepared to offer me a ride in spite of my many appeals to their better natures. Two whom I physically attempted to halt by clutching at their horses’ reins were most abusive, and one even caught me a stinging blow across the shoulders with his whip. A couple of others showed me the two-fingered devil’s horn and consigned me verbally to the fires of Hell, while the rest simply ignored me or pretended not to hear.

Shortly after noon, when the sun was directly overhead and at its hottest, I stopped at a wayside cottage for a further drink of ale which, on reflection, was probably a grave mistake. If my limbs had felt like lead earlier on, they now rebelled altogether. My legs obstinately refused to obey my brain even on the increasingly rare occasions when my brain was capable of giving them orders. Three times I stumbled and nearly fell, but the fourth time I measured my length on the ground and my bruised and battered body insisted on staying there. I had just enough energy and will-power remaining to haul myself behind a large brake of gorse, out of sight of the highway, before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

It was from this no doubt healing, but unfortunate, slumber that I had now awakened to discover that it was almost dusk. I had no idea how far I still was from London, but I knew that the hour was advanced and that it must be almost curfew. I scrambled to my feet and staggered back to the road which now boasted only a handful of people, late travellers like myself.