Where the Path Leads – Chapter 25

• MARY DRAKE –

From Stolen Heart

            The next morning as they walked along the trail, narrow but still clearly defined, the forest showered them with a confetti of leaves. Crows cawed and occasionally the wind made itself felt, stirring up the dry leaves and billowing under Emily’s short cloak, making her shiver. The cloak would not keep all of her warm, no matter how much she pulled it closer, and she had to focus on keeping up with Annamund who was always ahead of her. Keeping her in sight grew harder by the day since there was never really time to rest her ankle.

            Twilight was always welcome because it meant stopping for the night, though more and more she and her companion were having difficulty agreeing where to rest.

            “Let’s look for a clearing,” Emily suggested when shadows slanted across the trail and a chill began to permeate the forest.      

            Annamund shook her head. “We’re like sitting ducks there.”

            “Well, it is the best place to start a fire,” she answered defensively. Oderic had taught her enough that she knew not to start a fire in a copse of trees or a thicket of brush.

            Annamund shook her head again. “We’re not having a fire,” she said firmly.  “No need. Plus it draws attention.”

            “But I’m freezing!” Emily wailed, hating the whining sound in her voice.

            “Let’s see if we can find a hollow tree to curl up in. That would offer both protection and warmth.”

            It made sense, of course, but did she really want to snuggle up beside Annamund? 

            As if reading her thoughts, Annamund added, “Perhaps, two hollow trees.”

            That did it! Emily’s hands clenched into fists and her face grew warm. “I’ll find my own tree,” she retorted and turned to head into the woods.

            Annamund put a restraining hand on her arm. “You’ll get lost. We’ll look together until we’ve found a spot for you.”

            “I’m not a baby!”

            “It’s easy to get lost in here.” Without further discussion, Annamund left the trail and began walking through the thick wood. Emily trailed behind her, fuming.

            When they paused once, Emily announced, “I’ve read Jack London and Gary Paulsen, you know.” Annamund looked at her blankly. She added, “They write about surviving in the wilderness.”

            In the approaching darkness, it seemed as if something close to a sneer spread over Annamund’s lovely features. “Being able to read doesn’t mean anything here.”

            It felt like Annamund had trumped her ace and she stamped her foot in frustration.

            “Hush!” Annamund said. “Wait here, behind this big rock. You’ll be out of the wind.”

            “Where are you going?”  Emily was suddenly wary.

            “To find some food,” her companion snapped. The small loaves Oderic had given them were gone. “Because knowing how to read doesn’t satisfy your hunger,” she flung back as a parting jab.

            Emily turned away, afraid of what she might say or do. When she glanced back a few moments later, Annamund was gone and darkness was settling in around her. Shivering with cold (or was it anger?) she dashed away the tears that sprang to her eyes, then kneaded her tickling ear. She had no idea how much farther the abyss was, but she feared she and her companion would come to blows before they got there.

            Huddled on the ground, she pulled her knees up under her chin to wait.  Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that it was better behind this rock, out of the wind. Resting her chin wearily on her knees, she yawned and felt like she could drift off, when a noise close by suddenly alerted her. Crunching. It grew nearer. Something big, as if from many feet. Maybe it was more than one, she thought with panic. She considered running. No. She’d run before and fallen into a pit.  Why was Annamund never there when these creatures came around? There was a snuffling noise and, from the leaves, a sense of movement, reverberations she could almost feel through the ground. Sweat broke out around her hairline and her heart pounded. Calm down, she told herself. It might just be–what?–a hedge pig, a rabbit, a squirrel? Did they make that much noise? Maybe something larger–a fox, a mountain lion, another wild boar? She pressed her back against the lichen-covered rock. Suddenly the rustling stopped. Hardly daring to breathe, she listened to an unfamiliar creaking. Whatever it was sounded terribly close, in fact, right on the other side of this immense rock.

            Two things happened next and she couldn’t say which came first, perhaps they were simultaneous: she heard a loud snort, and something wet touched her hand. The sound startled her, but it was the wet touch that caused her to scream, thinking she was about to be a meal for some wild animal. 

            “Who goes there?” It was a man’s deep voice.

            To her shocked relief, the wet nose belonged to Big Ben. She gasped in relief as a horse slowly circled the stone, and in the gathering dusk she could just make out that it was Arthur by the sandy blonde hair below his hat and the familiar dapple grey of Albion.

            “Arthur!  Oh god, you gave me such a fright,” she said, when she had recovered enough to speak, still clutching one hand against her pounding chest. “You’re the last person I expected to see. What are you doing here?”  Reflexively, she stroked the big dog.

            Quietly, Arthur dismounted. The creaking had been the sound of his leather saddle.

            “I think I should be the one asking you that,” he replied.

            His tone sounded different. She couldn’t see the expression on his face and for a moment was flummoxed.

            “I thought . . . you know . . . they’d . . . uh . . .be waiting for you, at the castle?” she stammered.

            With his back to her, he began to undo the saddle.

            “But here I am instead,” was his flat response, suggesting no further discussion.

            “Well, no matter. I’m just so happy you’re are.” And she was.

             He turned to set the saddle carefully on the ground, and she felt, rather than saw, him smile. That was the Arthur she remembered, the smiling one from May Day, sun shining in his carmel-colored hair, eyes as blue as periwinkle, walking down the high road with her after the celebration, when he’d come after Big Ben, who now nuzzled her hand. She was suffused with warmth and wanted to hug him, but, after all, they had really only talked once or twice, and shyness held her back.

            She noticed his saddle bags when he was untacking. 

            “Do you have food?”

            Arthur not only had food, but he built a fire. Listening to the twigs snapping and watching the flames dancing, they ate quietly, pieces of cheese and freshly baked bread. She tried not to act as ravenous as she felt.  Finally, he offered her a drink from his water skin, then took one himself before speaking.

            “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. Only, . . . well, the reason I’m here is not a happy one.”

            Even in his unhappiness, though, he hadn’t really been rude.

            “What’s the matter?  Are you . . . running away from something?” she asked gently. She wasn’t sure why she asked that. Maybe it’s because that’s what she felt she was doing in some way.

            “I guess you could say that.”

            Thoughts of Edmund crashing into the tree and her part in it filled her with dread. Was he was running from that? 

            “I’m so angry, so ashamed,” he continued. “I just had to get away for a while, to think.”

            “Ashamed?”  She had no idea what he was talking about.

            “You don’t understand, Emilia, how it is with us. You act as though we’re all equals, but in our society, there are many levels, and you’re not supposed to cross over them. For instance, I really should not be talking to you like a friend, any more than Mother should speak to Brutus in her chamber late at night.”

            At the mention of the Seneschal, she cringed inwardly. This was about his mother?

            “I went to find out if it was true, about Edmund,” he said, pain creeping into his voice.

            Her heart sank. So this was about Edmund. Unconsciously, she leaned back slightly, distancing herself.

            “I heard that Monseignor had performed the Last Ritual for him. I wanted to know why she was giving up on him. I waited in her chamber. I knew she was with Edmund and I didn’t want to interrupt her. Well, it’s probably more true to say that I couldn’t bear to look on my brother. His form is so wasted; he hasn’t eaten anything of substance since the accident. When I was a child, I went to her chamber all the time, so I thought nothing of it. Besides, it was late. I assumed she’d be alone.

            “I heard footsteps and thought it was her. Then voices. One was deep. The door opened quietly. I was taken off guard and didn’t know what to do, so I ducked behind the wardrobe. My mother was talking to someone.

            ‘How did you know this?’

            ‘You have it then?’

            “It was Brutus.”

             ‘Elizabeth, I must see it.’ 

            “I wondered what he wanted from her? His voice was low and excited.”

            ‘W-why? I mean, what do you want with it?’

            ‘I’d just like to see it, dearest. It will take your mind off Edmund.’

            “When I heard him call her that, so many things I’d seen and never thought about suddenly came back to me. Like on our last hunt, it was her sash he was wearing. And all the looks that passed between them. All the evenings he came to supper at the castle. That was not just the loyalty of a faithful servant. But Emilia, he is a servant, even if he feels like part of the family, even if he’s my father’s surrogate. He should never forget his place. I was infuriated. He said it was important for their future that he see it. He held her hands and gazed at her like a lover.”

            ‘Please, dear one. I must see it,‘ he said.  

            “She pulled away. ‘I can show it to you, but it’s not mine to give.’

            “He looked surprised. ‘What do you mean? You do have it, don’t you?’

            ‘Well, yes. It’s in my possession,’ and she actually smiled a little through her tears. She’s been doing a lot of crying since the accident. Brutus took her hands again and began chafing them as if to warm them, then he started massaging the individual fingers. He didn‘t hurry her. He said nothing, just continued to massage, moving upwards from her fingers to her palm, using the broad tips of his thumbs, rotating along her wrist, then forearm, then the inside of her elbow. It reminded me of a snake winding its way, but she was in his thrall.”

            ‘I have it. And you know, Brutus . . . ,’ she paused for several moments, taking pleasure in his caresses, ‘what’s mine I would gladly give you, but . . . .’ 

            “She seemed to stiffen then, as if to pull away, but gently, almost imperceptibly, he moved his hands up the ample sleeves of her gown to her upper arms and shoulders, drawing her towards him. She sighed and leaned into him.”

             I watched Arthur lower his head and close his eyes as if to blot out the image, then he continued.

            “She said it was entrusted to her for her unborn child.”       

            ‘Show me the stone, dear one,’ Brutus whispered into her neck, then he brushed his lips against her skin, causing her to utter a small moan.

            “I wondered how this could this be the same woman I’d called mother for fifteen years? Disentangling herself from him, she took something from a chest at the foot of her bed and carried it over near a candle where they huddled to look at it. She held it in one hand and ceremoniously unwrapped it with the other. I was overcome by curiosity.”

            ‘It’s quite beautiful,’ Brutus said.  ‘Tell me how you came by it.’ 

            “They sat together on her bed.”

            ‘No one knows about it,’ she said softly.  ‘Not even Richard. I never told anyone.’ 

            ‘Tell me, my love.’

            “He was trying to catch her eye, make her look up at him, rather than at the stone. He reached up and brushed a strand of her hair back from her face and she inclined her head toward his hand, then began.

            ‘My parents saw to it that I was married while I still very young, and Richard left often, as he still does, for many months at a time, going to the King’s court or going hunting. The days seemed endless and empty and I used to get very lonely, so to pass the time, I began taking long walks in the afternoon. I would cross the bridge behind the castle and walk along the Mill Road. Always, one of my waiting women came with me, but each day I walked a little farther. 

            ‘One particular autumn day, the weather was pleasantly cool and I was filled with life. I walked so far that my waiting woman grew tired and had to sit alongside the road on a stile. I went on without her, though she didn’t want me to, and cried out that I shouldn’t be walking alone and that evil might befall me, but I was young and fearless. I walked so far that I came to the edge of the great forest. It was beautiful with all the colored leaves floating down. I couldn’t resist. I just kept going along the path that went in.’

            “Her blue eyes were wide as if still incredulous, all these years later, either at the beauty of the forest or at the bold thing she had done.”

            ‘I knew I shouldn‘t have. I knew it was home to wild animals and outlaws.’

            ‘My darling, what were you thinking?’ Brutus asked, gently reproving. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

            ‘My unhappiness made me daring. I didn’t care what happened to me,’ she confessed.  ‘I remember the forest that day, sun streaming through the branches onto the golden leaves as they fell; it seemed an enchanted place. I walked a long way down the path, but it became narrower and narrower. When I got to where the path disappeared, I was suddenly frightened by how far I’d gone.‘

            ‘Elizabeth, you took a terrible chance,’ Brutus said.

            ‘Yes, but that’s when I heard someone singing in a pleasing tenor. I was so surprised that I didn’t see a big tree root right in front of me and I tumbled over it onto the ground. The singing stopped and a hand stretched out to help me up. When I looked up, a man in a gray cloak stood there. The sunlight was in my eyes and his face was hidden in the folds of his hood, but he had a long silver beard and his voice was gentle.’

            ‘Daughter,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here? Have you come looking for me?’ 

            ‘I brushed myself off and assumed my lady-of-the-manor attitude.’ After all, my garb clearly showed I was of noble birth.  ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘this forest and everything in it belongs to my husband, Baron Richard Longsword. Therefore, I am free to roam wherever I choose.’

            “Brutus smiled, as if amused by a precocious child.”

            ‘The gray man made a sweeping bow and said, ‘My Lady.’

            ‘I thought he was mocking me,‘ she said.

            ‘I meant no insult,’ he said.  ‘I’m merely surprised that you venture so far in your tender condition.’

            ‘I’m sure I blushed in confusion. I wasn’t even sure myself yet, though it had crossed my mind. How could this stranger know?’

            ‘But I’m glad that you’ve come,’ he said.  ‘Please, dear Lady, take a seat on this stump and rest. I’ll get you a cool drink.’

            ‘At his words, my legs felt weak and I suddenly had great thirst. Gratefully, I sat down and drank from a silver cup he handed me. Never before had water tasted so delicious. When my thirst was satisfied, I asked, ‘Why are you glad I’ve come?’          

            ‘Long have I been waiting for the misdirected traveler.’

            ‘I’m not misdirected,’ I protested.

             ‘But right now you are going the wrong way. The time has not come yet to leave your home, so you must go back.’  The old man was really overstepping his bounds, so I stood up. 

            ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’ 

            ‘A simple guardian of the forest, my Lady, who has a gift for you.  Well, for your child, really,’ and reaching under his long cloak, he took out a small velvet package and put it into my hand. You can imagine my surprise. I stared at it.’

            ‘Open it,’ he urged.

            ‘I felt him looking at me, and it seemed far too personal, as if he could see my disdain but also how I was struggling with overwhelming curiosity.  He seemed amused. What could this gift be for my child?’ 

            ‘Go on,’ he urged.

            ‘I untied the delicate gold and silver braid that secured the cunningly made velvet envelope. I must admit I was a little afraid of what I might find.’

            “My mother looked pale and serious, as if the memory had not been dimmed by the years. In her mind’s eye, she was again unwrapping the unexpected gift.

            ‘I don’t know what I thought this strange man was giving me–a stolen jewel, perhaps? But there on the black velvet was a stone even blacker than its wrapping, with an iridescent silvery sheen, like moonlight. I stroked it reverently. I told him it was beautiful and awful at the same time. I had never seen anything like it. He told me it was a rare and powerful stone, yet despised by the unknowing. I had a sudden impulse to throw it onto the ground.’

            ‘Why are you giving it to me?’ I asked.

            ‘Because one day your child will need it, Lady.  He, too, will be misdirected, misled, tricked perhaps, and left alone, like you. All he need do is look into this stone to determine his way.’

            “Brutus was still beside her, listening, but now he shifted uneasily.  She must have interpreted his restlessness as doubt. 

            ‘I know it sounds fantastical, but it really happened that way. I asked the old man how looking into a stone could help someone find his way.’

            ‘This stone comes from deep within the heart of Mother Earth, at the molten core, and possesses the energy from whence it came. Leave it to your child to discover its magical properties, my Lady.’  Then, taking my arm, he walked me back down the forest path and I was content in his company.  When we got to the edge where the trees met the field, my waiting woman was crying and calling out to me, half out of her wits with fear for my welfare, lest she take the blame, yet even more afraid to enter Blackwood forest herself. The old man turned to leave, but I stopped him.

            ‘Can the stone show me the way?’

            ‘He said, ’Lady, I think you know where you are headed, into the arms of the one you love. No stone can show you where that is. You must look into your heart.’

            “Then she laid her hand along Brutus’s cheek. ‘He didn’t tell me how long I’d have to wait for your love to arrive,’ she whispered, and they embraced.

            “I turned away, sickened in my heart at their treachery, especially at hers. I love her. How could she betray us–her children and her husband–for someone of inferior station?

            “Brutus said he must go, that it would be getting light soon. ‘Let me have it, dear one,’ and he looked at the stone still resting in her palm. ‘Your child won’t be needing it.’

            ‘Oh my poor Edmund,’ she moaned. He stroked her hair and she looked up at him for solace. ‘But dearest, there’s something I’ve always wondered.’

            ‘What Elizabeth?’

            ‘When the old man said my child, did he mean Edmund, or was he referring to the child I was then carrying–Arthur?’

              “Brutus was speechless for a moment, then finally answered, ‘The stone could prove very useful to us, Elizabeth. We must think of ourselves.’

            ‘You’re probably right,’ but she sounded regretful.

            “Brutus is not a man to be denied. I saw them stand and he gently prized it from her fingers. She looked stricken as he re-wrapped the stone in its velvet envelope and slipped it into a pocket of his tunic.

            ‘All these years,’ she said sadly, ‘I’ve kept it hidden away for him. No one ever asked about it.’

            “Brutus put on his cloak, fastening it and smoothing the soft woolen folds across his broad shoulders, before turning to leave. Like a forlorn child she followed him to the door of her chamber. He didn’t look at her. I guess he’d gotten what he wanted.”

            In the firelight, Arthur’s blue eyes looked dark and all his features seemed weighed down by despondency.

            “Could the stone help Edmund?” Emily asked gently.  “Or you?”

            He shook his head. “We’ll never know now. He’s stolen it along with her heart. And now she’s ruined everything.”