Chapter Two

“Wake up, wake up,” shouted Marion, “they’re taking Patch and Tan.” Her brothers started awake but she didn’t wait for them, climbing down the ladder as quickly as she could without breaking her neck. Next to the fire downstairs, Imelda sat up from her mattress, her blanket pooling around her waist. She was a heavy sleeper and barely yet conscious.

Wearing only her chemise, Marion ran outside into the cold. She reached the woodshed, then remembered that they locked the axe away overnight. Seizing a piece of split wood instead, she ran towards the men.

There were four of them now, another had left the stable. Three stayed with the oxen, but one came to meet her. He wore a dark hood pulled forward, a black scarf covering his mouth and chin.

When Marion saw Dark Hood waiting for her, she slowed down, stopping in front of him and brandishing her piece of wood. “Those are our beasts,” she said. “Put them back. Get off our farm.”

Dark Hood looked at her improvised weapon, then her naked arms, then her chest. Marion took a single step backwards, her bare foot squelching into something clammy.

The three other robbers ignored her, leading away the oxen John had christened Patch and Tan. These men too wore hoods, their faces also covered.

“I’ll smash your head in,” said Marion, waving her club. Dark Hood looked her in the face again, then turned and walked after the others.

“Come back,” she shouted. “Don’t you walk away from me.” She took a faltering step after him, then recognition came to her. The stooped shoulders, the long, slow stride, and those boots. Calfskin boots with roundel spurs.

“Morris the Reeve,” she shouted. Dark Hood paused, then continued walking, but the other men stopped and looked back.

Marion gripped the wood so tightly her knuckles cracked. Running up behind de Erdington’s overseer, she raised her club.

One man shouted a warning, and Morris turned to seize her wrist and stop the blow. He wrenched the wood from her grasp, then pushed her square in the chest. She fell in the mud and a man laughed.

“We’ll starve,” she said to Morris. He said nothing, only blurred in front of her. She was crying, and felt stupidly ashamed.

“Look out,” shouted the man leading the oxen. Marion and Morris followed his pointing finger to see John running towards them. He’d pulled on his boots and grey tunic, and wielded grandfather’s sword.

“No,” shouted Marion, clambering up from the mud, “No.” She didn’t know if she spoke to John or the thieves. She ran towards her little brother, but as she passed Morris, he grabbed her arm, spinning her round and back to the ground.

She pushed the hair out of her eyes and sat up. Two of the thieves had drawn swords of their own. Her stomach clenched and she screamed.

“No steel,” said Morris to his men, speaking for the first time. He crouched a little and hefted Marion’s makeshift club.

John approached him. “Leave my sister alone.”

“Make me,” said Morris.

Like most boys, John had grown up playing with wooden swords. Once big enough for a real blade, father had turned the game into a duty.

John cut at Morris’s head but the Reeve swayed out of reach, then stepped in and clubbed John’s forearm.

John dropped the sword, crying out. Two of the other thieves pounced. One punched him on the ear, the other stamped at the back of his knee. John’s leg collapsed and he fell. The men started to kick him, in the back, in the stomach, in the head.

Marion shouted at them to stop but the attack continued. She tried to crawl to him, but Morris held her back by the hair. She closed her eyes, but heard the grunts, gasps, and thuds as they beat her brother.

Then there came a new scream. A piercing, heart-stopping cry, cutting through the noise and snapping every eye to its source. A figure in a pale gown stood beside them, with wild grey-black hair and staring eyes. Morris let go of Marion’s hair and retreated. The men beating John scrambled away, swearing and cursing.

The scream stopped abruptly, and the figure lowered its arms.

It was Imelda, her sleeping chemise flapping in the breeze. Nightcap lost, her unruly grey and black hair framed her fury. She reached down and wiped her hand across John’s brow. Then she shoved the bloody palm at the tallest of those who had beat him.

“Hankin,” she said. The man crossed himself. Imelda pointed her palm to the other. “Pate.” That one shook his head and backed up further. “I know and name you both. Get out of here. Or by the blood that stains the four of us, I’ll raise a curse and repay this evil seven times over.”

“Shut up witch,” said Morris. “Or we’ll have us a drowning.”

“Witch, yes,” said Imelda. “You know it, Morris the Reeve. I brought your son into the world two years back, and I kept his cord. Take your men or I’ll send him out of it again.”

Marion heard a scraping noise. Morris had pulled a knife. The blade was shaking.

Imelda took a stride forward and each man took two steps backwards. “I will curse every last one of you,” she said. “Your children will suffer the injuries you have inflicted. Your balls will shrivel, your cocks turn black and drop off when you piss. Your wives will scorn you and fuck dogs in the mud. You know who I am, you know what I can do. Get gone, or I’ll raise the devil on you”

Marion drew back from Imelda, the woman who had been more mother than servant for many a year.

Morris started to speak but his voice failed. He coughed and then spoke clearly, but with a tremor in his voice. “Come on. We have what we came for. Leave the witch for another night.”

The two men near Imelda hurried to join their comrade by the oxen. Morris backed away, flexing his fingers around the hilt of his knife. With many hoarse whispers and frightened glances, the men led the oxen along the path.

Marion heard a retch from John and scrambled over to him, cradling his head in her hands. Blood and snot bubbled at his nostrils; a clear heel print marked his right eye. On his forehead a deep cut was birthing a gory clot.

Imelda watched the thieves leave, motionless in her night clothes. Marion heard one of the beasts low at the gate.

Then, with Imelda’s help, she got John to his feet and back into the house. Frightened sobs led them to find Clement hiding under his bed. By the time Imelda had cleaned and bound John’s wounds, the sun had risen.

Marion found Daniel hoeing weeds in his back garden. She had waited until late afternoon, so he’d be back from working de Erdington’s land. It was a cool, overcast day, but she had marched through the sunken lanes with such quiet fury that she was sweating by the time she reached his croft.

He had his back to her, wearing a less smart but more practical tunic than he had at the funeral. It looked more lived in, and shorter. Marion ignored how well he filled it. She had come for the chief tithing-man, not the boy she once mooned over.

“Good day Daniel,” she said.

He looked round and straightened up, lifting his hood in greeting. “Marion. It’s a pleasure to see you again so soon after…” he stopped himself.

“My father’s funeral,” she finished for him. “Please do not be uncomfortable. He’s at rest now.”

“And you will join him in God’s company on the day of atonement,” he said.

Marion had her own thoughts on that, but she let it pass.

“Are you well?” he continued.

“I cannot say that I am.” She waited for the natural question, but it never came. Daniel leant on his hoe waiting for her to continue. She felt a nudge of suspicion.

“My oxen, my brother’s oxen that is, were stolen last night. John tried to stop the thieves, but they beat him half to death.”

“That is bad news indeed,” said Daniel.

“Bad yes, but not news to you I think,” said Marion. He looked down at his feet. Yes, he already knew. “How did you learn of this crime?” she asked. “You are the first person we’ve told, and there were no other witnesses.”

“You are mistaken,” said Daniel. “I knew nothing until you spoke.” He tugged his hoe from the soil and strode to the ramshackle tool shed. Marion followed at his heels.

“No doubt Morris the Reeve was boasting at the manor, of how he robbed the orphans. Three others came with him, de Erdington’s men too I’m sure. Did they laugh about kicking John senseless? Did Morris brag of how he dragged me through the mud in my night clothes?”

“Did they hurt you?” asked Daniel. “Did they...touch you?”

She waved the question aside. “What do you care? We must sell ourselves or starve, but no matter, de Erdington has a new team of oxen. Once he’s got us out of the way he can take our farm as well. Maybe next time he will send you to rob us.”

Daniel set his jaw, then threw the hoe into the tool shed with a clatter. “Did you see Morris the Reeve’s face? Could you swear to it in court? He is well respected, and not many would believe what you say of him.”

“Ha! Most would believe it, but few would dare to find him guilty. That is what you mean.”

He ignored that. “Will you come in and take a drink with me?” Without waiting for an answer, he went into his house. Marion didn’t see any option but to follow him.

Daniel was born a villein, subject to de Erdington. He worked the Lord of the Manor’s land and paid rent to live in his property. Marion, as the daughter of a relatively wealthy freeman, knew a more privileged life. Even so, Daniel’s house was cosier than her own. The thatch roof was well maintained, and his fire filled the one small room. A stool and bench stood by the hearth, a bed and chest against the wall, food and drink sat on the shelves. All he owned lay within easy reach.

Marion remembered how his mother once shooed her and half a dozen other village children out of this house, which they had invaded after smelling fresh bread. The Great Plague had taken her, and Daniel’s father too. He had then married Eda, but she died less than two years later. Inside this house Marion didn’t feel so angry towards him. She took the offered seat on the bench, while he unplugged a flask and poured them both an ale.

“This is good,” said Marion, enjoying its appley flavour. “Who brewed it?”

“Jankin’s wife.” Daniel sat at the other end of the bench placing the flask between them. “He’s in the tithe and sells any extra to us. I get first refusal.”

“Jankin, the old man who lives down by the mill?”

“That’s him. His eyes are going but he’s worth keeping in the tithe for this.” Daniel drained his cup and refilled it.

“What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“Jankin’s wife.”

Daniel shrugged. “He just calls her ‘the wife’.”

Talk of the tithe brought Marion back to her purpose. “Help me,” she said. “You are the chief tithing-man. Search for our oxen. They can’t have got far and are hard to conceal. When you find them, you will have the criminals.”

“They will not be found. I could take the tithe and scour from here to Brummagem without success. They will not be anywhere I can look.”

“Hidden in de Erdington’s stables you mean, or in Pype’s perhaps. These Lords stick together like shit to wool.” She touched his arm. “Can you do nothing to help us? To help me?”

Daniel looked down at her hand. “These are bad times to make an enemy,” he said. “Especially our Lord of the Manor.”

“What of your oath as a member of the tithe? As their chief?” said Marion, pulling away.

“I had no choice in joining the tithe. It is a duty, an obligation.”

“So do your duty.”

“My first responsibility is to myself,” said Daniel. “To my family.”

“Family? What family? They’re gone?”

“Yes gone, and I’m alone,” he said, placing his cup on the bench a little harder than was needed. He wiped ale from his wispy moustache. “I need de Erdington’s permission to marry again. I cannot stand against him.”

“So, you will break your oath just to get a woman in your bed?”

“In my life. In my bed, in my house, beside me, someone who cares about and wants me. I was not made for loneliness.”

Already angry, Daniel’s words made Marion furious. “You are not fit for your position. You know what will happen to John, Clement and me. We will end up dead or in service, probably to the man who robbed us.”

“You are all freemen,” said Daniel. “Your case would have to be heard at the Hundred Court. They might find in your favour there.”

“Not unless the stolen goods are found in another’s possession. My word against that of de Erdington, his Reeve, and you, the chief of the tithe. A chief pledge too in love with some strumpet to do his job.”

Daniel stood up. “It is time you left.”

“Who is she? This woman you want to fuck so badly. That servant of Richard’s? The one with the blond hair? Some woman from another village with huge tits?”

“Get out,” said Daniel.

Marion threw the last of her ale in his face. Tossing the cup to the floor, she left.

“Did ale in his eyes change his mind?” asked Imelda as they weeded their herb patch.

“Of course not,” said Marion, tearing up a handful of couch grass. It brought a stone with it, smooth and brown. She rubbed the dirt from it, then threw it as far as she could.

“Pity. So, what will you do now?”

“Get help elsewhere. From you.”

Imelda did not seem surprised. “I do not have the power to conjure up new oxen. Nor to return Patch and Tan to you.”

“You had power enough to stop them killing John last night.”

“Threats mixed with knowledge of the people you want to scare, nothing more. I’ve nursed or healed nearly everyone within five miles of Erdington, and more besides. I recognised Hankin’s missing finger, and the short arse at his heel could only be Pate. They’re never out of sight of each other.”

“You said Pate had the tip of his nose missing?”

“That’s Bate, this was Pate,” said Imelda. “They both work for de Erdington, but Pate is nastier.”

“Well I recognised Morris, and I know him well enough. That didn’t scare him off.”

“No but it worried him, and I’m older, uglier and scarier than you sweet thing. They’re bullies and thieves, but family men too. Threatening their children will always give them pause. Telling them their wives would rut with a hound, that just popped into my head, the fact I’d even say it shocked them. As for their cocks falling off… well they’re men.”

“Yes, but they believed you, you scared them badly.”

“They probably did not truly believe I could do those things, but they had doubts. As Morris said, they had what they came for. I made them stop and think whether killing John would be worth the risk. They’ve all seen me heal, and heard stories about how I can hurt. I’ve spent a long time building a reputation.”

Marion collected the pulled weeds into the basket, and they stood up. “So, you scared them off but can’t get our oxen back. Can you help at all?”

Imelda pursed her lips as they walked to the compost, a sure sign she pondered something. “I can help you find an answer,” she said. “I don’t know what you should do, but when I’m at a loss I Travel. On that Journey something usually presents itself, an idea, a plan, an insight. It might work for you.”

“Where do you travel? I don’t remember you ever going away for long. Wait, you’re talking about...”

Imelda poked a finger at Marion. “Are you sure you want to do this.”

“You’ve teased me now. It’s a bit late to turn coy.”

“It’s fair warning,” said Imelda as they passed the stable, now with just the two horses inside. “If you do this, there’s those who’d turn their back on you. Some would kill you even. What do you think John would say if he found out?”

“I can handle John,” said Marion. “Besides, he may prefer a little magic to another beating.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. He’s very attached to his eternal soul.”

“Very well you’ve warned me. We don’t have a choice.”

“The Hundred Court?” asked Imelda.

Marion shook her head. “No evidence, and no one of any consequence to speak for me. Plenty to speak against me, though. De Erdington would see to that.”

“Sell up and move to a smaller place?”

“Without the oxen we can’t plough an acre, and we can’t afford new beasts. Farms gone to seed are everywhere, no one will buy this place.”

“Go into servitude?”

Marion spat. “Never. Damn them all. I am free, my brothers are free, their children will be free.”

“So, abandon the land and go and work in the town.”

“Nearly as bad. Free but penniless.” Marion tossed the weeds onto the compost. “No. I’m going to fight them. I will get back what they took from us and more. I’ll make us richer than father ever did.”

Imelda pushed the door to the house open for her. “Witchcraft it is then.”