‘Why do you and your mother have a different version of the tale?’ Lucie asked.
Crispin seemed relieved to turn his attention to her. ‘I don’t know how much you heard earlier.’ He rubbed his forehead with his one hand, glanced out into the hall, his eyes meeting Magda’s. ‘It is best that I start at the beginning. The true beginning.’
‘Do, I pray you,’ said Lucie.
Owen settled back, arms crossed before him, ready to listen.
Crispin began softly, describing the close circle of friends, all eager to escape the bonds of their parents, considering themselves old enough to take their places beside the adults – Paul Braithwaite, and Hoban and Olyf Swann. ‘I should say Paul and his hounds. We teased him that he felt naked without a pair flanking him.’ In summer, the Swann family would spend much time at the house in Galtres, away from the stench of the city. The four friends liked the green spaces outside the city walls, though Paul was uneasy moving too far into Galtres, worried about his dogs as they were not lawed, and he’d no intention of subjecting them to such pain. Bartolf Swann had a word with the sergeant of Galtres about the unlawed hounds, promising that the boy would never allow them to run free while in the forest, and that John Braithwaite would pay generously for any damage they might cause. The sergeant, Richard Goldbarn, had agreed.
In the long, slow days of summer the four of them enjoyed the woods, the river. At first, that last summer was no different than those that went before. Until they noticed Gerta, whom they knew to be the charcoal-burner’s daughter, following them.
Her family had been known to them for a long while, shunned, as their kind were, their skin tanned and stinking of fire and ash. Yet that last summer, Gerta bloomed, her light-brown tresses streaked with sunlight, her skin a warm olive, glowing with health – it was impossible for the three lads to think of her as one to shun. She seemed curious about them, following them at a distance, watching. Olyf tried to shoo Gerta away, once even tossing the basket Gerta wove as she sat and watched into the river, but the boys enjoyed the attention. It did not matter to them one whit that she was of lowly status. They adored her.
Lucie asked softly, ‘What did Gerta do when Olyf threw her work into the Ouse?’
‘Nothing. She began a fresh basket with what reeds she had left.’ He paused a moment, as if remembering. ‘There was something about her, how she settled down with a task – baskets, darning – and watched with the ghost of a smile that dimpled her cheeks. Her eyes were dark and deep, they seemed able to bore into us. And we lads felt she found us empty. It made us compete all the harder for her admiration – running, climbing, hefting rocks and logs to show off our strength. God’s nails, we were fools. Now and then she taunted us – “Idle boys,” she called us, “pampered princes.” Or yawned, which was most maddening. The more she discounted us, the harder we worked to impress her. And the louder Olyf cursed us, cursed Gerta. Even worse, Gerta favored me, catching me away from the others, asking questions. And once she asked me to take off my clothes, she wanted to see a boy’s body. I did, but only when she started taking hers off as well. We touched each other. God’s blood, I wanted her so badly. But she picked up her clothes and ran from me. The others found me stumbling into my clothes, my hard cock making it difficult. Hoban accused me of forgetting I was meant for Olyf.’
‘Were you?’ Owen asked.
‘I’d known for a long while that Olyf believed it to be so, but my mother laughed at the idea, insisting I must make a better marriage than that. Far better. To her, the Swanns were nothing. But she’d never explained why until she overheard me arguing with Hoban about Olyf being my intended. After he left, mother told me that she knew things about Bartolf Swann, that he was a lecher, using his power as coroner, as did his friend Richard Goldbarn his power as the sergeant of the forest, to ensnare the daughters of the tenants in the forest, use them until they conceived bastards, then toss them to the Riverwoman and wash their hands of them. And Bartolf took bribes regarding jury selections.’ When Crispin mentioned Magda he glanced up sharp, looking to her. But Magda had her back to them, mixing something over the fire.
Goldbarn’s part did not surprise Lucie – he had been the subject of much gossip, though it was his use of forest resources for personal gain that had ruined him. But Bartolf Swann?
‘Did you have such feelings for Olyf?’ Lucie asked.
‘No. Never. She was so like Paul, quick to anger, slow to forgive. I never felt at ease with her.’
‘And now?’ asked Owen.
‘She has not changed,’ said Crispin. ‘Not a whit.’
‘Forgive my interruption,’ said Lucie. ‘I pray you, continue with the story. Your mother had warned you about Bartolf …’
‘Assuming that my mother meant that Gerta was no virgin, I am ashamed to confess I was emboldened, sought opportunities to catch her alone. Only then was I aware of her silence and clear unease whenever Paul’s hounds wandered her way. And I made another discovery. Something followed her overhead, up in the trees. It was more than the rustlings of birds or small animals. I caught glimpses – a foot quickly withdrawn, an arm, fingers wrapped round branches. Gerta was never actually alone. She had a companion, a girl who dressed as a boy – short tunic and leggings. She hid up in the trees watching, occasionally dropping things from her high perch to frighten away the dogs.’
‘So Gerta had a witness to your encounters,’ Owen said.
Crispin’s frown deepened, dark brows pressing together, his focus sharpening, as if Owen’s observation had yanked him from the past. ‘Yes.’
‘Gerta’s younger sister?’ Lucie asked.
‘I thought so, but later, something Warin said …’
‘I did not mean to interrupt,’ said Owen. ‘Go on. You’d noticed her unease about the dogs.’
‘Yes. The next time I managed to speak with her away from my friends, I asked why she feared them. Why her sister abused them. “Wolves”, she called them. She told me that in her homeland they prowled the forests and ate children. She swore it was true. I told her they were hounds, not wolves, and I would keep her safe. But she would not go near them.’ He bowed his head. ‘I should not have told the others. I don’t know why I did. They could be so cruel. Hoban and Olyf encouraged Paul to let the dogs off their leads the next time Gerta appeared. She threw pebbles at them, then ran, saying she would set her brother on them if they did that again.’
‘A foolish thing to do, if she feared them so,’ Owen noted.
Crispin looked away. ‘I admired her. Even when confronted with what she most feared, she defied us. What courage. But if there is any blame in this, it is mine. I should have kept her secret.’
Lucie was keeping a tally. So far he’d mentioned another girl and a brother.
‘The next day Bartolf informed Hoban and me that Paul could no longer bring the hounds into Galtres. Hoban insisted I accompany him when he told Paul. While Hoban talked, Paul groomed his bloody hounds, whispering to them that he would let them eat her tender flesh, cooing to them about how they were strong and faster than any girl.’ Crispin poured himself more wine, but set it aside. ‘We’ll get her,’ he said. ‘We’ll get the bitch.’ He picked up the wine and drank.
‘An ugly tale,’ said Owen.
A curt nod. ‘But then we did not see Gerta for a long while. Autumn came, then winter, a time when we seldom went out into the forest. And then, in spring, when the river swelled with the snowmelt from the moors, Hoban caught sight of her walking by the river. He saw her there several days in a row, at the hour when he was walking home from school.’