How the Black Man had come looking for his prey. Looking for Utta. How Meggie’s soft little sound of love had alerted him and how he had advanced towards the foot of the tree. Then Joanna forgot the Domina beside her, forgot that she was telling a tale, for she saw him begin to climb, saw every detail unfold before her eyes as if it were happening all over again. .
Down in the lower branches of the yew tree, the Black Man, suspended from the rope that he had slung and tied, raised his head and saw her. Instantly he looked surprised; he said, panting with the exertion of the climb, ‘What in the devil’s name are you?’
I have no brand, Joanna thought, and he is expecting to find a heretic woman. She was just wondering whether she might after all be able to convince him that she was no concern of his, no threat to him, and persuade him to go away and leave her alone when he laughed his ghastly laugh again.
‘You’re one of those filthy, pagan forest dwellers, I’ll be bound,’ he said, speaking as if he had no idea that she understood, that she spoke his language or, indeed, any language at all. ‘One of that vermin crowd who need to be hunted down like treacherous plague rats and burned on the heretics’ pyre.’ His pale face spread into a grin that was more like a rictus. ‘It’s good work for the Lord that I’ll do this night, a forest bitch and her pup both thrown to the flames.’
Then, reaching out with his right arm and getting a good grasp on the next handhold, he gave an upwards thrust from his legs, clasped around the rope, and got his torso across the branch.
He turned up his face and stared triumphantly at Joanna.
‘Thought you could get away, didn’t you?’ he murmured softly. ‘Thought you were too clever for a man of God? Well, let me tell you, my lass, I-’
But whatever he was about to say would never be known. Joanna drew back her left foot and, with all the strength in her leg muscles of more than a year living the tough life of the wildwood, she swung it forwards again and kicked the Black Man on the point of his chin.
His head rocketed backwards, the momentum of Joanna’s kick sweeping him off the branch and on, on, over in a back flip. He was more than halfway through the revolution when, face first, he hit the ground.
Even from upon the branch, Joanna heard the crack as his neck broke.
‘Then,’ she said, recalling the Domina beside her, ‘I slipped down from the tree and went to see. He was dead. So I called up to Utta that it was safe to come down and she climbed out of the tree as well. We knew we must get rid of the body and I wanted to carry it a good distance away and bury it. But Utta said that was not right, because it would mean he died without any prayers being said for his soul. She was a good woman for, although he was her sworn enemy and would have slain her without mercy, she still had a thought for his immortal soul. So I put Meggie in her sling and Utta and I carried the Black Man between us up to the road that runs up from Castle Hill towards Hawkenlye Abbey. We left him there on the track. We knew someone would pass by before too long and that they would report the body, probably to the nuns of the Abbey. Then he would be almost certain to be buried according to the rites of his own religion.’
‘You knew, then, who this man was?’ the Domina asked.
‘No. Merely that he was a man of the Church, for he had implied as much in his own words.’
The Domina nodded. There was silence for a long time and then eventually she spoke.
‘It is no crime among our people to take the life of one who would take our own, or that of one we love,’ she said. ‘That first time, you slew a man who was on the point of taking the life of your daughter’s father. The second time, the man that you killed was intent on taking three lives, those of you and your daughter and, had he known she was there, that of the heretic woman too.’ Turning her deep eyes on Joanna, she said, ‘You are not here in the cave as a punishment.’
‘Oh.’ Every fibre of Joanna strained to ask, Why, then?
Eventually the Domina answered the question Joanna had not dared to ask. ‘You have taken life,’ she said distantly, as if her thoughts were too profound for words. ‘These acts must be assimilated, both into your own soul and into the great web that is the life of the tribe. You will stay here alone and think on what you have done.’
Questions rose up in Joanna, demanding answers. How long must I stay? What about Meggie? Will I be allowed to return? How do I assimilate, as you order me to do?
But already the Domina was rising to her feet and walking in her stately manner towards the cave mouth. She did not even turn to say goodbye.
Joanna was going away.
She was packing up and leaving her beloved little hut. Not for ever — or so she fervently prayed — but for a long time.
So much had happened there, or nearby. She had taken in a stranger and it had almost cost her her life. And Meggie’s life. The safety of her home now felt less secure than it had done. He might not have found it but he had come very close. And he had discovered the refuge in the yew tree, although quite how, she still had no idea. Perhaps it was as she had always thought, and it had all happened by mere mischance.
Also she knew she had to make reparations for what she had done; the month of contemplation and meditation in the cave had merely been the start. There were rules in her new world just as there had been in the one she had left over a year ago. She had had her reasons for her actions and she knew she could defend them. But defend them she would have to do. The prospect frightened her, for all that Lora and the others tried to reassure her. In the end, seeing that she was about to be overwhelmed by her dread, Lora had said, ‘Live in the now, my girl. Let tomorrow look after itself. If you spend all your time in fear of what may be to come, you won’t appreciate the beauty of today.’
It was sound advice, Joanna knew it. Also, Lora’s words echoed what dear Mag Hobson used to say. Still did say sometimes, her faint voice sounding as an echo of Lora’s. It was a great comfort.
As she finished her packing and fastened her leather satchel, Joanna sat down beside the hearth and looked around her little home. Mag’s home. Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy; she wanted to leave it so in case someone should happen upon it and investigate within. Perhaps, recognising it as a dwelling that was loved and cherished, they would leave it alone. Just to be on the safe side, however, Joanna intended to put another hiding charm on the place.
Later today — in only a little while from now — she would put Meggie in her sling, pick up her bundle and set out on the long, secret road that led north-westwards. It was one of the old straight tracks, made — or so her people said — by the Great Ones of an earlier time who could feel the Earth’s pulse beneath their feet and who let Her power lines ordain where their paths led. It went as straight as any of the old roads that the Romans built, heading always for that distant destination.
Mona’s Isle. The very name made something within Joanna quake and turn over, like a fish caught in a sudden eddy.
There she would begin receiving instruction. Some of the great ones of her people — the Domina included — would teach her. She could hardly believe it, but it seemed to be because of the bear claw. And, more significantly, who had given it to her. The Domina had told her about the bear man. A little, anyway. Just enough to make Joanna both dread and long to see him again.