Warlord(118)
I saw Nur only once more that day, through a narrow passage amid the trees, both scratched, emaciated arms raised and the staff twitching as if urging on an invisible army of fiends. She caught my eye and gave a great bubbling cry and pointed the staff at me, but no crazed women came hurtling out of the greenwood to attack us, and I think she believed she was assailing us with magic, summoning evil spirits to accomplish her revenge.
By God’s good grace, we found a path of sorts at our horses’ hooves and we urged our mounts into a canter, and then a gallop. And we were free and clear. A quarter of a mile later, I reined in; my heart still pounding; and looked over what remained of my little patrol; Thomas was there, his cheek red, shiny and already starting to swell; and Alfred, the senior man-at-arms, but beyond that, two riderless horses, their empty saddles mutely accusing me. I’d lost two good men in that pointless woodland skirmish, and had been routed by a gaggle of unarmed women.
Chapter Twenty-two
There was no more talk of our wedding at Westbury. A few days later Baldwin discreetly told me that the mistress had asked him to unmake the arrangements; Goody and I never mentioned the subject at all. My beloved was a much-subdued woman for many days after the affair with the lamb-baby, and she listened to my tale of the disastrous foray in the Alfreton woods in silence. When I had finished my story, Goody asked one or two questions, and then she said: ‘You must kill her, Alan. I underestimated her – we both did; but she clearly has a terrible hold over the poor women in that place, and she will surely send them against us again. She will not stop until you and I are dead. You must take enough men this time – end this once and for all.’
‘I thought that you felt sorry for her,’ I said.
‘I pity her, I really do, Alan – and I do not believe that she has any true magical power. But those outcast women in her encampment, they believe she does. And they are the real threat to our happiness. You do not know very much about women, Alan, but they are keenly aware of each other in a different way to men. When women come together in a group they can change and become quite unlike any gathering of single individuals. Something happens – perhaps it is just a little magical – and powerful bonds are formed; as strong, I believe, as any bond that a company of men can form in the face of battle. In a group of close, loving women, the power and support that each member feels can be almost visible – a great force for good. But it can also be directed towards evil. These woodland women, reviled, rejected by their villages, by their men, have formed such a group. Inside that tattered gathering, these poor women have found love and acceptance; and having tasted that happiness they will not allow an outsider, a man, to take it away. I am not surprised at their ferocity: they will willingly die for their sisters, just as men, I’m told, will give their lives for each other in battle. They will gladly die for their kind, and for Nur, who gave them a home. So you must kill Nur. You must kill her before she truly harms us. Go, Alan, gather the men, and destroy her.’
But gathering enough fighting men was to prove difficult for me. I had only eleven surviving men-at-arms at Westbury, including Thomas, and that number was about to be greatly reduced. I had agreed with the messenger from Archbishop Hubert Walter that I would present myself, armed, mounted and equipped for war, at London in three days’ time when the moon was full. And if I were to fulfil my obligation, I would have to set off the next day. But I did not wish to leave Goody alone at Westbury under the menace of Nur and her coven of demented harridans.
It was Goody who came up with the solution to my problem.
‘Send Thomas instead,’ she said, when I was discussing it with her, on a sunny morning in late April. Goody and Ada, a servant girl from the village who had wet-nursed Marie-Anne’s baby Miles, were churning butter in the dairy. It was a physically demanding job, requiring stamina and strong muscles, but Goody seemed to relish it, as she did so many humble tasks that another woman might have felt beneath her dignity as the lady of the manor. ‘Send Thomas and three men-at-arms,’ she said. ‘That way Archbishop Walter is getting four men for the price of one – he cannot complain too much, even though I am sure that he and the King would rather have the renowned and most puissant knight, Sir Alan Dale.’ She poked her little pink tongue out and I smiled back at her gentle teasing. ‘What other choice do you have?’ she continued. ‘Either you go and leave me here to face Nur and her women alone, or you refuse the summons and incur the wrath of the King. It is simple. Send Thomas.’