Moondance of Stonewylde (25 page)

‘Why are you up here asleep on the sacred Altar Stone?’ asked Magus, his voice neutral. Yul was aware that Magus too may feel he had a score to settle from yesterday, but he might as well tell the truth. If Magus had already decided to punish him, nothing Yul said would make any difference anyway.

‘I was hiding from Buzz and his gang.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they said they’d beat me to a pulp.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘Because I caught Buzz out first ball and he wanted revenge.’

‘I see.’ There was an edge to Magus’ voice that filled Yul with dread. ‘And when did this happen?’

‘Late last night. I’d been celebrating in the pub with the other Villagers and I was on my way home.’

‘And was Buzz waiting for you, or was your encounter purely by chance?’

‘He was waiting with his gang. They jumped out at me.’

Magus moved a little closer, his face expressionless but his eyes hard. Yul could feel just how much the man resented him. He steeled himself not to flinch at what must come next.

‘I can see the bruise on your cheek. Have they done anything else to you?’

‘No, not really, they just shoved me around. Buzz sat on me and made me throw up but I managed to escape before they could do anything else. They were very drunk and I was worried they’d go too far.’

As he spoke, Yul realised the futility of his words. This was the man who’d had him whipped so severely that he could no longer stand, and who’d then starved him for five days. He wouldn’t understand the concept of going too far. But, to Yul’s surprise, Magus looked concerned.

‘That’s plain bad sportsmanship on Buzz’s part and he’ll damn well apologise. He’s forgetting the Hallfolk code of behaviour. Villagers must be allowed to win with impunity or there’s no point in having the cricket match. Go back home and clean yourself up, and tell your mother that Buzz will be dealt with. You’ll receive an apology later in the day.’

That afternoon Yul was helping the Village men dismantle the platform on the Green when they heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbles. Magus rode into the Village on Nightwing, accompanied by Buzz on a smaller chestnut horse.

‘Here they come,’ muttered one of the men. ‘Watch yourself, Yul.’

They’d noticed the swollen bruise on Yul’s cheekbone and heard about the previous night’s events, and the Villagers were furious at what Buzz had done. There was a groundswell of feeling
against the young Hallfolk and their arrogant ways, and Buzz was the least popular of them all.

Magus trotted over on the great black horse, whose eyes rolled at the sight of the group of men. Nightwing’s mouth was foaming and he champed at his bit, sidestepping impatiently. Magus reined him in sharply and tapped the whip warningly against his neck. Nightwing tossed his head in defiance, flecks of foam flying. Buzz was astride a more docile horse who tried to crop the grass at her feet as they stopped in front of the Villagers. The men had closed protectively around Yul, shielding him from view. His performance yesterday had been spectacular and wasn’t likely to endear him to the Hallfolk, especially not to these two.

Both Tom and Greenbough had spoken openly in the pub of all that had happened to Yul over the past few months. Everyone knew of Yul’s ordeal at the quarry and the extra work he’d been forced to do over the Midsummer Holiday. It had become common knowledge that Magus abandoned his usual code of justice when it came to Yul, and the thin scar on the boy’s cheek was a constant reminder of this. Yul was a popular figure in the Village, first something of a martyr after Alwyn’s cruel abuse, and now a hero after the cricket match.

‘Blessings to you all,’ said Magus briskly.

‘Blessings, sir,’ the Villagers replied, nodding their heads in automatic deference.

‘I believe you have Yul there. Come here, boy.’

The men parted reluctantly and Yul stepped forward. Nightwing bobbed his head and gave a little whinny of recognition. He tried to come forward but Magus reined him in viciously, cursing under his breath. The horse danced on the spot, haunches bunching up under him. Yul tilted his chin and looked up at Magus towering above him on the stallion.

‘Yes, sir?’

Magus gazed down at him coldly, black eyes glittering.

‘I was angry to hear that Buzz ambushed you last night on your way home from celebrating the Villagers’ victory at the cricket match.’

There was an immediate murmur and grumble of disapproval amongst the men. All eyes turned to Buzz who stared at the ground, his face burning scarlet.

‘You said it was he who bruised your cheek and made you sick.’

Magus shifted in his saddle, still trying to control Nightwing who pranced and shook his head, jingling his bit noisily.

‘You told me Buzz was not alone but had a gang with him, and he wanted to punish you for catching him out at the cricket match. Is that correct?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Buzz, get down off that horse!’ Magus commanded. ‘Come here where we can all see you.’

Buzz dismounted and stomped round in front of Magus, still staring at the ground. Nightwing reared up slightly and one of the Villagers stepped forward to take the reins of Buzz’s horse, walking it away so it couldn’t upset Nightwing further.

‘I will not tolerate bad sportsmanship,’ said Magus curtly. ‘Nor will I tolerate Hallfolk abusing Villagers.’

At this hypocrisy, Yul could barely contain himself. He glared up at Magus, grey eyes blazing, his nostrils as flared as Nightwing’s. Magus regarded him with a black, steely stare.

‘Buzz has seen the error of his ways and now wishes to apologise.’

There was a pause, the tension almost palpable. Yul’s angry breathing was clearly audible as everyone waited for Buzz’s words. Nightwing cavorted to the side and almost knocked Buzz over. Magus swore viciously, fighting to control the stallion. The blond youth stumbled and tried to get out of the great horse’s way, frightened of the heavy hooves that drummed the ground in a tattoo of impatience. Yul stepped forward and reached up to Nightwing’s bridle, holding him and stroking his long nose. Immediately the horse pushed his head into Yul’s chest, rubbing against him and snickering with pleasure. Magus’ mouth tightened dangerously at this but he said nothing. At least the horse had stopped fretting.

‘Buzz?’ Magus barked.

The youth looked up for the first time and Yul saw a long slash across his freckled cheek. The thin line was raised in a swollen red wheal just like the one Magus had given him, the skin broken and sore. Buzz’s pale-blue eyes locked into Yul’s. The Hallfolk youth shook and his lips trembled; the blood had drained from his face but the expression in his eyes was one of pure hatred.

‘I apologise for attacking you.’

‘And?’ prompted Magus.

‘And for my bad sportsmanship. The Villagers won the cricket match fairly.’

The speech had obviously been rehearsed. Yul held his gaze, a feeling of triumph welling up inside him at Buzz’s public humiliation. He nodded.

‘Apology accepted.’

He broke the gaze and cupped his hand under Nightwing’s velvety nose, feeling the prickly whiskers beneath his chin. The men behind him nodded their satisfaction; justice had been done after all.

With a jerk of suppressed anger, Buzz turned away. Grabbing his horse’s reins, he heaved himself into the saddle and kicked the horse away into a canter. With a final pat, Yul stepped back from Nightwing and Magus wheeled the great beast around.

‘You see that I will not tolerate any Villager being unfairly treated. Now that’s an end to the matter. Blessings to you all.’

With a squeeze of the thighs he galvanised Nightwing into action and left with a thudding of hooves and flurry of dust.

But if Magus thought he’d dealt with the matter, he was wrong. Buzz was too much his father’s son to let it rest there, his ego dented and superiority in doubt. The revenge he chose against Yul was the one he thought would hurt most of all. A couple of days later when the Lammas holiday was over and everyone back at work, Yul was on his way to the hazel coppice. It was mid-afternoon, another sunny day, and Yul jogged along the woodland path shaded by the leafy canopy. He wore the usual
woodsman clothing – a sleeveless jerkin, old trousers and leather boots, all an indeterminate shade of green-brown. He was hot and dirty, his curls full of bits of woodland. He’d been making hazel hurdles all morning and longed now for a drink. He knew that there was a large pottery jar of water nearby, one of many that the men had stashed all over the woodland for just such a need. He slowed down and left the path, stepping through the undergrowth of ferns and hart’s tongues to the foot of a great lime tree where he knew the bottle to be laid.

The lime tree was ancient and beautiful. Its late blossom attracted the bees and it buzzed and hummed with life. The heart-shaped leaves clustered thickly but sunlight still dappled through onto the woodland floor, and Yul sank down with his back against the massive trunk. He sniffed the exquisite sweet fragrance of the lime blossoms, feeling sleepy from his hard work in the woods all day. He raised the stone bottle and drank deeply of the cool water, then splashed some onto his dirty face. The dirt and green lichen that coated his hands smeared all over his clear-cut features. He closed his eyes, savouring the moment, knowing that the lime was the tree of soothing justice, the generator of divine knowledge and truth. He felt peaceful here, in harmony with the spirit of the great tree. He drifted into a doze.

Yul was disturbed a little later by a sharp click, followed by another. His eyes shot open and he stared into the lens of a camera. It was Professor Siskin making the most of his last days at Stonewylde. The professor stepped around Yul, sprawled against the bole of the tree with his long legs spread out before him, sleepy in the heat. His slanted grey eyes watched the small man lazily and he smiled, his white teeth bright in the smeared green face. Siskin stopped and took another photo, gazing down at the boy intently.

‘Extraordinary!’ he muttered. ‘Utterly extraordinary! Do you have any idea of your true identity? Who you actually are?’

‘I’m Yul,’ the boy replied. ‘I’m a Villager and a woodsman.’

‘Yes, yes, that is true. Just a simple boy of the woods, with the leaves and twigs in your hair, foliage all around you, and that
green lichen on your face. You are truly sylvian.’

‘What? Sylvian?’

‘Of the woods. Like Sylvie – from the Latin.’

The white-haired man continued to stare, his conversation making no sense to Yul, who felt uncomfortable under the pale-blue gaze. He stood up, brushing bits off his trousers.

‘I’d better be getting back to work, sir,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course. Yul – did you know that “Yul” means “the wheel”? And now it has come full circle, a revolution. We are back again at the beginning of it all, the wheel and the woods. The dance continues.’

‘No, sir, I didn’t know that. I must go or I’ll be in trouble. Blessings to you!’

Yul stepped back through the undergrowth onto the path and continued on his way back to the hazel coppice, trying to banish thoughts of the strange little man and his weird ramblings. He’d been walking for a while when he heard cries. He stopped and listened intently. The cries of distress came from some way distant, in the direction of the track further along which ran parallel to the woods. Yul took off like a deer, cutting through the trees and leaping over undergrowth towards the sound. He saw the track ahead, the sunlight bright where the canopy was broken. The cries were loud now; a girl calling for help, pleading for someone to stop. With horror he recognised the voice as Rosie’s.

He burst through the undergrowth and jumped down onto the track, looking around frantically. Then he saw her. She lay spread out against the mossy bank by the side of the track, her blouse pulled open and skirt bunched up, exposing her legs. Her hair was a tangled mess and her face scarlet, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was hitting desperately at the big, blond youth half lying on top of her, who held one of her hands pinned above her head whilst he tore at her clothing.

With a roar Yul sprang onto Buzz’s back, pulling him with such force that a piece of Rosie’s blouse, still clutched in his hand, was ripped away. Yul wrenched him off and sent him sprawling to the ground. Buzz looked up in wide-eyed astonishment;
his freckled face flushed and mouth gaping in surprise at this unexpected attack. Yul leapt on top of him and punched him very hard in the face. He noted with satisfaction the clicking crunch his fist made as it hit Buzz’s nose. A bright geyser of blood spurted out, spraying all over Yul’s shirt. Buzz yelled, struggling to sit up. Yul grabbed a handful of his cropped hair and banged his head down hard on the stony track, whilst the other fist punched full force into Buzz’s eye.

‘What’ve you done to my sister, you bastard?’ screamed Yul, white-faced and beside himself with rage. ‘I’ll kill you for this!’

Rosie was screaming too, trying to pull Yul off as he pounded again and again into Buzz, smashing his fist repeatedly into Buzz’s face.

‘Stop, Yul! That’s enough! He didn’t do anything – he didn’t get that far! Stop, stop!’

But Yul wouldn’t listen. He’d gone berserk and Rosie abandoned her attempts to stop him.

‘I’m going to get help!’ she cried, and clutching her open blouse together, ran off down the track towards the Village.