Scarlet (36 page)

When on that fine, sunny day we bade our friend Ruprecht farewell and took our leave a little lighter in the pocket, to be sure—for we paid that Flemish sailor well for his excellent and praiseworthy care—it was all I could do to keep from lashing my poor mount all the way back to Elfael. I counted the quarters of the days until I at last saw the greenwood rising in the distance on the slopes of the ridge beyond the Vale of Wye, and then I counted the steps as I watched that great shaggy pelt bristling beneath a sky of shining blue and my heart beat faster for the sight. S’truth, only the man who has journeyed to far distant lands and returned to his native earth after braving dangers, toil, and hardships aplenty can know how I felt just then. I was seized by joy and flown to dizzy heights of elation only to be dashed to the rocks again with the very next thought. For as glad as I was to be going home, I was that afraid something might yet prevent me reaching the one I loved. All saints bear witness, our little company could not move fast enough for me. I fair wore out the goodwill of my companions long before we reached the blasted oak at the entrance to Cél Craidd.

When I came in sight of that black stump, I threw myself from the saddle and was halfway to the lightning-riven oak as through heaven’s own gate before I noticed someone standing there.

“Nóin?” I could scarce believe my eyes. She was there waiting for me!

“Is that you, Will Scarlet?” Her voice held a quiver. Surprise? Uncertainty? But she made no move toward me.

I stepped nearer, my heart beating high up in my throat, and put out a hand to her. “It is . . . ,” I replied, unable to speak above a whisper just then. “It is Will come home.”

She regarded me with an almost stern expression, her eyes dry. “Have you, Will? Have you come home at last?”

“That I have, my love.” I stepped nearer. “Now that I see you, I know I am home at last.”

As many times as I saw this glad reunion in my mind, I did not see it this way. She nodded. I saw her swallow then, and guessed something of what this confrontation—for such it was—cost her. But she did not back down. She held me with her uncompromising gaze. “I have to know, Will,” she said, “if you’ve come back to stay. I cannot wait for you any longer. I have to know.”

“Nóin, my love, with God as my witness, I will nevermore part from you.”

“Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t you say that. You don’t know.”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked. “If it is a pledge you seek, tell me what pledge you will accept and I will give it gladly.” As she considered this, I added, “I love you, Nóin. I loved you every blesséd day I lay in that dark hole, and if I could have come to you even a heartbeat sooner, I would have been back at your side long ere you knew I’d gone.”

She bent her head then, and her long hair fell down around her face. I could see her lips trembling.

“Nóin,” I said, moving closer. “If you no longer want me, you have only to say the word and I will leave you be. Is that what you want?”

She shook her head, but did not look at me.

I raised my arms and held them out to her. “Then come to me, my love. Let us return to the happiness we once knew. Or, if that be not possible anymore, let us begin a new and better joy.”

When she raised her head this time, I saw the tears streaking her fair cheeks. “Oh, Will . . . ,” she sobbed. “I’ve missed you so much . . . so much . . . I did not dare to hope . . .”

She came into my arms, and I crushed her to my chest with all the strength I did possess. I held her and felt the hardness in her melt away as she clung to me, her tears soaking into my shirt.

“Will dear, sweet Will, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had to be sure. I couldn’t live thinking . . . forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I am here now, and I love you more than ever I did the day I left.”

“And will you yet wed me?” she asked, looking tearfully into my face.

The sight of those tears glistening on her cheeks melted any shreds of dignity I might have had left. I sank to my knees before her and clasped her around the waist. “Marry me, Nóin. I want you so bad it hurts my heart.”

The words were still fresh on my lips when I felt her arms encircle my neck; she raised me to my feet, and her warm lips bathed my scruffy face in kisses. “Nóin . . . ,” I gasped when I could breathe again. “Oh, Nóin, I will never leave you. I swear . . .”

“Shh,” she hushed. “Don’t speak, Will. Just hold me.”

I was happy to do that, no mistake. We stood there in the heart of the greenwood clutching one another so tight we could hardly draw a breath between us. And we were clinging still when the others reached the riven oak where we stood. They dismounted, and Bran let out a wild, withering screech. Instantly, the Grellon began pouring up out of the bowl of Cél Craidd to greet the return of their king and kinsmen.

The next thing I knew, I was half pulled, half pushed through the oak and tumbled down the hillside into the bowl of our hidden settlement. At first glance, everything appeared just as I remembered it—only it was early summer now, and I had left in the dead of winter. Still, all was as it should be, I reckoned, until I began to tell the little differences. The forest folk were right glad to see us, but there was a hollow sound to their laughter, and their smiles, though genuine and heartfelt, held more pain than pleasure. The faces gathered ’round us were greyer than I remembered, the bodies thinner. Winter had been hard for them, yes, and spring no better, I reckoned. Many were gaunt, with skin pinched around their deep-set eyes; their clothes were that much more tattered and frayed; the dirt on their hands and faces was there for good and always.

My heart went out to them. I had endured captivity in the sheriff ’s odious hellhole, but they were no less captive here. The wildwood of Coed Cadw had become as much a prison as any that the vile de Glanville held key to. It was clear to me then, if never before: this sorry state could not be endured much longer. God willing, our bold King William would soon give us redress, and Bran and all us forest folk could move out into the light once more.

In amongst the young ’uns I saw little Nia’s face poking out. I turned and scooped her up. She did not cry out, but twisted in my arms to see who held her. “Weo!” she squealed, grabbing my beard with both hands. “Wee-o!”

Bless her, she was trying to say my name. “It’s me, dear heart. Ol’ Will is here.”

From among the flock gathering to greet our return, I glimpsed Angharad, hobbling forward on her long staff, her wrinkled face alight with pleasure. “I bid thee glad homecoming, William Scatlocke,” she crowed, her old voice quavering slightly. “The Lord of Hosts is smiling on this day.”

“Greetings,Wise Banfáith,” I said, offering her a bow and touching the back of my hand to my forehead. “It is that good to see you again.”

“And you,Will.” She drew close and stood for a moment, smiling up at me. Then, closing her eyes, she raised her hand and touched two fingers lightly to my forehead. “All Wise and Loving Father, we thank you for redeeming the life of our friend, delivering him from his enemies, and bringing him back to us in answer to our prayers. Bless him and prosper him for your name’s sake, and bless all who think well of him this day and all days henceforth.”

As she prayed, I felt Nóin’s hand squeeze my arm. I thanked our bard and then turned to the others who were crowding in to make good my welcome. “Here now! Here now!” came a shout, and I was enwrapped and lifted off my feet in a rib-cracking embrace.

“Tuck!” I said. “Are you here, too?”

“Where else should I be, but among my own dear flock on the day of your miraculous return? We’ve been waiting for this day with a greedy impatience, my friend,” he said, his round face beaming. God bless him, there were tears in his eyes.

“Brother,” I said, pulling Nóin close, “if you are not too busy, this lady and I are that keen to be married. If you have no objection, I want you to perform the ceremony today.”

“Today!” replied Tuck. “Today, says he! Well!” To Nóin, he said, “Is this also your desire?”

“It is my deepest desire,” she replied, her arm around my waist.

“Well, then,” concluded Tuck, “I do not see any reason to delay.” He glanced around. “What have you done with Bran and the others?”

Casting a glance behind me, I saw my travelling companions standing on the top of the low natural rampart that surrounded Cél Craidd. I called to them. “Why were you standing there?” I asked when they had joined us.

“We wanted you to have a proper greeting all to yourself,” Iwan explained.

“And would you leave me standing here alone on my wedding day?” I said.

“Oh,Will! Nóin!” cried Mérian. She pressed Nóin’s hands in hers, then kissed me lightly on the cheek. “This is such good news.”

We then endured the good wishes of Bran, Iwan, and the others in turn, and I was pummelled good-naturedly by one and all. When the festive drubbing was finished, I turned to Tuck and said, “Friar, I’d be much obliged if you could perform the rites without delay.” I glanced at Nóin and saw the desire in her dark eyes. “As soon as may be.”

Tuck nodded and adopted a solemn air. “Is it your wish to be married to this man?” he asked.

“It is, Friar,” she replied. “I would have done it long since, and there is no better day that I know than this, and I would mark it always in my heart as the day my man was given back to me.”

“Then so be it!”

Turning to the Grellon crowding around, the little friar called, “Hear now! Will and Nóin have declared their desire to be married. Let us give them a wedding they will never forget!”

If I had any notion of simply saying a few words before the priest and carrying off my bride to a little greenwood bower in the manner of my English father, that idea was dashed to pieces quicker than it takes a fella to spit and say “I do!” The forest folk fell to with a will. I suppose the safe and successful return of the rescue party was the best excuse any of them had had to celebrate anything in many a month, and the people were that eager to make a fair run at it. Nóin and I were immediately caught up in the preparations for this sudden celebration.

The cooking fire was built up; partridges and quail were pulled from the snares, then plucked and spitted along with half a young wild pig, and six coneys and a score of barley loaves set to bake. The children were sent into the thickets to gather raspberries and red currants, which were mixed with honey and made into a deep red compote; asparagus and wild mushrooms were likewise picked, chopped, and boiled into a stew with borage and herbs; the last of the walnuts which had been dried over the winter were shelled into a broth of milk and honey; and many another dish to make the heart glad. Whatever stores had been set aside against even leaner days were brought out for our wedding feast, and it did rightly make a humble man of me, I can tell you.

While the men constructed a bower of birch branches for us to enjoy our first night together, some of the women gathered flowers to strew our path and for Nóin to carry, and one or two of the younger ones helped dress the bride and make her even more lovely in my eyes.

As for myself, with little else to do, I set about trying to drag a razor through the tough tangle of my beard. I succeeded in cutting myself in such extravagant fashion that our good friar took the blade from my hand, sat me down and, expert barber that he was, shaved me clean as a newborn. He also combed and cut my hair so that I appeared almost a nobleman when my clothes were brushed and my shoes washed. He found a new belt for me and a clean cloak of handsome green. “There now!” he declared, like God regarding Adam with a critical eye. “I have made me a man.”

I thanked him kindly for his attentions, and observed that my only regret was that I had no ring to give my bride. “A ring is a fine thing, is it not?” he agreed. “But it is by no means necessary. A coin will do; and some, I have heard, have a smith bend the coin to make a ring. You might easily do this.”

This cheered me no end. “You are a wonder, no mistake,” I told him. “I can get a coin.” And, leaving the friar to his own preparations, I set off to do just that.

The first person I went to was Bran. “My lord,” I said, “I do not think I have asked a boon of you since swearing the oath of fealty.”

Lord Bran allowed that, as he could not think of any occasions, either.

“Then, if it please you, my lord,” I continued, “I will make bold to request the small favour of a coin to give my bride.” I quickly went on to explain that I had no ring, but that Tuck had said a coin would serve as a suitable token.

“Indeed?” wondered Bran. “Then leave it to me.”

Well, we were soon caught up in countless small activities and the mood was high. Before I knew it, the sun had already begun its descent when our good friar declared that all was finally ready and we gathered beneath the Council Oak to speak our vows before our friends. Tuck, scrubbed until he gleamed, and beaming like a cherub fresh from the Radiant Presence, took his place before us and called all to solemn purpose. “This is a holy time,” he said, “and a joyous celebration. Our Heavenly Father delights in love in all its wondrous forms. Especially dear to him is the love between a husband and wife. May such love increase!”

This brought a rousing chorus of agreement from the onlookers, and Tuck waited for silence before continuing. “Therefore,” he said, “let us ask the Author and Sustainer of our love and life to bless the union of these two dear people who have pledged life and love to one another.”

With that he began to pray and prayed so long I feared we would not finish the ceremony until the sun had gone down, or possibly the next morning. Eventually, he ran out of words to say to bless and beseech, and moved on to the vows, which we spoke out as Tuck instructed. There in the greenwood, beneath that venerable oak, we pledged life to life, come what may, and I took Nóin to be my wife. When the time came to give my bride a token of honour, I turned to Bran and, taking my one good hand in both of his, he pressed a coin into my palm. “With greatest esteem and pleasure,” he said.

I looked down and saw that he had given me a solid gold byzant, gleaming dull and heavy in my hand. I gazed at that rare coin as at a fortune entire. Truly, I had never had anything worth so much in all my life. That he should think so much of me made the tears come to my eyes. The long months of my captivity were somehow redeemed in that moment as I placed that matchless coin in the hand of my beloved, pledging to honour and keep her through all things forever more.