The View From the Cart Page 5

  ‘ “Twice more, I met the King and renewed my promise. But I was never so easy about it as I had been on that first meeting. Finally, I told my mother what I had done. She was horrified, shrieking that she would never allow it. It was against nature, she said. The River King was a demon of hell, luring me to my death. She was so distressed at the idea that she immediately began to arrange for me to go away, and live somewhere far from the river where I could forget my foolish promise.

  ‘ “Thus it was I came to the court here, and lived with the kind Queen. But the other maidens knew there was something strange about me. One even called me mermaid, which was almost true. I did my best to forget my early life, and succeeded until my betrothal to you. It seemed to me then that I had to go back to the river and explain why I had betrayed my promise to him. I knew I had little chance of being truly happy with you until I had done that.

  ‘ “So, when you had gone on your journey, I set off on my horse to the river. It was nearer than I had imagined, and I was there in half a day. As if he expected me, the King was waiting.”

  ‘She stopped speaking, and Geat shifted his arm a little. He was wondering to himself whether his bride was perhaps a little awry in her wits. He did not believe the story of the River King, but was unsure why she was telling it to him. It still seemed to him that she wanted to keep him away from her. If she told him some tale about another lover, perhaps she supposed that he would want nothing to do with her.

  ‘But he deemed it too soon to interrupt. The night stretched long ahead of them, and many more nights after that. His ardour had been damped by the story anyhow. Best, he thought, to let her get to the conclusion. He prompted her to continue.

  ‘ “He told me that there was no way of escaping from my promise. He had the power to force me, and since I was now of an age to marry, he would require my presence at his side from that day forth. When I protested, and then pleaded, he softened. He does love me, you see. He is not evil, as my mother thinks. He has loved me truly and deeply since I was a child. So I could not hurt him too severely. And he could not hurt me. We made an agreement.” She paused, looking into Geat’s eyes. “I thought perhaps I could escape him by marrying you. Now I know I cannot.”

  ‘ “What did you agree?” he asked. A worry was stirring inside him. She seemed so sincere, and so tormented in her mind. “Tell me.”

  ‘ “That I would go to him at night, in my dreams only. For him, I would be real, and he would try to be content with that. I would remember next morning, but it would not affect my waking life. He made it sound easy.

  ‘ “But I did not like it. His embraces are too much for me. He is cold, like a dead thing. His kisses chill me. However great and powerful he may be, I do not wish to be his Queen. I love you, my earthly husband. I learned that I could evade him by remaining awake all night. And so I did. I have not known a night’s sleep this past moon and more. Husband, I want nothing more now, than that you safeguard me as I sleep. Can you do that?”

  ‘Geat did not know what to say. It seemed a foolish question. “Of course I can,” he assured her. “How can you doubt it? Here, if that is your only wish, put your head here, on my shoulder, and sleep. In the morning, perhaps, we will become true man and wife.”

  ‘ “Perhaps,” she agreed. “But, Geat, I am still afraid he will be able to come for me as I sleep.”

  ‘ “Nonsense,” he said.

  She slept, but tossed restlessly from time to time. Geat kept hold of her, confident that she had not left him for any distant river man. In the morning, he was eager to renew his wooing. As soon as Mathild opened her eyes, he smiled at her, and said, “There! Safe now?”

  ‘Wildly, she drew away from him, shaking on the pillows. Her hands brushed at herself, as if to push something away, or pluck off some binding strings. She reached to the back of her head, and pulled at a tendril. Holding it up for Geat to see, she whimpered. It was a long strand of green river weed.

  ‘ “You cannot protect me,” she cried. “What am I to do?”

  ‘An idea came to him, and he reached for his harp. He played his magic tune of sunlight and open meadows, until she calmed. Then he began to stroke her, and play her as he had played his harp strings. “I can make you forget him,” he said. And he did.

  ‘Later, he said, “Does the River King only call you at night?” She nodded. “Then you must sleep by day. We will sing and play and make love in the dark hours. Trust me. It will all be all right.”

  ‘And for a time, it was.’

  Bran stopped again, and we all noted the black sky outside and the cold fingers of night air creeping into the barn. The story was reaching its climax now, and we were impatient for it. Half asleep and stiff, we yet didn’t want to leave the world of Geat and his troubled bride. Edd sighed, and said, ‘I can’t hold my piss to the end. Take Wynn, will ‘ee.’ He slid the child across to me, and stumbled out of the barn. Other men had been doing the same at different times. I noticed that Bran watched him go, with a strange smile on his lips.

  The story began again as Edd returned. ‘The day came when Geat and Mathild were to journey to their new home, which was close by King Wulf’s smaller palace, where he spent his summers. It was a day’s ride away, and they set out with great good humour, accompanied by four menservants and four handmaidens for Mathild. The trouble with the River King seemed forgotten, and the party chattered and sang as they travelled. The men rode their own horses, while the ladies travelled in a coach, drawn by two fine stallions.

  ‘Suddenly a glorious white stag with golden antlers leaped out in front of them. Without thinking, Geat and his fellows spurred their horses to follow it, snatching at their quivers as they galloped, wagering on who would be first to bring the creature down. Mathild and the maidens jumped down from the coach and ran after the men, hoping to catch another glimpse of the magnificent creature.’

  Bran’s drummer, who had been quiet for so long, began a fast beat, to suggest the chase, and the breathless girls trying to keep pace. Above the drumming, Bran shouted ‘They followed the stag into the thickest part of the forest, catching sight of it now and then, as it darted first one way, then another.’ The drum crashed louder and louder. Wynn woke up, bewildered, and I hugged her close to me.

  ‘Then they lost it. It vanished as if it had never been, and Geat came to his senses like a man awakening from a drunken sleep. “Mathild!” he cried. “We must go back to her!” But they were lost by this time, in the dense forest, and it took them two, perhaps three, hours to retrace their eager flight after the stag.

  ‘At last they found the coach, with the four maidservants huddled inside it, crying with fear. “Where is Mathild?” Geat demanded, his voice high with concern.

  ‘ “We hoped she was with you,” was the timid reply. But Geat knew, already, where she had gone.

  ‘Night was falling, as he went back into the forest, and found the river where it was widest and deepest. The surface was smooth, and he could see nothing beneath the water. Yet he knew what was there, just the same, and sat down to wait out the night, his head in his hands, a sad and wretched man.

  ‘In the morning, as the sun rose, he lifted his head and found he could see through the water as clear as may be. Down in the depths, he could plainly see his wife, on a throne made of shells and small stones, a crown on her head made from fish scales, flashing and irridescent. At her side sat the River King, gazing into her face with adoration. Geat watched as the King took Mathild’s hand, and kissed it with his thick lips. Mathild did not react. Her eyes stared ahead without expression. She seemed like a woman in a trance.

  ‘Geat was in despair. He plunged forward into the river, but as soon as he broke the surface, he found he could no longer see anything. He waded further, hoping to find the place where the river became so deep, but it never reached beyond his shoulder. He called over and over for his wife to come back to him. He wept and pleaded and cursed the river man who had stolen his beloved. But all was fruitless. He
threw himself onto the riverbank, beneath the great trees of the forest, and mourned his lost wife.

  ‘So great was his sorrow that he took up his harp, which he kept strung onto his back wherever he went, and began to play. Slowly the tune formed itself into the last of the three magic melodies that the Lady Goddess had given him as a boy. It was the tune of sorrow, which he had never yet played. Now it swelled across the whole world, so that people heard it many miles away, and remembered all their griefs and losses. King Wulf and his Queen remembered their lost daughter and how she had laughed and gathered flowers for them. Peasants recalled all their woes; the babies who had died, the disappointments of their lives.’

  Bran pointed to his piper, who played a snatch of slow sad music, which made me think of the pain I had felt at Cuthman’s birth, and the awful time before that when my own small brother had been killed by falling into a moorland bog and being sucked under before we could save him. All around me, people were letting tears run down their cheeks, unashamed.

  Bran continued after a few moments. ‘As he played, the river itself responded. The smooth surface became broken, as if some great monster was writhing and thrashing just beneath the water. The music faded away as Geat’s fingers slowed and then stopped. Staring at the river, he saw a strand of light brown hair break the surface and then more, followed by the white cloak which Mathild had been wearing for her journey. Finally, he could see his wife’s body floating lifeless on the water, as if the River King had understood that he could not keep her, and had killed her so that Geat could not have her, either.

  ‘Desperately, he plunged into the river and dragged her out, half drowning himself as he did it. He pulled Mathild onto the bank, and turned her over, hoping to drain the water from her lungs. For long moments he was certain that she was dead. Her skin was a deathly white, and her eyes firmly closed. She was cold to the touch, and he could detect no breath as he leaned over her face. She was most certainly dead, and he laid her down with a sob.

  ‘But then, her eyelids fluttered, and she gave a little cough. A tinge of pink flushed across her cheeks. He snatched her to him, squeezing and hugging her, trying to warm her chilled flesh. She coughed again, and shook her head as if dazed.

  ‘ “What happened?” she asked. “Where is the coach? Why is it so cold?”

  ‘Geat made no reply, but tried to wrap his own tunic around her, despite its being as wet as her own clothes were. She laughed and pushed it off. “Geat! What are you doing? Why are we so soaked? Come - we must continue our journey.”

  ‘It disturbed him that she had no memory of her adventure. But he took her advice, and led her into the forest, away from the river which had so nearly claimed her. As they went, he heard a great wail of anguish. It grew louder and louder, filling the air, and the ground beneath them. He understood that it was the deserted River King, howling for his dear Queen. How he must have loved her, thought Geat, uneasily. Did he love her so much? All he could offer was a warm body and a collection of songs. What did she feel as she heard the tortured soul crying so piteously?

  ‘He looked into her face. There was nothing to show that she could hear the crying. She had forgotten all about the river and its King. Some part of her had indeed died there in the river, so that she was almost lost to Geat, too. The magic song of loss and sorrow was echoing yet in Geat’s head, counterpointed by the sobbing. He knew he would never shake it from his ears completely, and that life would forever have an edge of sorrow, no matter what joys and beauties it would bring him. And he knew, too, that his wife would be the poorer for not being able to hear it, because of what she had left behind in the river.’

  Bran looked around the hall then, and clapped his hands, to signal the last line of the story. A few people looked up from where they’d been dozing.

  ‘And so, my friends, remember - we should all try to be like Geat and keep all the Lady’s melodies in our heads, so that we can know sorrow as well as joy, loss as well as gain. For then we are whole and strong and the demons of the underworld will have no powers over us.’

  Chapter Five

  We stayed the night in the hall, with one or two other families who lived too far off to get home in the dark. Our beds were comfortable, chaff and straw piled high, as close as we dared to the fire, everyone heaped together, warm and intimate. Cuthman had remained awake until the very end of Bran’s story, and then sat rigid and blank, like Mathild herself when she came out of the river, until I took him outside to piss and the cold air stirred him.

  ‘The lady was dead, wasn’t she?’ he said. ‘And then she came alive again. Can that happen? Can it, Mam?’

  ‘It happened to Our Saviour,’ I replied, carelessly. I might just as easily have quoted one of a dozen tales we knew from storytellings and minstrel songs.

  Cuthie said no more, and I had no notion of what thoughts might be flying around in his head. I gave him bread and a drink and he settled peaceably enough. My dreams that night, as I recall, had nothing to do with Geat or anyone else in the story. The hall was warm enough, but mice skittered in the corners and an owl hooted outside louder even that Edd’s snoring. I wondered for some time why we had bothered to make the long walk to hear a tale we already knew amongst people who had no love for us. It was something people did, just as they sang and danced when the harvest was gathered, or marked the winter solstice with feasting.

  Back on the Moor, we settled into our customary life. The children grew, the winters were sometimes harsh, sometimes less so. I worried now and then about the scene Edd had related to me at the dolmen, but I could detect no evil consequences and cast it from my mind. The autumn that we slaughtered the heifer saw us all well fed and contented, though quieter perhaps for coming so close to the realities of living and dying. My back ached in wet weather, and once I fell on a patch of ice and suffered a winter of stiffness as a result, walking in my old bent posture until it slowly eased again. Edd grew grizzled, trying to make corn flourish on the spongy soil. He seemed to have lost his urgency for coupling, and we slept peaceably side by side with nothing to disturb my sleep. I feared another child as much as I’d ever done. I was still young; women of my age might expect another ten children, if their health permitted it.

  We scratched a poor living, never seeming to gain anything, year on year. If the hogs thrived, the crops failed. When the sheep prospered the beets rotted. It felt many a time that the gods – or the Christian Lord God Almighty – were playing games with us, teasing us with their whimsical giving and taking. If Edd or I were ever to say as much, gazing at the sky in reproach or despair, Cuthman would chastise us, his boyish voice prating priest’s words. ‘We have to live by faith,’ he would adjure us. ‘If we are unhappy, it is thanks to our own vile sins.’

  Once I gripped him hard by the shoulder, and stared him down. ‘I commit no sin,’ I hissed at him. ‘Why would your God think otherwise?’

  ‘All mankind is sinful,’ my son maintained. ‘We suffer for the evil done by our forefathers.’

  And perhaps that was so. I had no language to gainsay it, and it did perhaps account for the troubles we endured.

  As the children grew older, we began to attract more visitors. Rannoc, Bran’s son, climbed the moorland track to our hut once or twice each moon, and took Cuthie off to catch river trout and trap hares and pigeons. Wynn went too, when they’d allow her, but I could see the boys cold shouldering her, so she would tramp home sullen and silent. Spenna came with her youngest daughter, and we set up my loom together, or plucked a fowl. I always made sure she took some reward home with her, for her trouble.

  Slowly we seemed to enter sunnier times. Cuthman and Wynn were well grown by then and Edd more stooped and grey than ever. He and I must have made a comical picture, I always with a care how far I walked and where I placed my feet, wary of my back, and he so weatherbeaten and weary. His life had been not yet thirty years and so soon he was past his best. His choosing of the pitiless moorland for his home, where the wind always blew
and the ground never as good as it might be, with so much furze and heather and bog, had given him little but struggle and disappointments. I recall now when I first met him and he spoke of the piskies and the clear enchanted air on the granite tors. He wooed me by talking of a magical land, just a morning’s walk from the village, where we could live free and happy. And I married him gladly, my head full of his pictures.

  I saw piskies, on late summer evenings, faint shadows on the edge of my sight. But they never brought us fortune. Edd heard them laughing their harsh cackling laughter when a ewe died for no good reason, or the corn was all stolen by crows. But he blamed himself, in accordance with Cuthman’s insistent doctrines, though just as often framed in piskie-language, instead of Christian. He had done something to displease them, or they would never have taken against him as they did. If the piskies held you in their favour, then everything you touched went well. The tale of the ploughman who came across a piskie kitchen and was treated to a warm plum cake when his work was done had long been a favourite of ours. Even Cuthie never tired of hearing it.

  ‘Why did they give it to him, Dada?’ he demanded.

  ‘Because he took a care not to plough too close to their sacred stone,’ Edd explained. ‘A great boulder in the middle of his best field, but he never tried to shift it. He knew it was an ancient holy place, full of magic. He showed respect, you see, even though it was something he didn’t properly understand.’

  ‘And the piskies lived inside that rock?’

  ‘Inside or underneath. He never found out. He was just a plain man, with his own gods, but he knew he should mind how he behaved with that boulder.’