I am not unsuitable, she told herself calmly, her hand unconsciously going to her bear’s claw and clutching it. And I do not believe that I am unready.
They came for her in the third week of January. In the realm of the Outworlders, Queen Eleanor was tearing her hair in anxiety over her captured son. And a small group of people — foreigners, far from home — wandered lost and abused, trembling at the thought of what was to happen to them.
Deep in the forest, Joanna was ready. She had prepared a small pack and made a sling out of soft, supple leather in which Meggie was to be carried. The straps of the sling were padded with sheepskin and fitted over Joanna’s shoulders. Its pouch, gently cradling and supporting the baby’s sturdy little body, hung over Joanna’s breasts. The pouch had to be comfortable because Joanna was going to bear her burden a very long way.
Lora led the procession that came out of the trees and into the clearing. Behind her were some twenty others, men, women and children. Some of them Joanna knew; with them she exchanged grave bows and courteous greetings. The ones she did not recognise smiled at her. ‘I’ll not waste time with names right now,’ Lora said, ‘you’ll soon pick up who’s who as we go along.’
Then they set out.
The journey took the best part of a week. They walked for most of the daylight hours, stopping three or four times to rest briefly, eat a little of their dried, easily portable supplies and drink some water. They kept to the forest: in that age of the world, it was possible to walk more than a hundred miles north westwards from the heart of the Wealden Forest in virtually a straight line, always with a canopy of trees overhead.
The weather helped them to make good, steady progress. It was cold, still and dry, which made walking easy; no mud, no flooded rivers and streams to negotiate or around which to make long detours. No driving rain in the face, hour after hour, no wind to find its way inside damp clothing and chill the flesh. No danger of sweating profusely from the exertion. Once she had overcome her initial fears over whether, new to long distance walking, she would be able to keep up with the others, Joanna began to enjoy the journey very much.
At nightfall they would find a way into some deep forest glade where it was safe to light a small fire without being observed. After eating, all twenty-three of them would huddle close together, preserving their body warmth and each sharing it with one another, lying on a bed of dried leaves and wrapping themselves in what blankets and cloaks they had brought with them. The children and the babies would be carefully watched to make sure they did not become chilled; not that there was much fear of that, with every adult keenly aware of the young, their senses open to the first intimations of distress.
Sometimes as they lay around the fire one of the elders would start to speak, telling one of the old stories. Joanna, who knew only a few of the people’s traditional legends, welcomed these nights above all.
When, one sunlit morning, their destination at last came into view, one of the older men let out a cheer, taken up by the others. Joanna, unable to see anything that might look like the place to which they were heading, was therefore amazed when, from the middle of a thick stand of pine trees, an answering call went up. And, moments later, she saw a flood of people come running towards them out of the trees, laughing, smiling, crying out greetings.
A young woman of about Joanna’s age, her thick plait of hair reddish-fair where Joanna’s was dark brown, came up to her, put her arms round both Joanna and Meggie in a warm embrace and said, ‘Welcome! Welcome to the festival!’ She kissed Joanna on both cheeks, chucked the fascinated Meggie under her round little chin and added, ‘Beautiful child! May I hold her?’
‘Yes!’ Joanna loosened the straps of the sling and extracted her daughter. ‘She’s not very used to strangers — until a few days ago, she’s mostly only had me for company — so she may yell.’
But Meggie was relaxing in the fair woman’s arms, her small face creased up as she tried to smile, gurgling her pleasure. The young woman gave Joanna an affectionate grin. ‘We’re not strangers,’ she said gently. ‘Not to one like her. Come, I’ll take you to your place.’
Following her, Joanna thought back to the night of Meggie’s birth. Then, too, someone had hinted at the same thing: Lora, gazing into the newborn child’s wandering eyes, had predicted that she would have the Sight. That she would be, in Lora’s own words, one of the great ones. It was an awesome thing to be told about one’s new baby; even now, three months later, Joanna was not entirely sure what she felt. And now this kindly young woman had said, not to one like her. As if she, too, recognised some quality in Meggie that set her apart. Something that her own mother could not see.
I must not let it disturb me, Joanna ordered herself. I must keep an open mind and hope that, if I am patient and keep my eyes and my ears open, soon I shall understand what they mean.
Slinging her pack across her shoulder, she set off up the slope to the trees.
She would never have found the stone circle had they not led her to it. That, she supposed as she found the place in the temporary camp that had been set aside for her, was the whole point. Nobody except the forest people was allowed. The thought gave her a thrill of anticipation.
The camp had been made of simple, natural materials. A large number of dead branches had been dragged out of the surrounding woodland, trimmed and erected to form a rough framework, over which great bundles of last year’s bracken had been tied to act like thatching. Joanna was impressed to observe how her people used only dead wood and plants; even for a great festival, they did not cut down living things. Joanna’s place was at the end of one of the long structures. Her companions were all other young women with babies or small children; happily anticipating a few days in their company, Joanna realised that she had missed talking to other mothers, comparing her baby’s progress and habits with those of their children. Reassuring herself when, as sometimes happened, some small anxiety about Meggie escalated into a real concern. Not that she ever felt entirely alone — there was something about her area of the great forest, some benign spirit, perhaps, who looked out for her — but it was not quite the same as a good long talk.
Their camp, Joanna was informed, was one of many. The mothers and children had been given one of the choicest sites close to the centre of the festivities. When she asked why, her informant — a raven-haired, blue-eyed girl who spoke with a soft accent unfamiliar to Joanna, answered, ‘So that we can slip away from the feast now and again to make sure the babies are all right.’
Joanna, who had half been expecting an explanation involving some strange arcane rite, almost laughed aloud at the sheer common sense of it.
In all, there were almost five hundred people in attendance. Joanna did not think she had ever been a part of such a huge gathering. The black-haired girl — whose name was Cailleach — said that this number was relatively small; Joanna should come to Samhain or the Midsummer Fires, then she would see a real crowd.
I will, she promised silently. Oh, I will.
Early in the evening when the babies were settled, a group of the mothers who, judging from the amount they were finding to say to one another, appeared to be old friends, said they would stay in the camp so that the others could slip out and have a look around. Joanna took the opportunity eagerly and Cailleach went with her.
They followed a well-defined track from the camp clearing through the pine trees and very soon emerged into an open space. They were on the summit of a low hill, part of a long ridge that rose up over the flatter lands below. The wide area in the middle of the surrounding trees was marked out by a circle of stones.