Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [320]
On the right of the road at this point there was a wood, and through it a winding path led down to the path by the river. It was just as he drew level with the opening to the path that he stopped abruptly and stared.
For what he saw was clearly a vision. There seemed no other explanation for it. And he knew it must have been sent by the Devil.
Quickly he crossed himself. The vision laughed.
The apparition that the Devil had sent had taken the form of the girl Cristina. She was leaning against a tree and she wore only a light shift tied at the waist and open at the front, so that it barely covered her breasts. Her hair was loose, and she was staring at him with a look of amusement. He crossed himself again, and then pinched himself to make sure he was not asleep.
“What’s the matter with you?” she enquired as she watched his nervous gestures.
He stared at her. What new punishment had the Devil prepared for him?
“Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.
“You know me, Osmund Mason,” she replied with a smile. “I’m Cristina.”
Unable to help himself he walked over to her and gazed at her. She seemed real enough, but if so, then what was she doing here?
“What do you want?”
She shrugged.
“Maybe I came to see you. I knew you’d come by.”
He knew he should go at once, whatever this encounter meant; whether he had fallen prey to a vision or the girl was real it made no difference. But he did not.
His breath was coming short as he stared at her. It was she who broke the silence.
“I’ve seen you watching me.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He felt himself blushing furiously, but he could not move.
“Yes you do,” she taunted gently. “Been watching me ever since last summer. Every time I go through the church. Seen you go by my house too. Quite a few times.”
Now the poor mason flushed scarlet. He opened his mouth to protest but the girl broke into a soft laugh.
“I don’t mind.” And she smiled: not the smile of a child, he noted, but that of an experienced woman; her eyes ran up and down his stocky frame. She shifted her position, pushing her legs out so that she was leaning back even further against the tree, and her blue eyes looked straight into his.
Then, to his astonishment, she said calmly and quietly: “You can kiss me if you want.”
He stared at her. She was no older than his own daughter – he knew; yet now it was he, the master mason, who felt like a foolish boy. What game was she playing, he asked himself, what witchcraft? He must leave her at once.
But still he could not.
She did not move; she gazed up at him. Her face seemed so soft, and her eyes had a look of hurt, almost reproach in them.
“Not if you don’t want to,” she murmured.
He stood very still. The wood seemed unnaturally silent. Then, hardly knowing what he was doing, whether he was awake or whether, after all, this was some dream sent by the Devil, the mason forgot all caution, stepped forward, lowered his large head to kiss her lips, and was astonished as the child threw her soft arms around his neck and pulled him to her.
How sweet her lips tasted. Her young body pressed urgently against him and the little mason trembled.
In an ecstasy of excitement, he felt himself falling to the ground with her.
Moments later, he did not even protest as, still murmuring softly, she began to tug at his clothes. Osmund the Mason forgot his fear and caution. With a cry he rose, tore his clothes off, and flushing this time with pride, stood before her naked. Now, he knew, now he would have her at last. His hands reached out.
But suddenly, with a little peal of laughter, she slipped from his grasp and darted away from him. He stared at her in astonishment.
Ten feet away, she turned, and he saw that she was smiling.
“Catch me, then,” she cried. And before he could protest, she was running lightly away down the path between the trees.
His stocky, hirsute body with its small paunch bounded along the path behind her. For fifty yards he followed, conscious only of the twists in the path, the flickering light through