The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [151]
She observed him silently for a moment or two; but when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly gentle. ‘Even the most faithful may be afraid,’ she said quietly. ‘This is how God tests us. And yet,’ she continued, ‘it is the very fear of God that also gives us courage. For you see, Clement, we cannot escape Him. He is everywhere. He knows all, judges all. We have no choice but to obey Him, if we believe. So it is only lack of faith that holds us back, that keeps us from rushing to His arms.’
‘Faith is not always easy, Mother, even for the faithful.’
‘And it is for that, Clement,’ she went on earnestly, ‘that He sends us signs. Our Blessed Lord performed miracles; the saints, their very relics, cause wonders even now. Why, here in the Forest, does not God send us a marvellous miracle every year?’
‘You speak of the oak trees?’
‘Of course, what else?’
It had been remarked upon for many generations now that there were three magical, or miraculous trees in the New Forest. They were all to be found in the area to the north of Lyndhurst; all three were old. And unlike any other oak trees in the Forest, or anywhere else in Christendom for all that Clement knew, they burst all three into green leaf for a mysterious midwinter week, at the feast of Christmas when everything else was bare. The Christmas Green Oaks, or the Green Trees they were called.
No one knew how and why it happened. Their breaking into leaf was against all nature. No wonder, then, if to pious Lady Albion and many like her, this reminder of Our Lord’s crucifixion, of the three crosses upon Calvary and of the resurrection of the dead, was seen as a sign that the divine message is everywhere and that the Holy Church sends forth new shoots in any season of the year.
‘Oh, Clement.’ Her eyes now grew suddenly misty. ‘God’s signs are everywhere. There is nothing to fear.’ She was looking at him with such emotion. It was the nearest thing to maternal affection he could ever remember seeing. ‘When we are delivered from heresy and King Philip rules, this will only lead to your glory.’ She smiled so tenderly. ‘But if – which I cannot think – it should be God’s will that this business fall out otherwise, I had rather see you, my dearest son, raised on a scaffold, even torn limb from limb, than that you should forsake your God, your Heavenly King.’
He knew she meant it, every word. ‘You know what my instructions are?’
‘To lead your muster, Clement, silence the shore battery and help the Spanish to land.’
‘Where?’
‘Between Southampton and Lymington. The Forest shore will not be easy to defend.’
‘You expect me to reply to this letter?’
‘There is no need.’ She beamed. ‘It is already done. I sent a letter to your sister, and Don Diego will convey it to the King of Spain himself. I have told them that you may be relied upon. Even unto death.’
He gazed southwards, over the Forest, towards Southampton and the distant blue haze by the coast. Was her letter, perhaps, already in the hands of Cecil’s spies? Would he live to see Christmas? ‘Thank you, Mother,’ he murmured, drily.
But his mother did not hear him. For she was already signalling to the servants to bring her litter.
The oak tree stood just apart from the wood.
The afternoon was warm.
In the wood, smooth, stately beech trees soared up to share the canopy with crusted oaks. The ground was mossy. All was quiet except for the faint rustle of the leaves and the tiny popping sound as, now and then, a green acorn fell to the ground.
Behind the tree, on a slight incline dotted with young oaks, lay a green glade down which the shadows stole at sunset.
Albion was alone as he rode towards the tree.
Oak: the genus Quercus, sacred since ancient times. There are five hundred species of oak tree upon the planet, but the island of Britain since the ending of the Ice Age contained mainly two: quercus robur, the common or pendunculate oak, whose acorns grow upon little stalks; and quercus petraea, the sessile oak, whose leaves have