The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [179]
And also growing. As the carbon passed into the oak tree’s bark, which in turn would be added, as a yearly ring, to the thick wood beneath, so eventually when the oak and its fellows crashed to the ground and their successors did the same, century after century, a thin carbon layer would be added to Earth which, imperceptibly, would grow down the aeons.
His mother had vanished.
It was a late afternoon in the third week in July when Albion returned to his house to find that she had taken a horse, ridden out and not been seen for hours. For a few moments – he couldn’t help it – he devoutly prayed that she might have fallen, or struck an overhanging bough in the woods, and broken her neck. ‘She said nothing of where she was going?’ he asked his wife.
‘Nothing.’
‘You couldn’t stop her?’ His wife only replied with a look that told him the question was foolish. ‘No.’ He sighed. ‘Of course not.’
Alive or dead, he would have to go out and search for her. There were still long hours of daylight left. But he dreaded what he might find. A rendezvous with the Spanish army itself hardly seemed too unlikely. ‘God save us,’ he muttered.
As the Lady Albion came towards the Rufus tree she was feeling very pleased with herself. Indeed, she thought, she really should have done this before.
She had ridden in quite a large arc. Coming up from Albion’s quiet house by the ford, she had taken the road up to Brockenhurst, inspected the little church there and spoken to several of the villagers. Although few of them had seen her before, word of the strange lady at Albion’s house had gone round Brockenhurst long ago, so when they saw the odd figure in black and red come riding by they guessed who it was. The rumours about her were mixed, however. If the gentry knew all about the Pitts family and Albion’s troubles, the local forest folk were less clear. It was thirty years since she had lived in the Forest herself. Few remembered her and those memories were vague. They knew she was devout and a recusant, but that did not shock them. Word was that she was rich, which was always impressive. She might be liberal with her money, too, if you got on the right side of her. Some said she had gone mad. This could be interesting. They politely doffed their hats or put knuckle to forehead and gathered round in hopeful anticipation.
In fact, she was rather good with them. She was not a Pitts for nothing. She had an easy, proud style that impressed them and she spoke them fair.
She told them she had inspected their church and was sorry to see it had been somewhat damaged by carelessness, not malice, she hoped. At once, several long faces in the group told her she had sympathizers. She had not said more but bade them a courteous good day and proceeded on her way towards Lyndhurst, leaving behind the impression that she was surely not mad, but a fine lady.
At Lyndhurst she had encountered a cottager and had a similar conversation. Then she had swung up, round Minstead and come down through Brook, where she had done the same thing.
Now, as she approached the miraculous tree, she saw a girl, standing alone looking thoughtful, under its branches. The girl had an intelligent face. She drew up in front of her. ‘Good day, my child,’ she said kindly. ‘I see you are standing under a tree which, they tell me, is miraculous.’
Indeed, Jane politely replied, it was so. And she told the strange lady about the tree’s midwinter leafing and the Rufus legend.
‘Perhaps’, the Lady Albion pointed out, ‘this is a sign from God.’ She mentioned the two other trees. ‘Did not Our Lord hang on the cross with two thieves?’
‘And there are three persons also, My Lady,’ the girl suggested, ‘in the Trinity.’
‘Indeed you are right, my child,’ said Albion’s mother approvingly. ‘And is this not a sign to us that we should be faithful