The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [44]
She floated down, comfortably, to the mossy ground. Once there, she could see numerous pathways leading away under the arching oak trees; but one in particular caught her attention because it was like a long, almost endless tunnel that glowed with a greenish light. In the distance down this tunnel she also became aware of something, some swift creature, coming in her direction. It seemed very far away, but in no time at all it drew much closer. Indeed, it was bounding towards her.
It was a stag, a magnificent red stag with branching antlers. Closer and closer it came. It was coming for her. She was frightened. She was glad.
Silence. Blankness. Maybe she had dozed for a short while. She was in the little room again. The grey cat was in the corner. Puckle’s wife was making the sign of the pentagram, although her hand was moving in the opposite direction from the way she had done it before. After finishing, the older woman looked at her and remarked quietly: ‘It’s completed.’
Adela remained still for a moment or two, then moved her hands and feet. She felt rather light. ‘Did something happen?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘What?’
Puckle’s wife did not answer. The faint glow of the turf fire threw a soft light around the room.
Glancing at the window, Adela saw that there was now only a faint hint of light outside. She wondered vaguely how long she had been there. An hour or more if it was already dusk. She had planned spending the night with the Prides at their cottage; she supposed Pride could still take her back there after dusk. ‘I must go. It will be night soon,’ she said.
‘Night?’ Puckle’s wife smiled. ‘You’ve been here all night. That’s dawn you see out there.’
‘Oh.’ How extraordinary. Adela tried to collect her thoughts. ‘You said something happened. Can you tell me? Will the Lady Maud …?’
‘I saw a little of your future.’
‘And?’
‘I saw a death, which will bring you peace. Happiness too.’
‘So. It is going to happen, then.’
‘Don’t you be sure. It may not be what you think.’
‘But a death …’ Adela looked at her but the other woman would not say more. Instead, she went to the door and summoned Pride.
Adela rose. Obviously Puckle’s wife expected her to leave now. She went to the doorway. She wasn’t sure if she should give her money or just thank her for the visit. She felt in a pouch in her belt and brought out two pennies. Puckle’s wife took them with a quiet nod. Evidently she felt this was her due. The figure of Pride, leading her horse, came looming out of the pale darkness.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again.’
‘Perhaps.’ Puckle’s wife looked at her thoughtfully, not unkindly. ‘Remember,’ she admonished, ‘things are not always what they seem in the Forest.’ Then she went back inside.
Dawn was breaking as they rode out onto the huge lawn below Burley Rocks. The moon had departed. The stars were fading gently in the clear sky and a golden light shimmered along the eastern horizon.
A skylark started singing, high above – a starburst of sound against the withdrawing night. Did he, also, know she was going to marry Martell?
Adela felt pleased with herself as she rode into Winchester that afternoon. She and Pride had travelled at a leisurely pace across the Forest, passing north of Lyndhurst, and he had refused to leave her until, just short of Romsey, they had encountered a respectable merchant who was going her way.
She had wondered whether, upon her return, she should tell her friend the widow where she had really been and concluded that she should not. Instead, she had concocted a story about a Forest friend being in trouble and asking for help, and even persuaded a reluctant Pride to back it up if necessary. Altogether she thought she had handled things quite well.
So she was surprised, upon her return, as she began her tale, when the widow raised her hand to stop her. ‘I’m sorry, Adela, but I don’t want to hear.’ Her face was calm, but cold.