Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (2 page)

On this September Morning, in my twelfth Yeare, we had put Raw Head quite out of our Minds and spent several Houres at our favourite fishing Spot upon the Coller. We had wandered westwards thro’ the uncut Corn and well grazed Pastures till we had come upon a Loop in the River, about an half Mile from the Shrivenham Road. There stood here a short Row of half ruined Cottages, which had not been let for several Yeares as they had proved subject to Flooding, and my Father had eventually grown tired of their Repair and had moved all their Tenants to higher Ground. The Earth here was soft and often boggy, and when the swollen River ran fast and lethal, as it always did in Winter, it would become quite treacherous. Todaye, however, it was dry and hard, and the Waters looked as placid as a Millpond.

We set up our Rods, and sate, and waited, and entertained ourselves until the Sunne was long past its Highest; and then Nathaniel’s Stomach beginning to call him homewards, we packed up our Equipments, and our few Fish, and returned thro’ the yellowing Fields to Shirelands Hall.

I had been of the Expectation that we would ask the Hall Kitchen to fill our Bellies for us, but as we drew near to the House, Nathaniel all on a Sudden turned about, and said: “I have a better Idea, Tris. What sayst we visit my Father’s apple Orchard?”

This Suggestion made mine Heart to skip a Beat, for the Rectory Orchard was strict forbidden both to Nathaniel and to My Self. Nathaniel hugely disliked this Restriction, as, indeed, he disliked any authoritative Limitation placed upon his Freedom, and he did his Best to disregard it. I knew that if we were to visit the Orchard, we
ran an high Risk of being discovered, having our Spoils confiscated, and our Ears sorely harangued; but I found My Self immediately nodding in Assent.

We ran fast to the kitchen Step, deposited our Fish, and then once more we were running away from Shirelands, this Time along the Driveway that would take us thro’ the iron Gates on to the Faringdon Road.

Shirelands’ Driveway was flanked by an Avenue of ash Trees, and the Ground beneath our Feet was littered with their Leaves, the first that Yeare to have fallen. Nathaniel stoppt at the Foot of the Tallest, for I was somewhat out of Breath from our sudden Exertion, and struggling to keep Pace with him, who sprinted like a Greyhound.

Nathaniel laughed, and put his Hand upon my Shoulder. “Alas! You are poorly named, Tristan Hart; not nearly as fleet footed as your name-Sake.”

“I cannot help that,” I mumbled, ashamed.

“Fie, Tris, I do but teaze you,” Nathaniel said, not unkindly. “Sit down here, until your Breath come back to you.”

I sate me down upon the mossy Roots, gratefull for the Rest, and watched Nathaniel prowl betwixt the Trees like a great, golden Cat.

If I were like you, I thought, how fine and easy my Life must surely be.

Nathaniel gave an impatient Sigh, which I suppose I should not have noticed, and taking out his pocket Knife, set about carving his Initials into the the great Trunk at my Back.

A strange Thought came to me: Doth not the Tree feel it?

I dismisst this Notion instantly, for ’twas Nonsense. I was well aware that there was no Possibility of a mere Tree feeling anything at all, least of all Pain, as an Human might; but then, snapping at the
Heels of its Dismissal came another: Might not it be possible? Might not it be real?

I got quickly to my Feet, and asked Nathaniel at once if I might borrow his Knife. He was happy to lend it, and so, having the Blade in mine Hand, I turned about and forcibly inscribed into the surprizing soft Bark of the Tree mine own Initials.
T. H.
Tristan Hart.

If the Tree screamed, I did not hear it.

“Look thro’,” Nathaniel said, pointing upward. “Mistletoe, upon an ash Tree.”

I squinted both mine Eyes and peered upwards, but I could distinguish no Difference between one leafy Mass and another. “What is special in that?” I said, feeling somewhat resentfull of his sharp Sight.

“It is a Rarity,” Nathaniel said. “Mistletoe grows easily upon the Apple, and the Oak; but it is scarce found on the Ash, and is most magickal when it doth so.”

“I did not know that,” I said.

“You do not know anything. It is possible; it is real. Let’s go. My Father’s Apples are ripe for the Picking. Canst not hear them calling? Pluck us, they cry! Eat!”

I smiled, and returned Nathaniel his Knife. Then we passt out thro’ Shirelands’ open Gates and made our Way along the Road toward Collerton.

The Rectory stood on the north Side of the Village, before one reached the Church, and so from Shirelands Hall it was a long Walk. By the Time Nathaniel and I came into the Village, my Stomach was beginning to complain of its Neglect, and I had begun to feel a little dizzy. Nathaniel, however, seemed to have compleat forgot his Hunger, for he gave no Indication of it, and had made no more
Mention of our eating the Apples we were out to steal. I hoped this did not mean that he had changed his Mind and was leading me, without Explanation, somewhere else intirely; Nathaniel’s Character was changeable in the Extream, and his Desires also.

We reached the Rectory and made our Way, without shewing ourselves to the Inhabitants within, to the Rector’s treasured cider Trees behind. The orchard Gate being locked, as was quite usual, Nathaniel assisted me to scramble over the dry, crumbling Wall into the glowing Eden that lay inclosed therein. Once I was down, he scurried over the Wall himself with a marten-like Agility and Speed that made me to ponder why the Rector had ever troubled to have locked his Gate, for open or shut, it provided no Defense.

The apple Orchard, in the late afternoon Sunneshine, seemed to mine Eyes a veritable Oasis of sweet Bounties and Delights. The Aire was warm, and slightly humid, and the Perfume of ripening Fruit hung upon it as light as a Breath. Bees buzzed happily about mine Ears; a song Thrush whistled. And on every Tree, in every Cranny and Corner of the Orchard, hung the most delicious Apples of every Hue from the brightest yellow to the deepest crimson. My Mouth watered.

I hastened over to the most heavily laden of the Trees and began to rip the red-gold Apples from the Boughs; more, I was certain, than I would eat; but it did not matter. I sate down upon the Greensward, and fell to with a great Relish. Nathaniel laughed aloud, and told me that I must be a very Pig to have made such a crude Mess of my Meal. This Censure stung me at my Quick, as Nathaniel, surely, had known it must. From mine earliest Infancy I had disliked and feared Pigs.

“If you are sick tonight,” Nathaniel said, “don’t blame me, tho’ you will never hear the last of it from Mrs H.; or from your Father.”

I said: “My Father cares naught.” But I began to eat more slowly.

I do not now think it was true that my Father cared nothing for my Welfare, or even, for that Matter, my Behaviour. Certainly, whenever I was caught, as I frequently was, about some Misdemeanour, his Reaction was not that of an usual Parent, for it was to refrain from both Punishment and Guidance by ignoring the Instance altogether. This curious Blindness of his was, I know now, a Source of Friction between him and our Neighbours, who took the more Christian Approach and did not spare the Rod, but again, as a Child, I was quite unaware of it. All I knew was that when Nathaniel and I would play a Trick, however cruel, upon some unsuspecting Soule, I would not be punished and Nathaniel would not be caught. Nathaniel Ravenscroft had the Ability, in Addition to his other Peculiarities, of being able to vanish utterly into thin Aire at the first Whisper of Trouble. He had never, to my certain Knowledge, taken any Blame for any Wickedness in which we had been discovered; and altho’ this Circumstance appeared hugely unjust, it did have its Advantages. Nathaniel could get clean away with Mischief that no other Boy would dare dream of, and afterwards he would share the Spoils with me, whether they were his Sisters’ Secrets or his Father’s Cider.

Nathaniel, intirely unconcerned by my ruffled Sentiments, laughed aloud, and scrambled up the Trunk of the tallest apple Tree with the same efficient Ease that had taken him up and over the orchard Wall. He perched himself merrily in the upper Branches, and plucking himself an Apple, said: “I shall act as our Lookout, Tris. If I see someone approaching, I shall caw, thus”: he made a chattering Noise identical in Pitch and Intensity to that of a Magpie. “An you hear it, you must straightway hide.”

This Strategy of Nathaniel’s was not in itself a bad one, for he
must have had a good View of the Pathway from his Perch; but having no Fear for himself of being caught, he was not the most reliable of Sentries. Perhaps he gave the warning Signal too late, or perhaps he had already given it and I, intent upon filling my Belly, had not noticed; but all in one Second I became aware of the Rat-tat-tattling of a Pie, and the Rattling of a Key in the iron Lock of the orchard Gate; and before I had Wit or Time to hide My Self it opened wide, and there stood the Rector.

To mine own Detriment and Defeat—for if I had but remained silent and still he might, perhaps, not have seen me, and I might have been able to slip unobserved out of the Gate—I gave a guilty Start, and let from my Lips a small Cry of Surprize.

The Rector Ravenscroft, for his Part, was also somewhat astonished; but his Recovery was rapid, and his Retribution swift. With a Bellow of Rage, he bore down on me like a fat, cassocked Epitome of Death. His thick fingered Hand, sweating from the Shock of his Passion or his sudden bodily Exertion, clamped itself upon the Back of my Neck.

“So!” he shouted. “Tristan Hart! Caught in the Act, yet again, by God!”

He hauled me to my Feet. Half eaten Apples tumbled from my Lap. The Rector stiffened at the Sight.

“You have the Devil in you, Tristan Hart!” he roared. “He is in your Blood, your very Blood, and you have your Foot firm and fast upon the Road to Hell! I tell you, Boy, if your Father won’t take it upon himself to beat him out of you, I shall! Never let it be said that I let anyone’s Soule go to the Devil without battling to save him!”

Without any more ado, he thrust me roughly up against the nearest Tree, and with his walking Cane proceeded to inflict upon my tender young Body as brutal and prolonged a Thrashing as I
have ever witnessed; and if I had not been fully cloathed I have no Doubt but that the resultant Injuries would have been severe. You may be certain that I screamed, and cried, and begged for Mercy, and fought, and struggled hard to make good mine Escape; but all to no Effect. When it was finally over I collapsed exhausted on the velvet Ground, my Ribs and Spine bruised black, in such an Intensity of Pain and Shock that I could neither stand nor weep.

As I have said, my Father, the Squire, had never beaten me, nor suffered me to be beaten at the Hand of any of our Servants; so altho’ by this Age of eleven Yeares I had endured from them many a Scolding, I had never once been hit; and as my Body cried out in Pain, so my Mind staggered under the Shock of what had happened, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, to me.

I did not know what had befallen Nathaniel. I supposed that he was yet in the apple Tree, but as I had no Way of finding out without discovering his Presence to his Father I kept quiet, and did not resist as the Rector dragged me once again to my Feet and hauled me from his Orchard. I was terrified now lest of Course he should thrash me again, but to my Surprize he called instead for his Chaise, and forced me inside.

“I will have Words with your Father,” he said. “For there is a Wickedness bred in you, Boy, and it must be curbed, by whatever Means he chooseth, else you grow up vicious as the Devil. Too long have you been left unchecked, too long have you been left to his Devices.”

The Whip cracked over the Pony’s Back. The Animal sprang forward, into a lively Trot, and the Chaise rumbled out of the Rectory Grounds, and along Collerton Lane towards Shirelands Hall, and my looming Disgrace.

So I became, for the next four Yeares of my Life, a Scholar. The Theft of the Rector’s Apples from his Orchard was the last Straw for that choleric Cleric, and in his Determination to preserve my Soule, not to mention the peacefull Enjoyment of his own Property, he inflicted upon my Father so bitter a Sermon regarding mine evil Nature that my Father’s Reserve finally cracked, and he muttered somewhat upon the Topic of Dispatching me to School. The Rector Ravenscroft seized on this Notion, and insisted that my Father write the relevant Letters then and there. My Father, however, regaining some of his Dignity, baulked at this Demand, coming as it did from the very Divine of whom he had been Benefactor; and, complaining that
he had neither Time nor Inclination to set about the Business, politely requested that the Rector either take up mine Education himself, or find me a suitable Tutor. The Rector, for his Part, was most vexed by this new and unexpected Development, and refused at once to have me in his school Room; but to my Displeasure, he found me a Tutor; and within Dayes I had been sentenced and confined. A school Room was set up for me on the ground Floor of the House, hard by my Father’s Library so that he might, theoretically at least, have an Ear to my Progress, and I was kept busy about my Books between the Houres of seven and five upon every Daye of the Week excepting, naturally, the Sabbath. I complained most bitterly at this, but as mine only Sympathiser was my Father’s aged housekeeper, Mrs Henderson—fondly called Mrs H.—a Woman who, since the Departure of the Last of my Nurses, had fulfilled something of the maternal Part towards me, my Disquiet went unremarked.

My school Room, which had been a sitting Room not much used before, was dark, dampe and musty with tall, curtained Windows. The only Comfort was the Fire, which was lit every Daye in Winter, to preserve the Books. Often I stared out across the rain-swept or sunne-filled Shirelands Grounds towards the High Chalk, and wished with mine whole Heart that I had yet Liberty to walk across the flower dotted Turf, to listen to the Buzzards scream, and feel the rough Winds play about mine Ears. Other Times, I thought that if I could have left the Place, alone, I would have crept soft to the River’s Edge and slipt.

I sorely missed Nathaniel, and wept much for him at first; but we saw each other still across Church, and were permitted to write. From his, infrequent, Letters I discovered that he, too, was deeply unhappy, and longing to depart his Father’s Society. It was the
Rector’s Desire, to which Nathaniel was vehemently opposed, that he should take Orders, and follow him into the Church. Even I could see that this fatherly Determination was misguided: I could no more imagine Nathaniel wearing a Cassock than I could My Self playing the Syrinx. Nathaniel considered himself already a Man in Nature, if not in Law, and he saw no Reason to obey his Father.