The View From the Cart (18 page)

Miles or leagues meant little to me, as we journeyed on. We had been away from home for less than a week, and already I had lost count of the days and distance. My idea of the size of our homeland was hazy, but I had heard enough of missionaries walking the length and breadth of it, preaching and converting, to understand that it was small enough to traverse with some ease. The runes contained much about sea and ships and great travellings, and I knew Rome to be a long distance away to the south, across the sea. I had seen the moorland change to rolling hills, glimpsed a distant sparkling that must be the ocean at the edge of our homeland, passed through forests, all in such a short space of time. When we set out, I had no vision of our arriving at a final destination. It had seemed to me that we would walk for months, taking our luck and blessings where we could, and enduring ill fortune as we must. Now, on this short grey afternoon, the idea came to me that we might reach the eastern shores of our island within another fortnight or so.

Cuthman said nothing as we crawled up the long hill. His feet were dragging now and then on the stony road, and twice he steered the cart into a rut and forced me to hang onto the sides tightly as we bumped out of it again. I feared for the wheel, and the joints connecting it to my vehicle. He was tired and I felt worried for him. He was too young for this task. I had always been a useless mother to him, now I was worse than useless: a burden he might ruin himself in carrying.

As twilight fell, we seemed to draw away from the sea coast again, and another forest loomed before us. My son's weariness forced us to settle early for the night, in a sheltered hollow between some stately beech trees. It was a soothing place and I laid myself down willingly enough. We had food and water, the night was dry though chill, and it seemed to me that I had been given more than I deserved in the glimpse I had had of my daughter. The swollen belly containing my grandchild gave me a warm feeling, despite an anxiety about Wynn's health during the birth and her security once the child was born. Did she have a man to take care of her? Cuthman had said she was isolated, solitary. I hoped this did not mean that she was unhappy or afraid. I clung to the impression I'd derived from the vision that she was in no state of danger or unhappiness, but somehow contented with her life.

Despite the darkness, the day was not quite done. If we slept so early, we would waken in darkness and have to await the dawn in cold and hunger. Although Cuthman was aching from pushing the cart, and his hands were raw and painful, when he lay down he could only toss and sigh, unable to get to sleep. It was even worse for me. The lack of physical exertion meant that I had little need for long nights of sleep. After a while, I spoke.

‘Tis early for sleep.'

He sighed. ‘I need something to settle myself. My head's full of pictures and thinking.'

‘We've seen a lot over the days,' I agreed. ‘I never believed it would be such a time for seeing and hearing.'

‘Nay. Mam. Could you tell me a story? Just a quick one. I have come to love a story.'

I was startled. Like any mother, I had woven old tales about lost children and fairy folk to my youngsters, to soothe them to sleep, but a story was a different thing. It needed a crowd of listeners and a familiar ring to it. But as I began to think about it, a strange excitement gripped me. I remembered the half-finished story from the night before. Perhaps it was this which made Cuthman so restless. Perhaps I could complete it myself, and lay it and my son to rest together.

‘Shall I try to finish the one about Deirdre?' I asked him.

He thought for a moment. ‘If you begin again. I forget how it went at the start.'

I found that I too had forgotten the detail. A girl, hidden away, and a king's huntsman. A nurse and a secret home beneath a hillock. The elements were there, but the connecting thread seemed dull and lifeless. It seemed to me that I must make a new story, all of my own, if there was indeed such a thing as a new story.

‘Then I will try to remake it, just for you,' I told him. He snuggled against me, then, like a little child and I remembered how I had loved him in easier times, though only for short moments, the discomfort between us always there. A flood rose up inside me, surging into my throat, and tears burst forth, like a sudden rainstorm. But I made no sound, and the lad never knew of my emotion. He waited patiently until I began, almost before I knew what I would say.

‘Once upon a time, there was a king, who was out on a tour of his lands, all alone. He came to a green mound, in a forest, and sat down to eat a piece of meat he had with him. It was a large piece, with a bone in the middle, and when he had finished, he threw the bone away carelessly, and stood up to leave.

‘Before he could walk back to his horse, he heard a tiny voice, down beside his feet. Looking carefully, he saw a small woman, about the height of his riding boot, shaking her fist at him and shouting as loud as she could. In great surprise, the king knelt down and asked her what the matter might be. She shouted to him that his bone had fallen onto her children, where they were playing outside her house. He had given them all serious bruises and they were frightened and crying.

‘ “This is my house!” she screamed at him. “You have been sitting on my roof, and broken it. You will suffer for this.” And she cursed him, saying his daughter would be stolen away from him, and he would only see her again on her wedding day. The girl would grow up as a shepherd's daughter, far away from the city.

‘The king smiled a little, even though he was sorry for what he had done. He had no daughter, so was not afraid of the curse. His wife, the Queen, had remained at home, while he made a great tour of his kingdom, lasting many months. They were determined that their first child, when it finally came, would be a son, not a daughter.

‘But when the king eventually arrived back at the Palace, several of his servants came riding out to meet him. They had extraordinary news for him, and it took many minutes before he could understand what had happened. At last it was clear, and he was greatly astonished to learn that the Queen had given birth to a daughter, that very day. But there was no cause for rejoicing. The nurse had laid the baby in the royal crib, lined with satin and best lambswool coverlets, embroidered with butterflies and flowers, and turned away for a moment. When she next looked, the crib was empty, and only the gently flapping curtains at the open window showed that someone had stolen the new Princess right away.

‘The king rushed to his beloved wife, and together they wept bitterly for the loss of their child. The king recounted his meeting with the little woman, and tried to console his Queen that at least their daughter was alive and would grow up healthy. Furthermore, they would see her again on the day she married.'

‘Mam,' Cuthman interrupted me, accusingly. ‘This be nothing like the story of Deirdre. ‘Tis more like our Wynn, seems to me.'

‘Maybe it is,' I agreed, trying to hold the thread in my mind, and to follow the story wherever it might lead me. ‘I don't know where it comes from.'

‘Go on, then,' he murmured, shifting himself slightly.

‘Well, the piskies took the baby princess, and whisked her away by magic. In a far away cottage, sat a shepherd's wife, shelling her peas over a large bowl. The woman was dreaming to herself, and besides that, she was shortsighted...'

‘Like you, Mam,' chuckled Cuthman.

‘Yes, like me. Now hush... So when a real live baby dropped from nowhere into the bowl of peas, the woman believed that it had come from one of the peapods. Holding the child carefully aloft, she was pleased to have such a lovely little girl for her own, and named her “Sweetpea.”

‘She was the only child of the shepherd and his wife, and they loved her very much. She worked with the sheep, feeding the lambs and spinning the fleece, from her youngest years. They lived on the moors, and she often took her turn to watch over the sheep as they grazed.

‘Meanwhile, the king and queen were busy with foreign visitors, and small troubles, and the king was very much away from the palace. The queen grew old before her time, with bad temper and worry and disappointment never far away. She had a cousin, the Countess of Cornwall, who lived by a lake called Dozemary Pool.

‘One day the Countess was knitting, in a small boat on the lake, and from a sudden curiosity, she reached down into the water with one of her knitting needles, thinking to discover how deep the pool might be. She probed four times, in different places. The needle touched something, but she did not think it was the bottom of the lake.

‘A moment later, a very strange figure bobbed up beside the boat and looked furiously at her. He was half man and half fish, with fins for arms and fishy lips. When he saw the Countess and her knitting, he began to scream. “You have blinded my eldest son,” he raged. “Both his eyes have been put out by your needle. And both my other two sons have each lost an eye. My wife is distraught. You must pay for this.”

‘The man began a curse, which the frightened Countess did not at first understand. Her baby son, just born, would be condemned to forever go against his own wishes, said the merman. This made no sense at first, but he continued with a long stream of furious words, and she began to see what would happen. Whatever the young boy wanted, his own actions would ensure that he got the opposite. If he wished to be kind, he would be cruel. If he wished to give, he would in reality take. Nobody would like or comprehend him. It was a bitter curse indeed, and the Countess pleaded in vain for mercy from the man of the lake.

‘The boy was named William, and he was a sweet baby. But he did not grow up sweet at all. He was sour and rude to everyone. He slapped his nurse and pinched the house slaves and stole the toys from the other children. Nobody wanted anything to do with him, and even his mother, who knew the reason for his unpleasantness, wished him far from her.

‘Finally, when William was sixteen, his parents sent him to the royal palace to try to change his manners for the better. Perhaps, thought the Countess to herself, he will be different away from home. She had never told anybody about the curse, because she felt so guilty about it.

‘After three months at court, everyone agreed that although William was very handsome, and graceful in all his movements, and clever at games, he was not an asset to the household because of his perversity and rudeness. The queen sent a message to her cousin, saying he would have to be sent home again, and it was hard to see how he would ever make a successful way in the world, if he could not mend his manners.

‘In desperation, the Countess went back to Dozemary, and knelt at the lake's edge to pray for help. She prayed all night and until sunset next day. At last, a figure stood before her, and she recognised the great Morgan, sorceress and patron of all Cornish women.
Gather fernseed, and scatter it on the lake
she whispered, and vanished again.

‘Eagerly the Countess ran about, gathering the tiny spores from the underside of ferns, until she had a good handful. Then she rowed out onto the lake, and strewed the seeds on the surface. Then she waited, almost falling asleep over the oars.

‘A splash startled her, and she roused to see the merman beside the boat. He smiled a little, and said, “My children have regained their sight, for which I thank ‘ee. Go home. The curse on your William has been lifted.”

‘So she rowed back and galloped home as fast as she could. But William was not there, so she went to bed, exhausted but well pleased.

‘But in the days before the Countess found forgiveness from the merman, William, in despair at his lack of friends and his contrary nature, had gone riding on the moors in the heart of Dumnonia, with his fierce black dog, Leo, alongside. Leo and William made a fine pair, each with bitter ways. As they crossed the high moors, Leo began to chase sheep, and killed a number of them. William was angry, but all he could do was call, “Good dog. That's a fine boy,” and more and more sheep lay dead and bleeding on the heather.

‘So Sweetpea, the shepherd girl, who had been born to be a princess, ran up to William, and screamed her anger and pain at him.

‘ “Sir, these sheep are all we have. My parents will starve without them. Will you pay me for what your dog has done? It is the least you can do, after such wanton destruction.” And she wept to see her precious charges so completely destroyed.

‘But William could not force himself to be kind and generous to her, as he wished to be. He took his purse out of his pocket, but instead of paying her with the silver it contained, he slapped it across her face. Then he turned his horse and called his dog, and began to gallop away.

‘But Sweetpea was a strong and determined girl. She would not let him escape his obligations, and so she ran after him. Her piskie guardian who had stolen her from her crib, lent wings to her heels, and as William crossed the moors, heading eastwards, up and down hills, across rivers, through great forests, she followed him, although her feet were bleeding and she was growing terribly tired. As they went she kept calling to him, “Sir, you must pay me what you owe. I will have the silver from you for my sheep.” The dog turned to snarl at her, but he did not dare attack her, and she took no notice of him.

‘And so they ran one hundred miles, until William reached the royal palace where his mother's cousin was queen, and where everyone had become wearied of his nasty manners and bitter character. He jumped off his horse, leaving a groom to tend it, and disappeared into one of the far rooms, feeling sick about what he had done.

‘The girl followed closely, but did not see where he went. Instead she collapsed onto the flight of steps up to the palace gate, and lay there too tired to move. Some time later, the king himself found her, and asked her what was wrong. She told him the story of the rude young man and his killer dog, and how she had followed him so far. Her feet were swollen and bleeding, and she could not walk another step.