In The Grip Of Old Winter Read online

  Bosa walked around the couch and his boots disappeared from sight. “I am impatient for this union, my lady. You too desire it?”

  Leonor replied. “My Eorl’s wishes are my own.”

  Peter didn’t think she sounded happy, though it was difficult to be sure without seeing her face.

  Oswald said, “I will send two of my men with you.”

  Bosa snorted. “That will not be necessary. I do not fear the common folk, though I thank you for the offer.”

  The men’s voices echoed as they moved down the passage. Peter shuffled onto his side, his stiff legs ached.

  Then Leonor’s feet appeared. A long gown, cream coloured, covered her legs to her ankles and she wore slippers, like jazz pumps that the girls at school liked, but of a darker shade. She paced and muttered. Peter didn’t catch the words, but she sounded angry… or upset. She came towards the chest and Peter held his breath.

  “He can’t make me. I won’t do it. I’ll... I’ll...”

  The tread of heavy footsteps approached and Leonor turned and ran. “I won’t be betrothed to him, father, I won’t.” Her voice gasped, close to tears.

  “Calm yourself,” said Oswald. “Nothing is arranged.”

  “Why don’t you just tell him?” cried Leonor. “Why do we have to dissemble?”

  “It is wise to appear desirous of his wishes, Leonor. You know that.” Oswald’s boots strode into view. “These present times are troubling and strife tears our land apart. Eorl Bosa is vulnerable too. The unexpected disappearance of his lady has been the cause of many stray and unkind words.”

  Leonor stamped her foot. “I know these arguments father, but it isn’t fair that you use me in this way. And what happened to his lady? Why did she disappear? Might the same fate befall me?”

  Oswald came closer, but she moved away.

  “And I can’t hold my tongue every time he visits.” She faced him. “I will tell him, father. I’m not afraid. I will tell him that I hate him.”

  “Please, Leonor, have patience. By the next full moon, I promise, Eorl Bosa will trouble us no more.” Oswald strode around the couch and out of view. “You see how I sent him on his way? Already I have given us more days to secure our position.” The splash of liquid poured into a cup. “I cannot risk upsetting him before I am sure of support. He commands greater lands, with more men to muster and his allegiance to the Norman king will secure a boon of armed knights that I cannot hope to resist.” He re-appeared and stood before Leonor. “I never intended that this struggle include you.”

  “Then why have you led him down this path? I am sick at the sight of him.”

  “Because,” and Oswald swallowed from his cup, “the opportunity bloomed in such an unexpected way. His wooing softened difficult choices that I needed to make. Neither the Norman king nor his knights will trouble us while Eorl Bosa holds firm to his betrothal wishes to you. They will think that my allegiance to King William is sure.”

  “Because Eorl Bosa woos me?” Leonor no longer cried.

  “That is so. Like mist that hides the river, we hear where the water runs, but we cannot see its path.”

  Leonor giggled. “That is very pretty, father.”

  Oswald spoke louder. “Like smoke that stings the eyes, we see where it lies, but cannot pass.”

  Leonor laughed and clapped her hands. “I understand, father. Enough.”

  Oswald chuckled. “It is good to hear you happy, though my words hide darker meanings that I do not care to think upon.”

  Leonor came closer to her father. “I will resolve to appear willing, if you wish it, though my heart shudders at what might happen.”

  “Do not fear for events that have not come to pass. All I ask is that you follow my wishes, for the present.” Their feet almost touched and Peter guessed that they hugged.

  “I will father,” said Leonor.

  Oswald spoke close to a whisper. “The outlaw in the wood, is it the truth you spoke?”

  “No father. I saw him. And last night too, when I glimpsed the flames from his brand as he passed through the trees. It was Wulfwyn followed Eorl Bosa.”

  Oswald strode past her. “That is good.” His voice stayed low. “The woodland camp is drawing more men if Wulfwyn leaves to scout. And Tobias surprised me.”

  Leonor laughed as her father said, “Eorl Bosa’s face frowned like thunder to be halted by such rude demands. I did not think Tobias possessed such wit.”

  “I feared he might strike Wulfwyn with his arrow. They made such a fight as I feared for their lives.” Leonor’s surprise softened. “He loves you father, as we all do.”

  “I take great comfort in those words.” Then he clapped his hands and Peter heard the rasp of coarse skin as he rubbed them together. “Later, I will visit the camp and speak with Wulfwyn. There is much to be decided after I gauge his strength of men and arms.”

  Oswald strode out of sight and Leonor followed.

  “I will help Una sort the woollen garments that we promised,” she said. “That you might take a gift of thanks to the brave men who shield our home.”

  Oswald’s voice echoed down the passage. “They will delight in such a gift,” and their conversation drifted out of earshot.

  Peter stretched and his bones cracked. He peered over the top of the chest, the longer he delayed, the greater the chance of one of them returning.

  He crouched and half-ran, half-scuttled across the room. Women’s voices came from somewhere farther off than the kitchen. He jumped when Oswald’s voice boomed.

  “Tobias, come down from there. Have some mead to warm you.”

  A distant call came back in reply. Peter inched his way down the passage until the long hallway came into view. Oswald stood at the opening at the far end.

  “You say what?” Oswald called back in reply to Tobias. “This way?” The old man stomped out of the doorway and out of sight.

  Peter tiptoed back to the kitchen. With his back flat to the wall, he shuffled through the gap, crossed the kitchen and darted outside. He crept around the manor, out of view from the tower and, bent almost double, he took a deep breath and raced into the first line of trees.

  He ran until he thought the manor must be well behind him, then crouched and glanced back. Oswald appeared next to the tower with Tobias and they walked into the manor together.

  The tree with the charred branch must be close. With no obvious markers to guide him, like his bedroom window, he needed to guess the distance between the manor and the tree.

  He spotted it to his left. He’d run too far and approached it from behind. The charred branch pointed at the sky like a black finger and beside it sat a figure, hunched under a hooded cloak.

  ***

  “Come closer.” A high-pitched voice, old and cracked, but male.

  Peter didn’t move. More care taken running through the trees might have saved him from being heard. Even so, to reach the charred branch meant approaching this person, so it didn’t make any difference. Might he reach it if he sprinted? He tensed, one foot forward, ready to run.

  “Come, come.”

  He hesitated, such a small person, but with such an old voice. If he ran fast, he might knock him over. Of the two of them, he must be the stronger.

  “I cannot tarry, we must speak. Come, hurry.”

  ‘Tarry?’ Peter didn’t know what that word meant. More curious than frightened, he stepped nearer, ready to run at the first sign of danger, until he stood before the hooded figure.

  The brown robe that covered the man from head to toe, showed tears and stains and threadbare patches that age and living rough gave to the homeless who sat on the Council Hall steps in Peter’s town. The hood fell so far forward that the folds hid his face. Strips of dirty cloth bound the fingers, except for the thumb and first finger of the right hand which ended in stumps. The figure didn’t smell, but why not? He looked right to stink.

  “That is good.” The head rose and in the hood’s shadow, Peter saw a glint of light as
it caught the eyes.

  “I must give you ...” With its maimed hand, the figure parted the robes and reached deep inside. A chain of thick links dangled from the bandaged fingers as he reached up to pass what he held.

  Peter frowned. “What is it?”

  “For the one who is waiting.” He thrust his hand at Peter, who had no choice but to catch the object or let it fall to the ground. It slipped in his gloved hands and he gripped it tighter.

  “You must be gone, this place crawls with eyes.” The figure rolled sideways away from the charred branch and Peter’s mouth went dry, for no shins or feet grew below the knees.

  “Away,” and using his arms like a second pair of legs, the strange man scurried into the undergrowth and out of sight.

  Peter glanced around, fearful that other strange-shaped men might appear, but nothing moved and no twig cracked or bush rustled.

  He opened his hand. A medal, as big as the ones they presented to the winners in the Olympic Games, filled his palm. No writing or figures decorated the surface. It didn’t shine either, just a black disc suspended on a chain of black links. He turned it over to reveal another surface just as bare.

  ‘For the one who is waiting’. What did that mean? He hadn’t heard anybody say that they waited for anything in his time. Did the man mean in this time? Something that Leonor or Oswald wanted? Oswald mentioned waiting for support, but Peter thought he meant men, did he mean this as well? How might this help? Unless it was some sort of token, or sign, but why did the strange man give it to him? None of it made sense and he thrust the disc into his anorak pocket. Granddad might know.

  He glanced over his shoulder. No sign of Oswald or Tobias and he reached out his right hand and touched the charred branch.

  The day flashed from light to dark and then back to light and the old tree grew and uncurled faster than he counted seconds.

  The sensation made his stomach turn, so that when it stopped he needed a moment to catch his breath. Fewer trees crowded close. The house now stood where he’d seen the manor moments before and he heard the repetitive slice and thump as granddad shovelled snow.

  He must wonder where I’ve been, because at least an hour must have passed in the other time.

  He picked up the shovel and ran through the trees until granddad came into sight. He’d cleared very little snow and the big footprints that Peter made before he walked into the wood still showed.

  Perhaps the other time moved at a different speed, or perhaps this time didn’t move at all when he was in the other time. It made his head spin, but thinking up an explanation proved impossible.

  Granddad stopped shovelling, stood up and groaned as he stretched his back. “How are you getting on, young man?”

  “Um ...”

  “Just do as much as you can manage.”

  Peter took a deep breath. “Granddad, I found this.” He pulled the black disc out of his pocket and held it up for him to see.

  He squinted. “What’s that then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Granddad took it by the chain, thrust his shovel into the drift and then gripped the disc between his finger and thumb. He frowned and his eyebrows bristled. “Where did you find this?”

  “No, the ... I found it under a tree.” To explain what happened needed time and to do that without using the right words and remembering events in the correct order might make him sound stupid. Better to lie a bit than be thought mad. More important, he needed to ask the question the carrier told him, however strange that sounded. “Are you waiting for it?”

  Granddad’s eyes flicked from the disc to the house and then back to the disc. “You’ve seen the carrier.” He didn’t ask, he stated it as fact.

  “I’ve seen - someone with no legs who gave it to me. There’s another ...”

  Granddad peered at the disc. “I’m thinking this is iron. Keep it safe, Peter. It is a special object.” He glanced up at the house. “I remember Almina once telling... but no, that happened many years past, I doubt this is the same.” He handed it back.

  Peter pinched the iron disc between his finger and thumb. “But what is it?”

  Granddad took hold of his shovel. “I don’t know.” He rested his elbows on the handle. “It looks old, very old, as ancient as the ground upon which we stand. But I do not know for what purpose it was made.”

  Peter wrapped the chain around his wrist. “Why did you call that person the carrier?”

  “I’ve seen him before.”

  Peter swallowed. “Then you’ve been to the manor, that other house, when you touch the branch, where Leonor and Oswald live?”

  Granddad shook his head. “No. I’ve never been there.”

  “But, how do you know about the carrier?”

  The falling snow caught on granddad’s woollen hat. “Generations have lived and died in this house and on this land and not all of them are forgotten. Some stay, for reasons dear to them and passing time is of no consequence. Sometimes, when the cold bites, old and new times mix.”

  “Like - Leonor?” asked Peter.

  “Is that the child’s name?”

  “She was in my bedroom last night. She wants me to help her, but I don’t know how. And I saw her in - that other time. She was real then, not a - not a ghost.” He glanced at the disc. “Perhaps she wants this.”

  “She spoke to you?”

  “Not in that other time. I hid, because there was an archer. He shot an outlaw - but he missed - though he didn’t mean to hit him.” Peter pointed into the trees. “Let me show you the branch. You touch it and everything changes.”

  Granddad raised his hand. “No, I will not meddle in these events. They are not for me. I have enough to think about already.” He leaned close. “You though have experienced much. There is meaning in that. Something needs doing.”

  From the house came a distant call.

  Granddad stood straight. “There’s grandma. Fancy a hot drink and a sausage roll?”

  The carrier appeared in this time? Did he appear as a ghost too, like Leonor last night? Peter thrust the disc into his pocket. “Yes, please. The old time moves much faster. I’m starving.”

  ***

  Aunt Almina sat at the head of the kitchen table and watched grandma and mum as they fetched plates and cups, waited for the kettle to boil and checked the AGA. Dad sat at the other end and studied his mobile.

  “Ah.” Almina beamed when she saw Peter and granddad. “Bonjour, mon amours, bonjour! How’s the path-clearing progressing? I was watching you from my window.”

  In daylight, Almina’s make-up reminded Peter of an old painted doll he’d seen once on TV in an episode of the Antiques Roadshow. That face too shone with bright colours, too bright and heavy in daylight. A long coat, brown and silver, like animal fur, draped from her shoulders.

  Granddad grunted. “Almost there.” He poured warm water from a jug into a bowl and rinsed his hands and Peter rinsed his too.

  “It’s like the Forth Bridge,” Almina laughed. “You finish one end and then have to start back at the beginning again.”

  Dad muttered. “They’ve found a new paint. They don’t do that anymore.”

  Granddad sat down at the table. “Well, I’m hoping the snow won’t last for ever. I like to keep the path clear to the track in case we need it.” Peter sat beside him.

  Almina nodded. “Very wise. I hate the thought of being trapped in this cold old house. The last time I was as cold as this was touring Hamlet in Poland.” She leaned toward Peter. “I played Gertrude, the Queen. Thank goodness they gave me heavy gowns to wear - I feared pneumonia, I can tell you.”

  Grandma banged a plate of sausage rolls onto the table. “We’ll get the fires lit as soon as we’re done eating.”

  Almina raised her hands as if surprised. “Oh, I’m not complaining.” She took hold of Peter’s wrist. He winced, but didn’t draw back, he even tried to smile.

  “I’m treating this whole visit like the most exciting adventure.” Almi
na’s eyes widened. “Will we survive? How long until the food runs out? Who will be the first to be eaten?”

  “Almina,” chorused mum and grandma.

  “Stop frightening Peter,” scolded grandma. “We’re not going to run out of food.”

  Almina sat back and a satisfied smile creased her powdered cheeks. “Peter’s not frightened - a fine young man like him. I saw him roaming through the woods all by himself.” She leaned forward with the speed of a striking snake. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  Peter gulped, shocked by the force of her question. “I didn’t - I wasn’t looking ...” Did she see him at the old tree? Did he vanish when he touched the charred branch, is that what she meant? Then again, she might mean the disc when he showed it to granddad, but why did she care about it? Granddad called it ‘special’ and to Peter ‘special’ meant secret. “No, I was just wandering about.” He bit into a sausage roll.

  “Coffee, Almina?” Granddad poured a cup from the pot mum set beside him.

  Almina added milk and two spoons of sugar. “There are all sorts of interesting things in and around this old house. Have you seen the picture of Eorl Bosa on the third landing?”

  Peter stopped chewing. Almina’s smile didn’t waver. Peter shook his head.

  “Then I must show you. We’ll do it when you’ve finished, shall we?”

  Peter gave a quick nod and concentrated on eating. Like an exam at school when he didn’t know the answer to a question, Almina seemed to expect him to pass some sort of test, though he had no idea what that test might be about.

  Eorl Bosa, who wanted to marry Leonor - his picture in this house? It made more sense to have a picture of Oswald, or Leonor? They lived here once, not Eorl Bosa. He wanted to see the picture.

  Grandma brought a second plate of sausage rolls to the table. “Another one, Peter?”

  He mumbled, his mouth full. “No thanks.”

  Granddad pushed his chair back and stood. “We need to get clearing that path.”

  Almina pulled her coat around her and stood. “Just five minutes. I’ve hardly had any time with Peter. You’re hogging the boy all to yourselves and I do so want to get to know him.”