Corrag. Susan Fletcher

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СКАЧАТЬ went deeper in. What else might we do? Don’t come back said Cora, and north-and-west. So we went deeper in.

      It rained. It was drip drip drip from the branches, and suck suck from her hooves in the mud. We sheltered by upturned trees, or in a ruined cottage which was only mossy stones. And for eating we ate what we found – fir cones, and tree-roots. Berries. I took ants from tree-barks with my thumb, whispered sorry to them, ate them up. One day I fell upon some mushrooms which swelled like froth from the cleft of a log and I picked them, roasted them in garlick leaves and it was a meal of sorts. It tasted like Hexham – a man had sold them there and we’d bought a penny’s worth, Cora and me, and gobbled them. So I thought of her as I ate them. The mare ate dead-nettle and moss.

      They were dark and wet days. When I think on them I think sad, and dark, and wet.

      I did light fires, sometimes. It was hard, in all that dampness, to light one that didn’t hiss or smoke blackly – but I did it once or twice. Once, we found a clearing that had a stream in it, and moss of such bright greenness that it glowed. There, by my fire, I unfolded Cora’s purse. I laid them out, on rocks. There were hundreds of them – all tied with string, all with different natures and smells and properties. Some were fresh, and still soft. Others seemed so old that they powdered to my touch, and I wondered if she’d found them when she was much younger – in her own wandering times.

      I thought some herbs might be older than me.

      Mallow, chervil, golden rod.

      Campion and eyebright – which is rare, but worth looking for. It brightens eyes exceedingly.

      I gathered them up, one by one. I folded them into my mother’s cloth purse, and fastened it, and I said these are her whole life’s gatherings to the mare, who listened carefully. So did the trees, and the gold-green moss.

      I put the purse under my cloak, to keep it safe.

      Then the mare reared. She whinnied.

      Then I heard a bird go flap flap flap so I turned my head, thinking what is…?

      And I was grabbed.

      I was grabbed very roughly, with an arm on my throat so I could not breathe – I could not breathe for the arm was so strong and I kicked, and grappled with it. The horse snorted. That bird went flap.

      I could not breathe at all. My eyes sprang tears, and the arm lifted me clean up so my feet were off the ground and I had a small, cold moment where I thought I will die here – but then I thought no I will not. I was cross. I tried to scratch the arm but my fingernails were bitten so I reached behind to feel for this man’s face or ears or hair. I found his hair. I pulled it very hard, which did nothing, so I fumbled with his face and found his eyes. I pushed my thumbs right in. Eyes are soft. It felt like they burst under my thumbs and there was a yell, a holler, and he dropped me. I scrabbled away and heaved in air.

      He wailed my eyes my eyes!

      The mare squealed, and I coughed thickly. The man moaned my eyes are bleeding, she’s blinded me – and so I knew he was not alone. I turned. Three of them. Three more men came out of the darkness like thoughts, but I knew they were real – they were muddied and strong-smelling, and in jerkins of such thin leather and so laden up with rusted blades and ropes that I thought I know your kind…I remembered. I saw a frosty morning. I saw five ropes swinging.

      I stared at them. I looked at each face as I crept back towards the mare – one had a plum-coloured face like he was half-burnt, and he beckoned to me.

       Give us your purse and we’ll not harm you.

      I shook my head. I was keeping Cora’s herbs for always – for all my life.

       We saw it. Give us your money.

      I said I have no money.

      He spat into a nettle bush. He stepped towards me more. No one travels with no money. Then he took a dirk out and growled again your purse. I heard his tongue’s accent which was Scotch – I knew it well enough from pedlars on the roads who’d beckoned me. I’d bought a silver mirror from a Scotchman once because it was so pretty and Mother Pindle saw me do so. She’d spat out the word Scotchman like it was whore or plague.

       I have no money!

      He smiled quickly, like I was a joke to him. Then he came at me, lifted me right up and pushed me back against a tree. He struggled with me, seeking my purse so harshly that my teeth rattled, and I roared at him, and smacked his head.

      Ha he said, finding it. Cora’s purse.

      He tugged it free and opened it, and out they went – radish, dock, lovage, fennel, comfrey, elderflower, sage. All over the forest floor.

      I cried out. I dropped to my knees to gather them. It was like my mother was sprawled on the floor too, and for a while there was silence – just me saying no no no…

       Take her horse, then.

      I screamed. I ran to the mare who was head-up and walking backwards, not liking this at all. I grabbed her mane but some Mossman had my leg so I could not mount her and the mare tried to carry me off, good girl. But the man had my boot, so I was stretched like on a rack and the ground was lying under me, and I knew I could not hold the mare much longer. I also knew that if I let go they would take her so I screamed I’ll curse you all! I will summon the Devil and he’ll not like this at all!

      Well that was a fine trick.

      They let me go like I was on fire. I hit the ground, scrambled to my feet and turned with my back to the mare and my arms stretched out like I was hiding her from them, keeping her safe. These four men could only stare at me – or rather three did, for the fourth was still crouching and saying my eyes. I slowed my breath, stared back. It was like all the forest had heard me, all the birds and insects, and I thought then, too late, that maybe saying witch-like things was foolish. I was running from witch-haters, and there were no doubt plenty more in this country. Rats can cross walls, after all. But it was said now. It was done.

       Witch?

      They looked at each other.

      They looked down at the herbs, understanding them now.

      There was a small hush, so I heard all our breathing and the rain going drip. Then they muttered in their own Scotch words. They looked on me for such a long time I felt hot, awkward.

      I didn’t say yes I am – for I’ve never called my own self witch. I held my tongue and scratched the mare’s neck how she likes, to calm her.

       How old are you?

      I pouted. I was cross because they’d troubled her and because they’d made Cora’s herbs fall out of her purse, and now they were treading on them, which was a proper waste and sadness.

      This winter will be my sixteenth I said.

       What’s your business?

      What’s yours? СКАЧАТЬ