The Holy Innocents

With a shock, I realized that I had no idea where I was going.

For the last few miles, I had simply walked without any sense of purpose or direction. My one thought was to get as far away as possible from Totnes. Now, finally coming to my senses, I knew by the position of the sun that I must have been travelling north-westwards and would eventually arrive – if I returned to, and followed, the course of the river – at the great Cistercian abbey of Buckfast. If I reached there before nightfall, I could sleep in the guest-hall or, if it were full with more important travellers, in one of the abbey barns.

After walking some way further, I emerged into a broad ride where, to my right, I caught a distant gleam of water among the trees. I followed it to the river’s edge, and found myself once again among the small settlements and holdings stretched along the banks of the Dart. A narrow ribbon of track threaded them all together, and I walked until I discovered a likely looking cottage with a well-stocked vegetable patch, a fat pig rootling and snorting in its sty, and an equally fat and contented cow in the field behind it. Moreover, a comfortably rotund and well-fleshed goodwife was tending her herb garden. Here, without doubt, there would be food in plenty, and enough to spare for a passing stranger.

I was not disappointed, and was soon seated with my back against the wall of the cottage, a plate of bread, cheese and small, green leeks on my lap, a cup of ale on the bench beside me, while my hostess went eagerly through what remained of the contents of my pack. From the open kitchen doorway came the smell of slow-burning peat, warming the big earthenware pans of milk until the rich, thick clots of cream rose to the surface.

‘Have you been troubled by the outlaws this far north?’ I asked after several minutes of companionable silence. ‘They’re hunting all around Totnes.’

The goodwife’s face clouded with anxiety. ‘So we’ve heard,’ she answered, ‘but as yet we’ve seen nothing of them, God be praised! It’s lawless times we live in, that’s for certain. And what are the Sheriff and his men doing, I’d like to know! Enough pence go into their coffers to keep the highways and byways clear of such evil, if they would only get up from their fat backsides and risk their precious hides now and then. How much for this leather strap? I need a new one for sharpening my knives.’

‘You may have it as payment for my meal,’ I told her, and when she demurred that such simple victuals were no more than she would provide for any wayfarer like myself, I insisted, adding, ‘The lord Sheriff’s been sent for from Exeter by Mayor Broughton, and he’s expected to raise a posse to ride after these devils, and root them out. They struck twice last night, towards Dartington and along the banks of Bow Creek. There was a holding burned to the ground in the latter spot, and a man killed, charred to a cinder, as he slept.’

The goodwife clucked in dismay. ‘My man’s away to pasture, with the sheep. I hope he’s safe.’

‘You’ve nothing to fear in daylight,’ I assured her. ‘That’s when the wolf-heads go to their lair and sleep.’ And I finished my ale.

She brought me another stoup and some pastry coffins, containing apple and honey, together with a clot of fresh cream, before returning to tend her herbs.

‘Sit there as long as you wish, lad. You won’t bother me.’ And she bent once more over the plants, her fingers expertly plucking out the weeds from among them.

I took her at her word. The food and ale had made me sleepy, and the afternoon sun was still warm on my face. I stretched my legs their full length, settled my back more comfortably against the wall and closed my eyes. The varied scents of spring teased my nostrils, and for several long minutes I let my thoughts drift, relaxed and filled with contentment.

This mood did not last, however. Conscience pricked me about Grizelda. I had reacted with unnecessary harshness to her teasing. Most likely she had not meant what she said, and at a time when I should have offered sympathy and understanding, after the loss of her home and the death of Innes Woodsman, I had chosen to be angry with her. Why? Because, whether she believed my story or not, I felt guilty at leaving her to her fate when I suspected she might be in some danger? Because I had needed an excuse to be on my way, having suddenly grown tired and confused with a tangle of facts and events which I found impossible to unravel? It had seemed to me earlier in the day that God Himself was telling me that I was mistaken, that He had not directed my feet towards Totnes, that there was no mystery concerning the disappearance of Andrew and Mary Skelton. They had managed to escape unseen from both house and town and had been killed by the outlaws. But I realized now that I had deliberately deluded myself. In the sweet silence of the warm afternoon, with a quiet mind and a body at rest, God’s voice race again made itself heard, urging me to retrace my footsteps. I sighed, but for the moment stayed where I was, trying to get my reluctant thoughts in order.