The Silver Skull

CHAPTER 13

ranches tore at Will's face and brambles ripped at his ankles as he crashed through the trees in search of the watcher. It was cool in the twilit world, the trees so densely packed in the ancient forest that he could barely see more than ten feet ahead. After a moment, he came to a halt against a twisted oak and listened intently. Only the sighing of the wind reached his ears.

After a moment's hesitation, he picked his way back along the trail he had made. It would be too dangerous to go any deeper. Near-impenetrable in parts, the Forest of Arden sprawled for mile upon mile across the Warwickshire countryside and was home to bands of cutthroats and robbers.

In the high summer heat, jenny sat on the grassy slope falling away from the forest's edge, the whole of their world spread before her. She greeted him with a wry smile. "Starting at shadows again," she teased.

Will was caught by a moment of pure clarity. Her dress, the blue of forget-me- nots, the tumble of her brown hair across her shoulders, features more delicate than all the other village girls, green eyes more intelligent, the faintly quizzical nature of her smile. Some element, or combination of elements, brought forth an acute awareness of the tumble of time: from the moment the tomboy pushed him into the pond on the green when he was ten, through the fights and the arguments, the slow surfacing of respect, emotions and perceptions shifting and coalescing across the seasons. At no point would he ever have predicted it would lead here, now. But it had.

"Some of the girls hereabouts dream of a valiant protector who would fling themselves into danger at the slightest provocation. " He sniffed archly.

"Then you should seek them out. "

Lounging languorously next to her, he feigned aloofness, but his gaze was continually drawn back to the trees and the shadows that lay among them. Someone had been watching them.

"Though I am now filled with confusion," she mused. "I thought I was stepping out with a poet. Who, in recent times, had also found fame in the debating chambers of the university at Cambridge. A scholar, and a dreamer. A writer of beautiful sonnets mapping the landscape of his heart."

"A man can be many things, Jenny."

"You would not hurt a fly," she said, laughing. She toyed absently with the locket at her throat.

"What do you keep in there?"

"A fresh rose petal every day during the summer. To remind me of my one true love. "

"He is a lucky man."

"He is. I hope he knows it."

Excitement and nervousness fought within him. Everything was changing quickly. Good fortune had brought the patron to his door, and it now seemed certain his poetry would be published. At first there would only be a small stipend, but his future appeared assured and he could finally consider marriage.

With his hands behind his head, he pretended to watch the clouds, while eyeing her surreptitiously. Was this the right time to ask her?

She cuffed him on the arm. "I can see you watching me," she said.

"Making sure you are safe. "

"I need no man to keep me safe." She arched one eyebrow at him. "You should know that by now, Will Swyfte. "

He did. She was strong-willed and independent, fearless in the way she lived her life, and she kept the men of the village at bay with a quick wit that left them slackjawed. Many of the locals found her hard to handle, but those were just the qualities that had drawn Will to her.

He weighed telling her of his intentions, and then decided it would wait until the afternoon. He wanted to ensure the moment was perfect, shaped like a sonnet to capture the emotion for all time, and soon she would be away to help Grace prepare lunch for their mother.

"When does your father return from his business in Kenilworth?" he asked.

She eyed him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. "

"Well, Master Without-Reason, I must be away to my chores. Let us meet again in an hour. And I will give you my opinion on your latest sonnet, should you require it."

"As always. "

She surprised him with a kiss on the forehead. "My heart is yours," she whispered. And then she was gone.

He spent the next few minutes planning the proposal in his head, and then fell asleep beneath a rowan tree, confident in the knowledge that there would be no bigger day in his life.

When he awoke, it was afternoon and the countryside was held beneath a languid heat. Afraid he was late, he hurried down the baked track towards Jenny s house. The wind stirred the golden sea of corn into gentle waves that rippled around the hedgerows, where clouds of butterflies fluttered over the meadow fescue and birdsfoot trefoil. Birdsong and the drone of bees wove a languorous accompaniment to a day for lazy walks, not momentous events.

Across the field, he could just make out the thatched roof, and beyond it the dense, dark wall of the Forest of Arden stretching as far as the eye could see. Jenny's mother would undoubtedly be tending the garden with Grace at her side after the morning's chores had been completed. And Jenny would be free to spend the afternoon with him.

His thoughts of a lifetime with Jenny, and of writing, of love and art, were interrupted by the sound of her voice calling his name. On the far side of the field, she pushed her way through the corn towards him, smiling and waving, the blue of her dress sharp against the gold. Her face was filled with the joy of seeing him. There was something so perfect in that image he was sure it would stay with him always.

Climbing the stile, he set off across the field to meet her halfway. Before he had taken ten paces into the crop, the black clouds of a summer storm swirled out of nowhere in a sudden blast of wind. Puzzled by the strange phenomenon, he paused to watch the clouds sweeping towards the sun, wondering why the image troubled him so.

Within a moment, it had grown almost as dark as night. Disoriented by the buffeting gale, Will was shocked by a crack of thunder directly overhead, and then the clouds dissipated as quickly as they had arrived.

With the sun blazing once more, he returned his attention to the cornfield and prepared to hurry on to Jenny. Yet she was nowhere to be seen. He came to a slow halt and looked around the rolling, golden waves.

Playing a game, he thought with a smile. No one took such joy in teasing him.

"You cannot hide from me," he called. "I will find you."

She had ducked down below the level of the corn and was circling to surprise him from behind.

Calling her name, he ploughed a furrow through the swaying gold, but when he reached the point where he had last seen her, he came to another puzzled halt. Her trail was clear through the corn to her house. But there was no sign of any other path leading off. He knelt down to examine the stems of the corn, but none had been bent or broken.

His heart began to beat faster, still without truly realising why. Jenny was playful, and clever, he told himself, trying to find an answer to the puzzle.

He searched around the area, but when he glanced back he saw a confusion of his own furrows crisscrossing the corn. It was impossible to move without leaving a trail. But Jenny had left none.

He called her name loudly. He tried to call brightly, but he could hear the edge of desperation in his voice.

Only the sighing of the wind returned, as it had in the forest. A feeling of unaccountable dread descended on him. Jenny was gone.

Turning slowly, he tried to find answers that would not come, and after a moment he heard himself whispering, "I will find you. "