but fearful that the sounds might have aroused sleeping servants, he had no choice but to heave the priest's body back over his shoulder and stagger as fast as he could to the gate. He abandoned caution for speed; if Hugh was watching now Raffe couldn't bluff his way out of this one. His only hope was to reach the boat before Hugh could rouse his men and get to the gate.
At the bank of the river he sank to his knees, thankfully dropping the body to the ground. He gave the owl call to summon the boy. At first there was no answer, then he called again and this time a peewit cry answered. Almost at once he saw the dark smudge of the boat emerging from the lee of the islet.
'What happened?' the boy asked fearfully, catching sight of the body on the grass. 'Is he dead?'
'He lives. He's just fainted,' Raffe assured him.
'Fainted?' The boy prodded the body cautiously with his bare toe, as if he'd never heard of such a thing before, for the marsh-dwellers are a hardy lot and not given to swooning like milk-sop priests.
Raffe unceremoniously heaved the priest into the boat. Trying to find something with which to revive the man, Raffe reached for the basket of food he'd left with the boy. All that remained was the flagon of wine, and then only because the lad was unused to it and couldn't abide the taste, as he told Raffe, wrinkling up his nose. Between them, they managed to pour a little wine down the priest's throat, which at least made him open his eyes, though it nearly choked him.
Raffe glanced behind him towards the manor. All was quiet save for the rushing water of the river, no sounds of pursuit. Yet with Hugh on the prowl, Raffe dared not be found absent from the gate.
'I can't come with you, lad. You'll have to take him alone to the meeting place. There's an old jetty downstream of here by the Fisher's Inn. There'll be a boat waiting there with two men in it. Give them this as a sign.' Into the boy's grubby palm Raffe tipped the token Talbot had entrusted to him. 'And this,' he said handing the boy a small purse, 'is payment for the men who wait for you downstream. They'll know what to do. Can you scull him there yourself? It's not far.'
'Course I can,' the boy replied with disdain, 'but what about him? He's moon-mazed, he is.'
The priest lay curled up on the bottom of the boat, staring unblinkingly up at the sky, his teeth chattering with shock and cold. He was muttering to himself over and over, Sed libera nos — deliver us! Though it seemed he could remember no more of the prayer.
The boy eyed him warily. 'Suppose he attacks me or tries to jump from the boat? There was a man on our isle once got mazed by the boggarts and ran out into the mire though he'd lived on the marsh all his life and knew the mire would swallow him.'
'Just get him to the men. If he stirs, give him the rest of the wine. That'll calm him.'
The boy still looked doubtful, but he finally nodded and, taking a firm grip of his scull as if he meant to crack the priest across the head with it at the first sign of trouble, he steered the boat out into the centre of the river. In only a few strokes the boat had slid into the darkness and was gone.
Three Days before the New Moon,
August 1211
Bracken - When bracken is grown to its full height, if it be cut across near the base, marks will be found on the stem. Some mortals believe these to be the letters signifying Christ, others the Devil's hoof print, and some find therein the initials of those they are to marry. At Midsummer the root of the bracken may be dug up, carved into the likeness of a hand and baked till it shrivels. Mortals call it Dead man's hand and use it to ward off the power of witches and demons.
The seeds from the bracken will enable the gatherer to summon any living creature, beast or human, from the earth, air or water. The seeds also render the gatherer invisible if he should swallow them or place them in his shoe. A parcel of seed plaited into a horse's mane will make horse and rider invisible to