Woven in Amber Barry P Chantler

Crooked Robin

Crooked Robin hid at the edge of the clearing trying to ignore the shooting pains running up his arthritic leg. He fought to keep his attention on the small cage of willow strips that was propped up on a stick. Attached to the stick was a length of twine, which snaked beneath the leaves to his hand.

     It was only two days ago that Robin had first seen the faerie – a faint shimmer of gold against the base of the oak that disappeared in amongst the exposed roots. He saw it at the same time yesterday and set up a plan to catch it today.

     Despite his efforts to concentrate, his mind wandered.  Against his better judgement he’d told Jack the charcoal burner what he’d seen. Didn’t tell him where mind; told him to keep it secret. Robin gave a wry smile; he might as well have told everybody else first and saved Jack the trouble.

     The pain in his gimpy leg snatched back his attention and he shifted to ease it. Suddenly, a brief glimmer of gold light flashed across the clearing. Robin cursed as he snapped his attention back to the tree. The gold flicker had gone.

     Muttering oaths, Robin shifted his damn leg, his eyes watering with the pain. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve he stared back at the trap with the sinking feeling he’d missed the thing.

     A few moments passed then a sudden faint glimmer flashed at the base of the tree.

     Robin snatched the string, the trap fell.

     His body bitching with the effort Robin clambered up and across to the cage. Gold light flickered across the willow strips showing that, for the first time in his life, Robin’s luck had held. He’d captured the faerie.

     Robin leapt back and hopped round the forest clearing like a popinjay clapping his hands.

      ‘Too bad, too bad,’ he sang. ‘Good for Crooked Robin, too bad for the faerie.’

     He stopped to catch his breath then taking a flat piece of wood he lifted the cage just enough to slide the wood beneath. The faerie made a dash for the crack, but Robin was quicker and snapped the cage back down. Using some more twine he bound the edges of the wood to make a base.

     He lifted his prisoner from the ground. Inside, a ball of bright yellow flashed round, bouncing off the sides of the cage. He gathered the cage under his cloak, then picking up his staff, he hobbled away.

     Away from the tree, Robin stole a glance round. He had to be careful with his good fortune. A few outlaws turned up from time to time. These robbin' types tended to leave the forest folk alone. Not because they liked them, nor had any good in their black hearted souls but because the wooded folk had naught worth taking or any ransom they could afford.

     As he limped along he thought on his plan; or at least he made up a plan – he'd only thought things through to the point of catching the thing. As a man with his service bound to Lord Randall he owed his master at least a tenth of what he earned.

     Usually, Robin’s payment was never more than a pittance and Lord Randall was a good man despite the foul-mouthed curses that Jack the charcoal burner and Agnes the hedge witch placed on him. Randall charged them the full amount, but rarely asked old Robin for anything. If Robin kept the pixie to himself there was no reason for Lord Randall to hear of it, and no reason to give it up to him.

     The church on the other hand was a different matter. The snooping clergy were everywhere. The church insisted on their bit; more than happy to gather the few coins that Robin could never spare. For the good of his soul they said - for the good of their fat bellies more’s the like!

     Aye, the church could be a bit more troublesome; but Robin had no intention of giving those robbing priests his find. They can have their tenth of what he earned from the sprite and that was it!

     He thought back on Lord Randall. What this beauty could bring in – that could be enough to buy his freedom, to become a freeman and have some forest to call his own. Now that was a dream worth chasing.

     Robin gave a little skip and chuckled with delight at the prospect, and then pulled the willow cage a little closer under the cloak. He didn’t know how he was going to achieve his dream, but he knew the first thing to do – go and show off to Jack, his closest friend.

Jack the Charcoal Burner

Jack the charcoal burner was down on the Turnspit Lane, the main thoroughfare that cut through Middle Linton Wood. Here, Jack had several pits on the go producing charcoal that he sold to the iron furnaces at Millsgate. Ahead, the wood smoke soon became visible, drifting through the trees. The smoke blew in Robin’s direction and it wasn't long before he was choking.

     Robin left the wood and stepped out onto the muddy lane. On seeing him, Jack waved towards a makeshift shack that stood off to one side of the charcoal pit.

     ‘Hail Robin, ye lazy arse,’ Jack greeted him once they’d both arrived at the shed. His face and clothes were filthy with smoke; his hair long and lank. He had a flat nose and several missing teeth.

     Robin cast his eyes up and down the track - empty - good. He turned back to Jack, was about to say something, when Jack interrupted.

     ‘Well, I don’t know what ye’ve been up to Robin but I’m a needing more wood fer me kiln. So where is it?’

     ‘The other foresters no supplying anything, Jack?’ Robin returned.

     ‘Them wasters, what dy’a think?’

     Robin was about to say what he did think when Jack turned away from him. Robin became agitated. Did he not realise that he had something very important to show him!

     His annoyance was short lived when Jack said, ‘Dy’a want some ale, Robin? I’ve got some of Elisa’s brew here.’

     Jack didn't wait on a reply and after blowing out the crud from the bottom of two beakers poured out a mug of ale for the both of them.

     He turned and handed it to Robin, and for the first time seemed to notice that Robin had something hidden under his woollen cloak.

     ‘What ya got there then,’ Jack said.

     His eyes sparkling, Robin laid down his staff, grabbed the beaker with his free hand, took a gulp and winced; the ale was cheap and tasted it. He placed the beaker down on a makeshift wooden platform.

     ‘Ye prepare to chew on yer words, Jack me lad,’ Robin said. ‘Ye remember what I said I’d seen t’ other day?’

     Jacks grin faded into a frown ‘Yer no’ still going on about faeries and the like?’

     ‘Sure am,’ Robin announced and pulling away his cloak with a flourish he displayed the wicker cage. In the dull of the shack the yellow glow from within was clearly visible.

     Jack’s face fell even more, and he bent down to move his face closer. From inside the cage came a sound like an angry wasp.

     He studied the cage for a few moments and frowned with incomprehension. Robin waited until Jack’s face turned to one of amazed comprehension. Jack took in a deep breath.

     His pale eyes shifted up at Robin. ‘This ain't nay good Robin; you shouldn't be messing round with these fey things.’

     Robin, disappointed with the reaction, placed the cage on the bench.

     ‘Well, I expected more I must say. I told yer there were faeries in the wood and I would catch me one, didn’t I. Well’, he waved at the cage, ‘Here it be! See, ol' Robin wasn’ lying after all was he?’

     Jack lifted himself up to look Robin full in the face. ‘Well, yer no telling untruths I’ll give yer that, but Robin, tae catch one of the little folk, that’s gotta be bad luck that ‘as.’

     Robin became indignant. ‘I told yer I’d seen one of the little folk, and that I’d catch it. What dy’a think I’m gonna do, let it go again?’

     Jack pulled up a meaty hand to push at some of the grime covering his whiskers.

     Just then one of his daughters, Jennet, came running into the shack. She stopped in her tracks on seeing the cage and scratched at her tangled yellow hair. She had crooked teeth that spoiled an otherwise pretty face.

     ‘What’s that, Da?’

     ‘Out,’ Jack ordered. Jennet didn't shift at first, just stayed rooted staring at the cage. Jack moved at her with his arm raised. ‘I said get!’

     Jennet gave the cage one final glance then ran back out the door.

     ‘And make sure yer finish that stacking before yer come back in again!’ Jack shouted after her.

     He turned back saying, ‘won’t be long fer everyone knows what ye’ve got here, Robin, I cannae see how any good’s gonna come out of it.’

     Robin smiled. ‘Then best start thinking with yer head rather than yer backside, Jack,’ he said. ‘What d’ya think I’m planning tae do with this lil’ beauty?’

     The gormless look on Jack’s face told Robin he didn't have a clue.

     Robin spelt it out ‘Do yer realise how much folk will pay tae see one o' the little people?’

     Jack looked puzzled for a moment, then the clouds lifted and a great beaming smile split his dirty face.

     ‘I see watcha mean precisely,’ he said. He looked down at the cage and rubbed at his stubble. ‘Aye, this could be a real earner.’

     ‘More than that Jack, this here is me freedom.’

     Jack gave him a look of self-interest. ‘Now don’ you be forgetting yer best mate will ye, Robin?’

     Robin took a big draught of lousy ale, draining the beaker. He held it out for a refill, which Jack did with unhidden eagerness.

     Robin pulled back the beaker and clapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘Of course I won’t Jack, me mate, I’m happy for us tae venture together. Reckon there will be enough fer the two of us.’

     Jack bent back down to squint into the cage. ‘Still,’ he said. ‘I reckon ye ought tae be careful. What dy’a reckons yer got here? Don’t look like any faerie tae me.’

     Robin blew indignant. ‘What you on about. How many faeries you seen? Besides, what else could it be?’

     Jack blew out a breath. ‘Don’t be so sure Robin – there be other things. My old Da reckoned these forests were full of goblins, elves and the like - dark folk that be evil in their ways and spiteful to those that cross their path.’

     ‘Your old Da never had his face out of the beer trough,’ Robin responded.

     Jack stood up, his hand retracing its path across his stubble. His eyes lit up with an idea. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I reckon ye need to find out what it is yer got, see if you should keep it. Why don’t cha take it over to Ma Payne’s place?’

     It was Robin’s turn to pull at his chin. ‘You know that’s nae such a bad ploy. Take it tae the hedge witch. Aye, she’ll know what this is. How we gonna keep her quiet ‘bout it though?’

     ‘Easy, you cross her palm.’

     Robin guffawed. ‘Don’t be daft. I ain’t even got a farthing to rub between me codlings.’

     ‘Then I guess you’re just gonna have to offer a cut of yer makings. Worth it I’d say. Find out fer sure what this thing be.’

     Robin nodded in thought, then making a decision he said, ‘yer right, Jack. That’s what I’ll do.'

     He picked up the cage ‘Yer coming?’

     Jack nodded. ‘Aye, sure am. It was obvious that Jack had no intention of letting this piece of potential good fortune out of his sight, not at the moment anyway.

Agnes the Hedge Witch

Even though the church had a stranglehold on people’s souls and even more, on their pockets, there were a few folk who still practised the old ways. With the real possibility of being tortured and burnt at the stake they practised in secret. Agnes Payne, the hedge witch, kept the ancient festivals sacred; continued to worship the sun, the moon, and nature spirits.

     She was the local wise woman and her knowledge of herb lore and folk tales was unsurpassed. No less than Lord Randall himself sent men to obtain a cure for some ailment bothering him. According to some, even priests had been seen pulling back the curtain, though always late at night when none could see them. Then again, according to others, that might have been for more than just a few potions.

     Agnes lived in a small cottage at the northern edge of the forest. Even travelling as swift as possible it still took Robin and Jack an hour to reach the place where the trees fizzled out and the forest gave way to a patchwork of fields and meadows beyond.

     The cottage stood off the lane and looked much like most other paupers dwellings - a single story whitewashed façade constructed around a simple wooden structure; the roof thatched with straw.

     A dilapidated post and rail fence marked out a courtyard of mud containing a few scrawny chickens and an even scrawnier pig. The pig, muddy up to its neck and munching on a crab apple, observed them with a beady black eye as they crossed the yard. A sackcloth curtain formed the doorway to the cottage. Jack pulled the curtain back to peer inside.

     A voice from behind made them jump.

     ‘What you pair be wanting then?’

     They turned to see Agnes staring at them from the other side of the yard. A thick set woman of old age, her tanned and wrinkled face held dark eyes of sharp wit. She stood with the hem of her skirt turned up. She released it to drop a load of bright yellow and red crab apples on the ground and rubbed her fat hands together.

      ‘Suppose you two would like some ale?’ she said.

     Robin and Jack nodded.

     ‘Suppose neither of you have any money?’ 

     Robin and Jack nodded.

     Agnes sighed, rubbed her hands on her gown to loosen some of the grime on them. ‘I've got some dregs from the last batch; yer can have what’s left.’ She walked towards her house saying ‘Roger Carpenter reckoned it made him sick, but there’s naught wrong with it.’ She lifted back the curtain and went in. From the house, there came the sounds of a jug clinking on beakers.

     ‘Well, not much wrong with it anyways,’ came Agnes’s voice from behind the curtain.

     She returned with two mugs, each filled with a brown muddy liquid. Taking Robin’s staff, she handed out the ale. Robin gave the beer a cautious sniff - it smelt as if the pig had added an extra ingredient. He followed this with an even more cautious taste. He was sure he’d had worse, though couldn’t remember when. Still, it was free and he forced it down.

     ‘I've some fresh stuff fer myself,’ Agnes said disappearing back behind the curtain. She soon reappeared with a large green glazed beaker with small pottery gargoyles peering from the lip. She took a drink then gave the bulge beneath Robin’s cloak a pointed look.

     ‘Well, either you’re expectin’ a baby, which would be strange as you’d have to have impregnated yerself, or you’ve summat to show me.’

     Robin handed Jack the beaker, then with a flourish pulled back his cloak to reveal his willow lattice cage. He pulled the cage up to Agnes’s face. She frowned for a few moments trying to work out what the thing was buzzing about inside.

     Then her eyes sprouted wide, her jaw fell slack, her tanned face went pale. The beaker fell from her hand to splodge into the soft mud. She leapt back as if the thing had bitten her. Wrapping her arm across her chest, she turned her astonishment back to Robin.

     ‘What in the bloody blue blazes have ye got there?’ she hissed.

     Jack answered for them. ‘Surely, you’ve heard the talk round here old woman, surely heard that Crooked Robin ‘ere had seen summat in the forest? Well, he’s gone and caught that thing and we needs to know what it is.’

     Agnes stared at Jack, her mouth opening and closing like a caught fish. Then she managed to gain some composure. She kicked at a few chickens that had gathered round her feet and turned back to her house. ‘You’d better bring it inside,’ she muttered.

     It took them a few moments to adjust to the low lighting inside the cottage. The room had two ladder-back chairs and a rough-hewn oak table on which lay bunches of dried herbs. A large wooden barrel took up one corner – that was where the brewing took place. The house smelt of a heady mixture of ale and herbs.

     Agnes waved them in saying, ‘put it on the table.’

     Robin did as instructed and stepped away. The creature in the cage had stopped buzzing and now lay in one far corner, where it pulsated with a bright yellow glow.

     The three of them pushed their faces up against the cage. In the dark of the house, it was just possible to make out two slender arms, long slender legs and tumbling hair. It still wasn't possible to make out features on the face or body.

     Agnes stood up, her face ashen.

     ‘You have tae take it back where ye found it, Robin; ye have tae let it go.’

      ‘Take it back,’ Robin said. A look of incomprehension spread across his face. ‘But, this…this be me good fortune…me freedom…’

     ‘What be this thing in the cage then, Agnes?’ Jack asked.

     Agnes shook her head saying, ‘nothing but bad luck and a sorry doing, if ye ask me.’ She looked back at the cage and backed away. ‘You've nae business with it, the pair of yers.’

     ‘Me good fortune…me freedom,’ Robin grumbled.

     Agnes ignored him and spoke to Jack.

     ‘As fer what it is - well it could be one of the faerie folk as it has wings, and you can’t see Woodsprites, well not supposed to anyways.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Could be pixie, could be elf, could be faerie, not goblin, not dwarf. At best guess pixie I’d say.’

     Robin looked at her ‘Nae good you say.’

     She spun round at him. ‘Aye, that’s right. It be bloody dangerous, Robin. You’re naught but a damned fool to catch this thing. Take it back to where ye found it, and let it go.’

     Jack tried again ‘So dangerous then ye say? How bad be that then?’

     Agnes tutted in annoyance and shook her head. ‘You know what they say about pixies don’ yer?’

     Both Jack and Robin shook their heads.

     ‘Pixies,’ Agnes continued, reciting something she learned from her mother as a child, ‘small, enchanting, beautiful, but utterly capable of destroying your life. Whatever you do never, ever cross a pixie.’

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