Page 23 of Wed By Proxy

She laughed. “Oh very well, but only because you called me by my boy’s name.”

He grinned, and Mathilde made haste to follow him. As they hurried on, she looked about with interest to see if she could spot the jay who was calling through the trees. Doubtless he was retrieving some acorns he’d buried in the autumn, but even though she kept a sharp look out, she could not catch sight of the buff feathers or flash of white on the rump that often gave the bird away. She was surprised he could hide so successfully among the bare trees.

“I swear I caught a glimpse of her skirts…” Robin muttered, or “Just there!” whenever Mathilde suggested he must have lost sight of their quarry.

“What was she wearing?”

“A sort of pale blue,” said Robin. “Or maybe gray.”

They had been walking a good twenty minutes when Mathilde caught sight of the large raven watching them with interest from a nearby oak tree. As she watched him, he tipped his head to one side, opened his beak and emitted the jay’s haunting scream. “Oh!” she said aloud.

“Do you see her?” asked Robin, wheeling about.

“That raven,” said Mathilde. “He’s impersonating a jay.”

Robin screwed his eyes up, waiting for the raven to do it again, but the bird merely returned their gaze impartially. “Everyone knows ravens are tricky,” he said at last.

“But he let me see he was doing it,” Mathilde answered. “I wonder why.”

Robin gave a startled yelp. “Look!” He pointed to a curl of smoke to the left of the Raven’s oak. “There must be a dwelling nearby.” The raven nodded indulgently. “Come on!”

Mathilde shivered and tried to shake off the unnerved feeling stealing over her. With one last glance at the raven, she followed after Robin, setting her own feet directly in his footprints in the snow.

The curling smoke came from a chimney set in a curious shack of stone and mud, with a thatched roof. They came upon it suddenly, as though the clearing sprang up out of nowhere, but in fact, the cottage was set on the very edge of the wood next to a small stream. In truth, if it had been placed in a village or hamlet, surrounded by other similar houses, it would not have seemed unusual at all. It was the location alone that made it startling.

“Look!” whispered Robin hoarsely, but Mathilde had already spotted the flash of faded blue at the window. In the next instant the wooden door opened and an upright woman with long hair of iron gray stood in the entrance. She was dressed in a woolen gown which would once have been blue, but had been washed so many times since that it was now an indeterminate shade somewhere between blue and gray. Flakes of snow still clung to her skirts and she wore no mantle or cloak to guard her against the bitter cold. Without a word, she turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door open for them. While Mathilde hesitated, Robin took the unspoken invitation and followed her inside.

“Wait for me!” Mathilde hurried after them, shutting the door behind her. Inside the shack, Mathilde had to take a moment to adjust her eyes from the dazzling snow outside, to the gloom within. To her surprise, Mathilde found there was a cow standing sedately against one wall, and several chickens scratching around on the dirt floor around her. “Oh excuse me,” she murmured to a little black hen who was staring up at her beadily.

“Light me a fire, boy,” the old woman said suddenly, making Mathilde jump. She had sat so still, Mathilde had not caught sight of her at first. She sat cross-legged next to a hearth which was in the center of the room and comprised of a large metal bowl on three legs. Over this stood three poles lashed together with a pot hanging down from them on a chain. Mathilde was startled to see nothing but cold ash within the bowl. What had caused the plume of smoke then, that had caught their attention from the wood? She darted a look at Robin, but he seemed to find nothing amiss with the woman’s request, and was already hurrying outside to fetch twigs and branches for her fire. “Come child and sit beside me, here,” the old woman continued, and patted the floor next to her.

“Should I not help gather some wood for the fire?” Mathilde asked, but the old woman shook her head. Mindful not to seem ungrateful to her hospitality, Mathilde crossed the floor to join her, and sank down onto the floor next to her. “I hope you do not mind our intrusion. My friend caught sight of you in the wood and we followed.”

A shadow passed over the already darkened room, and Mathilde gasped as something blocked the only available light from a small window. A loud swoosh was heard and a flutter of feathers, and in the next instant the large raven sat on the old woman’s shoulder.

“Just in time for introductions,” cackled the old woman. “Though it seems you have already met Tancred?”

“Oh yes, in the wood,” said Mathilde, gazing on the blue-black glossy plumage. The bird stared fixedly at the far wall, refusing to acknowledge their acquaintanceship. “I am Mathilde, and very pleased to meet you.” The bird’s eye darted to her a second before he looked away. “Tancred. That’s a very handsome name.”

“Don’t mind him,” wheezed the old woman. “He’s always standoffish at first. I am called Old Helga in these parts.” She made a curious gesture, placing her thumb on her chin and touching her index finger to the tip of her nose. Mathilde was not familiar with the salute, but did her best to replicate it. The old woman gave a delighted chuckle. “You have other names?” she asked, turning her head to look at Mathilde with interest.

Other names? Mathilde flushed with embarrassment. Was that what the action meant? But after all, did she not? She had travelled for almost a month under a boy’s alias and was on her third married name. “Oh yes,” she said quickly, recovering herself. “I have had at least four.”

The old woman nodded appreciatively, her eyes darting over Mathilde’s face. “The magpies foretold your coming two days ago,” she muttered dreamily, almost as though to herself. “For a moment, I thought I saw four for a boy. My old eyes played tricks on me, for when I looked again there were only three. Three for a girl.”

Mathilde started in surprise. “I was dressed as a boy,” she confided in a rush. “So, that would be why you saw four at first.”

“Is that so?” Helga asked, looking completely unruffled by this news. “Doubtless, you had your reasons.” She nodded sagely and for some reason, her total lack of curiosity put Mathilde immediately at ease. Rob entered the shack with an armful of branches and set about laying out the fire. Mathilde and Old Helga sat in companionable silence until the flames caught. Mathilde noticed a cat creep forward out of the shadows to get closer to the source of warmth. She sat up straight, her tail whisking, but as the larger logs started to spit and flare, she closed her eyes and seemed to settle, hunkering down onto her belly. In one corner, a goat bleated, making Mathilde jump. Her eyes could make out a heap of hay or straw in another corner, but she wasn’t sure if that was the old woman’s bedding, or food for the livestock.

“I’ll chop you some logs before we leave, Granny,” Rob said politely and settled down beside them. “Your stores are low.”

Helga nodded. “Good boy.” She rearranged herself, so that she hugged her bony knees and stared into the flames.

“Have you no blanket for your shoulders, Granny?” Rob asked, glancing around. “You must be cold. Your dress is likely damp from the snow.”

Old Helga looked surprised. “Cold? Not I. I have too many companions to be cold.”

Mathilde glanced at the hem of the old woman’s dress, and was astonished to see that the white flecks she had taken for snow, in fact were a woven pattern in the fabric. A slight movement to her right made her turn her head and to her shock a large gray wolf sat there silently, staring into the flames. She gave a stifled exclamation, and saw Rob reached for his knife, only to find he did not have it. The wolf flicked him a contemptuous glance from his fierce yellow eyes.