The Forest Read Online Free Page A

‘It’s like a spiral seashell in the middle of the Forest,’ Walter had told her. ‘There’s no escape.’
    Though cruelly efficient, it conjured up an image in her mind that was magical and strangely mysterious.
    They began to descend a slope towards a wood. On her right, she heard a skylark singing and looked up at the pale-blue sky to find it. As she did so, she realized Walter was speaking to her. ‘The trouble with you,’ she heard him start, before she closed her mind to the sound of his voice.
    There was always so much the matter with her, according to Walter. ‘You should try to walk more elegantly,’ he would say. Or smile more. Or wear another gown. ‘You’re not bad looking,’ he had been good enough to tell her the week before. ‘Even if some people would say you should be slimmer.’
    This was a new fault. ‘Do they say that?’ she had gently asked.
    ‘No,’ he had replied after consideration. ‘But I should think that they might.’
    Underlying all these criticisms, though, and the faint embarrassment her presence clearly caused him, was the one great shortcoming she was powerless to correct. I’m sure, she thought wryly, that if I had a huge dowry, he would think me beautiful.
    She could see the lark now: a tiny speck high over the ridge, its voice descending, full-throated, clear as a bell. She smiled, then turned, as something else caught her eye.
    The figure riding over the heath was catching up with them rapidly. He rode alone. He was wearing a hunting capand was dressed in dark-green; but even before she could see more of him, it was clear from the magnificent bay he rode that this was no ordinary squire. With what an easy, powerful stride the big horse cantered towards them. It made her heart thrill to watch. And the rider, in a quiet way, seemed as impressive as his mount. As he drew closer she saw a tall, dark-haired man. His face was aquiline, Norman and somewhat stern. She guessed he might be thirty and he was obviously born to authority. As he passed them he lightly touched his cap in polite acknowledgement, but since he did not turn his head it was impossible to tell whether he had actually seen her. She saw him canter straight to the head of the party and salute Cola, who returned the greeting with evident respect. She wondered who this latecomer might be and rather unwillingly turned to Walter, who she found was watching her already.
    ‘That’s Hugh de Martell,’ he said. ‘Holds large estates west of the Forest.’ And then, just as she had started to remark that he looked a rather cold, disagreeable character, Walter gave an irritating laugh. ‘You can’t have him, little cousin.’ He grinned. ‘He’s already taken. Martell’s married.’
    The morning sun was well up in the sky and, although everything was quiet, it still seemed to his wife that Godwin Pride was taking a bit of a chance. Normally he finished soon after dawn. ‘You know the law,’ she reminded him.
    But Pride said nothing and went on. ‘They won’t come down this way,’ he finally said. ‘Not today.’
    There was a scent of sweet grass in the air. A fly nearly settled on Pride’s neck, but then thought better of it. After another minute or two, a small boy came and stood beside her to watch his father.
    ‘I can hear something,’ she suggested.
    Pride paused, listened, gave her a quiet look. ‘No, you can’t,’ he said.
    The hamlet of Oakley consisted of a small scattering of thatched huts and homesteads by a green of close-cropped moorland grass. Across the green was a shallow pond whose surface at present was covered by a straggling carpet of little white flowers. Two small oaks, an ash and several bushes of bramble and yellow gorse overhung the water at various points. Although the grass was short and coarse, three cows and a couple of ponies were grazing on the green. Just behind the hamlet, a gravel track led into woodland where it soon descended, between high banks, to a small river.