Far way from the stench and smokes of London, dawn had also broken over the rolling forest of East Sussex.
Surveying Thomas' very own hamlet stood the child killer Anais-her hair now shorn and her clothing more akin to a field labourer.She had an elfin look- a slight body with narrow shoulders and petite ears and nose. She was also about to complete her transformation from French teenager to the abandoned daughter of a slain English knight and a Flemish mother-all a clever and easily digested concoction of course.
She held out her hands- dark with three days travel through woods and mudded streams. She longed for a looking glass or metal platter to inspect her self cut hair.Still, whatever her new appearance, it had served its purpose. Anais had evaded the mob of fisher folk who bayed for her blood.
The fear of being burned alive by them had given her legs the means to make good her escape from the coast. Now she stood upon the gentle spring grassed slope above Thomas' own hamlet.
It was no accident on her part- for the hamlet stood at the forest crossroads once used by King Harold's men marching to face the Normans centuries before-but none of this was known to Anais of course. All she knew was that this was halfway on the road northwards to London -halfway to the place she had heard the killer of her brother and father could be found.
As she felt for her Spanish blade concealed on her thigh, a man suddenly appeared holding a pitchfork to her neck. He demanded her name and home,
"I seek Christian shelter sir.. I am seeking my English cousins. My name is Ruth of Bretagne."
As quick as the pitchfork was levelled at her neck, it was lowered upon her sweet, accented voice.
"I beg your pardon, please, come with me" said the villager as he invited her to follow him to the hamlet clearing.
Anais had now become Ruth- surely this ruse would give her respite to gather information and sleep in peace.
As Ruth was led into an inquisitive crowd, one lady came forward to touch her face,it was Thomas' mother Matilda,
"Anne! Anne? You have come back!" she cried, falling into Ruth's arms.
"No! Tis not Anne Matilda" said the man with the pitchfork.
Ruth was being squeezed by Matilda and promised hot food and a fresh bed. This had played to Ruth's plan far better than expected,
"Thank you for your kind offer-I have suffered much hardship chased by robbers and wild beasts"
"Wild beasts?" laughed the man with the pitchfork
"Quiet Henry! She is my guest, come Ruth of Bretagne" with that the others stood scratching their heads as Matilda led Ruth to her thatched hut.
Who would have suspected here was a killer of children and one who sought the blood of many more English folk, innocent or not. Ruth knew Matilda would give her food and shelter as long as she needed to get her strength back and make her deadly plans. As Matilda laid out fresh clothes and busied with promises of stewed rabbit, Ruth closed the front door to keep away prying eyes..
