The dusk descended quickly in the sheltered glades of the Sussex forest. Night brought silence except for each footfall that Thomas made. The hamlet he sought before dark was still an hour or more away-for his progress had been slow; his eyes and ears more alert to ambush than usual. The trees were not yet full in leaf and Thomas could see the stars that were so bright, they cast a dim light to help him see.
As he walked he kept thinking of Ruth and where she had gone that previous night; who was she and why had she given herself so freely to him a stranger as he was? Thomas had no knowledge of Ruth's alter ego as Anais and her blood spilling since landing from France. The death of the charcoal burner had been another death, strung in a line that followed her path towards London. Soon these deaths would be connected and avenged-but not yet-and not by Thomas. In fact, Thomas would not be informed of these bloody deeds until he stood accused of conspiracy in them himself. Yet first was his last night of peaceful sleep;the tiny house that welcomed traders and drovers appeared under a wreath of smoke from a low chimney-the sweet smell of the hearth fire promised warm hands and a hot meal.
Thomas had his meal of mutton stew, a duck leg and mead-then fell into the cot of straw.His dreams were instant and warm-filled with sunlight and the face of his true love. Ruth lived perfectly in his dreams but in the waking hours she would become anything but.
As the fire in the hearth glowed deeper orange in the chilling night air, the house with Thomas and one other guest became bathed in a rising moon. Now every sapling and grassy hummock in the surrounding clearing stood out starkly and offering little concealment for even tiny creatures that ran abroad- this was the time of the night hunters. An owl swept low and silent then passed over the web of oak branches. The house slept. It was at the depth of this night-as a bank of cloud consumed the moon's disc, that she appeared by the front door. Her hood dropped as she bent an ear to the gap in the door timbers. She moved to a shuttered window where a man snored within.The blade of the knife made easy work of opening the rotten board and within seconds she had climbed the window ledge and dropped silently inside.
Thomas breakfasted on eggs and a fine loaf -and the sweetest pale beer. He took a slab of ham and bread for the journey to London and back to the raucous brawling riverside where his sister awaited at the Bear Pit Inn. He had awoken with the cockrel and left a coin as payment before leaving. The house was silent and Thomas bade no thought as to why-his mind was fully on his arrival in London.
Where was Ruth and why had she smitten him so?
Soon much would be revealed. Ruth had been idle since they made love on the river that day- but Anais had been closer to Thomas than he knew or would have wished. Thomas would reach his sister that evening in time for much beer and song . The calm as they say- befiore the tempest that followed in his tracks.
In the house the blood had congealed into dark roseblooms on the flat dirt floor. The man had a dark hole in his neck and from this, a crusted tongue of his own lifeblood the only witness to Anais's visit.
In the bedroom- a grand description of no more a space than a horse stall lay the woman and her husband as they had slept. They would not awake from their bed. Both had throats cut with such force that their heads almost lolled as if an executioner's axe had fallen and not made that final cleave to behead. There was no reason apparent. Evil lived in the forest said the locals with a resignation and certainty as if they described the oaks and ash trees.
So it was that Anais arrived at the brown and grey slug of the Thames that evening. Anais made enquiry as she had done since that first arrival from France. She was directed to the Bear Pit Inn..
