punishment. The very thought of such deprivation filled her eyes with tears of self-pity. She wiped them defiantly on the sleeve of her green dress and gulped back a sob.
The remedy was to climb down from the tree by herself and run away as fast as she could. If she was lucky, the geese might not see her until she had put a safe distance between them and her. Terrified but resolute, the child started to descend from her perch. She scraped her knee again and added a long scratch to her shin. The distances between hand- and footholds seemed far greater than on the way up. By the time she reached the last branch, her arms were hot and aching, and as she lowered herself to the ground, she lost her grip and fell.
It was not a hard enough landing to break any bones but Julitta was shaken. The pain in the shoulder and side which had borne the brunt of her fall made her cry as she sat up. She knuckled her eyes with grimy fingers, smearing grey bark stains over her face. Her hair was tangled around her shoulders in disarray, and a ripped side seam in her dress revealed an ominous amount of undershift.
She struggled to her feet, and immediately her hiccuping sobs turned to screams of terror as Inga's huge greylag gander ran at her, beating its clipped wings, darting its long neck and hissing. She spun frantically and tried to scramble back up the tree, but fear had turned her legs and arms weak.
The goose lunged at her, its beak clacking within a fraction of her arm. Screaming, she ran round the tree. The bird chased her, honking belligerently. Julitta's shrieks became hysterical; nothing existed beyond her terror.
Then suddenly there was a boy on a sleek bay pony. He yelled at the gander, and tugging his cloak over his head, whirled it round and round to distract the bird. The enraged goose flapped to face the new intruder on his territory, thoroughly prepared to do battle. The pony gave a startled snort and bunched its haunches. Seeing that the gander was not to be intimidated by loud noise and vigorous movement alone, the boy swung his cloak a final time, casting it upwards and outwards like a fishing net. It landed squarely over the bird, engulfing it.
'Hurry, before he escapes!' he shouted at Julitta, his dark eyes flickering between her and the goose. He urged the pony over to the tree and leaning gracefully down, extended his hand to her.
She was still sobbing hysterically, but at her core, a final spark of reason responded to the boy's gesture. She grasped his hand, set her foot upon his in the stirrup, and let him pull her up before him across the pony's neck.
Tangled within the cloak, the gander hissed and honked. Its head surged free and then a flailing wing-tip. Abandoning the garment, the boy kicked hard with his heels. The pony, his head tilted at an angle by the awkward position of his extra burden, cantered valiantly away from the danger.
After several glances over his shoulder, the boy slowed his mount to a trot, then a walk, and at a safe distance, finally drew rein. 'It's all right now,' he reassured Julitta. 'He's won free, but he's not chasing us, see?'
Having been jounced over uneven ground across a pony's withers, Julitta felt thoroughly sick. She wanted the security of her mother's arms desperately. To look back and see if what he said was true, she had to relinquish her tight grip on the pony's mane and slide to the ground. Her legs refused to hold her up and she crumpled on the dusty grass. The gander had indeed chosen to abandon the fight and was waddling in high dudgeon towards the other geese grazing near the dew pond. Julitta gave a loud, mucous sniff and pressed her hand experimentally across her midriff to decide if she really was going to be sick.
'Does your mother know where you are?'
Julitta shook her head and began to cry again. 'I want her,' she sobbed miserably. 'I was only playing squirrels, but it all went wrong.'
'Sit behind me then, and I'll take you home.'
Julitta gazed up at the boy through her tears, and recognition suddenly dawned. He had thin, black brows, liquid brown eyes, and black hair, glossy as a raven's wing. Her stare took on the intensity of a religious mystic granted a vision of God. He returned the smile she gave him and held out his hand again.
She was still a little unsure of the state of her queasy stomach, but found the strength to rise and clamber up behind him, across the pony's satin-dark rump.
'Hold tight to my belt,' he said.
Julitta needed no prompting. She grasped the leather at his waist and leaned her tear-streaked cheek against the comfort of his spine. 'Ben,' she murmured, suddenly feeling very sleepy.
It was not long before they happened upon the adult company of Benedict's parents, riding towards Ulverton at a more sedate pace than their son, who had been making forays ahead and playing at reconnaissance for the past several miles.
'Blessed Virgin!' declared Felice in horror as she took in the draggled state of the little girl riding pillion behind Benedict.
By this time, Julitta had fallen soundly asleep, but although her head lolled against Benedict's tunic, her ringers remained firmly gripped in his belt, and Felice deemed it wise to let her remain thus until they reached the castle.
Ailith watched her small daughter stir her spoon slowly round and round in her bowl of frumenty. Julitta's naturally fair skin was paler than usual and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. To her mother's concerned stare she looked like a wilting bluebell. Ailith knew that she should not have yielded to Julitta's pleading, nor to Rolf's gruff comment that it would be unjust to put the child straight to bed when she had been so looking forward to this feast. The fact was that Julitta was too exhausted by the day's ordeal to enjoy any of this celebration. She had barely eaten a morsel, and her usual vivacity was entirely quenched.
Most of the story of the incident with Inga's gander had come from Benedict. Ailith had been horrified and filled with self-reproach to hear how far Julitta had wandered; she could have fallen in the pond, or been pecked to death by that vile bird. It was so difficult to keep an eye on her all of the time. She had her father's quicksilver, curious nature, and a way of making opportune escapes. Trying to hold Julitta was like trying to trap a mote of sunlight. The minute you clenched your hand around it, the light went out.
'Deep thoughts?' Felice asked, nudging her lightly.
Ailith gave a pensive smile and shook her head. 'I was brooding upon what might have happened,' she said. 'Rolf is always complaining that I worry about her too much. I suppose it is because I lost Harold, and since bearing her, I have not conceived again.'
'It is the way I feel about Benedict,' Felice sympathised with a fond glance at her son. In contrast to Julitta, he was demolishing the food on his trencher with a healthy gusto. 'But I try not to clip his wings too much. Of course,' she added quickly, 'he is older than Julitta and a boy.'
'It would have been simpler if Julitta had been born male.' Ailith sighed. 'She would rather be out among the horses or romping in the mire than learning to spin and sew and brew and bake. I know she could do those things if she applied her mind. She does not lack the wit, just the desire.'
'It will come in time.' Felice nodded sagely. 'Besides, it is not given to all women to be paragons of domestic virtue, and it does not suit all men to have wives who are such. She will have fire and beauty enough to catch any man she wants.'
Ailith grimaced. 'That is no comfort,' she said. Just before Julitta's face drooped into her frumenty dish, Rolf caught her, and lifting her from her place, drew her into his lap. She put her thumb in her mouth and snuggled tightly against him.
'I'll take her to bed now.' Ailith held out her arms. She could not help but give Rolf an 'I told you so' look.
'I'll carry her.' Rolf returned her look with a sharp one of his own, and setting his other arm beneath Julitta's knees, rose and walked down the crowded, smoky hall to their sleeping quarters. Ailith followed him, and when he laid Julitta down on their bed, she stripped her of tunic and undergown to leave her clothed in her best linen short shift. Once more, her eyes were drawn to the scratches and livid bruises on Julitta's slender legs.
'It is not the first time that Inga's gander has attacked someone,' Ailith complained as she gently drew the covers over their daughter. 'Wulfhild was telling me that the shepherd's youngest son was badly pecked at midsummer. I know that Julitta should not have been out on her own, but those birds are a danger to anyone who walks near the dew ponds.'
Rolf was silent for a while. 'The geese are her livelihood and her independence,' he said at length. 'She will not easily give them up.'
