The Red Bull's Daughter

 

They were here long ago, those reivers. They are here still. On nights like this, when the moon rides the clouds, and the stars race between them bright and dizzying as though you must cling to the world, I hear them. Unshod hooves press soft into marsh and bracken; the chains about their mounts’ legs make a small clangour, a rattle that the owls in the barn question mournfully, answering hoots trailing like ghosts across the hills. 

On the high brae behind this old house, glints dance on the dark heather where once their torches streamed smoke-wraiths, and folk cowered behind barred shutters and prayed for the reivers to pass them by.

She haunts me. Whispers her dreams into mine, shows me her nightmares. I see her life through her eyes – her strange eyes. No, she is not a ghost, not that… something other. A lost sister pulling me back through the ages to her time? To her time, her place. But then, I am here already, for it is my place too, my bleak, beautiful moorland, my curlew-haunted skies, my home. I have her name. Or she mine. And I know her story.

 

Kirkoswald Castle 

Cumberland 

Seat of Thomas, 2^nd Baron Dacre of Gilsland, and jure uxoris Baron Greystoke, 

Lord Warden-General of the Border Marches of England 

1512 

Four great monsters reared before a hearth like the ogre’s cave in Martha’s stories. The one with black scaly wings and red eyes must be the Devil, and Martha said the Devil carried sinners off to a fiery lake. She said that Jane was a naughty minx and on the Sabbath day, for shame. Minx, Jane reckoned, was likely the same as a sinner. She hid her face in Martha’s apron. 

Madam had brought a treat of marchpane on Sunday, and Martha had set it aside. Jane might have it if she minded her prayers all week, but a week was ages, and Jane’s mouth had watered when she thought of it, rich with almonds and roses. When Martha was helping Meg hang out the wash, Jane tiptoed into the pantry and stretched up high to snatch the sweetie from the shelf. Old Dorcas came trundling from the kitchen. Jane thrust her prize down her bodice and ran away into the parlour before Dorcas could scold. 

Then, Tibbs had carried in her kitties one by one, all black and white and squeaky, and Jane could not resist petting and playing with the babies. She had forgotten the marchpane until Martha found it at bedtime, stuck to Jane’s shift, all melted and smelling of butter. It had spoiled her good, blue taffaty kirtle, and Meg laundress will no’ get that mess out, wee imp. Off to bed wi’ a skelpit lug… 

Martha had not, after all, boxed Jane’s ears, but she had been very cross and now they were here in this strange, great house, the biggest Jane had ever seen, with the horrid monsters. Surely Martha would not leave her here…  

Light footsteps came on a drift of flowers – Madam’s scent – Jane peeked out from her haven... please, let it be Madam.  

It was not Madam. A lady Jane had never seen before, sweet faced under a hat like a little house, stooped down and held out her hand, all sparkly fingers. ‘Come child, let me look at you.’ 

Jane glimpsed the monsters from the corner of her eye. One was a huge fish wearing a crown, and he was laughing at her.  

She pressed her face back into Martha’s scratchy skirts, but Martha clicked her tongue and said, ‘Come away out of my apron, silly child, there’s naught to be feared...’ and pushed her forward to stand all alone before the lady and the creatures.  Jane’s eyes prickled, but only babies cried. She wished Madam would come. Madam was like Queen Mab ­– all flower-sweet and bright, swishy skirts – who lived Under the Hill with her faerie troupe. Jane loved Martha’s tales of the Seelie Court in the Greenwood.  

The ragpicker’s urchins called Jane changeling and unseelie sith when Martha wasn’t looking, and made their fingers into horns. If it meant she was like Madam – like Queen Mab – then they could call her names and she did not care.  

The last time Madam came she had sore red eyes, and had blessed Jane for Martha is taking you on a journey. You are a great girl now and must be brave. Jane wanted to be brave for Madam, but the Devil and his friends were looking at her, and they doubtless knew about the marchpane, for Martha said stealing was a black sin. 

Jane’s throat felt tight. A hot tear crawled down her cheek – it itched, and she wanted to wipe it with her sleeve, but only peasant brats did that. She let it slide to her mouth and licked it away. 

The lady bent to look at Jane, and spoke softly to Martha. ‘Does she mind it overmuch? For myself, I think it charming, but I know of the common superstitions.’ 

‘Bless her, lady, I doubt she kens it, or if she does, she scarce thinks of it. When she is older, mayhap, but for now...’ 

‘We must hope she continues thus.’   

Jane wanted to go home. Now. She grasped a handful of Martha’s apron and tugged, but Martha took no notice. Jane didn’t want to look at the monsters, but she had to in case they had crept closer. 

‘Ah, do you like our great beasts, little one?’ The lady bent and caressed Jane’s cheek with a soft hand. ‘See, here is a ram for our De Moulton forebears, and that is the Greystoke dolphin, king of fishes and emblem of my family.’ She pointed to the devil with red eyes, and Jane shuddered. ‘The winged fellow is the gryphon of Gilsland. See, Jane, how they all hold banners with our coats of arms? That is to represent the pride of our family, the Dacres, and all were carved from one huge oak on our estates. Are they not splendid?’ 

The lady didn’t seem scared at all. She rested her hand on the belly of the red bull with the golden horns, and Jane thought her very brave. Then she saw that he wore a crown about his throat like a dog’s collar, and a thick chain hung from it. Perhaps he couldn’t move because of the chain, and the lady knew herself safe.  

She said, ‘Here is the finest of all – the Red Bull of Dacre, and he is the heraldic beast of your new papa and is his emblem when he goes to war, for he is a brave soldier. They carry this bold fellow before him and cry a Red Bull, a Red Bull, a Dacre, a Dacre when he rides upon the battlefield. It is his job to catch the thieves and outlaws who plague us here at England’s edge. He is Lord Warden of the March.’ 

New papa? He sounded as fierce as the towering beasts – he would likely catch Jane too for a thief and put her in the ogre’s cave for the monsters to guard, among all the ashy bones. 

Jane’s face felt hot and she looked at her shoes, peeking out under her skirts. Jane had never had a papa, just Martha, and Dorcas the cook-maid, and, best of all, Madam when she came. She didn’t want a papa who was a red bull and caught thieves and outlaws. Please, let us go home. The tears would not be stopped and she howled, great girl or no. 

Loud boots and a jangling noise. ‘Hey, hey! And what is this? A little maid, all in tears. Come, child, come to Pa, and we shall set ye to rights. Elizabeth, my darling, we are great in need of honey suckets here… hoopla!’ Jane was swept up, high as the monsters, and engulfed in leather, horse-smell, and rumbly laughter. 

The lady had told a falsehood. If this was her new papa, then he was not a red bull at all, but a red bear. A big bear with red, apple cheeks, and curly red fur on his head and his face, and twinkly eyes. Too surprised to wail, she stared at him. He took a sweetmeat from the lady and popped it into her mouth.  

‘Well, nurse – tis a pretty child, and well grown.’ The red bear spoke to Martha, who bobbed her head and looked pleased. He lowered his voice. ‘I think the oddity in nowise mars her. Is she weaned and hale?’ 

‘Aye, Lord, I weaned her a twelvemonth since. She is a sonsie bairn, and she grows hearty as a wee thistle. She is quick of wits and can count a score. She kens most of the letters in her hornbook, too. Her mothe... I mean, the Dame saw to that. I have no book-learning, sir, and cannot beteach her.’ 

‘She shall learn more from the governess. My girls can all read and write. God save me, it stills their tongues to be nose-deep in a foolish tale of Lancelot or Chretien.’  The bear roared with laughter and nodded at the lady he called Elizabeth,  ‘I jest, sweetheart. I love our girls, even though we have a chattering flock of ‘em, and I shall love you too, Missus Jane.’  

He tossed Jane into the air, and she almost swallowed her sucket whole.  

Lady Elizabeth tutted at him, ‘Have a care, husband, the babe will choke, or sicken. She has had her supper, and now you fill her with sweets.’ 

‘She will not sicken. Only ninnies sicken on sweeties, eh, little one? We shall have another.’ He popped one into her mouth as though she were a baby bird, then grinned at her and bounced her in his arms. ‘Now, you are to stay here with us, d’ you see? And you shall have a whole new family. I am Pa, and this fair lady is Mama…’ Lady Elizabeth nodded and smiled at her, ‘…and you have new sisters aplenty and a brother too. You shall be called Jane Dacre. Shall you like that?’ 

Jane thought about it. She had always been Jane, but now she was to have two names and a whole family. The bear-man waited, nodding and smiling.  

Martha’s face warned mind your manners.

  ‘Yes, Sir Bear. I shall like it for a little while, but then I will go home again if you please.’ 

‘Sir Bear, am I?’ He put his head back and his great gust of laughter made his belly wobble, and Jane squirmed to get down. Sops and curds and suckets.  Don’t be sick… 

Lady Elizabeth took her into her arms and kissed her hair. ‘You shall be happy here, Jane. In no time at all this will seem like home. For now, you are tired from your journey, and we shall put you to bed. Wish Pa Bear goodnight. Come, Martha.’ The lady laughed softly as she carried Jane to the door, but Jane was too sleepy to ponder the jest.

Through a door in the corner they entered a stair turret as a big boy came down. He was tall as a man but knobbly-thin, and his face, under his gingery hair, made Jane think of the coney man’s ferrets. The warrener let her see them sometimes when Martha sent her out to play in the garden behind their cottage. She liked the ferrets, they were quick and clever and funny, although sometimes they would nip an unwary finger and it fierce hurt. 

Lady Elizabeth said, ‘Ah, here is William. He is but lately retuned from the household of his governor, the Earl of Northumberland, and we are happy indeed to have him home again. William, this is your new sister, Jane.’ 

The boy grinned and bowed. ‘Another little imp to plague me. Well-met, little sis. What shall I call you? Sister Pippa is Mistress Sprat, so you shall be Mistress Brat. Yes, you shall be Sprat and Brat. I bid you welcome, Mistress Brat, and on the morrow, I shall take you for a ride on my pony if you would like it?’ 

Jane had never ridden. She felt shy, but she would love to go, so she nodded hard, then put her thumb in her mouth and hid her face on the lady’s shoulder.  

Lady Elizabeth patted her head. ‘Now we shall go up to join Pippa, though she is already abed and sound asleep. She is near in age to you, child, and you shall be playmates. And later, you may greet Mabel, Anne, Joan, and Mary, who are all quite the young ladies and soon to be wed to their gentlemen.’ 

 Jane wasn’t sure what wed was. 

Lady Elizabeth sang sweetly, ‘Lully Lullay,’ as they went up the stairs and into a room where a brazier burned cosily. A little girl lay asleep in the high bed with hair like moonbeams spread out on the pillow. Jane had lots of tight curls, and she hated it when the comb caught and Martha pulled. She wished she had silky moonlight hair like the girl.  

Martha took her from the lady, and began to undress her.  

Lady Elizabeth watched, smiling. ‘The Lord will excuse a sleepy head her prayers. I’ll say an Ave, and we will say Amen together, and that will do for tonight.’ 

When the prayer was said, and she wore just her shift and coif, Martha popped her under the sheets beside the sleeping Pippa. Jane listened to the girl’s gentle breathing and watched the pattern the flames made on the ceiling.  

‘She seems to have taken it well enough?’ 

‘Aye, lady, she is but a babe and will soon forget. It is my sweet lady I fear for. She dotes upon the lass, but her lord husband will no’ abide the puir mite, and the Dame kens well her bairn will be better off here with her ain kinfolk.’ 

‘Tis sad that she must give up her only chick. I do feel for her.’‘Aye, t' would make a stone weep to see the puir lady say her farewells yesterday, but better a great lord’s daughter than a foundling with naught but a common nurse for kin. She blessed ye and Lord Thomas for taking the child...’ 

‘Shhh… she hears us, I think…’ 

‘She’ll no’ understand, she’s too wee…’ 

Lady Elizabeth’s kiss brushed Jane’s cheek, and the door closed softly.  

Martha huffed and puffed as she undressed. Jane thought dreamily that she might like it here with Pippa Sprat, and William Ferret, and Lady Elizabeth, and Papa Bear, and the fine young ladies, even though she sore missed Madam. Perhaps she would come and see her soon.  

The mattress creaked as Martha got in, and Jane turned to snuggle against her stout softness with its Martha-smells of sweat, tallow, and onions. Jane Dacre’s heavy lids closed, and she fell asleep with her new name and her new family – in her new home: the mighty border stronghold of Kirkoswald Castle.