And yet his mind knew, for all the throbbings of the heart, that he could not yield. He had learned the hard way, in the stockade, that there were times when self-denial and an iron discipline were the only way. And for all the pain it cost him, he knew that he must wrap himself warmly and try to sleep. In the morning there might be some meaningful action he could take. And there was nothing, save pneumonia, that he could accomplish how, alone and in the dead of night.
So he prepared to pass the dark hours as he had passed those previous. Leaving the fire to burn itself out, he took the stones that had been heating before it, wrapped them in a sling, and carried them up the ladder-stair to Mary’s bed, where he would sleep. In the loft he would at least have some warning in the event of a sudden search, as well as the advantage of height in a struggle. There was, perhaps, no reason for the English to return to the cottage.....
Still, he could take nothing for granted. The evening fire was a necessary evil, now smoldering to ash. All else must be patience and concealment, until the morning light brought clearer counsel, or dealt him some new card unforeseen. Until then, patience and hiding. Patience and hiding.....
He fell asleep.
Twenty-Five
Clear your mind, begin again
All that came before is gone;
There is no truth, there is no past
The day is gone, the light is lost.
The long fought hours slip away
To whited stones;
The stones are ground to dust
Dust blows in the wind,
then the song begins again.
The time has come
the Judgment soon;
Above the mists,
beneath the Moon.
Youth to age, and back again
And all resounds in death;
Death to old and young alike,
And all for Heaven’s Breath.
Such were the words that Mary heard, as she slipped into a dream. The voice seemed to come from the walls, and the walls from the stone heart of earth, the earth so old it had forgotten them. Too weary and wretched to fight, yet as she spiralled back and always down, the Voice became familiar, and edged all else in fear.
It was the voice of her mother, unburied and unwept.