Post of the Month

~ December 2009 ~

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Jenet/Timothy ~ Written by Angela & Rhys.

Posted on the HoS Yahoo group February 2008.

Timothy's guiding-stick swished into tall nettles on the left hand side of its regular tap. Then it clicked against stones to his right. The vibrations travelled up it to his fingers. Close beside him, Jenet moved forwards, and he moved forwards with her, his right hand tucked through the crook of her left elbow. His fingers felt the soft woollen folds of her sleeve, and he listened to their footsteps and the tapping of his stick as the way ahead unfolded to him and came up to meet him, before passing behind him and disappearing once more.

The storm had gone. The thunder, like muffled drums of departure in the sky, had passed. A final undefeated drop of rain had made an occasional splash somewhere as they had made their way out from under the tree to continue their journey. He had taken Jenet's arm and allowed her to guide him back across the expanse of the stubble field and they had turned once more onto the track and his stick had once more found the grassy verge to his left and resumed its pattern.

They had walked on. They had met with no-one at all. The track under Timothy's feet and stick had curved, become stony, sloped up and then down, before levelling out once more. Somewhere at the end of this track was the Lincoln Road.

The scent of rain had cleared, the air was fresher, and not long after they had started walking, Timothy had felt the welcome touch of the sun upon him, filling his limbs with bone-deep warmth. Deeply satisfying, its warm caress all over him had soothed and gave him fresh energy. Now as they walked, the heat of the sun was full in his face, and he kept his face turned into the warmth with pleasure.

He and Jenet had been mostly walking in companionable silence, although sometimes she explained the route she was taking and sometimes she described something in the distance that she could see that she thought he might find interesting; a sparrow-hawk hovering in the field by them; a rainbow that arched across the sky where the rain had gone; a man in the far distance, crossing a meadow with a scythe over his shoulder. Timothy had listened with interest to all she described. But they spoke of nothing which had been said whilst sheltering from the storm. Much had been said under that oak tree. He wondered now if he had said too much about himself to a stranger, and perhaps she was now wondering the same thing.

He was not bothered by Jenet's lapse into silence as they walked. She seemed a naturally quiet person, and he had his own private thoughts to dwell on.

As he neared Sherwood, and every possibility of meeting with Tuck again after eleven years, Timothy had begun to feel distinctly uneasy. He had left Thornton Abbey without saying goodbye to anyone, even Tuck. He had known at the time of leaving that he would hurt Tuck, and he knew now from what Henri de Normanville had said, that he had indeed given Tuck great cause for heartache. The man had searched for him for months, Henri had said, and knowing now for certain just how much heartache he had caused Tuck, Timothy felt doubly guilty.

_How will Tuck receive me?_

Timothy did not know, he could not be sure, and it was that which caused him great unease. Tuck was in the forgiving business....but Timothy knew the man well and also knew that there was a part of the man that, whilst he did not bear grudges, could close his heart off from someone who had hurt him, and be civil, but distant.

Timothy feared he would suffer that distance from Tuck, and he told himself now that if he did, then it was entirely his own fault - but it was still hard to prepare himself for that possibility when he knew all he would want to do upon finding Tuck would be to hug him, touch his face, and tell him that he was sorry for causing such heartache eleven years ago.

He wondered if he would find Tuck changed. A lot could happen in eleven years to change a person. He wondered if Tuck would find HIM changed. Surely so - he had been a lad of fifteen when he had left, and now he was a man of twenty-six. He had travelled widely - travelled more in the past eleven years than Tuck had ever done in a lifetime. Many of his travels had shaped and influenced him. Given him experience of the world and of people.

He felt fragmented from his beginnings here in this shire, felt fragmented from Nottingham and its environs, felt grown away from it - he feared he could feel the same with Tuck. It was not a good thought and he restlessly swung his head in response to it now, trying to push the thought away from him.

Jenet was watching Timothy curiously as they walked. He appeared to be thinking; on what, she could not tell, but whatever it was, judging by the occasional restless head-swinging and frowning to himself, it seemed to be giving him some unrest. The face of the born blind, she had learned whilst studying this man, often gave away much of their emotions, often apparently unbeknown to them. She had noticed whilst watching Timothy that his face sometimes froze into short periods of blankness - perhaps suggesting his mind was drifting - but for the most part his face was alive with emotion and reaction to all that was around him in this world he could not see, and those dark eyes, blind though they be, still twinkled with some sort of life and personality.

She glanced up at the sky, noting the position of the sun. Drawing towards late afternoon. It would be evening before she arrived back at Elsdon, but she did not begrudge helping this man.

As the afternoon had progressed, the sun had reappeared in the clearing sky and had grown steadily warmer. The sky now was so radiantly blue she was almost convinced she could reach up and pluck the clouds from it, like patches of wool snagged in a maiden’s skirt.

The track they walked curved round to the south, and as they rounded the bend, the hedgerows dipped in height and across the meadow, Jenet could suddenly see their destination. She stopped on the track, shielding her eyes against the bright sunlight that flooded them, and she squinted across the meadow.

Timothy, brought out of his thoughts by Jenet's sudden halt, halted immediately beside her. "Why have you stopped?" Timothy asked.

"We're nearing the Lincoln Road," Jenet replied.

Timothy listened and heard the faint rumble of a cart or wagon, bumping along a rutted surface, far ahead in in the distance. "How far away is the road?"

Jenet looked ahead of her to the road in the distance, cut through the hay-meadows, where several solitary figures could be seen travelling along in in both directions. From here, they seemed like ants. "Maybe two hundred yards. From here, the hedgerows are low, and I can see across the meadow to where the road is."

Timothy felt out to his left with his stick and it connected with the verge of the track they had stopped on. "There are no more turnings off this track until you get to the Lincoln Road?"

"No," Jenet assured.

Timothy thoughtfully ran his stick over the verge, finding it connected with a row of tall swaying nettles and a tangle of brambles. "In that case.....I could find my own way from here."

Jenet's voice was doubtful. "You're sure?"

Timothy ran his stick in a wide arc ahead of him from left to right, learning about the road ahead of his feet. "I can use the verge as my guideline. Straight to the Lincoln Road."

"I could come with you to the actual Lincoln Road, if you wished," Jenet offered.

Timothy smiled. "I think from here I can find my way. But I thank you deeply for your guidance this far."

Jenet did not quibble or question. To do so may have led him to believe she doubted his abilities, and looking him in the face, she realised she did not any longer. A few hours spent in his company had changed all that.

"If you are sure," Jenet said at length.

Timothy smiled again. "I am." He released her guiding arm and moved round to face her. He put out his hand and re-found her arm and he squeezed it gently. "I'll not forget your kindness to me, Jenet of Elsdon. It was good to have made your acquaintance."

Jenet looked into his face and doubted that she would ever see him again. "Thank you for sharing your food with me."

Her thanks sounded stilted and odd, and besides her mind flooded with all the thoughts she had been preoccupied whilst walking the track, and she knew that it was now or never to make the request she had been deliberating on.

"Timothy-" she suddenly blurted out with, then halted, unsure.

Timothy turned his head in the direction of her voice, taken aback by the odd catch in it. "Yes?"

Jenet spoke hesitantly. "You said earlier you wished you could do something to help me-"

"That offer still stands." Timothy leaned his hands on his guiding stick in front of him and listened curiously, waiting for what may come next.

Jenet was still hesitant. "You could help me - if you would-"

"Tell me," Timothy said softly.

Jenet decided to throw caution to the winds. "The outlaws - if you find them.... There's one amongst them - the minstrel...."

"The minstrel you talked about before?" Timothy's voice held a note of interest in it.

Jenet nodded and then realised he could not see her. "Yes - the minstrel. His name is Alan - Alan a Dale. He's about your age. Quietly spoken. A kind man..."

She looked up at Timothy; his face was alert and interested, listening. "He and I.... We....." She hesitated. "Oh, it's not what you think. Nothing's happened as yet with us. But-"

Timothy found her shoulder and ran his hand from there up to her face. He laid his hand gently against the side of her face, curious as to her expression and waited solemnly for her to go on.

"Maybe it's wrong," Jenet confessed. "Thomas has been dead only six months....."

"No," Timothy said softly, "no, it's not wrong to want to continue living and loving." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "It isn't a crime."

Jenet looked at him. "If you find the outlaws, seek out Alan amongst them, and when you have the chance to speak with him in private, tell him....tell him what I disclosed to you whilst we sheltered under the tree from the storm."

"You mean--" Timothy began, frowning in thought

"Tell him what Gisbourne tried to do to me yesterday and what I plan to do to him if he tries it again. Tell him that if something bad happens to me, he's to take Nesta and place her somewhere safe with good folk; I trust his judgement to find good foster parents for her."

"Your child....?" Timothy queried.

"Aye, my child, my daughter. If something happens to me....I don't want her left alone in Elsdon. Gisbourne knows who she is and would most like come after her next - or bother her in other ways once she gets to be of a certain age." Jenet shuddered.

Timothy felt her shudder. His hand was still lain against the side of her face, and her face twitched with nervousness. "You must trust this man a great deal," he said wonderingly.

"I would trust him with my life and my daughter's life." Jenet answered steadily

Timothy smiled and stroked her cheek. "Then it is definitely love between you and he, and love like that should not be ignored." His smile faded to seriousness. "I promise you I'll relay your message to him."

Jenet laid her hand on his arm in gratitude. "Thank you."

She paused for a moment. "And tell Robert of Huntingdon that Gisbourne was out this way yesterday and may well return so the outlaws must have a care if they stray into this area. Tell them it is best they keep away for now."

"I shall pass on that message too," Timothy assured.

"If it is any help," Jenet said at last, "I do believe the place called Darkmere is an area they occasionally are seen in. The Lincoln Road cuts through that area. If you linger there, you may find them - or someone who knows where they be and can tell them you are looking for them."

"Thank you," said Timothy. "I'll find them somehow."

He took her face gently between his hands and smiled at her. "Goodbye," he said simply. "May good fortune attend you."

Jenet smiled back and touched his cheek. "I hope you find Tuck - and all else that you seek."

He clasped her hands between his briefly, then turned, and extending his stick before him, found the grass verge of the track and stepped forward.

"And Timothy?" Jenet added.

He paused and half turned back to face her voice. "Yes?"

"Don't fall in another ditch," Jenet said wryly.

Timothy laughed. "I'll do my best not to," he said, flung a last brief smile out in the direction of her voice and then turned and tapped his way onwards, guided by the place where the verge met the stony track.

Jenet stood there on the track and watched him go. She waited, until she had seen him turn without difficulty onto the Lincoln Road far in the distance and she knew he was safely on it, heading in the direction he wanted to go. Then she turned and began to walk back the way she had come.

It was strange, thought Jenet, how a stranger could enter briefly your life and cast new perspective on it, and then pass out of your life again. Help you, even.

She did not doubt that Timothy would find the outlaws somehow. He was resourceful. Even if it meant camping out in Sherwood a few days, he would either eventually cross their path or they would cross his.

Jenet wondered what Alan would say, would think, when he received her message through Timothy, and as she walked, she glanced down at her basket where the hemlock lay hidden under all the other plants, and she shivered as she once more found a leaden weight - the fear of Gisbourne and what she planned to do to him - dragging at her heart.