day, with dawn barely progressed sufficiently to light her way, Bess took a basket and headed into the woods to gather moss and lichen for her mother’s pharmacopoeia. The early daylight cast not a shadow and gave soft edges to tree and stone so that the world appeared somehow gentler and more yielding. As Bess reached the limit of the pasture, she hesitated. She loved the woodland and yet had always the sense that in stepping into its leafy embrace she was entering another realm. Here things were hidden and secret. All manner of possibilities dwelled in the tangled roots and verdant undergrowth. The trees provided a place unknowable and mysterious for shy and mythical creatures to abide in. It was a place of fairies and sprites and wood nymphs. A place of magic.
Bess found herself treading thoughtfully as she threaded her way deeper and deeper into the forest. She was not afraid, nor even nervous; rather she felt she should show a certain respect, a reverence even, to those woodland deities whose stores she now plundered. She stooped to peel moss as thick as wolf fur from a shady rock. She laid it carefully in the bottom of her basket and continued. On a blackthorn she found an abundance of silvery lichen. She plucked the brittle antlers from the lower boughs until she had sufficient. A narrow brook provided perfect conditions for more moisture-loving mosses, all good for speeding the mending of open wounds. She was picking her way over stepping-stones when she heard, or rather sensed, a disturbance. It was not as if a sound had reached her ears, more that she noticed a change in the air about her. A subtle shift in the energy. She cocked her head and listened, then pushed slowly into the woods in the direction of whatever it was that she detected. A few paces farther and she could indeed discern sounds. There were grunts and groans, animalistic and gruff. Now she could plainly hear gasps and moans. A movement up ahead made her stop. She brushed aside a curtain of ivy that was obscuring her view. What she saw made her start. Two figures, one darkly dressed, tall, and powerful, the other a woman—no, a girl—all but naked save a few dove-white strips of her torn slip. They were standing, the girl pressed up against an ash tree, the man with his back to Bess. She dared not move, afraid they would discover they were being watched, but at the same time she realized they were far too involved in their energetic lovemaking to be so easily distracted. She was about to turn and slip silently back into the trees when something caught her attention. A frayed piece of rope. The girl was bound to the tree. Now she looked again, Bess could see that the girl’s moans and wails were not of ecstasy but of anguish. She was not enjoying the attentions of an ardent lover but was being raped. Bess opened her mouth to shout out but checked herself. She must do something to rescue the poor young woman, but a man capable of such a thing would not give up his prize easily. She had no weapon with which to protect herself or to threaten him. She cast around for a strong stick or heavy stone. At that moment she heard shouts coming from a way off to the west, deeper into the forest. The man heard them too and turned to look over his shoulder. Turned so that Bess could clearly see his face, and there was no mistaking the stern features of Gideon Masters. Features distorted by a bestial lust and eyes inhumanly red with anger. The girl heard the voices of her would-be rescuers and called out to them. Gideon stepped back. He placed a finger under the girl’s chin and raised her face. He stared into her eyes, his lips moving quickly as if uttering some prayer or incantation. The girl’s lids grew heavy and she slumped forward, her weight taken by the rope that tied her. Gideon took a pace onto the eastward path but then hesitated. Swinging round, he narrowed his eyes in Bess’s direction, scanning the undergrowth. But Bess had already dropped to the
Bess found herself treading thoughtfully as she threaded her way deeper and deeper into the forest. She was not afraid, nor even nervous; rather she felt she should show a certain respect, a reverence even, to those woodland deities whose stores she now plundered. She stooped to peel moss as thick as wolf fur from a shady rock. She laid it carefully in the bottom of her basket and continued. On a blackthorn she found an abundance of silvery lichen. She plucked the brittle antlers from the lower boughs until she had sufficient. A narrow brook provided perfect conditions for more moisture-loving mosses, all good for speeding the mending of open wounds. She was picking her way over stepping-stones when she heard, or rather sensed, a disturbance. It was not as if a sound had reached her ears, more that she noticed a change in the air about her. A subtle shift in the energy. She cocked her head and listened, then pushed slowly into the woods in the direction of whatever it was that she detected. A few paces farther and she could indeed discern sounds. There were grunts and groans, animalistic and gruff. Now she could plainly hear gasps and moans. A movement up ahead made her stop. She brushed aside a curtain of ivy that was obscuring her view. What she saw made her start. Two figures, one darkly dressed, tall, and powerful, the other a woman—no, a girl—all but naked save a few dove-white strips of her torn slip. They were standing, the girl pressed up against an ash tree, the man with his back to Bess. She dared not move, afraid they would discover they were being watched, but at the same time she realized they were far too involved in their energetic lovemaking to be so easily distracted. She was about to turn and slip silently back into the trees when something caught her attention. A frayed piece of rope. The girl was bound to the tree. Now she looked again, Bess could see that the girl’s moans and wails were not of ecstasy but of anguish. She was not enjoying the attentions of an ardent lover but was being raped. Bess opened her mouth to shout out but checked herself. She must do something to rescue the poor young woman, but a man capable of such a thing would not give up his prize easily. She had no weapon with which to protect herself or to threaten him. She cast around for a strong stick or heavy stone. At that moment she heard shouts coming from a way off to the west, deeper into the forest. The man heard them too and turned to look over his shoulder. Turned so that Bess could clearly see his face, and there was no mistaking the stern features of Gideon Masters. Features distorted by a bestial lust and eyes inhumanly red with anger. The girl heard the voices of her would-be rescuers and called out to them. Gideon stepped back. He placed a finger under the girl’s chin and raised her face. He stared into her eyes, his lips moving quickly as if uttering some prayer or incantation. The girl’s lids grew heavy and she slumped forward, her weight taken by the rope that tied her. Gideon took a pace onto the eastward path but then hesitated. Swinging round, he narrowed his eyes in Bess’s direction, scanning the undergrowth. But Bess had already dropped to the
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