Superstitions...

“There was a certain wealthy man who, as it later transpired, had been given over to sinful behaviour, died and was buried. However, with Satan’s help he kept emerging at night from his tomb and wandering here and there to the sound of loudly barking dogs. Every night he was the cause of great terror to the townspeople before his return at daybreak to the tomb.” William of Newburgh (1136-1198), Historia Rerum Anglicarum.

It was not until she had drawn the last bolt across the door that her heart rate returned to normal. Emma de Lacy leant her slender body against the thick wood with some finality and breathed a soft sigh of relief. Brushing thoughtlessly at the strands of chestnut hair that stuck to her clammy forehead, Emma turned to gaze at the maid servant who stood paralysed with fear in the corner of the room.

                “Agnes is everyone inside?” The girl’s face was ashen and her eyes wide as she cried,

                “Oh Mistress we’re all going to die! That horrible creature out there will kill us all!” Crossing the room Emma grabbed her maid impatiently by the shoulders and spoke with gentle authority,

                “Hush. There is no creature. It is but a phantasm created by idle minds. The dead cannot walk. Remember we went to Walter’s funeral and we saw him buried with our own eyes.” A loud crash sounded from outside and a woman’s piercing scream filled their ears. Agnes trembled violently beneath Emma’s stern grasp. “It is no dead man that is causing this commotion but living people panicking and rioting. If we stay inside tonight we shall all be safe. I promise you.” Agnes’ eyes flew to the staircase, guilt flashing across her face.

                “Master Thomas... he’s...he’s not in his room. I couldn’t find him.” Fear for her younger brother threatened to choke Emma, but she bit her lip, determined not to vent her frustration on the terrified girl.

Unclasping the maid she moved back towards the door that she had locked only moments before. With firmness she did not feel Emma pulled back the thick bolts and instructed calmly,

                “I shall go back out and find him. Now lock this door after me and do not open it to anyone but myself or Tom. Do you understand?” Agnes gave a tremulous nod. Grasping a small wicked blade with cold fingers Emma breathed a swift prayer for the safety of her brother and home before darting back out into the night.

                The late summer twilight was unbearably humid as she moved cautiously through the village. Privately Emma thought that this latest spell of madness was caused more by the oppressive heat and sun-burnt crops than it was a corpse reanimated by Satan. Many of the younger local men were unemployed due to the unseasonable weather and so were causing trouble, but it was the old who had exacerbated the violence by spreading their superstitions of the walking dead.

Yet it was not the dead who had set the village ablaze, and Emma gasped in dread as she saw the wind licking the flames steadily closer to more homes. Suddenly she doubted the promise she had made to Agnes, staying indoors might not be enough protection from this summer madness.

Desperation made her search bolder and Emma began peering up amongst the lofty branches of trees knowing that her brother was a keen observer. Catching a glimpse of blue cloth amongst rustling leaves she headed instinctively towards the wide oak.

                “Tom, I need you to come down. I know it’s you up there.” There was more rustling before she heard his voice brash and loud with excitement,

                “Come up here Em, you can see everything. They’re digging up old Walter’s grave and they’re lighting fires and...”

                “Tom! Come down right now.” With her focus fixed above her on the small body she could now make out amongst the dark leaves Emma did not notice the men who approached her from behind.

                “Em!” Tom’s young voice called out in alarm, and Emma turned to see four men armed with knives. Her own hand reached for the blade at her side, but her fingers were clumsy with fear and it dropped into the long grass. Unarmed she stumbled backwards, hitting the tree and provoking mocking laughter from the men. Her hands scrabbled across the bark as she sought something to fight with. Launching forward she threw wooden shards into her attackers’ faces and ran, drawing them away from her brother.

                Concentrating on the sounds of their lumbering pursuit from behind Emma ran blindly into a solid wall of muscle. Warmth pervaded her body where large hands caught and steadied her and she felt herself relaxing into the stranger’s encircling strength. But as she heard the approach of her pursuers she began cursing and scratching at his iron hold in desperation.

He caught her furled hand in one of his own and she stilled as he swept a calloused thumb tenderly across her palm. Her eyebrows furrowed at the spark of recognition, but the stranger’s face remained shrouded in deep shadow. Her panic ebbed as she became entranced by the lazy journey of his touch across her skin.

The sound of snapping twigs heralded the appearance of her pursuers and the stranger turned swiftly his hands easily spanning her waist as he placed her safely behind him. Though she knew she ought to continue her escape Emma was rooted to the spot unable to tear her eyes away from the tall stranger who confronted the four men. Despite being outnumbered he easily fought off the other men, their daggers no match for the deadly arc of his broadsword.

The glow of a nearby fire glinted off the shining blade suddenly highlighting the stranger’s profile. Emma started, heat suffusing her face. Despite the recently healed scars that mutilated one side of his face she finally realised exactly who she had been pressed so intimately against.