Chapter 2

March 1572

Apolline couldn’t breathe easily until Lyon was behind her. Until all trace of its air was gone, until the stink had left her nostrils, until she had purged every damned part of it from her mind. Not likely , she thought, raising her hand to the side of her head. Strange how her ear felt like it was still there, until she went to touch it. Smiling still hurt, and laughing was worse. Not that it stopped her from doing either.

Apolline and her husband, Gilles Garnier, had left Lyon before dawn, their only possessions the clothes on their backs and a sack with a couple of bowls, spoons and a sharp knife given to them by the sisters of the Magdalene House. What little coin they had they’d used to buy the cheapest cart and nag to take them the forty or so leagues from Lyon to Dole.

The cart bumped along the forest trail, creating music in the crunch of its wheels and the tapping of the horse’s hooves. Apolline was packed in the back of the cart with their meagre belongings, clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering despite the warmth of the day. She was hungry and tired, but that was nothing remarkable. No, it was the fear of what lay ahead that vexed her. Her husband didn’t know she had been born in this part of the world. She had kept it from him. She kept a lot of things from him, mostly things he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t understand why she ran away all those years ago, he who had a family who’d loved him until they died. A child who is loved trusts others to tell them what to do, but an orphan has to do things for herself. She knows only what she sees and hears, and, more often than not, she runs. She hides. Those instincts had kept Apolline alive, if not entirely whole.

She had been afraid then, and she was afraid now. Fear was important; it spoke to you, gave warnings you should heed. Coming to the house she’d been promised was important to her. So much so that she didn’t want to think about it too hard, lest it amount to nought. That was the problem with promises and dreams: until you could hold them, they were as empty as air. Gilles had promised her land as well. ‘Good land, family land,’ he’d said. Gilles Garnier was many things, but he was no liar. To go from nothing – no home, no family – to having a home of her own, it snatched the air from her breast. When you had nothing to begin with, there was no fear of it being taken away. But to have so much and then to lose it all ... She’d had a taste of such loss only once before, a piece of her heart left behind in the ashes of a burned house. The memory still pained her, all these years later.

‘Almost there, Apolline,’ Gilles called from the driver’s seat.

He’d been saying that since daybreak.

Her husband didn’t look scared at all. She’d know; he wore his feelings on his face. It was his thoughts that he had trouble holding on to. Gilles Garnier holding on to a thought was like trying to hold water in your hands – it inevitably slipped away. She feared for him most of all. Despite his size, he had more weaknesses than most men. It was part of why she cared for him so.

Her stomach growled. They had no food left, and Gilles wouldn’t stop to hunt. She wouldn’t waste good coin on food, not when he could hunt anything with wings or four legs, and she could dig and forage. He’d said that the land they were going to would take seed. She could grow vegetables, herbs, everything necessary to keep them both. All she needed was a bit of good earth.

‘Husband, are we—’

The cart stopped suddenly, and her head banged painfully against the back of the wooden seat.

‘We’re home, Apolline,’ he said.

She rubbed her head as she took it all in. They were in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by tall slender trees with black trunks and leaves of the brightest green. Shards of daylight twinkled between the branches, illuminating a cottage at the edge of the clearing. It seemed to blend into the forest floor – the walls were made from stone the colour of the sky before a storm, the roof low and almost entirely covered in moss. A large bush obscured what she thought was the door. It was low enough that Gilles would need to bend to enter. Even she would need to bob her head. Rain must have fallen recently, unearthing a rich smell from the deep-brown soil that Apolline welcomed. Everything around her was clean, fresh and alive. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, and that stabbed her right in the heart.

Gilles stared at the hermitage, tilting his head from one side to the other. ‘It’s changed since I was here last, Apolline, but with some work it will make us a fine home. Oh no, don’t cry, Apolline. I promise I will make us a good home. I’ll work hard. Only don’t cry.’

He reached for her hands, folding them within his massive grip. Tears spilled from his own eyes, thinking he’d been the one to hurt her.

‘You have got me wrong, husband.’ She wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘You did good.’ Too good , she thought.

‘You’re happy?’

‘I am.’

Gilles let out a whoop of triumph and lifted Apolline from the cart, spinning her around until she begged him to stop. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her towards the cottage. He made short work of the bush covering the door, ripping it up by the roots and tossing it aside as if it were nothing more than a weed.

Inside it was musty, squat and dark, with all the stillness and silence of a cave. There was little light and a deep chill, but both could quickly be remedied by a fire. There were two dim spaces extending off the main living area. Two rooms, as well as this large space! She could hardly believe it.

‘You sleep in Papa and Maman’s old room. That’s the best place,’ Gilles told her. ‘Mine is down there.’ He pointed in the direction of one of the rooms. ‘But you can come in if you get scared in the night.’

She patted his cheek, connecting more with the coarse bristles of his beard than the skin beneath. ‘That will suit me just fine.’

‘I’ll show you the garden,’ he said, hesitating as a strange look passed across his face. ‘Apolline, where is the little one?’

‘She’s sleeping.’

‘Sleeping?’ He glanced around.

‘Let her sleep,’ Apolline said. She had thought it would be different here, away from Lyon, where it had happened. But some memories followed you from place to place, like a scar deep within that no one could see. ‘You were going to show me the garden?’

‘The garden? Yes!’ He tugged her outside, behind the dwelling, and pointed at a long, flat section of ground with no tall trees or large bushes. Plenty of weeds and fallen leaves, though.

‘Maman’s garden was here,’ Gilles said. ‘You can grow anything you like. The ground is good.’ He dug his heel into the earth to reveal the rich soil. ‘You can grow your special medicines.’

She could grow anything in this garden. Perhaps even add to her wooden chest, which lay wrapped in cloth and buried deep in one of the sacks in the cart.

‘Will you be happy here, Apolline? Say you will.’

Her heart clenched. She’d never had this much to lose before.