Chapter 6

Apolline was cutting carrots and turnips for the stew pot when there came a soft tapping at the entrance of the cottage. There was only one reason why someone would come into the forest and knock on her door. Putting down the knife and wiping her hands on her apron, she opened the door, revealing a timid-looking young woman with the ruddy cheeks and reddened hands of a servant.

She stared at her own feet. ‘Beg your pardon, but I have a need.’

Apolline glanced past the waif. A well-dressed woman wearing an ermine-lined cloak stood beside a horse at the edge of the clearing. ‘What is it you need?’

The servant fumbled in her dress pocket and handed Apolline a folded piece of paper. She quickly snatched her hand back as if fearing it would be burned.

Apolline opened the note with its scrawls that resembled the scratchings of birds digging for worms. ‘I can’t read this. Tell me what you need.’ The girl trembled and she added in a gentler tone, ‘I cannot read.’

The servant gave a small smile. ‘Nor I, madame. I cannot speak to what that note says, but I know its meaning.’ She cast a frightened glance over her shoulder. ‘Can I trust you, madame?’

‘You can,’ Apolline said. Her business relied on holding her tongue.

‘The woman I work for, she’s carrying a babe she does not want. She needs to be rid of it, and quickly.’

‘I hear you. Wait here.’

‘She has four already to care for, from six births,’ the servant rambled on. ‘The last one nearly killed her. She doesn’t want more, only her husband won’t leave off. Oh, you said you would help, didn’t you?’

‘I did.’

Apolline understood the servant’s fear. No apothecary, herbalist or wise woman who practised their trade under the watchful eye of the Church and gendarmes would agree to this request. Some might take the risk if the coin was right, but they were usually the ones least deserving of trust. This was a hard business, she couldn’t deny it, but it was between a woman and her body – and if she chose to believe in a God, then Him too. And the coin was good. Although, truth be told, Apolline would probably do it without the coin.

She moved around the cottage, collecting the herbs she needed. Bunches of them hung drying from the rafters. Over the months since she and Gilles had arrived, she’d been busy replanting and cultivating the overgrown garden, as well as foraging and picking as many useful plants as she could from the forest before the weather turned cold. It looked like there was no order to it, but she knew every individual herb, as well as their properties, both to heal and harm. For this blend, fresh was always best. She collected the tansy, chrysanthemum, feverfew, barberry, clove and a variety of others. She crushed them in two lots, pouring one into a canvas pouch for the bath, drawn tight with a piece of string. The other she wrapped in linen to steep in wine.

Apolline relayed her instructions and made the girl repeat them twice before handing the bundles over. Then she named her sum. It was twice what she’d normally charge, but winter was coming, and she and Gilles needed to survive the same as anyone else. Besides, most folks liked to haggle. But not this servant; she handed the coin over without argument. It felt heavy and reassuring in her pocket.

The girl turned to leave, but Apolline reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘If she’s caught with these, you don’t know me, understand? And I never met you.’

‘No, madame,’ the servant said. ‘God bless you.’

Apolline doubted God would have anything to do with this kind of work. ‘If she needs me again, she’s to come find me, or send you.’

The girl nodded before running to the woman with the fur-trimmed cloak.

Apolline stood in the doorway with her arms folded, watching the servant pass on her instructions to her mistress, seeing the relief cross her face. Apolline raised her hand slightly, in a gesture of farewell. To her surprise, the woman returned it. Then she mounted her horse and departed at a trot, the servant running along beside her.

Had it truly come to this? Only twenty and some years, and yet here she was, living in a cottage in the forest, giving out herbs from her door like a crone from one of those folk tales. The servant had called her ‘madame’. She chuckled to herself. Madame, indeed!

Apolline still stood in the doorway when her husband Gilles returned, a dripping sack slung over his shoulder.

‘What’s this?’ she asked. ‘You been poaching again?’

‘To scavenge what you find isn’t poaching,’ he said, not meeting her eyes.

She didn’t believe him, but she took the sack and looked inside. It was good meat and didn’t smell rancid. A fresh kill then. Venison, based on the deep-red colour.

‘No one will come looking for this, or you?’

He hung his head and dragged his toe back and forth in the dirt. ‘I thought you’d be happy.’

‘I am.’ She placed a hand on his cheek and raised his head. ‘But it’s not worth our necks to feed our bellies. You’ve got to take care.’

‘Can I come inside?’

She wrinkled her nose at the scent of blood and meat. ‘Go wash first. There’s water in the bucket. You know where to fetch more if you need it.’

He left his boots by the door and went to wash. She heard him splashing as she picked up the knife and finished cutting the vegetables before slicing the meat into chunks. Yes, it was good meat. Hopefully nobody would come looking for it.