The Green Man Read online

  The Green Man

  By L.E. Thomas

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2020 L.E. Thomas

  ISBN 9781646564040

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  The Green Man

  By L.E. Thomas

  Olivia put aside her quill pen and surveyed the neatly written accounts with satisfaction. As was her practice, she carefully sprinkled a little fine sand over them so they would not smear as they dried. The late September sun was streaming through the open window in her father’s office as she stoppered the inkpot.

  She could hear the familiar sounds of the busy London thoroughfare of Aldgate below. The cries of sellers, the rumble of wagons, the bleats and squawks of livestock on their way to market, these were all sounds she had grown up with at The Green Man Inn.

  Some visitors remarked that is was an unusual name for a bustling tavern amid a busy urban centre, but Olivia reflected with a smile that a name from the depths of the country did no harm to their custom. The property had been in the family for generations and like many London alehouses, provided respite for those on their way to and from the city gates. Merchants, pedlars and pilgrims mingled with locals for a tankard of ale and some hot food in the main room. In the large dormitories above, there were beds for weary travellers.

  Her grandmother had cannily added to the building, providing private downstairs parlours for grandees to sup in without mixing with the great unwashed. Above these, reached by a separate staircase, were discreet private bed chambers. If any serving wenches followed a noble up the steps to provide a more personal service, the family turned a blind eye, as long as it was discreet. The Green Man had a reputation to conserve after all.

  Her father has expanded the business also, enterprisingly becoming a prosperous wine merchant, which further encouraged the great and good to visit the premises. He was away in Kent to collect a precious shipment of fine wine from France, returning with this up-river to ensure it was handled correctly. He hated to travel in winter when the weather made journeys by land, sea and river treacherous, so this would be his last trip of the year, for which Olivia was thankful for.

  Thinking of him, Olivia missed her father dreadfully, even though he was only away for a few days on a regular voyage. She was happy enough to keep this week’s takings up to date for his perusal, and to keep the tavern ticking over with the help of well-trained staff, but she felt adrift without his comforting hands at the reins of the family firm.

  Aware of this, her father had left behind Jehan, his burly servant, in case any drunken customer, when it was the time to pay their reckoning, might think to get the better of a dainty-looking and pretty young woman.

  Olivia had helped in the running of the inn since she was a girl, trained by her wise grandmother after her mother had died of a fever. Her father’s mother had been widowed young, brought up her son alone and had run the tavern until he came to manhood. She had rarely spoken of her husband. When she did, her brisk manner would falter, and she would shed a tear for one she lost so many years before.

  In good time, on her grandmother’s passing, Olivia had taken over her role entirely. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, my treasure,” her father would always say with a twinkling grin.

  At twenty, she was not yet married, which was not unusual amongst the other young women of the city’s mercantile class. Many of the girls she knew were an integral part of the family business, like herself. Or their sweethearts were still apprenticed and would need to establish themselves in their given trade before they could be wed. Not that she was in any hurry, she thought to herself, The Green Man was all she had ever known and she could not yet think of being parted from it.

  These reflections were disturbed by a crash of crockery from downstairs. The wail of the kitchen maid was followed by the cross yell of the cook. Anticipating the inevitable shout of, “Miss Olivia!” she tipped the sand back in its container, rolled up the accounts and placing them in the trunk, locked them with the keys she held around her waist. She left the room to descend the stairs to scold and placate where required.

  Her father returned when expected, in good spirits, pleased with the quality of his cargo and eager to sell it on at a considerable profit. He and Olivia were tasting the vintage one late afternoon in between the busy and morning and evening shifts. It was a pleasant way to confer over tavern matters before they were called to their duties.

  He finished an entertaining anecdote of his travels and Olivia said impulsively, “How glad I am you are returned safely to us. I am so relieved this was your final trip until the spring.”

  His normally open face grew shuttered and he looked away from her, his smile fading suddenly, saying neutrally, “Maybe so.” Then to Olivia’s surprise, he continued. “We have one more journey to make this year, and a happy one, as you are to be married.

  Olivia nearly dropped her cup of wine in shock. “Married, Pa? But to who?”

  Her father gazed into his goblet, avoiding her eyes. “Someone of my acquaintance. A very great gentleman in his particular way. One worthy of my own dear girl,” he said with a strained smile.

  “But why can he not come here?” Olivia was normally an obedient daughter, but her bewilderment made her speak out of turn. When the time came, she had thought she would be betrothed to someone familiar, say a local apothecary or merchant. It had never occurred to her she would marry a man from outside the city bounds in some unknown and unlooked-for part of the country.

  “He has, well, commitments in his lands. To the west of here,” her father vaguely waved his hand to indicate the direction.

  Olivia was about to frame another question when one of the servants entered the chamber to announce the arrival of a grand gentleman and favoured customer to sample the latest shipment from Burgundy. With a hasty curtsey, Olivia excused herself and left the room. She hoped she would be able to get more information from her father later on.

  But this did not happen. When she did approach her father for any details, he was oddly vague for such a practical man, but all the while she was aware he was making arrangements for their travels. When she questioned him as far as she dared, he took her hand and said sincerely, “My dear girl, I have your best interests at heart, I promise you that.” More than that he would not say.

  Privately, she pondered over this. It was all very strange. Her father would never normally quit the inn without her to oversee its running. He had reasoned to her that this was possible as business was slack so late in the year with so few travellers. This only made their unseasonal ventu
re all the more perplexing.

  As plans progressed, she learned they were to take the faithful Jehan with them as protection on the sometimes-dangerous roads. As well as sturdy travelling gear, Olivia packed her best gown, one she had never worn, in a deep crimson shade with fine gold-coloured embroidery on the neckline and sleeve edges. Even if she was to be married in the back of beyond, she would show them some London style, she thought.

  They left London in mid-October through Newgate and began their journey west. Olivia had rarely been far beyond the city walls and felt more unease than excitement at the prospect. What could there possibly be worth seeing in the sparsely populated lands away from the great city?

  They travelled on the Oxford road, but this was merely the first stage of their journey. They departed from that city of religion and learning, always heading west. Eventually, they reached Worcester, where they crossed the great river Severn.

  Their progress was steady as they stayed overnight in taverns, ordering fresh horses for the next day. Over a glass of ale, her father took a professional interest in each establishment. He discussed with Olivia standards of service that would never be seen as acceptable in The Green Man, as well as taking on board some new ideas.

  It was only in her bed at night that Olivia pondered on these conversations. Why would her father talk about implementing different customs in The Green Man together when she would be living at the other end of the country? It was most perplexing.

  The weather stayed reasonable for the end of October, with just the odd heavy shower to further muddy the roads. The damp at least kept robbers and footpads away from their small but obviously wealthy party, as they strayed further and further away from civilisation.

  She and her father joked together about the ever-slower, drawling accents as they went deeper into rural England. Leisurely country vowels and laggardly minds contrasted with their own rapid London speech and quick wits.

  Although she could laugh about the backward peasants in their mud-coloured clothes, privately, she was evermore unsettled the deeper they travelled into the countryside. She felt adrift, as though she had left the safe routine of the thriving throng for something much older and disquieting.

  This sensation was intensified as they attended services along the way in country churches. She was accustomed to gargoyles and depictions of saints decorating the grand churches in London, but here, the carvings were increasingly strange. Pagan woodland sprits were etched into the stone, and as she nervously glanced their way, she swiftly crossed herself for divine protection. They couldn’t be more unlike the jolly, bucolic, capering figure carefully painted on the tavern sign at home.

  Towards the end of October, when she thought the journey would never end, her father, as if sensing her weariness, reassured her they were almost there. “Just a little further, my dear,” he said, as they travelled on the Leominster road.

  She was pleased that they were approaching a bustling, well-to-do town. Perhaps her spouse-to-be was a native of such a well-established place? A business acquaintance of her father’s perhaps that he had taken a liking to. She hoped for a fine townhouse and a prosperous trade to engage in, and she was thankful they would reach her destination before the onset of grim November.

  However, before they reached the town on the second-last day of October, she was dismayed when they again turned west. They were now close to the borders with Wales, where the dark mountains hovered ominously on the horizon. That night they halted overnight at a lonely tavern. Her father announced in apparent cheer that they were on the final leg of their journey to meet her mysterious bridegroom. Olivia did not know what to think.

  That night before sleep, she unpacked and shook out the creases of her bridal gown, laying it over the wooden chest in her small chamber ready for the morrow. However, the bright colours now seemed gaudy and citified, not in keeping for such a remote part of the world, she thought with a sigh. Despite the tumult in her mind, she slept deeply.

  When she awoke with the grey dawn the next day, to her astonishment, instead of the bright splash of scarlet, there was a simple, unadorned green gown ready for her. Shrugging her shoulders at this substitution, she donned it and went downstairs where there was another surprise waiting. Instead of fresh horses awaiting them, there were just two sturdy ponies.

  Her father announced they must press on and leave Jehan behind. With an uneasy glance, Olivia did his bidding. Parting from Jehan felt strange, as though she was leaving another part of her old London self behind her forever. However, she reasoned, the ponies were better suited to the uneven and increasingly wooded land west of the border, where the roads became little more than tracks.

  They met only a few people, just the occasional local who looked at them suspiciously. As her father offered a few stumbling queries, they answered fluently in the Welsh tongue, before melting into the landscape, no doubt to a remote scattered village so unlike the homely hubs of England.

  On this last day of October, All Hallows Eve, Olivia shivered with more than cold. What ‘great man’ could live in such a desolate place? Despite the familiar shape of her father leading the way, she felt alone and more than a little lost.

  They travelled all through the long day, when at last, as the sky was starting to darken, they reached a large forest. Despite the lateness of the season, the trees were still thickly festooned with leaves, just beginning to change their colours.

  Her father dismounted and signalled for her to do likewise. “This is as far as I go. Your lord’s lands start here and he will not welcome my presence,” he said calmly.

  “But Pa, you can’t leave me!” she protested in distress, suddenly afraid of being abandoned in this strange and hostile place.

  He patted her hand. “All will be well, my dove. Trust your old pa. I will be waiting here, I promise. You must meet your new husband first,” he said gently with an encouraging push towards the scarcely-trod path winding between the trees.

  With one last look at her father, holding the reins of both ponies, her eyes misting with tears, Olivia obeyed. What else could she do? She had nowhere else to go. As she hesitantly scrambled her way through the woods, it began to rain, the sound shivering over the cover of the leaves.

  On and on she walked until she could barely see the track in front of her. There was no sign of the welcoming lights of a house. The wind grew fiercer and the rain heavier, soaking her thick travelling cloak.

  Even over the noise, she could hear the scurrying of wild forest creatures in the undergrowth. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard the cry of a fox. She hesitated with a more perturbing thought. Was it the howl of a wolf? Thinking of such wild and fearsome creatures, she began to wonder if there were bears roaming the forest.

  More than anything, she wanted to go home. She looked behind her, but the way back to her father seemed to be swallowed up in the gloom, so she plodded on. As the wind howled through the trees, her disquieted musings turned to less corporeal threats.

  Even city folk were suspicious of the ill-doing of spirits on this Halloween night. Here in the ancient countryside, her mind turned to the evil deeds of witches and warlocks, of dark arts and deadly spells. A young virgin, alone in the forest would be an obvious sacrifice to Beelzebub himself. Had her father sold his soul to the devil? Or had he been bewitched to leave his only daughter to some grisly and unearthly fate?

  The storm raged around her, echoing her terrible thoughts. Her imagination ran wild on her perilous state. The frightful notion she would be left on the forest floor robbed of her maidenhood and lifeblood took hold of her mind until it felt unbearably real. She turned tail and fled, screaming her terror into force of the gale.

  The trees seem to line up against her, and she was prepared to be scratched to pieces as she fought her way through them, that the harsh branches would rend her clothes and tear her skin. But they simply formed a barrier, causing her no harm as she slid to the sodden ground. She was almost insensible with dread, b
ut as her sobs eased, she was aware that the tumult of the storm was now far above her in the sky. In the shelter of the woods, there was an atmosphere of strangely expectant calm.

  She wiped her eyes and as she opened them, the trees in front of her almost seemed to give off a glow. The leaves began to rustle as if whispering to her. If she concentrated, she could almost imagine they were forming words and addressing her.

  Fanciful though it might be, she could pick out individual voices from the ash, the chestnut and the willow as they placated and encouraged her. “Come with us, it is time,” one voice uttered. “Our master is waiting for you,” another persuaded. “The line must continue,” a third proclaimed.

  She could not help but be affected by their urgency. She stood unsteadily and could see the route was now clear before her as if the trees were showing her the way. As she began to walk, the branches gently brushed against her, steadying her, easing her passage.

  In time, Olivia reached a cathedral-like clearing, dramatically lit by forked lightning high in the heavens. The trees seemed to draw back in obeisance, and the way ahead was blocked by a massive oak tree. As she hesitated, looking in awe at this magnificent specimen, its eyes blinked open. She stepped back, in astonishment, her fear suddenly returning.

  This entity was far more terrible and powerful even than the country church carvings that had filled her with alarm. She felt the branches of her attendant trees brushing her arms again as if to abate her nervousness. The uncannily bright green eyes surveyed her and the mouth, crammed with leaves, moved, uttering, “My bride. At last.”

  The crackling voice held no threat, but was full of longing. She looked into the depths of those verdant orbs and saw nothing but tenderness. As if sensing her acceptance, her woodland handmaidens loosened the cloak at her neck.

  Her bridegroom looked at her slender form and the great branches were held wide for her to step into his embrace. She felt his desire and her own body responded with an excited quickening. Tendrils deftly unlaced her gown, the colour of spring leaves, and she stepped out of it, naked and unashamed. Her attendants fell back as she willingly approached her husband.