Read Online The Highwayman's Footsteps by Nicola Morgan - Free Book Online

choose a direction. Straining my eyes, I thought I could make out the darker shape of something ahead and I made towards it. I was glad of my thickly-woven winter cloak – if it had been thinner, my whole body would have been as wet as my drenched thighs.
    Luck was with me once more. There was the stone cross, rising like a stern friar in front of me. I hurried towards it. So thick was it that I could not have put my arms around it, and tall, taller by far than I. I looked up at its cold strength and gave thanks to God for signs and crosses and the men who in early times had placed it there for the sake of travellers.
    With my fingers, I traced the marks which depicted the points of the compass, and hurried in a north-easterly direction, counting my steps as I went.
    Sure enough, there was the wall, the stile. My heart leapt! How could I have been afraid? Almost laughing, I scrambled over the stile, and followed the wall as Bess had instructed. Running now, towards the next brow, the cold air sharp in my throat, I hoped against all hope that I should not lose the way. Could I be sure this was the right hill? In this fading light, perhaps the shapes played tricks on my eyes?
    At the crest of this hill, I stopped, leaned forward gasping, trying to quieten my breathing so that I could listen for the sound of water, as Bess had told me I must. Nothing. Still nothing. Had I made a mistake? I looked around, desperately. From which direction had I come? Should I retrace my steps and return to the stone cross?
    The emptiness was huge, all-encompassing.
    And then – suddenly – the unmistakable sound of water ahead of me! Bess had said that beside this spring was the path I was to take down the hillside, starting between two rocks taller than the others. Sure enough, her directions had been good once more – here were the rocks and here the path. I hurried down it, taking care on the slippery stones, all my senses alert. There was no need to worry about soldiers here. My greatest danger was in slipping. I held my arms out for greater balance and to break any fall. But I found that I was sure-footed and my confidence grew as I sped down the path. Nothing could hurt me! I would reach Bess’s home and find her horse. I would ride it back to her and then … well, then I would see what might happen. I need not think further than this task. Luck was on my side and God would provide.
    Would He not?
    Perhaps the spirits of that place heard my boastfulness. Perhaps I forgot that Bess had told me to seek out the turning to the left. Perhaps I simply went with too much haste. Whatever the reason, I missed the fork in the path.
    At first, I did not suspect anything was amiss, so keenly did I speed down the hill, so blindly did I follow that path. It was only when I came to the bottom and found no dry-stone wall that I slowed down. It was only when my feet began to slip and then sink, bringing me to a standstill, that I remembered her instructions and understood my mistake. Stunned, with panic sending a clouding rain over my vision, I stood stock-still. The wind slapped icy water at my face.
    The marshes! I had come to the marshes. I should be nowhere near them. I turned, or tried to. I pulled one foot from the mud, bringing my boot only with difficulty. My left leg was deeper in the mud beneath the snow. The more I tried to move, the more it sank. I fell forward onto the ground, digging my hands into the grey slime. A flurry of wind blew fresh snow into my face. Lying as flat as I could, I very slowly began to pull my leg from the mud. It would not come. The harder I pulled, the more the mud sucked it back.
    Fear and loneliness threatened to overcome me.
    With every jot of strength, and anger at the weather which seemed to shriek its laughter in my face, I fought my fear and forced myself to be calm, and at last, with a horrible sucking sound, my leg came free. I was safe.
    But I would not be safe if I stayed much longer.