Free Corrag by Susan Fletcher

them. So I thought of her, as I ate them. The mare ate dead-nettle and moss.
    They were dark and wet days. When I think on them I think sad, and dark, and wet .
    I did light fires, sometimes. It was hard, in all that dampness, to light one that didn’t hiss or smoke blackly—but I did it once or twice. Once, we found a clearing that had a stream in it, and moss of such bright greenness that it glowed. There, by my fire, I unfolded Cora’s purse. I laid them out, on rocks. There were hundreds of them—all tied with string, all with different natures and smells, and properties. Some were fresh, and still soft. Others seemed so old that they powdered, to my touch, and I wondered if she’d found them when she was much younger—in her own wandering times.
    I thought some herbs might be older than me .
    Mallow, chervil, goldenrod.
    Campion and eyebright—which is rare, but worth looking for. It brightens eyes exceedingly.
    I gathered them up, one by one. I folded them into my mother’s cloth purse, and fastened it, and I said these are her whole life’s gatherings to the mare, who listened carefully. So did the trees, and the gold-green moss.
    I put the purse under my cloak, to keep it safe.
    Then the mare reared. She whinnied.
    Then I heard a bird go flap flap flap so I turned my head, thinking what is…?
    And I was grabbed.
    I was grabbed very roughly, with an arm on my throat so I could not breathe—I could not breathe for the arm was so strong and I kicked, and grappled with it. The horse snorted. That bird went flap.
    I could not breathe at all. My eyes sprang tears, and the arm lifted me clean up so my feet were off the ground and I had a small, cold moment where I thought I will die here —but then I thought no I will not . I was cross. I tried to scratch the arm but my fingernails were bitten so I reached behind to feel for this man’s face or ears or hair. I found his hair. I pulled it very hard which did nothing, so I fumbled with his face and found his eyes. I pushed my thumbs right in. Eyes are soft. It felt like they burst under my thumbs and there was a yell, a holler, and he dropped me. I scrabbled away and heaved in air.
    He wailed my eyes my eyes!
    The mare squealed, and I coughed thickly. The man moaned my eyes are bleeding, she’s blinded me —and so I knew he was not alone. I turned. Three of them. Three more men came out of the darkness like thoughts, but I knew they were real—they were muddied and strong-smelling, and in jerkins of such thin leather and so laden up with rusted blades and ropes that I thought I know your kind …I remembered. I saw a frosty morning. I saw five ropes swinging.
    I stared at them. I looked at each face as I crept back towards the mare—one had a plum-coloured face like he was half-burnt, and he beckoned to me.
    Give us your purse and we’ll not harm you.
    I shook my head. I was keeping Cora’s herbs for always—for all my life.
    We saw it. Give your money.
    I said, I have no money.
    He spat into a nettle bush. He stepped towards me more. No one travels with no money . Then he took a dirk out and growled again your purse. I heard his tongue’s accent which was Scotch—I knew it well enough from peddlers on the roads who’d beckoned me. I’d bought a silver mirror from a Scotchman once because it was so pretty and Mother Pindle saw me do so. She’d spat out the word Scotchman like it was whore or plague.
    I have no money!
    He smiled quickly, like I was a joke to him. Then he came at me, lifted me right up and pushed me back against a tree. He struggled with me, seeking my purse so harshly that my teeth rattled, and I roared at him, and smacked his head.
    Ha he said, finding it. Cora’s purse.
    He tugged it free and opened it, and out they went—radish, dock, lovage, fennel, comfrey, elderflower, sage. All over the forest floor.
    I wailed. I dropped to my knees to gather them. It was like my mother was sprawled on the floor too, and for a while there was