couple may be permitted to cross to the island together, but this is rare. It requires an unusually strong bond of love between them. It does sometimes occur, I don’t deny, and that’s why when we find a man and wife, or even unmarried lovers, waiting to be carried over, it’s our duty to question them carefully. For it falls to us to perceive if their bond is strong enough to cross together. This lady is reluctant to accept it, but her bond with her husband was simply too weak. Let her look into her heart, then dare say my judgement that day was in error.”
“Mistress,” Beatrice said. “What do you say?”
The old woman remained silent. She kept her eyes lowered, and went on running the blade sulkily over the rabbit’s fur.
“Mistress,” Axl said, “once the rain stops, we’ll be returning to theroad. Why not leave this place with us? We’ll gladly walk with you some of your way. We could talk at leisure about whatever pleases you. Leave this good boatman in peace to enjoy what remains of this house while it stands. What’s to be gained sitting here like this? And if you wish it, I’ll kill the rabbit cleanly before our paths part. What do you say?”
The old woman gave no reply, nor any indication of having heard Axl’s words. After some time, she rose slowly to her feet, the rabbit held closely to her chest. The woman was tiny in stature and her cloak dragged along the floor as she made her way to the broken side of the room. Some water splashed onto her from a section of the ceiling, but she seemed not to care. When she had reached the far end of the floor, she looked out at the rain and the encroaching greenery. Then bending slowly, she set the rabbit down near her feet. The animal, perhaps stiff with fear, did not move at first. Then it vanished into the grass.
The old woman straightened herself carefully. When she turned she appeared to be looking at the boatman—her strangely sunken eyes made it hard to be certain—then said: “These strangers have taken away my appetite. But it will return, I’ve no doubt.”
With that she lifted the hem of her cloak and stepped slowly down into the grass like one easing herself into a pool. The rain fell on her steadily, and she pulled her hood further over her head before taking her next steps into the tall nettles.
“Wait a few moments and we’ll walk with you,” Axl called after her. But he felt Beatrice’s hand on his arm and heard her whisper: “Best not meddle with her, Axl. Let her go.”
When Axl walked over to where the old woman had stepped down, he half expected to see her somewhere, impeded by the foliage and unable to go on. But there was now no sign of her.
“Thank you, friends,” the boatman said behind him. “Perhaps for this day at least, I shall be allowed peace to remember my childhood.”
“We too will be out of your way, boatman,” said Axl. “Just as soon as this lets up.”
“No hurry, friends. You spoke judiciously and I thank you for it.”
Axl went on staring at the rain. He heard his wife say behind him: “This must once have been a splendid house, sir.”
“Oh, it was, good lady. When I was a boy, I didn’t know just how splendid, for it was all I knew. There were fine pictures and treasures, kind and wise servants. Just through there was the banqueting hall.”
“It must sadden you to see it like this, sir.”
“I’m simply grateful, good lady, it still stands as it does. For this house has witnessed days of war, when many others like it were burnt to the ground and are no more now than a mound or two beneath grass and heather.”
Then Axl heard Beatrice’s footsteps coming towards him and felt her hand on his shoulder. “What is it, Axl?” she asked, her voice lowered. “You’re troubled, I can see it.”
“It’s nothing, princess. It’s just this ruin here. For a moment it was as if I were the one remembering things here.”
“What manner of things, Axl?”
“I don’t know, princess.
Learning to Kill: Stories