“Be careful you don’t get lost in those woods”, her friend Beth always warned her. But ever since she was little, Emma had walked among the trees, first with her mum and then on her own, and she felt she knew every stump, grove and bramble patch. So, she all but dropped her basket of herbs when, pushing through the ferns, she came across the beck, right where it shouldn’t have been. Catching herself from falling just in time, she looked upstream and down, as the water tumbled past her feet. “Have I got myself turned around?” she thought, looking back the way she had come. It was supposed to be a hundred yards or more away on the other side of the meadow, which was now across from where she stood. But that would mean she had crossed the stream somehow and that … well, that was just not possible, unless she was going the way of poor old Margaret Dobson. 

She cast about for another landmark and hit upon an ancient oak, gnarled and coming late to leaf, that should’ve been many yards distant from the beck but now felt the waters carving out the bank between its roots. As she watched, the old tree began to list, then with a terrible groan and crash it fell, branches snapping off and bouncing away into the undergrowth. For a moment or two, Emma just stood, stock still, thinking about how her mum had pointed out the tree as a fixed point to help her orient herself in the woods, how she had climbed it as a young girl while her mother picked mushrooms below, how it had endured harsh winters and fierce summers. Then, shaking her head, she clambered up the roots and strode across the trunk’s rough back, to jump down on the other side. “Best to pick up the pace and head home sharpish”, she thought to herself, striding across the meadow where it shouldn’t have been.

Long before she entered the village, she heard the raised voices, carried on the breeze. A small crowd had gathered on the Green, surrounding several important looking figures, watched over by a small group of armed men. Emma could see the head of William Leigh above the rest, shaking from side to side, an arm raised with index finger pointed to the sky. “I see William’s invoking the Almighty again,” she murmured to her friend Beth, standing at the back.

Beth turned, her face grim. “Lord Rothwell is laying claim to all the land west of Wyke Beck, which they’re saying includes Asket Meadow and most of the land we’ve been using to graze the cattle. William there is telling Rothwell’s men the meadow is to the east of the beck and always has been but … well, for some reason, they’re not having any of it.” She turned back toward the speakers. “They say they have a plan or something, with the land all mapped out on parchment that proves Rothwell’s contention.” Beth shook her head and added “As if some lines on a sheet could prove what we know to be false from our own memory …” 

Emma stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of her friends and neighbours. Facing Leigh, whose neck was becoming increasingly red – so she could only imagine how fierce his features must have looked – was Thomas Grice, Rothwell’s Steward, who looked as composed as if the two were merely arguing about the price of a cow. However, Emma’s focus was drawn to the man standing to the left and a little distance behind Grice. Dressed in a long black coat, this stranger carried a scholarly air about him and seemed detached from the hubbub. It was he who held the disputed map, occasionally presenting it for Grice to gesture at. 

Muttering apologies, Emma eased her way through the crowd to better hear what was being said. “… Master Wright and his men have extensively surveyed the land and he has drawn up this plan, this map, to set down once and for all Lord Rothwell’s rights … and yours too! It’ll all be clearly laid out for everyone to see,” Grice stated, calmly but forcefully. 

From the position she’d reached, Emma could see that William’s face was beginning to turn a darker shade as he thundered, “But your man is wrong!” He turned towards Wright who held the map behind his back as if Leigh would snatch it away. “I don’t care about your surveys or mapmaking”, Leigh continued,  “We all know what’s Rothwell’s and what’s ours and what we have a right to. Our mothers and fathers knew it and theirs before them … And we’ll not see those rights taken from us through some strokes of pen on parchment!” 

He made to move towards Wright but was blocked by Grice, who placed his hand carefully on Leigh’s chest and said, in a low voice, “Easy now, William. We don’t want any trouble, do we?” And he looked over towards the guards, who had reached for the hilts of their swords and were looking hard-faced at the crowd.

Leigh glanced their way, then back at Grice. “You’ve not heard the last of this, Master Grice”, he spat. 

Grice just shrugged and raising his voice, replied, “The map has been drawn and Lord Rothwell’s lands clearly represented. A copy will be kept at the manor for all to consult and tomorrow the original will be conveyed to York to be safely held within the county registry.” He looked straight into Leigh’s eyes and told him, “It’s done,” before turning and walking off with Wright, surrounded by the armed escort.

Leigh glared after them, joined by Mary Brotherton. “We’re not standing for this, William,” she muttered. “No, we’re bloody well not” he replied, before turning back to the crowd. “Meeting, tonight, after supper, back here. Because we are definitely not standing for this!” The villagers roared in approval and Emma saw Thomas Grice look back, his face momentarily fearful. 

“Beth”, she said, pulling at her friend’s sleeve before she walked off, “Your Jenny works up at Lord Rothwell’s, right? Could she find out when Wright is taking that map to York?” Beth frowned. “I don’t know, Emma. She has a good job up there and I don’t want her mixed up in anything.” “If she helps us now, there might not be anything to get mixed up in”, Emma replied, before adding “Or at least, not anything too serious.” Beth nodded at that and left Emma looking after Grice and his men, as they disappeared round a curve in the road.

A few hours later they were both back at the edge of the crowd of friends and neighbours, listening to Mary Brotherton recall the history of the injustices inflicted by Rothwell and his family: “… and not content with depriving us of our ancient rights and keeping us in what he considers to be ‘our place’, he wants to hem us in even further and block us not just from our rightful grazing land but also all the meadows and fields and woodlands that belong to everybody, not just him and his lot!” She paused and drew breath before adding, “Are we going to stand for it?!”

Fists, cudgels and whatever implements had been at hand were raised and a fierce collective “No!!!” shouted in response. “Here’s what we think of his bloody map”, she continued and holding up what looked to Emma to be an old scrap of paper with some hastily drawn lines and figures, she set it alight using the torch held by William Leigh, standing to her side. The crowd roared again as Leigh now stepped forward. 

“Friends,” he shouted, “We’ve had word that while Rothwell’s minions were talking to us today, he and some of his men were already out, putting up fences and marking his new boundaries.” The villagers fell silent. “If we don’t do something now, it’ll be his cows eating that grass, our grass, his feet walking them woods, our woods … If we don’t do something and do it now, we won’t be able to do anything. Rothwell will have done what he wanted all along and we’ll be left shaking our fists at the clouds …” He paused, until someone helpfully piped up with, “Tell us what we can do William!”

Emma sidled up to Beth again. “Anything from your Jen?” she asked. Beth looked around before answering, “She said it looks like Wright is going to York first thing and will be leaving Rothwell’s house at dawn.” Emma nodded. “Good. That means we have a chance of stopping all this before it gets out of hand.” Beth looked back at her, frowning and then nodded towards Leigh, “You think you can stop all this?! It’s not right what’s been done and I reckon William’s made a fair point: if we don’t stand together and do something, Rothwell and his lot will just roll over us …”

Emma sighed. “I agree. But it’s a question of doing what?” She paused as the crowd shouted again in response to something Leigh had said. Setting her shoulders, she pushed her way to the front. “I’d like to speak” she announced. “What are you going to do woman,” someone yelled from the crowd, “stop Rothwell with a few herbs and one of your incantations?!” People laughed. Leigh held up his hands. “We all have the right to speak here,” he said, before turning to her. “Go on Emma, say your piece.” She swallowed and looked to the ground before facing her neighbours.

“I know what you’re all thinking”, she began, “that we should go and tear down Lord Rothwell’s fences and let our cattle back loose over the fields.” She paused, as people nodded and an older man shouted “Just like we’ve done before. And more!” “Aye,” Emma continued, “We’ve stood side by side, me and you both, Martin Ainsworth, all of us in fact and we’ve faced down Rothwell and his lot. But this time, it’s different. This time, he’s got that plan, that map, that Master Wright has produced.” ‘What of it?” someone else asked, “We can tear that up just as easily as we can tear down the fences!” “And what will that achieve in the end?” Emma replied. “With the map held at the registry in York, Rothwell will send for the Sherriff there to enforce his claim. And the Sheriff will come with his men to ‘restore order’ and crack some skulls along the way …” 

“Let ‘em,” Ainsworth interrupted, “and we’ll crack a few o’ theirs!” “And then what?” Emma asked. “Will you try and crack the skulls of the troops they send here after that? Will you face off to their swords and pikes with hoes and flails?” She paused to let that image sink in. “And then, after we’ve buried our dead and tended to our injured, do you think Rothwell’ll say “Well, they put up a good fight them villagers, let’s give ‘em back their lands”?” Emma stared round at the faces in front of her, as people glanced to the side and shuffled their feet. 

Mary Brotherton stepped forward. “What choice do we have?” she demanded, “What choice but to fight for what is rightfully ours, lest it all be taken?!” The crowd shouted their agreement. It was Emma’s turn to raise her hands. “I have an idea,” she told them. “If it works, there’ll be no need to take back the land by force. But you’ll need to trust me.” “Why should we?” someone shouted from near the back. “Because you trusted her to get you over that fever last winter, Robert Croft!” That was Beth and Emma smiled in thanks. “Give me ‘til noon tomorrow”, she said, “If what I’ve got in mind doesn’t work by then, you can take down all of Rothwell’s fences and do what you will.” Mary squared her shoulders, about to respond but a fair number of the villagers were nodding now and Leigh, sensing the mood, interjected, “You’ve got ‘til noon tomorrow then,” he told Emma, “But no longer. After that, if nothing’s been done, well …” He grimaced and walked off, with Mary Brotherton and several others following.

Emma asked Beth to gather some of the other women she was close to and told them what she planned. One or two looked at each another and even Beth raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure about this, Emma?” she asked. Emma sighed. “Not really if I’m honest. But if it works, we’ll restore things to how they were without the need for violence.” “And if it doesn’t?” someone asked. “Then we’ll be standing alongside the men with cudgels in our hands.” Emma looked around and added “As Martin Ainsworth reminded us all, it’s not as if we haven’t done that before now, is it?!” The others nodded and Beth spoke up again, “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Right, let’s get you what you need.”

At dawn the next day, with mist rising over the fields, the group of women waited behind the trees above the York road. “I need to pee” someone whispered. “Shhh,” Beth admonished her, “They’re almost here.” In the distance they could hear the sounds of horses trotting, men’s voices talking low. Round the corner they came, Wright and Grice riding side by side, chatting to each other, with one of Rothwell’s men in front and another behind. Emma strode down the slope and stood, hands on hips, in the centre of the road. The leading man pulled up his horse and drew his sword. “Out of the way there!” he cried, “We’re on Lord Rothwell’s business!” “I know you Matthew Parker, as I know your mother and sister,” Emma replied, “what are you about, drawing your sword on me?” Parker looked embarrassed and told Emma directly, “Look, we don’t want any trouble. We’re just to escort Master Wright here to York and that’s all.” Before Emma could reply, Grice had urged his horse forward. “Remove yourself woman!” he commanded, “Or else I’ll be forced to order these men to run you down.”

At that, the other women emerged from the trees, some armed with cudgels, others with staffs. The horses shifted nervously and the men twisted and turned in their saddles as the women surrounded them. The guard at the back drew his sword and crying, “Stand back there!”, slashed down at the woman nearest him, cutting her arm. She fell back as the man spurred his horse forward, only to be knocked flying by Beth’s staff. Rolling onto his back he reached to retrieve his sword and the woman he had cut smashed his hand with her cudgel. Screaming with pain, the man clutched his broken fingers. “Move again and it’ll be your head” the woman hissed. Parker simply threw his sword down and offered no resistance as he was pulled from his horse. Grice angrily brushed away the hands that reached for him and dismounted without their help.

Wright, on the other hand, although slow to react at first, had by now turned his horse and looked set to gallop back the way they had come. At that, Emma strode up and grabbed the reins, looking the horse directly in the eye. “Oh no you don’t Master Wright”, she said, raising her face to him, “You and I have some business to transact.”  “I’ll be doing no business with you …” he replied but before he could finish Beth came up from the other side and yanked him down. With an expression of surprise, Wright sat in the dust, looking round at his companions, now tied and gagged. 

“You’re coming with me”, Emma asserted, grabbing him by the collar. Wright made to struggle and Emma slapped him twice, hard. “You might be a man, Master Wright but you’ve been sat on your arse most of your life I’ll warrant. Whereas I’ve been working the fields and walking the woods all of mine. So come nicely or I’ll slap the living shit out of you!” Head bowed, Wright asked, “What do you want of me?” as Emma led him off the track and up the slope into the trees. Behind her the other women did the same with the horses and the rest of the men, the guard with the broken hand still weeping softly while the woman he had slashed had her cut cleaned and bound. 

Once they’d come to a clearing in the woods, Emma stopped. “Now, Master Wright,” she said, “What I want with you is to undo the damage you’ve done and set things back as they were.” She bent down to a pack placed on an old stump and started to take out the contents. Wright looked at the collection of objects arrayed on the ground between the two of them and snorted “What? You think that you, some kind of hedge-witch, can reverse what I’ve done?!” Emma looked him calmly in the eye but said nothing. Instead, she stepped quickly forward and before he had time to react, she removed the folded map from the inner pocket of his coat. “Wait! No!” he cried, “Don’t touch that. It’s important!!” “Oh, I know full well how important it is to Lord Rothwell,” Emma replied, “but this land is more than just important to us.” She stopped and looked at him again, appraisingly. “I wonder if you can understand that” she mused. “Well, whether you can or not makes no difference. You may dismiss me as a hedge-witch but who do you think calved such elevated magicians as yourself, eh?”

While she’d been speaking, she had started to arrange the various items carefully on the grass. First, she laid out four white candles in a square. Within the square she set a loop of tightly wound hair, taken from all the women in the group. Unfolding the map, she then placed that within the circle and lit the candles. “Careful!” Wright cried. “Oh, I’ve no intention of burning your precious map,” Emma said, looking at him, before taking a bundle of herbs from her pack. The magician smirked and Emma paused. “And I’ve no doubt you’re thinking that candles and hair and some smelly herbs aren’t going to do the trick”, she said and laughed a little. “No, I appreciate the power you had to use, so I’ll need to counter that with some of my own.” And she took out a knife from the pocket of her skirt and quickly cut across the base of her thumb. Holding her hand above the circle she let drops of blood fall at regular intervals onto the loop of hair. Wright made to stand up but Beth grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down onto his knees. Lighting the bundle of herbs from one of the candles Emma waved the smoke round the circle and chanted, 

“A circle round, this cord was bound 

And now with blood

This spell I do unbind

As I cut this thread, may the spell be dead

And so let the power cease and the land be at peace.”

Bending over the map, she then took a knife again and cut the circlet of hair before throwing the smouldering herbs high into the air. She hadn’t been at all sure what to expect – a clap of thunder and a blinding flash perhaps – but instead there was a sudden gust of wind that caused the branches to shake and some nearby crows to launch into the air, accompanied by a kind of twisting that she felt deep inside her. Wright bent his head to the ground and vomited. Beth staggered back as if she’d been struck. Rothwell’s men looked panic-stricken as Grice clutched his head, crying “What have you done, woman?!” 

Emma looked down at the map and picking it up, replied, “Put things back the way they were, I reckon.” Holding the parchment in the air, she showed them all how it had been redrawn, with the meadow now restored to the correct side of the beck, the fields back where they always were, bounded by the woods as before. “The copy at the manor-house will look the same.” she announced, “Both now set down for all to see the boundaries of what is rightfully ours to use.” Wright looked up, a thin trail of vomit hanging from his lip. “And what will this avail you, hedge-witch?” he asked, “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll gather what I need and magic it back the way Lord Rothwell wants it.” “Will y’now?” Emma replied, and drew one last thing from the pack – two hammered sheets of iron. Seeing this Wright finally seemed to deflate completely and fell over on to his side, curling into a ball. Grice looked puzzled. “What do you hope to achieve with that?” he asked, “Two bits of cheap metal? How will that stop anything?” 

Emma laughed again. “Not so cheap Master Grice. This is cold iron. Fallen from the sky. Kept for a significant occasion. Hammered into shape by our own smith. Master Wright here knows what this means …” And she took the map and placed it between the sheets, wrapping the cord of hair tightly around so that maps and iron were held tight. “You can tell Lord Rothwell he can send the copy to York to be held in the registry if he wants but this’ll be kept secure in the village,” she announced. “Hidden and protected and warded, so no one will be able to re-draw the land again. Our land.” She emphasised those last words and tucking the plated map under her arm, she set off through the trees. “Come on,” she said to the other women, “They’ll be able to free themselves from their own bindings soon enough.”

Not long after, Emma was strolling through the woods again, looking for mushrooms after the recent rain. With her skirt hitched up to stop it dragging through the wet grass, she came out into the meadow and stopped, shielding her eyes from the sun. There was the beck, over on the other side where it always had been, with the old oak tree standing tall. She thought back to when the women had arrived home, only to find that instead of waiting ‘til noon, William Leigh and Mary Brotherton had gone on ahead with a small group at first light, “To scout out the lay of things”, they’d said. But shortly after they’d spotted some of Rothwell’s men across the fields, making ready to fence off the land, a wind had blown up and they’d felt some kind of shift in their guts and when they’d recovered, the men were suddenly nearby, as if the distance had instantly been closed between them. For a moment the two groups had stared at each other, one with staves and hammers, the other with staffs and cudgels and then someone had shouted “It’s the devil’s play” and some had fallen to the ground, praying to God, while others scattered, villagers included. But William Leigh had stood firm and one of Rothwell’s men had stayed also, clutching a copy of the map. As Leigh had walked up to him, he had cried out, shaking the piece of paper, “This isn’t how it was!” Leigh had put his arm around the man’s shoulder then and had said, “Oh yes, it is. It’s how it always was. And always will be. As long as we have anything to do with it. You go and tell your Lord and Master that.”

Emma thought that no doubt William had embellished the telling of it some but also that there was no harm in that. He’d nodded respectfully at her when she’d returned with the other women and together they’d found a place to secure the iron-clasped map. “Will it always stay bound?” he’d asked her. She’d thought a little. “Iron rusts,” she’d replied, “Spells decay. But I reckon that as long as we’re bound to this land, it’ll hold.” Striding across the meadow, with the warmth of the sun on her face and the sound of the beck up ahead, she smiled to herself and thought, “And we are bound to the land, just as it is to us.”

Steven French is a retired academic who lives in Leeds, West Yorkshire, U.K. He has had a number of short stories and pieces of flash fiction published in venues such as 365Tomorrows, Bewildering Stories, Idle Ink, Liquid Imagination, Literally Stories and elsewhere.