From the Midnight Tree by tom weston

From the Midnight Tree Four spoons of gold from the Midnight Tree, One for the slave and two for the free, Three for the sailor home from the sea, None for the thief with the skeleton key, And four to the herald, come to tea, And all for the judge who hears our plea, And gold for you and gold for me, And God save us from the Midnight Tree.

'Doktor Schnabel von Rom' by Paul F端rst, 1656

utside my cottage flows a stream, a tributary of the main river and mostly dry except when the rainy season overstays its welcome. The stream has no great width, a child can easily step over it, but as it joins the river, just above the waterfall, it broadens so that the strides needed to traverse it become increasingly longer until it requires a small hop, then a jump, and a leap, and then a larger one, and so on, until finally, it becomes a dangerous challenge. And to fail means to lose oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s balance, plunge in the river and get swept over the falls to a watery death. The children, as befits their nature, play dare at this spot, in spite of the warnings of their parents, who

From the Midnight Tree also ignored similar cautions in their own childhood. To my knowledge, no youngster ever met such a deadly fate. And the warnings only referred to one such mythical child, whose name, age and sex remained as variable as the date of the alleged incident. As the children hopped over the stream, back and forth, from one bank to the other, over the ever widening gap, they recited the old nursery rhyme, ‘From the Midnight Tree.’ One summer’s day, as I prepared my evening meal, the children played and recited the rhyme. I could see them from my kitchen window, seven or eight of them. In our small and intimate village, we enjoy first name basis, so I knew the children . . . except for one whom I did not recognize. The regulars in the Green Dragon Tavern had not mentioned strangers or visitors, but as this child played so freely with the others, I assumed that some folk, friends or relatives, on a visit perhaps, must have evaded the watchful eyes of the gossip mongers. I chuckled at the strangers’ audacity and sat down to eat my supper. Outside, the children talked, laughed, argued and chanted the rhyme, but eventually, as they finished their play for the day and returned to their homes, their voices faded away, one by one, until only a single 2

From the Midnight Tree voice remained. I looked out of the window and saw the unfamiliar child I had mentioned before, quite alone, but still reciting the rhyme as he hopped from bank to bank. That seemed odd to me, for had the child arrived with a friend or a cousin, why did they not leave together? By now dusk had fallen, but the child played, chanted, leapt and to my mind, ventured much too close to the edge. I thought it best to intervene and went outside to caution him. I opened the cottage door and stepped out. The chant stopped and I hesitated, struck by the sudden fear that the child had slipped and fallen. I overcame my brief paralysis and moved quickly to the spot where the child should have stood. “Hello!” I cried repeatedly, more urgent with each call, but I heard no reply, and my concern spread. I peered into the darkness of the river. Of course, I could discern little at that hour. The rush of water over the falls played tricks on my ears as I strained to detect a cry of hope from amid the roar. I scouted the area around my cottage. “Perhaps he has gone home after all?” I hoped. I did not know what to do for the best. If I had recognized the boy, I could have simply visited the child’s home to confirm or alleviate my fears. I decided to alert the sheriff, and I found him at the Green 3

From the Midnight Tree Dragon and reported the incident. As with the gossip mongers, the sheriff had no knowledge of visitors to the village, but as a child’s welfare concerned us all, he immediately recruited the Tavern’s locals to form a search party. We hunted all night and through to next morning. The sheriff questioned the villagers, but we learned no more of the mysterious child. The other children denied they had seen him. The Nay-sayers dismissed my story as the fiction of a drunkard. I urged the sheriff to continue the enquiry, but he confided to me that he had a more urgent matter. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the child is safe and sound with family,” assured the sheriff. “Yet if the child does reappear you must keep your distance and send for me at once. I have a duty to bar all strangers and move them on.” “Since when have we shown such hostility to strangers?” I asked, for generally visitors found the village a friendly, hospitable place, and we welcomed news from the outside world. “Since I had report that the plague approaches,” replied the sheriff.

From the Midnight Tree

I pondered the sheriff’s words as I walked home. News of plague not only conjured up images of death and disease, but it also brought out the worst instincts in us, of fear and hostility, of selfishness and disgust. It gave the Nay-sayers an occasion to preach the virtues of exclusion, and it gave the Ne’er-do-wells opportunity for harmful mischief. And I must confess to the shameful thoughts which occupied my own mind for the remainder of the day. What if the boy did carry the plague and, at play with the children of the village, had already passed it on to them? Or to me? And these thoughts remained until evening when once again, from out my window, I heard a playful voice. “One for the slave and two for the free.”

The boy had returned. But before I could resolve what to do next, a rap at my front door drew my attention. There stood Billy, Ron and George, with

From the Midnight Tree their regular, Tuesday demand that I accompany them to the Green Dragon. I bundled them into the cottage. “Wait here,” I ordered. “There is a child by the falls. Don’t approach him, but keep watch until I can fetch the sheriff.” I found the sheriff and returned home with him. You could have measured my absence in mere minutes. My three friends sat at the kitchen table. “Who’s watching the child?” I demanded. “What joke are you playing on us, Tommy Boy?” replied Ron. “What? I don’t understand. ‘Look to the child,’ I said. A clear enough request even for you three lumps of coal.” “There is no child,” said Billy. “You let him go?” “He was never there.” “Did you not hear the nursery rhyme?” “You said nothing about a nursery rhyme.” The sheriff began to complain. “If you are acting the fool with me at such a time, I’ll have you . . .” “My dear Sheriff,” interjected George, as he took the sheriff by the arm and led him to the door. “A 6

From the Midnight Tree simple misunderstanding. Better safe than sorry and all that. I’m sure your duties are paramount, yes? Then perhaps we’ll see you at the Green Dragon later?” George bundled the sheriff over the door step. “When your duties are lighter.” The sheriff huffed and shot me a disdainful glance, but said no more and departed. George shut the door. “Okay,” he said. “Would you now enlighten your friends?” I told them of the events of the last two days, of the child and the nursery rhyme, and of my fear that he had fallen over the falls. “I agree with George,” said Billy. “A common mistake. Your natural concern for a child in danger has played tricks on your mind.” “But he seemed so real,” I argued. “Well, he was not there when you bid us watch out for him,” said Ron. “Unless he had fallen over the falls,” added Billy. “What? Two times over the falls in as many days? Once seems careless enough.” “How about we discuss this mystery over a pint of cider?” said George. “Tom here looks as if he needs a drink.” I agreed. 7

From the Midnight Tree

The next day, the events I have narrated so far still occupied my mind and the mystery remained unsolved. My friends wanted to believe me, but I had no proof other than my own testimony. So I dropped the matter and went about my business as best I could. That evening at sunset however, it had returned, the childâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice outside my window. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Three for the sailor home from the sea.â&#x20AC;?

I looked out the window and saw him as clear as day. I judged him eight or ten years of age, or thereabouts. He appeared disheveled, and with scratches and bruises on his face, yet not dirty, as if his appearance came from sudden happenstance and not from a life of poverty or neglect. His clothes, although now torn, looked elegantly cut and finely embroidered. His hair, although embedded with leaves and twigs, seemed recently washed and cut.

From the Midnight Tree I watched him recite the nursery rhyme and skip from bank to bank of the stream, and I determined to speak to him. I left my cottage by the front door and made my way around to the stream side as quietly and carefully as I could, for I did not wish to startle the boy. When I had approached to within a few yards I halted. He had not yet seen me and he blindly carried on, absorbed in his game. “None for the thief with skeleton key.”

He recited, and I wondered how to approach so as not to startle him. Then I too recited, “And four to the herald, come to tea.” The boy stopped and looked at me. “Hello there,” I said, as friendly as I could. “Have you come to tea?” It seemed to me that he had decided to answer my question when something else captured his attention. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Never in my life had I seen such a look of horror on any poor creature’s face. I hope never to see it again. And this time, to my own dismay, he straightened up and stepped back. “No,” I cried. “Watch out for the falls.” 9

From the Midnight Tree But I could not prevent it and I could not imagine a worse panic could ever take hold of me. For a moment, he seemed suspended in space and time. Then over the falls he went, his eyes filled with terror, his mouth wide, his silent scream replaced by the rush of water. I ran to the edge and peered down, but only saw spray and mist on the rocks. Then I heard my own words repeated back to me. “Watch out for the falls.” A strong hand gripped my arm and roughly pulled me from the edge. “Take a care, Tom,” said the sheriff. “You almost went over.” “The boy!” I cried. “The boy fell. We must get down there quickly.”

Suffice to say we searched, but did not recover the child, alive or dead, from the water. The sheriff made his anger clear.

From the Midnight Tree “That makes three times you have bothered me with your phantom child. Have a care not to push me any farther. I do not have time for this nonsense.” I did not need his condemnation. I had seen a child plummet to certain death. And it did not escape me that perhaps my interference may have played a role in it. That everyone else dismissed my tale as a delusion did not lessen my guilt. And in such a pitiful state of self-loathing, I stood the next day, alone in my kitchen, when once again I heard the voice. “And all for the judge who hears our plea.”

In my confusion, I supposed that grief had overcome me and that I imagined the voice. And when I looked out of the window and saw the boy, I could have concluded that my friends spoke the truth, I had lost my senses. Either that or the child had risen up from the dead to haunt me. But why me? To what purpose? And why now? I did not know, but I meant to find out. I stacked a tray with some bread and cheese, along with two cups of water, and I went out to the falls, and to the boy. 11

From the Midnight Tree “Come to tea,” I invited and placed the tray on a rock somewhat removed from the water’s edge. The boy stopped his chant and scanned the area around us, as if fearful that whatever demons chased him may catch him. Then he inspected me, decided to trust me, and came and sat beside me. “I have seen you here these past few days,” I said. He nodded and fervently chewed on a crust of bread, as if he had not eaten in a life time. Every now and again, the smallest noise would startle him and he’d bolt upright, primed to dash. “Why are you afraid?” I asked. “They are chasing me, they want to kill me.” “Who?” “The people of this village.” “No, surely not. We are friendly here. We do not hunt children.” “Once you did.” I remembered the old story. “Are you the child of legend who fell over the falls?” The boy nodded. “I have lived here all my life, by the falls,” I continued. “But I never saw you before. Why do you appear now?” A bird disturbed the air and the boy flinched. 12

From the Midnight Tree “And why do you chant the nursery rhyme? Is it because of the plague?” The boy nodded and spoke. “They feared I brought the plague to the village. They wanted to chase me away.” “Did you . . . carry the plague here?” He shook his head. “It was already here. It came before us. We came to help.” “Help? Help how? And who are the ‘We’ of which you speak? Are there others like you? Perhaps you had better tell me your story from the beginning.” And the boy, between bites of bread and cheese and gulps of water, told me the tale which I now repeat in full for you, as best as I can remember. I lived at the Court of the King. I was apprenticed to the king’s physician. We knew the plague was coming and we did our best to guard against it. But still it came, and it struck us down and took many from us, until at last it reached even to the royal chambers and lay claim to the king’s own daughter. The king pleaded with my Master to save her. My Master is a great and skilled doctor, but he could do nothing for her and she was certain to die . . . except at the last, a ship came into the harbor. Afraid for our 13

From the Midnight Tree lives, we warned it to sail away, and the king sent his guards to protect the harbor. But a man came from the ship and the guards recognized him as the king’s own ambassador, returned from his mission abroad. “Yet sail away,” ordered the guards. “Either you bring the plague on your ship or you are in danger of catching it here. Either way, sail away.” “No,” said the ambassador in defiance. “You must take me to the king immediately, for I have with me a cure for the plague.” The guards did not know what to do for the best, but the king, desperate to save his daughter, ordered my Master to speak with the ambassador and determine the value of the cure. My Master carried out his duty and based on his medical knowledge agreed that the cure could least ways do no harm, even as it could do no good as he could see. So the king allowed the ambassador to tend to the princess. And he cured her. With my Master’s help, the ambassador administered to the sick and cured them all. Then they administered to the able as a prevention. And the plague departed from the Court and the city.

From the Midnight Tree Then the king ordered my Master to take the cure to all the people of the kingdom. And that was our mission. “And can you tell me the nature of this miraculous cure?” I asked. “Honey.” “Honey? Just honey?” The boy nodded. “The king charged us to give the honey to everyone in the country, every man, woman and child, to master and servant alike. But when we arrived at your village, you barred the gates against us. Your sheriff and his men urged us depart. You gave my Master no chance to explain or to show his Royal Warrant. You drove us back with clubs and flames. You set our carriage alight and burned everything we carried, including the medicine. My Master died as he attempted to save it. Then you chased me here to this spot.” “Where you fell?” “Where I fell. In the dark, and with thoughts only to escape the danger behind me, I did not see the danger ahead. We could have saved everyone if they had not been blinded by fear and hatred.”

From the Midnight Tree “I am sorry for the actions of our ancestors, even if such deeds happened many years ago. But you understand that fear of the plague can motivate some to commit extreme and terrible acts. Yet you said that the plague was already here when you arrived, so some of the medicine must have survived to cure the villagers.” “None survived,” said the boy. “Then how did the villagers come to be cured?” “They did not. None survived. Plague took every man, woman and child. All dead and the village burned and abandoned.” “That cannot be true. I have lived here all my life, and my family before me for generations. There is no record of any serious outbreak of plague here. We have no history of any upheaval or catastrophe large enough to wipe out the village and everyone in it. How long ago was this?” Before the boy could answer, I heard the voices of Ron, George and Billy call out to me. The boy sprang to his feet. “They are here for me.” “No,” I entreated, in a vain attempt to stop the inevitable. “They are friends, they will not harm you.”

From the Midnight Tree But my hopeless plea failed to reach him and the boy ran, as I knew he must, to the water’s edge. The same pitiful look of terror crossed his face and he fell. And once again, I heard only the sound of the falls and the voices of my friends, all so often sounds of comfort, but not this evening.

“Tom,” said Billy. “The sheriff wants every ablebodied man to the South Gate.” “What is it?” I asked. “Strangers on the road.” We went to the South Gate, where many villagers had already assembled. They had lit torches to counter the failing light. They had barred the gate with wheel barrows. And a wagon approached. “Halt,” cried the sheriff. “Turn back. You are not welcome here.” “We must enter,” replied a voice from the wagon. “Turn around. Be on your way.”

From the Midnight Tree “We are on a mission of mercy.” The strangers continued their approach. “Come no closer or we shall turn you away by force.” “If we could just speak with you . . .” They came close enough to discern. And even in the shadows I saw him quite unmistakably. The boy! And the puzzle pieces had fallen in place. “Sheriff,” I said. “Let them approach.” “Are you mad?” “They are not strangers. I know them. The boy at least. He is the child from the falls.” “Why do you continue with this lunacy at a time such as this?” “Let them approach.” “They could carry your death,” cried the sheriff. “Or my salvation,” I argued. “Tom, if you don’t want to assist us then stand aside, but do not interfere.” I could not persuade him or any of the others. And I knew, clear as day, what must follow. I turned to Ron, George, and Billy. “I have to go,” I said. “We cannot reason with the mob, but do what you can to save the strangers, and especially the treasure they carry.” 18

From the Midnight Tree “What treasure?” asked Billy. “Gold,” I said as I turned and ran. And I sprinted back to my cottage and waited. I could hear the angry voices from the South Gate. I saw the flames scorch the air. They had set fire to the wagon. I heard the sound of the chase, as a frenzied pack hunted its terrified prey. It would happen at any moment now. I stood at the water’s edge and prepared for what would happen next. The boy burst from the trees, his clothes torn, his body bruised and bloodied. And I recognized that look on his face, the horrible anguish of a child about to lose the battle for survival. He reached the falls, but saw them too late. He tried to stop, but his momentum carried his body onward. And that’s when I reached out. I could not see clear enough for accuracy and everything happened too quickly for deliberation, but somehow my arms circled his waist and we fell together, locked in this deadly embrace. For a second, I feared we had both gone over the edge, but instead we crashed to the ground, breathless and pained but alive.

From the Midnight Tree The sound of the mob approached. I had to act quickly. “Come to tea,” I said, and picked up the child and carried him to the cottage, where I hid him before I returned to the falls. The mob arrived. “Have you seen a boy?” they demanded of me. “Yes,” I replied. “Where is he? Which way did he go?” “You can end your hunt,” I said and nodded in the direction of the falls. “You wanted to chase him to his death.” And that seemed to sober them up pretty quickly. “We did not mean to harm him,” they lamented. “Just to drive him away. The poor soul. Let’s go down and retrieve his body.” “And pray to the almighty Judge to treat him with more kindness than we have shown,” I added, a little smugly.

From the Midnight Tree I returned to the cottage, where I tended to the boy’s cuts and gave him some hot soup to calm his nerves. It became evident from his answers to my questions that he knew nothing of our earlier encounters. A short time later, Ron and Billy arrived. “What news?” I asked. Ron nodded towards the boy. “He is shaken, but he will recover. Don’t worry, he’s not a plague carrier.” “We know,” said Billy. “You know?” “Yes, when the villagers moved on the doctor . . .” “Doctor? You know he’s the physician?” The boy sprang up. “My Master?” “Don’t worry, lad,” said Ron. “He is safe. Like you, a little bruised, and a bump on the head which will hurt worse than a night of the landlord’s tainted cider when he wakes, but no worse. We found a Royal Warrant on him and that persuaded the sheriff to call out for order. Alas, several of the villagers had already taken up the chase for the boy before we could stop them. Seems that you anticipated the lad would run this way?” “I had a feeling,” I replied. 21

From the Midnight Tree “We took the doctor to George’s cottage,” continued Billy. “Left George there to fix him while Ron and I came here.” “Then all is well.” Ron and Billy looked ruefully at each other. “All is not well?” “Not quite,” said Billy. “Appears we have our first case of plague, Larkin Miller. Seems he contracted it from a rat bite.” “How ironic that the chief of the Nay-sayers argued so hard to keep out the one who could cure him.” “Irony or not, Larkin’s in a bad way. And who knows how many others may be at risk now.” “But we have the cure,” I said. “In the physician’s wagon.” “Ah, about that wagon . . .” “Destroyed,” explained Ron. “And we didn’t find any gold in it either,” added Billy. “Just a few broken pots and a load of burnt honey.” “But you have the honey? Can it still be recovered?” “Doubt it, now it’s all trampled in the dirt and whatnot.” 22

From the Midnight Tree “It wouldn’t do you any good now, anyway,” spoke the boy. “The ambassador told us that heat destroyed the honey’s natural goodness. You need fresh honey.” “And we need it in a hurry if we are to save Larkin Miller.” “Down on the West Road!” shouted Ron. “There’s that big tree, just before you get to the forest proper. There’s a bees’ nest in the tree.” “Then there’s no time to waste,” I said and rose to my feet. I grabbed a large bowl and handed it to Billy. “Here, you and Ron go to the Western Forest and gather as much honey as you can.” “But it’s close to midnight,” argued Billy. “Can’t we at least wait for sunrise?” “No midnight is the best time,” I answered. “The bees will all be asleep, less chance they will sting you. Off you go now.”

From the Midnight Tree And so the village escaped the plague. Even Larkin Miller recovered, though his opinion of strangers remained unchanged by his experience. And nowadays, we enjoy golden honey on our breakfast toast. I cannot account rationally for the events I have related in this story. If not for the boy by the falls, would I have joined the angry mob? I pray not, but how close are we all to the precipice? And when we are chased by our demons, who will reach out and save us? Call it what you will: twist of fate, ghost, premonition, or divine intervention – I’ll leave it for you to decide. For me, I can happily say that my nightmares no longer include the apparition of a boy who plummeted to a grizzly death over the falls, although in spite of the warnings, the children continue to play their game of dare . . . We supped our pints of cider at the Green Dragon. Then Billy spoke. “The!” “Pardon?” I replied. “You said, ‘the.’” “I use that word a lot. It’s hard to have a conversation without it.” 24

From the Midnight Tree “Yes, you said, ‘you know he’s the physician?’” “So?” “Not, ‘he’s a physician?’” “What are you getting at?” “You knew the stranger was a physician when he was still just a stranger to the rest of us. How did you know that?” “And gold for you and gold for me,” I sang quietly. . . . But now, whenever I see children play and recite nursery rhymes, I always check to see if there is one child in the group who does not belong – or perhaps does?