The Cross of Lead Page 10

  It felt good to hear his praise.

  “What’s your name?” she asked me.

  I made myself look up. “It’s … Crispin.”

  “Now there’s a highborn name for a lowly lad,” the woman said. “But, Crispin, pay no heed to my bantering. Bear’s friends are mine. Welcome to the Green Man’s Inn. Where do you come from?”

  When I hesitated, Bear said, “Crispin, name your village.”

  “Stromford,” I said.

  “Never heard of it,” the woman said with a shrug.

  “One of Lord Furnival’s holdings,” Bear said.

  “Lord Furnival,” the woman said, turning from me back to Bear. “Have you not heard the news?”

  “That Lord Furnival died?” he said.

  “Aye. Two weeks ago,” the woman said.

  As Bear made the sign of the cross over his heart, I said, “How did you know?” not sure which surprised me more, that he had known or that he hadn’t told me.

  “The black cloth draped around town,” he replied. “And the extra soldiers at the gates.”

  “To be sure,” the woman said. “When great men die there’s always unrest. He died in his bed,” she added. “From the wounds he earned at the French wars. I suppose it will only encourage your enterprise,” she said with some unease.

  “Widow,” he said, “it’s not my enterprise.”

  As I watched and listened to the two of them, it was clear she had more knowledge of Bear and his business than I. It gave me a jealous pang.

  “Who will succeed the lord?” Bear said.

  “He has no legal heirs,” the woman said. “Though it’s been rumored there are some illegitimate ones.”

  “And all his property?”

  “It now belongs to his widow, the Lady Furnival. Unless some bastard son—with an army at his back—makes a claim. Or until she marries. If she marries. But they say that’s unlikely. She’s not the type to relinquish her new powers. She never traveled with Lord Furnival, but preferred to stay in her court. You know what women say,” she added with a grin: “’If the first marriage is a gift from God, the second comes straight from Hell.'”

  That said, there was an awkward moment of silence. Bear was tense. I did not know exactly what had occurred, but it made me recall something Father Quinel had told me once at confession: a moment of silence in the midst of talk means Death’s Angel is close at hand. I shuddered.

  36

  BUT YOU, SHE SAID TO BEAR, “must sit and slake your thirst. I want to know all you’ve learned since you’ve last been here.”

  Bear relaxed. “If you’ll be so good as to fetch me the key to my room in the solar—the special one,” he added, “I’ll settle the boy. Then we can speak.”

  Though realizing I was being put aside, I said nothing, but simply followed Bear.

  Key in one hand, he led me up the steps to the second story. I had never climbed so high in a building before, so high that I furtively put a hand to the wall to steady myself.

  We went along a dark, narrow hallway until we reached a door, which he unlocked.

  “Our solar,” he informed me. “Go on.”

  I stepped inside. By the little light that seeped through a shuttered window, I observed a small room. Old rushes lay on the floor. A small, low table stood in one corner. In another corner was a large pallet of hay. The place had a rank, close smell of sweat and ale that made me feel slightly ill, used as I was to open air.

  Bear fluffed up the pallet.

  “Bear?”

  “What?”

  “This building … it’s so high. Might… might it fall down?”

  He looked at me for a disbelieving moment, then erupted with one of his big laughs. “There is no chance. None.”

  There was a knock on the door. Widow Daventry entered. In her hands was a bowl with meat in thick sauce. Pieces of bread were mixed in. To my surprise, she offered it to me. I took it gratefully.

  “Yours is below,” she said to Bear and left.

  I sat on the hay cross-legged, bowl in my lap, horn spoon in hand.

  As Bear removed his dagger and laid it on the table, I said, “Will we perform here?” I asked.

  “I think not,” he said to my further surprise. “Our time here will be very short. But I must show you something.” He went to the wall, and felt about the wooden boards. “This is a special room,” he said. “My friend below always gives it to me.”

  Under the pressure of his hands, a slab of wood popped out from the wall. “It’s a hiding place. It will hold you, and me too, for that matter, if there’s need.”

  “Will there be a need?”

  “By all of Heaven’s sacred saints, I pray not.”

  “Bear,” I said looking directly at him, “what is it you really do?”

  He laughed. “When we met,” he said, “you dared not even ask my name. Now you stare brazenly at me and presume to ask of my affairs. Have we risen in the world, or fallen?”

  “That’s for you to say,” I said.

  “As to what I really do,” he said with a placating smile, “I’m a fool because I should like to be in Heaven before I die.” He reached for the door.

  “I don’t want to stay here,” I said. “It’s close and ill smelling.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told.”

  “Yes, master,” I said, knowing my saying so would irritate him. “Then at least don’t lock the door.”

  “I won’t,” he said, then paused. For a moment I thought he would speak more. But all he said was, “Crispin, on your life, remain here until I return.” With that, he left.

  Feeling much aggrieved, I ate the food, then lay back upon the straw. I was not very happy. Why, I asked myself, should I remain in such a stuffy place while he did as he pleased? Besides, my glimpses of the town had only whetted my curiosity. And I had a penny of my own. There was much still to see, but it sounded as if Bear intended to keep me in the room for what now appeared to be a short stay.

  For a while I remained where I was, though as time passed, I fretted more and more.

  Finally, I got up, went to the door, and peeked into the hall. Seeing no one about, I made up my mind to wander the town for a short time. My intent was that I would return before Bear even noticed I had left.

  I was just about to leave when I went to the table and plucked up Bear’s sheathed dagger and hid it underneath my tunic. Had he not taught me to use it? Was not this the town in which to claim my liberties?

  Moving quietly, I crept halfway down the stairs and listened. From somewhere I could hear the murmurs of Bear’s talk, as well as Widow Daventry’s. Exactly where they were I didn’t know.

  I continued down, until I was certain no one was in the tavern room.

  At the base of the steps, I decided it would be better if I didn’t use the front door, lest they see me. Instead, I made a sharp turn and went along a narrow hall. At the end of it I reached a small door.

  Pushing it open, I stepped into an alley that had the most appalling stench. It was the place where privies were set over open ditches.

  Holding my nose, I shut the door behind me, and raced away.

  37

  IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON, SHORTLY after the bells had rung for None, when I stepped away from the back door of the Green Man. Running, I regained the main street and once there began to look upon the town at my ease.

  As I went about, the hurly-burly world of countless people, buildings, and wares struck me with even greater force. If anything, Great Wexly seemed more tumultuous, with more people, more happenings than even before. But I was feeling bold and quite sure of myself. I don’t need Bear to see the world, thought I.

  As I stood upon the street—enjoying the buffeting of those who passed, not sure which way I wished to go—a crowd of children rushed by, yowling and laughing. Curious to know where they would go and what they would do, I ran after them.

  The young people turned this way and that, and then, just as they had appeared, they
vanished. I had not the slightest idea where they had gone.

  Though baffled, I was not a bit disconcerted. With so much to see, I was content to ramble on, pausing to look at whatever took my interest, of which there was no scarcity. As for my penny, I purchased some white bread from a street vendor. It was light and sweet, and took little chewing to get down, which I found passing strange.

  After a while I found the courage to leave the main, stone-paved street, and began to wander among back ways. These proved to be dirt and mud lanes. Though very narrow, they cast an even greater stench than the main thoroughfare.

  These ways twisted and turned in every conceivable direction, with no logic that I could grasp.

  Yet I found myself excited not to know where I was going. How marvelously odd, I thought, to be required to pick and choose which way to go. What did I care that I had to make so many choices? It give my head a pleasing whirl.

  And still more people. Of so many kinds. Some I could see—from the way they dressed—were poor. Yet even so, they appeared to mingle with others of far greater wealth, and no one took offense.

  In time I found myself upon the main stone street again. It was there I saw a woman riding sidesaddle astride a great black palfrey whose saddle and harness were trimmed with gleaming silver. Though the lady wore a black cape, I could see her gown. It was a brilliant blue, trimmed with golden fur. Her hair was tucked behind a squared-off, ruffled, netted cap of black lace. Her feet were shod in golden shoes with pointy tips. Her small hands were encrusted with sparkling jewels. As for her face of elder years, it was pale and haughty, and did not—or so it seemed—take in the world about her. Yet as she went by, she pressed a silken cloth to her nose as if to block the offending street stench. Her nose knew where she was.

  Before her marched a boy dressed entirely in black, a short gold-and-blue cape draped over one shoulder. He carried a long horn of bright metal from which dangled a flag of blue and gold. With every few steps he took he lifted the horn to his lips and blared out notes to announce the lady’s progress.

  Clustered around this lady were six men, wearing tunics with padded chests, their puffed sleeves lengthened to cover half their hands. One man led the lady’s horse. Others marched on either side of her, while three more came behind. By the swords they carried, it was clear they were her guards. Though not so sumptuously dressed as she, they were splendid enough to look upon in their blue-and-gold livery. On each left sleeve was a band of black.

  For me she was an amazing sight. I had never seen such astounding wealth. Another marvel for my eyes.

  As she passed, people on the streets hastily made way for her, some doffing their hats, or inclining their heads in reverence. Some even went down upon their knees, so I knew her to be a personage of great power.

  And yet when the noble lady had once gone by, the crowds knitted together just as before, milling about, strolling, buying or selling. It was as if she had never been there.

  “Who was that?” I asked a boy standing near.

  He gave me a look of astonishment, as if I should have known. “Why, it’s Lady Furnival.”

  I turned quickly to look after her, but she had gone.

  38

  ALL AFTERNOON I WANDERED in a kind of daze, beguiled by what I saw. It was as if my world had multiplied many times in size, numbers, and wealth.

  My eyes fairly ached with marvels seen even as my heart beat with sheer excitement. As for my anxiety about being in the town, it melted clear away.

  And then, at that point in my wanderings, when I thought I’d seen all there was to see, I came upon the town’s great square.

  Here, in a vast open space—greater than Stromford’s entire commons—buildings pressed in on all sides. Some seemed new, some old, some were straight, while others sagged. But the square was dominated by two buildings that stood at opposite sides.

  By far the biggest structure was a great church—a cathedral as I would learn—which soared upward with a multitude of towers. These towers, joined together by what looked like floating arches, were emblazoned with countless embellishments and statues that seemed as real as life. Set between the high front towers was a vast circle of stone and multicolored glass. Below it was the main entry, deep-framed with columns and more statues. The whole gigantic structure seemed to rise toward Heaven itself, stone leaping into glory.

  Opposite the church, on the other side of the square, was a large stone building some three stories tall. Whereas the church rose high, this building seemed to cling to the earth with a weight and bulk that bespoke earthly power.

  On its first level were big wooden doors over which had been set an open space, caged in with metal bars. To either side of these doors were small windows, similarly enclosed. But on the second level—at a considerable height—were four huge windows side by side, with pillars and stone tracery. Set before the windows was a balcony under which stone lions’ heads protruded. Flags, with various designs of blue and gold, hung on poles. Others flags were black. Here too, soldiers paced.

  The third level had smaller windows. But unlike the church, which stood alone, this building was hemmed in close on either side by ordinary structures.

  Between the church and this large building was the great open space—the town square itself. It held crowds of traders with booths and stalls, with more sellers of goods and food than I could count.

  Swarms of buyers were in attendance. Most were walking, but a few were on horseback, wending their way through the middle of the crowds.

  I walked about the square gazing at the endless numbers of things being sold, many of them objects I’d never beheld before; cloth of many colors and types; Moscovy furs; Toledo daggers; Flemish hats; Italian gloves. There were baskets, boxes, and boots. There were shoes, tools, and armor. As for food and spices, why, I actually saw a bowl full of peppercorns. And everywhere coins clinked and abacuses rattled. I wished I had not already spent my penny.

  Timidly, I approached the great church itself. For a while I stood before it, trying to decide if I might be allowed to enter. What, I wondered, might it be like to pray in such a place? But aside from its great size, it was the soldiers about the doors that made me hold back. Yet they seemed to be paying very little attention to the crowds of people who went in and out. When I saw children enter, I made the sign of the cross over my heart and went forward.

  In truth, the soldiers barely looked at me as I passed through an entryway crowned by statues of Mary and Jesus, plus other saints whose names I did not know. I promised myself I’d return with Bear, who would, I was certain, know them all.

  But when I stepped past the vestibule, I gasped. Before me was a space of such immense size, height, depth, and breadth, that I never would have thought it could exist on mortal earth. Burning candles blossomed everywhere, enough to awe the stars. Through sweet and smoky air, great columns rose to dizzying heights, while enough multicolored light poured down through stained glass so as to turn the hard stone floor into pools of liquid hues. From somewhere unseen a chorus of swelling chant rolled forth, filling this celestial space with sounds that made me think of the measured beating of angels’wings. It was as if I had entered paradise itself.

  Any number of people were milling about, or were on their knees in prayer. Afraid to go any farther, I sank to my knees, too, pressed my hands together, and simply stared with wonder at the church itself and then at the people.

  As I knelt, my gaze fastened on a particularly devout man who was kneeling, hands tightly clasped in prayer. Though he was wearing a soldier’s quilted canvas jacket, red leggings, and high leather boots, somehow he seemed familiar. After a while he began to look about.

  As he turned, the hairs at the back of my neck began to prickle. In truth, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It was none other than John Aycliffe, the steward of Stromford Village.

  Moreover, I now realized he was not alone, but attended by men dressed in the same livery as those the great lady I had seen had
about her person.

  Even as I began to grasp who it was, Aycliffe shifted farther about. Before I could gather my wits, he turned full-face toward me.

  Our eyes seemed to fasten on one another. It was as if neither of us could believe the other was there, and we were in Stromford’s forest once again.

  But then he set up a cry, shouting, “There!” and pointed right at me. “The boy! The wolf’s head! He’s here! Catch him!”

  These men, taken by surprise, spun around, saw whom he meant, then began running in my direction, shouting, knocking down anyone who stood in their way.

  By then I had collected wits enough to leap to my feet and race out of the church. Once outside, I plunged into the mass of people in the square, pushing and dodging to get away.

  After leaving the square, I raced on without any knowledge of where I was, running through one narrow lane after another. I went in no particular direction and never paused to look back. All I could think was that I had to get back to Bear.

  How long I ran, I don’t know. But I was still pelting through a particularly narrow lane when a man leaped out in front of me.

  “Halt.'” he cried, his arms spread wide enough to prevent me from passing.

  39

  GULPING FOR BREATH, I HALTED and spun about, only to find that another man had come up behind me. I flung myself against a wall, even as I struggled to get Bear’s dagger out of my pocket.

  With the two men keeping to either side of me, I was unable to confront them both. But one, I saw, had a large stick in his hand. The other held a knife. “Keep away!” I screamed, finally managing to pull Bear’s dagger free from its sheath. Though my heart was pounding and my legs were shaking, I held it before me as Bear had taught me.

  The dagger caused my attackers to hesitate. In that moment I made a clumsy lunge at the man with the stick. Not only did he nimbly leap out of the way, he brought his stick down hard on my wrist. The pain and shock were so great I dropped the dagger. The next moment arms locked around me from behind.