The Cross of Lead Page 11

  I kicked, and butted my head back. There was a sharp grunt, and the man’s arms went slack, just enough to allow me to break his grasp. Head down, I charged straight at the man with the stick, catching him in the chest. He fell back.

  It was enough. With a burst, I ran past him down the alley. Then I plunged along a different narrow way, taking one turn after another, not daring even to glance back to see if I were being followed.

  I don’t know how long I ran before I stopped and looked behind. Seeing no one, I allowed myself a moment’s rest.

  Heart thudding to the point of pain, my wrist still smarting where it had been struck, I tried to grasp what had happened.

  Why Stromford’s steward was in Great Wexly was something I could make no sense of. But what was clear was that, far from escaping the pursuers who wished me dead, Id come to a place where they could trap me.

  In my frantic state I was quite sure that not even Bear could protect me. What’s more, I had disobeyed him. It was not a thing, I was sure, he would forgive. And hadn’t he told me to run away if attacked?

  I made up my mind to leave the town. I would get beyond the walls and flee. Exactly where I’d go didn’t matter, as long as I escaped.

  While it was easy to make the decision, I quickly realized I had no idea where I was or where to go in order to leave. With my distress growing every moment, I looked around, trying to get some sense of my whereabouts.

  When I had first arrived in Great Wexly, I had been overwhelmed by the multitude of different things I saw. Now, in a complete turnabout, my panic made everything seem the same. What’s more, I couldn’t help but feel that lurking behind each corner, each bend of each alley, would be more of my enemies.

  Still, I also knew I couldn’t remain where I was. My pursuers had already proved they knew the town well enough to track me down.

  Moving with great caution, I wandered down one alley after another, spying ahead even as I constantly checked behind. What made things worse was that no matter where I went, I had the sensation I’d been there before. It was as if I could make no progress.

  But then I came to what seemed a good idea: Bear had told me that the great walls encircled the entire town. If that was the case—and I didn’t doubt him—I supposed that I could find some part of them as long as I walked a straight line in any one direction. Then, once I found the walls, I’d follow around until I came to the gate through which we had entered. From there I’d make my exit from the town and flee to safety.

  Feeling somewhat less apprehensive now that I had a plan, I immediately set off. Though I hurried, I remained alert lest I blunder into another attack. Again and again I made myself slow down.

  Try as I did to follow a straight line, I soon discovered it was impossible. The alleys and streets meandered in ways that bewildered me. It was as if I were in a maze.

  Even so, I forced myself to go on because I was afraid to stay in any one place. So I made my way by hugging walls, slipping round corners, all but crawling.

  Daylight was fading. The long summer twilight had begun to ebb. With it came a resumption of a chilly rain. Soon, misty dimness cloaked the air. The brightest light came from within houses, or the occasional passerby who made his way holding a flaming rush or lantern before him.

  Fewer and fewer people were abroad. Shadows lengthened. Now and again men would stagger by, clearly having had too much to drink. The only other noise—and it came from shuttered houses—was an occasional burst of laughter, an angry shout, a child called.

  At last I made out the town walls. They rose high over my head and seemed to melt into the murky sky. Nor were they smooth walls, as I had imagined, but had houses built close against them.

  Even so, as far as I was concerned, I was making progress. Now—according to my plan—I needed only to follow the wall around. If I did, surely I would come upon the gate through which Bear and I had entered the town.

  Once again my plan was faulty. The wall had not been built in a simple circle, but was in fact serpentine. Still, I continued on until I stumbled on a wide street paved with stone. When I recognized it as the one on which Bear and I entered the town, I started to run along it.

  Then two things happened almost simultaneously: the town’s church bells began to ring. And I saw what appeared to be a gate in the wall. Some nine or ten soldiers were milling about it. A few carried flares. Though I wasn’t sure if it was the same gate by which Bear and I had entered, I told myself it didn’t matter. It was a way out of town.

  I ran toward it. Even as I did, the great doors—hauled by soldiers—swung in and shut. Not believing what I was seeing, I stopped, aghast, and watched as the soldiers dropped huge beams across the doors to brace them shut. Then they added chains, and even locks to keep the doors securely closed.

  Having shut the gates, most of the soldiers began to stroll away, leaving only two behind.

  I drew close enough for them to notice me. “Did you want to leave?” one of them called.

  “Yes … sir,” I said.

  “Too late. They’re closed. They’ll be open in the morning at Prime. Now get yourself away. The curfew has begun. You should be behind doors.”

  I remained standing where I was, unsure what to do.

  “Be off with you,” a soldier shouted. I turned and began to wander away.

  It had become night. The rain intensified. The streets—now swamps of muck and mud—were all but deserted save for a few laggards. Even they moved hurriedly, no doubt wanting to get behind doors lest they be taken up and charged.

  Animals began to emerge—mostly pigs and dogs, but rats, too. They were splashing about in search of things to eat.

  As night thickened, people put up their house shutters. The town grew even darker than before.

  Hearing the sound of marching, I turned quickly. Some six helmeted soldiers, armed with broadswords and bearing lanterns, were coming down the street.

  I leaped into a narrow alley, and peered out.

  As they went by, one of the soldiers shouted out, “The hour of Compline is at hand! The curfew is in force! No one may be on the streets!”

  As they passed, I shrank back, listening as the tramp and shouts grew fainter.

  It was night now. The town seemed asleep. The sky was black. The rain still fell. I wandered on, wet and miserable, looking for a place to conceal myself, hoping I might stumble upon the Green Man. The only sound I heard was the squish of my feet on the mud or stones. I hardly dared to breathe.

  Then I heard the sound of running feet. I pressed myself against the wall and peeked out around a corner. A group of men, torches held aloft, hurried past. By the light of their torches I glimpsed their blue-and-gold livery. It was the same livery as Lady Furnival’s entourage wore. But I recognized them as the steward’s men.

  How could that be?

  Then I recalled something that I had heard the stranger say in the forest: Aycliffe was Lady Furnival’s kin.

  I wanted to think things through but feared to take the time. Instead, I backed away and scurried down the narrowest of alleys, the walls so close I could have touched either side by stretching out both arms. I was halfway down it when I saw the hulking form of someone lurching toward me, hooded lantern in hand.

  I stopped, turned, and began to run in the opposite direction only to hear a thunderous, “Crispin! Stop!”

  40

  HEARING MY NAME CALLED SO terrified me, I stopped and turned around. The man had drawn closer, but as I could not see his face, I shrank away.

  Only when the voice called out again, even angrier, “Crispin, you stunted son of a scoundrel!” did I realize it was Bear.

  Heart exploding with relief, I ran toward him and flung myself at his knees, embracing him with fervor.

  “Where, by the sins of Lucifer, have you been?” the huge man said, setting his lantern on the ground. Prying me loose, then putting his great hands on both my shoulders, he made me stand before him. At the same time he went to his knee
s, so I could look into his eyes.

  “Bear …” I said, unable to say more because I had put my arms about him and pressed into his neck and beard, like an infant sparrow returned to its nest.

  “Crispin,” he scolded, “I waited all afternoon for you to return. Did you forget me so soon? Is this the way you repay my kindness? I should give you a sound whipping.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I lost my way. And I was attacked.”

  “Attacked?” he said, prying me loose from his neck so he could look into my face. “By whom?”

  “The stewards men.”

  “What steward?”

  “From Stromford. John Aycliffe. He’s come after me,” I went on in a rush. “I saw him in the great church. But he saw me, too. The moment he did, he set men upon me. And Bear, I remembered something else: he’s Lady Furnival’s kin. I even saw her. You said Great Wexly was Furnival’s principal home. That Stromford was one of his holdings. Now that Lord Furnival is dead, Lady Furnival must have summoned Aycliffe.”

  “I feared that might happen.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to avoid it all.”

  “My wrist is numb where they struck me.”

  “Then you’ll have to walk on your feet,” he said, grinning.

  With that, he turned about and began to wend his way through back streets and dark alleys, his lantern barely showing the way through the dark and rain.

  “When I tried to defend myself,” I said after we had gone for a while, “I lost your dagger.”

  “I’m sure you used it well.”

  “Bear?” I said as we went along.

  “What?”

  “God bless you.”

  “And you also,” he returned gruffly.

  Only when I was secure behind the doors of Widow Daventry’s inn did I draw a fully relaxed breath. I looked about. The main room was deserted.

  “Bear, you need to tell me what I should do if—”

  The widow came into the room. As she did, Bear put up his hand to silence me.

  “Ah,” the woman said. “You found him.”

  “He was wandering and became lost,” Bear said, not mentioning the attack.

  “Did the watch see you?” she asked me.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” She drew herself up. “I’m afraid John Ball has just arrived.”

  “Where is he?” Bear said.

  “In the kitchen. He demanded to be fed.”

  “Fine. I’ll get the boy to the room. Can you fetch him something to eat? And some dry clothes.”

  “I’ll get some,” the woman said and left the room.

  Giving me no explanation as to what his exchange with Widow Daventry had been about, Bear and I returned to our room. Once there, he set the lantern on the table, then bade me lie down on the pallet. When I did, Bear sat down by my side, but instead of speaking, became lost in his thoughts. Even so, I felt comforted.

  Widow Daventry opened the door and stuck her head inside. “He’s getting anxious,” she said.

  “He always was the impatient man,” Bear muttered. “I’m coming.”

  The woman left. Bear stood and stepped toward the door.

  “Now eat your bread and go to sleep.”

  “Will you truly forgive me?” I said.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. Sometimes I forget.”

  “Forget what?”

  “How little you know.”

  With no further words, he went away.

  Left alone, I hardly knew what to think. But after what had just happened to me—and how he had come after me—I had no heart to question him.

  41

  I SAT ON THE STRAW AND ATE the bread. Afterward, wanting to give thanks for my safe return, I took Goodwife Peregrines pouch from around my neck, and removed my mother’s cross of lead. With it in my hands, I began to say my prayers in a low voice.

  As usual, I prayed for the well-being of my mother’s and my father’s souls. This time I added Bear’s name to those for whom I begged protection.

  Prayers done, I lay back on the pallet and thought of all I had seen and done that day. It was hard to grasp.

  Then I listened to the rain as it continued to beat down, hoping it would lull me to sleep. My mind kept returning to this man, this John Ball, whom Bear was meeting, wondering if he were part of my puzzle, and why Bear was hiding him from me.

  Unable to resist, I got up and crept out the door, then out to the dim hall. When I reached the steps I moved down silently, holding on to the wall for balance. Halfway, I paused and looked into the dimly lit room.

  Bear was sitting at a table, his back to me. Standing by his side was Widow Daventry. Seated opposite was a man, who I assumed was John Ball.

  Compared to Bear, the man was quite small, though his face, what I could make out of it, was strong, with a large nose, deep-set eyes, and a severe mouth. His brown robes and tonsured hair showed him to be a priest.

  That in itself surprised me, because Bear had told me he had little faith in priests.

  “… and the city apprentices,” I heard Bear say, “what of them?”

  “Of like minds,” said John Ball. “As angry as any other. The constant wars in France, the taxes and harsh fees, these things grind them down as well as any man, peasant or not. They want—need—better wages and an end to the guilds.”

  “All that may be true,” Bear said, “but from what I’ve seen and heard in my travels, they won’t rise up now.”

  “They will if they can reclaim their ancient freedoms,” said Ball. “And, with the righteous hand of God"—he lifted a fist—"it is my destiny to lead them.”

  “Then you had better to wait till King Edward dies,” Bear said.

  “How long will that be?” boon.

  “Can you be certain?”

  “It’s all the talk of London,” Bear said, “as well as the court at Westminster.”

  “And who will succeed to the throne?” said John Ball.

  “It could be his son, the Duke of Lancaster.”

  “The most hated man in England. That would help us.”

  “But the true heir,” Bear went on, “is the king’s grandson, Richard of Bordeaux.”

  “The child?” said John Ball. “Better yet. That would bring even greater weakness.”

  “Why do you think this is the proper time for an uprising in these parts?” I heard Bear ask.

  “Lord Furnival is dead,” said John Ball. “There is already much confusion. Lady Furnival has summoned all the authorities from his manors. With no known heirs, she is vulnerable.”

  “Now, listen to me, John Ball,” Bear said. “It’s not for me to tell you how to act. But if we are to talk of Furnival’s heirs, in my travels I’ve discovered something of great importance.”

  He spoke so low that his words became indistinct.

  But I had heard enough. I drew back up the stairs.

  That Bear was engaged in rebellion of some sort I could not doubt. In Stromford mere talk of such things was considered a hanging offense. What would happen if Bear were caught? It seemed, moreover, that he was not just a juggler, but some kind of spy.

  As I lay on the pallet, I tossed and turned until I finally decided it was air I needed. Getting up, I poked the shuttered window open a little way, then glanced down upon the street. At first I thought it was deserted. Then, across the way, I saw a figure standing in the shadow of an overhanging building.

  I thought of going down the steps and telling Bear. Instead, I held back. This time I would stay put as I’d been told.

  As I lay back on the hay, I was determined to remain awake until Bear returned so I could tell him what I’d seen.

  But the day had been long and tumultuous. Despite my intentions, I fell asleep.

  42

  I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING to the deafening peal of bells. They were so loud, so tumultuous, for a brief moment I thought the Day of Judgment had arrived. Then I remembered I was in
the town of Great Wexly with its many churches, and it was the Feast of John the Baptist. Even so, it was strange to waken in so closed a space, the air stale, the only light being that which slipped through the cracks in the shuttered window. But the pain in my wrist had gone, with only a blue mark to remind me of the attack.

  I turned to Bear, wanting to tell him about the man I’d seen outside the tavern the night before. But he, taking up most of the space on the pallet, remained asleep.

  To amuse myself, I plucked fleas from the straw and crushed them between my fingers. When Bear still didn’t wake, I grew restless and crept out of the room, making my way down the steps to the inn’s main floor.

  Halfway down I stopped. The smell of wine was ripe and blended into the more embracing warmth of new-baked bread. Through the open door, bright light streamed in. The rain had ceased. The tavern room was crowded.

  There were tradesmen as well as peasants, men in livery, and here and there, a woman. Most people were dressed in dark and rough brown clothing, but some were very elegant in bright colors and fur trim. Midst the cloaks and hoods were hats of more variety than I could reckon.

  People ate by dipping large chunks of bread into bowls of wine, stuffing themselves, then hurrying away. The talk, loud and spoken quickly, went faster than my ear could catch. What I grasped seemed mostly about the day’s market, and that it was a glorious day.

  Presiding over all was Widow Daventry, louder to my ears than all the people combined. She fairly threw down loaves and bowls of drink on the tables, now and again buffeting men with her fists, or exchanging insults with a boisterous tongue, even as she put coins in her purse—the bread costing a penny, the wine the same.

  As I watched, more people came in, sat and ate. Midst the swarm of people, mangy dogs wandered. I even saw a pig, snuffling up what had fallen to the ground. No one appeared to notice, or even care.

  At one point I noticed a young man enter and stand at the threshold, casting his eye about the crowd. I say eye because I instantly recognized him as the one-eyed man we had seen in the first town in which Bear and I had performed.