The End of Time Page 5

  As for the monkey, he slept.

  When I finally finished my tale, there was silence, broken only by the snap and spark of the dying fire and the sound of wind sifting through the trees. I felt rather like a fish hauled from safe waters that now lay floundering on the land. Would they keep me or throw me back?

  Elena said, “Then there is no one to whom you are bound?”

  Too full of emotion to speak, I shook my head.

  “You must know,” said Rauf, “the law looks unkindly on vagrants, beggars, and even simple wanderers.”

  I nodded.

  “So that,” added Rauf, “all people require protection.”

  “Even,” Elena added, “when you look like innocence itself.”

  “But,” Gerard proclaimed, while grinning and looking around as if to seek applause, “innocence is always the best mask!” He gave a sharp poke to Owen, who accepted it as before, in silence.

  As I tried to grasp Gerard’s meaning, Rauf called, “Your sister is in a convent. Tell us, do you think God is just?”

  The question took me by surprise. “I…I want to believe so,” I said.

  “And that sister,” asked Woodeth, “does she pray for you?”

  “I…I hope so.”

  My reply made Gerard laugh. “He is young!” he hooted, which brought them to laughter that I didn’t understand. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

  “Shh now!” Elena scolded. “Well then, Master Crispin,” she said, “to hear your story puts me to mind that God has willed it that we should take you in hand. We can care for you and set you to better use than you’ve been.”

  I dimly sensed other meanings lurking in her words. But in my weariness and gratitude, I could not untangle them.

  When talk dwindled, we spread out on the ground for sleep. Rauf offered me a place near the fire’s glowing coals.

  “You’ll be warmest here,” he suggested.

  Touched by his kindness, I lay down and took pleasure in the fire, which had settled into a few sputtering sparks. Yet, tired as I was, I could not sleep, my mind too engaged in my good fortune. What could be better than traveling with these English-speaking musicians toward a place from which I could go on? God had been kind after all.

  The air grew colder. I could hear the others sleeping: Gerard uttering small grunts; Woodeth shifting restlessly, muttering and sighing; Rauf breathing deeply.

  Comforted by the return of inner peace, I was just falling asleep when I felt a poke. I twisted around. It was the boy, Owen. He had crept close to me and was squatting down. In such light as there was, his thin face appeared gaunt, his large eyes full of fright. He kept darting looks over his shoulder.

  “Yes?” I murmured, half asleep.

  “You…you mustn’t trust these people,” he whispered.

  “What?” I said, trying to make sense of his words.

  “They’re no good. Save yourself by running off.”

  I shoved myself up on an elbow. “What did you say?” But the boy, alarmed by my sudden movement, scurried away like a frightened rabbit.

  Troubled, I sat up and looked to where he had gone and thought of his words—a clear warning. Only then, in the gloomy light, did I realize that the family had placed themselves in such a fashion as to surround me. Even if I had wished to go, it would have been difficult. Was that on purpose?

  But…run off? I had no desire to leave. Why should I? These people had been kind to me. Welcomed me. Fed me. Why would I want to be alone again? I’d no reason to believe the boy. If anything, he seemed odd, perhaps a half-wit. And beyond all else, I was exhausted.

  Angry with the boy for putting fright into my head, I lay back down and tried to squash such thoughts. But though I did not want to, I felt obliged to ask myself what knowledge I had of these people other than what they said? “Musicians.” Yes, they had instruments. They played them. Allowed me join them in music and song. Moreover, Bear’s kind of song. That meant much to me. And, I reminded myself, they fed me, welcomed me. As for their weapons, was it not a fair precaution in such a wild place?

  I thought of what the woman said about Iceland, that it was far away and I would need a ship to get there. Though daunting, that was surely worth the knowing.

  My thoughts returned to the boy. Who was he? They had not claimed him as one of their children. He didn’t look like any of them. How did such a one come to be their servant? What made him speak to me that way? He seemed very frightened. Cowed. I had seen the men use him roughly. But to treat a child so was altogether common.

  I tried to recall what I had been when younger. Was I like Owen? Frightened. Unwilling—unable—to speak? What was his tale? I decided I should try to learn more.

  As I lay there, I felt another touch on my side. Thinking the boy had returned, I looked around. To my surprise, it was the monkey, Schim. He had slipped his leash. Bending close over my face, he stared intently at me, his small eyes sad and shadowy in the last light. I gazed back, examining his face, which seemed at once human yet not human, some droll mockery.

  He climbed atop my chest, squatted there, reached out, and, with his tiny fingers, touched my nose, my lips, and my eyes. I let him. Midst his examination, Owen clicked his tongue softly a few times. The monkey scampered away, returning to where the boy lay, and crawled on his chest. Once there he appeared to fall asleep.

  By then my weariness truly took hold. Convincing myself I had found good fortune, I began to drift off into sleep. Thoughts of fortune made me recollect a song that Bear used to sing:

  Lady Fortune is friend and foe

  Of poor, she makes rich and rich poor also

  Turns misery to prosperity

  And wellness into woe

  So let no man trust this lady

  Who turns her wheel ever so!

  Despite the song, I told myself that my fortunes had turned for the better. With that thought, I propped myself up on my elbow and took one more look about. The boy was curled on the ground. There was just enough firelight left for me to realize he was staring at me, and his eyes were glistening with tears.

  Wishing no part of his strangeness, I rolled away, gave thanks to the saints for sending me such kind people, and slept better than I had done in a long while.

  10

  IN THE MORNING I opened my eyes to a dim dawn of cold ground mist that crowned the brown grass with brittle hoarfrost. Leafless trees looked as frigid as I felt. Higher still, a dull sun hid behind ashen-colored clouds. The whole world seemed gray.

  The others were just awaking. They bestirred themselves slowly, not bothering with a fire. They yawned in sleepy awkwardness, scratched arms, pulled faces, and muttered more to themselves than others. Grumpy sleepiness meant almost no talk. They seemed like common folk, as ordinary as the clay with which Adam was first made.

  I did attempt to look more keenly at these people by the light of the day, but saw nothing that might help me see them any deeper—surely nothing to prove Owen’s words.

  Under Elena’s orders, the boy mutely doled out pieces of old bread in equal measures. As we stood eating, Schim suddenly leaped from Owen to my shoulder, reached down, and snatched the bread from my hand. I was too startled to do anything. Next moment he jumped back to the boy, where he quickly devoured it.

  A scowling Rauf said, “Devil take him! He’s the best thief among us!”

  The others laughed, but the words “best thief” caught my ear.

  Owen looked at me. At first I thought he was apologizing for the monkey’s theft. Then I decided his eyes were pleading with me not to reveal his words of the night before. Having no reason to, I made a quick, tiny nod. His tension eased. I shifted away, only to notice that Elena had been watching me.

  “Have you second thoughts about staying with us?” she asked.

  The question took me by surprise. The very query—echoed by the boy’s words of the night before—made me consider the choice of staying with them or going off on my own.

  “May I leave?” I h
eard myself say.

  If her question surprised me, my answer did the same for her. She studied me with a frowning face, lifted an eyebrow, and pulled back a step. Rauf had been walking away, but when he heard my words, he swung about and considered me with a scowl.

  “When we talked last night,” said Elena, “I thought we agreed that you would become our good companion. Did we not share our food and give you a fair welcome?”

  All I could say was “You were surely kind, mistress.”

  Rauf drew closer by a step. “And if,” he said, “we work together, Crispin, you must swear that we’ll stay as one, at least until we’re done with Calais.”

  Gerard drew closer, too. “To practice as six,” he said, “and then perform as five seems unwise.” Despite his toothy grin, he had his blade in his belt, and his hand was resting on it.

  Woodeth, too, looked upon me, but her eyes seemed sad, and she said nothing. As for Owen, he stood very still, staring at me, mouth slightly open. He appeared frightened.

  Ringed about as I was, I felt intimidated. How could I not be aware of the men’s and Elena’s rough irritability? Rauf’s scowl showed nothing less than anger. Gerard’s grin was belied by the hand upon his blade. The boy’s words, “You mustn’t trust these people,” echoed in my head. I felt a strong desire to thank them for their hospitality and go my way. After all, Elena’s words did not say I could not, or that they would keep me from leaving.

  All the same, I was equally fearful of what might happen if I did go. Besides, I truly did not want to be alone. Those two things held me. I said, “If you’ll have me, I’ll join you.”

  “Good!” said Elena, her face softening.

  I turned to Owen, wondering what he was thinking. If anything, his face showed sorrow. But from the others came a diminished tension and a gruff acknowledgment of welcome. Then they went about their business of getting ready to move on.

  It was Woodeth who found a small cloak and placed it around my shoulders. I was grateful.

  “Have you really heard of Iceland?” I asked her.

  “By name only.”

  “You said it was beyond the sea. Nothing more?”

  She shrugged. “Just what I told you.”

  All this left me uncertain of myself and them. I looked around for Owen. From the way he kept his eyes lowered, I sensed he was taking pains to avoid me. Instead, he busied himself by gathering things that lay about—cups, musical instruments, and boots—and gave them to whomever they belonged. The cooking things—two pots—he put into a sack, which he slung over his shoulder. The two men did nothing. I could see now how much the boy was their base servant. Nor did I hear any kind words bestowed upon him.

  As I watched, I could not help seeing him as what I must have been—before Bear—and told myself that, whatever his weaknesses might be, I should be kind to him like Bear was to me.

  Rauf, meanwhile, fixed his sword to his belt, while Gerard set a large blade on his hip. They carried their own instruments. I was given the recorder to carry. Owen had his sack. I offered to take it, but Rauf told me harshly it wasn’t necessary. “The boy likes to be helpful.”

  The monkey took his place on Owen’s shoulder and seemed determined to remain there. As for myself, I resolved not to worry, to think no ill of these people and be grateful for their company.

  Gerard, in the lead, took a narrow path. Elena walked with Woodeth. Owen, monkey on his shoulder, sack upon his back, came alone.

  Rauf took a place by my side. A cord around his neck kept his bag close, while his bagpipe was slung under an arm. As he walked, he limped. The way he leaned over me made me uncomfortable, his bulk and broad shoulders making me feel small.

  We went in a westerly direction and soon came upon a straight road with wagon ruts. With Gerard in the lead, we followed. I did not see a single dwelling. Happily the day edged toward greater warmth.

  As we went along, Rauf kept me by his side. He did nothing to force me so. He simply stayed with me. Pleased to have me as a captive ear, he regaled me with more of his family’s adventures, in Italian lands, the kingdom of Navarre, and Gascony. He told me of their performance in fairs, markets, the homes of rich merchants, and the fine dwellings of noblemen. Even castles.

  “You’d be amazed at the fees and gifts they gave us,” he bragged. “And you may be sure that if they tried to cheat us of our due, we found ways to balance the scales. Though I regret it now, that horrid monkey was such a taking.”

  “Why do you dislike him so?”

  Rauf snorted. “He dislikes me.”

  “Why keep him then?”

  “He came with the boy. And Owen’s the only one who can get him to do tricks. You’ll see: being a rarity, the beast draws crowds. He’s a fine beggar.”

  “Where does the boy come from?”

  He looked at me. “What makes you ask?” he snapped.

  Taken aback by his sharpness, I said, “I was just curious.”

  Frowning, he said, “Best remember the saying: The curious guest ceases to be a guest.” Then, as if to make amends for his brusqueness, he said, “He was a wretched begging boy. We took pity on him.” He gestured toward Owen and grinned. “I admit, it’s hard to know who’s the smarter, boy or monkey. Still, we gained a servant. Two, in fact.”

  Then Rauf went on to boast of all he’d seen of the world, so much more than I. I confess, I marveled at the wealth, the wonders he had seen. Once again it felt good that I’d joined them. Perhaps their fortune would touch me.

  “What happened to your recorder player?” I asked.

  Rauf’s mood shifted again. “You do ask questions,” he said, frowning. Then, as if upon reflection, he said, “Master Mark? He joined us in Italy, only to decide he wanted nothing to do with us. It caused…a falling out. In Bordeaux.” He touched a finger to his forehead scar. “He fared the worse.”

  In another of his ever-changing moods, Rauf abruptly shifted the fine bag that hung around his neck and held it open.

  “Look inside,” he insisted.

  I hesitated.

  “Go on,” he said, thrusting it at me. “Look!”

  I peered in and gasped. Even in the morning’s dull light, I could see that it was filled with coins—silver and gold florins. I even saw a few gems, plus I knew not what other things of value.

  “There is so much!” I exclaimed. It hardly fit their dress, or what I knew of their life. And what of Elena’s words that they must earn their fare?

  “We work hard for it,” he said, grinning.

  I recalled how much Bear and I made from our music: at best, pennies. That in turn made me recall the boy’s words. I said, “And…and does all that come from your music making?”

  He snorted. “Don’t you know about Saint Jude?” he asked. “He of lost causes and desperate situations. I pray to him. You could do worse. Stay with us,” he said, poking me on the shoulder, hard enough to hurt. “And we’ll be far richer come Calais,” he went on. “They say it’s full of wealth. Sly lad, you picked the perfect time to join us.”

  He then set his bagpipe under his arm and piped some songs, telling me to play the recorder they had given me.

  As we went on, making music, I again put aside my questions. Perhaps that was Rauf’s intention. At the moment it did not matter. All I could do was walk on. But now I had two questions: Where did Owen come from? And in what manner had these people obtained such wealth? But I saw no way to get answers.

  That morning we came near a small village. As soon as they spied it, we halted. Elena went ahead to purchase some food. Rauf barked some orders to Owen and then announced that he and Gerard were going to seek drink. Woodeth remained, as if to watch over the boy and me.

  While she held Schim by his leash, Owen set about to gather some kindling from the edge of the woods. After a few moments—thinking Woodeth would not care, and eager to question the boy further—I began to work by his side.

  “Tell me more about these people,” I said under my breath as
we picked up branches. “Why did you say I shouldn’t trust them?”

  Owen glanced furtively to see if Woodeth was watching. Without looking at me, his breath coming hard, he answered, “They…they warned me not to talk to you.”

  “Who did?”

  “Rauf. Elena.” He was finding it difficult to speak.

  “Why?”

  He went off a few steps to pick up wood. Then he drifted back. “They don’t want you to know what they are.”

  “What…are they?”

  “Thieves. Murderers.” His voice was shaking.

  Startled, I looked at him.

  “It’s true,” he whispered, making the sign of the cross over his heart.

  “How…how do you come to be with them?”

  His eyes filled with tears. His lips quivered. “They stole Schim and me.”

  “Stole?”

  “From my older brother. After they killed him.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “But why? How?”

  He went on in short, hurried bursts. “My father makes gloves. In London. Made some for the Duke of Sunderland. Then the duke went to Italy. My older brother, in the trade, traveled with him. So did I. I got Schim in Italy. Then the duke abandoned all. Since my brother played the recorder, Rauf asked us to join them as they traveled home. We learned they were thieves. When my brother didn’t want to be a thief, they killed him. They told me they would take me back to my father, but I must be their servant.”

  I was truly speechless.

  “They beat me,” the boy went on, panting, lips quivering. “Treat me like a slave.”

  “Why don’t you run off?”

  “Where would I go? They say…they say they’re going to take me to England. Return me to my father. For a price. I…every day I pray they will.”

  “Aren’t they going to that city called Calais?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I lowered my voice even further. “What do they want of me?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. It won’t be good. Please!” he said urgently. “If Rauf learns I’ve talked to you, he’ll beat me.” He looked back around. “He beats Woodeth, too. I think her hurting makes her kinder to me.”