The girl put her arms about Schim and hugged him gently. The beast examined the braids around her ears.
“My lady…” persisted the woman.
The girl leaned toward us. “By Holy Mary, I should like you, at least, to be free. Listen: I have heard my father speak of a tavern. It’s called—I think—the Lamb. It’s built against the city wall. He said there’s a passage there…. It’s used by smugglers.”
She grinned. “Because I’m a girl, they don’t credit me with ears. But if you can find that tavern, you might escape the city.” Her eyes glittered. “If only you could take me!” she said.
The second woman came into the room. “My lady!” she called more forcibly.
The girl held out Schim to Owen. As he took the monkey, the girl whispered into Schim’s ear, “May God grant you your freedom, too.”
That said, the girl slid forward in the chair until, stretching, her gown bunched up, her feet touched the floor. She stood and slowly went to the women who were waiting for her by the door. Just as she left the room, the girl looked back at us over her shoulder. Her eyes were full of tears.
We never learned her name.
Owen and I were left alone. I spun about to Owen. “We may be able to get away now.” But no sooner did we step away from the room than we found Elena just beyond the door, waiting for us.
“What did the bride want?” she demanded.
“To see Schim,” I said.
She only frowned.
We headed back in silence to the stable, where the rest of the family was waiting for us. All I could think about was the secret tavern passage out of the city. It would be the way to go—if I could find it.
“What happened?” asked Rauf as soon as we returned.
“She was just taken with the monkey,” Elena said.
“She wished to buy him,” I added, instantly regretting saying so.
“Mangy creature!” said Rauf. “I’d be willing.” He reached out and gave Schim a pinch, which made the beast screech and cling to Owen in fright. Rauf only grinned and said, “We’d get more for the monkey than the boy.”
That evening we played our music from the balcony one more time. It was long past vespers when we were done. By then the girl bride was asleep in her chair. Not even Schim’s tricks and jumps could stir her. In faith, no one seemed to pay the girl any mind. How different she was from Owen and me. And yet—how much alike. I almost wished she were coming with us.
Afterward we returned to the kitchen, where we were offered more food and drink. There was some idle talk with other musicians, but I was too distracted to give it my attention. At length, to my relief, the whole family returned to the stall.
Once there Elena said, “We’ve been told that the wedding will take place at terce. The musicians will be part of the morning procession to and from the church.”
I wondered if Rauf would be at the celebration or about the house in search of things to steal.
“The bells have already rung midnight,” said Elena. “We need to sleep.”
They arranged themselves for the night, as if casually, but I took note that they had Owen and me lie down at the inner part of the stall, the rest blocking the way. Rauf took the outermost position. The night before it had been Elena. As I looked about, I sensed their tension and excitement. I wondered if they were about to embark upon their thievery. While I knew how wrong it was, I rejoiced at the thought. It could well mean they would be leaving Owen and me alone. Getting out of the stable would be much easier.
I was quite certain that the tavern the girl had mentioned was the place where Rauf had shown me to the soldiers. So I put my head to trying to recall the route we had taken there. Would I be able to find it in the night? I wondered if it would even be open. Hopefully those soldiers would not be there. Curfew had long passed. But it was there I intended to go.
Owen and I stayed close. Schim, too. Once we lay down, I managed to whisper into his ear, “We must leave at prime.” I had no doubt: we would have but one chance to do so. There would be no second.
“The tavern?” he murmured.
I nodded. We dared not speak anymore. Thus began one of the longest nights of my life.
28
AT FIRST ALL was calm and peaceful. The church bells rang their calls to prayer. Matins. Lauds. The lantern outside our stall shed its languid light, occasionally stirred by some random breeze. From within the house came an occasional clank and thump. No doubt, the kitchen people were preparing for the wedding breakfast feast. I heard the night watch passing, giving their cry, “All’s well! All’s well.”
I lay as still as I could, eyes open, listening as the family settled deep into slumbers: Woodeth’s sighs and murmurs. Rauf’s deep breathing. Gerard’s small sounds. My own slight movement, which made the straw crunch.
I tried not to think about what Thorvard said about Iceland. I preferred to believe Halla. More to the point, I reminded myself that Elena’s family intended to deliver me to the Calais gallows. I would have this one chance to escape these people and get on that Icelandic ship. Yes, going there would be an uncertain thing. But—I told myself—far better to risk an uncertain life than certain death.
I thought of Troth. I tried to push aside my anger at Bear. To think that he had been wrong made my eyes smart and my heart feel heavy. As if to turn from him, I sought the blessings of Jesus and Saint Giles. They would not abandon me. No more than I would do that to Owen.
I looked to the boy and gave his hand a light touch as reassurance. He returned it to show me he too was awake.
Shifting, I checked to see how the family had arranged themselves and planned a passage through them. That done, I tried to remain alert. But despite my desperate desire to stay awake, I fell asleep.
I don’t know which came first, the church bells announcing prime or Owen’s touch. Perhaps one and the same. It didn’t matter. In the instant, I was fully awake.
I lifted my head and looked about. There was a faint glow coming from the lantern just beyond the stall. All else was dark. Owen was fully awake, sitting with his back against the wooden wall staring at me. The monkey lay in his lap, asleep.
I pushed myself up on my elbow. The family lay so deep in the straw it was difficult to determine just who was where. Even so, I made myself note them one by one. I counted the two women and Gerard.
Not Rauf.
Startled, I looked again. There could be no doubt. Rauf was not there.
Very slowly I shifted myself about until I could lean over toward Owen and whisper “Rauf” into his ear. He nodded his head as if to say he already knew. His gaze remained on me, waiting for me to tell him what to do.
Though fearful of Rauf’s return, I knew that if we didn’t leave then, we’d be too late to get to the ship. I indicated that Owen should leave the stall first.
Owen returned a nod of understanding.
As the boy—Schim in his arms—rose slowly, I dared not breathe. I did have a moment’s unease when the monkey woke and looked around, small eyes wide with puzzlement, tail twitching. Owen gently touched the back of his head. The creature responded by pressing his wizened face against the boy’s neck, but made no further move. Happily, Owen moved with little sound. Once, twice, he paused when Gerard, then Elena shifted in their sleep. Blessedly, neither woke.
It seemed long—but surely no more than moments—before the boy, with Schim now sitting on his shoulder, stood beyond the stall. The tiny flame in the lantern made Owen’s shadow loom large. Once out of the stall he looked around the stable and made a gesture for me to come.
Taking a deep breath, my heart beating very fast, I put my hand to the back of the stall and slowly pulled myself to my feet.
Grateful for the little light there was, I worked to avoid the sleepers, frustrated by the small scrunching sounds my feet made in the straw. Once, twice, I had to stop to calm myself. Each time I looked up and saw where Owen was waiting—his look intense, his large, staring eyes drawing me forward. Even the monkey
stared at me, the tip of his tail twitching.
Then Woodeth shifted, which brought me to a halt. Next Gerard swung his arm and actually struck my shin. After a momentary and frightful pause—during which he moved no more—I resumed my forward steps until I, too, stood free of the stall.
Once there we paused in the lanternlight for a brief moment, looking up and down. Then we turned in the direction that would lead us to the street.
Even as we did, Rauf stepped around the corner.
29
HE CAME FROM the direction of the house, sack in hand. Even in the morning murkiness, I could see the sack was full, so I had little doubt he’d been at his thievery. In his other hand, he clutched his dagger.
For the smallest part of a moment, the three of us stood in the little light, staring at one another as if each could not believe what the other was seeing.
“Where…where are you going?” he hissed in a voice thick with rage. “Get back where you belong!” He pointed his blade toward the stall.
“We’re…we’re leaving,” I somehow found voice to say.
“The devil you are!” cried Rauf. Face full of fury, he flung the sack aside and advanced upon us, dagger forward. He grabbed Owen’s arm and yanked. The boy cried out. No sooner did he do so than Schim, screeching like a demon, leaped at Rauf’s face, biting and clawing.
Attacked so unexpectedly, Rauf thrust Owen away. As the boy fell, Rauf slashed the beast with his blade. The monkey, torn and bloody, fell to the ground.
For one gawking, terrifying moment, I just stood there, appalled.
But Owen became engulfed by rage. He leaped up and, screaming “Murderer!”, flung himself at his tormentor, beating upon Rauf with his small and frantic fists. The boy’s fury took Rauf completely by surprise. Dropping his dagger, he staggered back, slipping on the monkey’s blood and dropping down onto his knees. Owen kept hitting him. A floundering Rauf groped frantically for his dagger.
In that moment I leaped forward, snatched Owen’s arm, and dragged him away down along the alley. “Murderer!” the boy kept screaming back. “Murderer!”
At the turning, I paused for just an instant to look back. Rauf had found his dagger and pulled himself up even as shouts erupted from the stall: “Thieves! Thieves!”
It was Elena, shrieking.
“Run!” I shouted. Clutching Owen’s hand, I plunged toward the street. But once I reached it, I hardly knew which way to go. The boy was now clinging to me, moaning, “He killed Schim!” again and again.
“Thieves! Alarm!” came cries from behind us.
“Just come!” I yelled at Owen. I hardly knew if he held me or I him, but we raced along until we reached the next crossing. There we turned yet again and went on, taking another turn, and yet one more. There, out of breath, my panic great, I had to pause.
I had no notion which direction to go. My knowledge of Calais, such as it was, was rendered all but useless by my terror and the dark. The deserted streets appeared all the same.
Unable to decide which way to go, I took refuge in the shadowy recess of a deep-set door. Overwhelmed by what had happened, I staggered against a wall and pressed my forehead against a stone. Cold and trembling, short of breath, all I could think was, If they catch us, they’ll kill us now.
I felt a pull on my arm. Owen was standing there, looking up at me, eyes large with fright, grimy face streaked with tears. No one could have appeared more wretched.
“He’ll try to kill me, too!” he cried piteously. “He will.”
Then, even as I stood there, trying to think what to do, I heard shouts: “Murderers! Thieves! Alarm!”
My dread redoubled: they were calling the night watch. We had to get out of the city.
I tried to recall where the tavern the girl spoke of might be. “Stay close to me!” I said to Owen. Though uncertain—but knowing we must move—I stepped away from our hiding place and looked up and down the street. Thin light came from the crescent moon and the array of cold stars above. A hint of dawn glimmered.
“Murderers! Thieves!” came the cry again, from yet a different place. I heard running, the sound of several people’s steps. “Back!” I cried, and retreated to the doorway.
Next moment a man, broadsword in hand, raced down the street directly in front of us. God and the shadows provided protection. The man passed on. Though I could not see who it was, I had no doubt he was hunting us.
Once the man had passed, I grabbed Owen and crept out from our hiding place. “Come on!” I commanded, and began to run.
I tried to recognize landmarks—a sign, a door as we went. Anything. I met with little success. On we went, racing down one street and then another, pausing at each corner while trying to see what danger might lurk ahead.
“Are we going to that tavern?” asked Owen.
“Just stay close.”
We reached a turn. That time I recognized a narrow door and was fairly certain the tavern was just beyond. I stole a quick glance. Sure enough, it was there. But so too were a goodly number of men—soldiers among them. They were milling about its door. All were armed. It was the night watch.
Recoiling, I snatched Owen’s hand again and tugged him down the street in the opposite direction. I pulled so hard he stumbled to his knees and cried out. I yanked him up and raced on. Only when we had gone around a few more turns did I stop. My side pained me. My breath was labored. Owen, his knee bloody from his fall, was also gasping and gulping for air.
Trying to think, I looked about. The street we were on was deserted. A morning breeze made signboards creak. An excited dog began to bark and was answered by another. From somewhere came those cries: “Murder! Alarm! Murder!”
I plunged through a maze of streets, halting frequently to look all ways. The shouts of “Murder! Murder!” seemed to come from everywhere. I sensed them closing in, but I still didn’t know where to go.
Owen slumped against a wall. “I can’t…I can’t go anymore,” he gasped.
Needing to think, wanting to give the boy—and me—a rest, I hid ourselves behind some barrels. To my dismay, the sky above was lighter. Dawn was close. It would allow me to see better, but we would also be easier to find. And—to add to my desperation—I knew that the Icelandic ship would be leaving soon.
“Can you go on?” I asked the boy.
He shook his head. His chest was heaving. Tears were streaming along his cheeks.
I squatted down and stretched my arms behind me. “Get on my back!” I said. As he pressed himself against me, I clasped my one hand with the other and so was able to hold him up.
With Owen on my back, I staggered down yet another street. There I saw we had reached the town’s edge, where the city wall rose above the houses. I hurried down the alley until I reached it.
“Slide off!”
When the boy dropped down, I examined the wall. Made of stone blocks, it rose up some seventy-five feet. I reached high and sought to find some finger grip, hoping to haul myself up. The stones, however, were too finely set. I couldn’t get a hold. Climbing would be impossible.
“Come on!”
We tried the next street, where the wall continued, but I couldn’t climb there either. Even so, we went on for two more streets. This time we had come to a place where walls met. Built into the corner was a stout, round tower with an open entryway. Within it, I could make out a narrow, curving flight of stone steps, which led up.
“This way!”
I dashed inside and tried to see—without success—the top of the steps. All I saw was greater light, which made me think the steps reached the open ramparts. That made me remember I’d seen soldiers there when I first came to the city. What if they were there now?
Even before I could think what to do, I heard the sound of footfalls.
“Someone’s coming!” Owen gasped.
We darted up the steps, all but falling up, if such a thing is possible. Upon reaching the top of the wall, I glanced around. What I saw was a wide, stone-paved walk
way walled on either side. The walls reached the height of my shoulders. The outer walls had irregular gaps, wide enough to allow soldiers to look out and, no doubt, shoot their arrows and bolts. I could see no one about.
I ran to one of the gaps, hauled myself up, and looked down. Morning’s dull glimmer allowed me to see water some hundred feet or so below: the city’s double moats.
I jumped back down to the rampart and went to the city-side wall and peered down. I could see streets and low rooftops, as well as churches and watchtowers. At first it seemed deserted; but even as I looked, Elena and Rauf rushed into the street below, the very place where we had been. Both were armed.
They were conferring right below me, turning now this way, now that, as if considering the ways we might have gone. They didn’t think to look up, not at first.
Soon as I saw them, I leaped back.
“Rauf and Elena!” I hissed.
“Where?”
“Below!”
I stole another quick glance down. That time I saw Elena pointing up, before turning and running toward the tower steps.
“This way!” I cried, grabbing hold of Owen’s hand and racing along the rampart. As we ran, I spied another wall tower ahead of me. This one was not placed at a corner, but midway along the wall. Thinking we could use it to get back down to the streets, I aimed for it.
As I ran, I glanced back. Elena and Rauf had burst onto the wall. It took but a moment for them to see me.
“Crispin! Owen! Stop!”
I redoubled my pace, only to see, from the very tower toward which we were heading, a troop of soldiers bursting forth. A few held torches. Some were armed with swords or crossbows. Leading them was the captain whom Rauf had made me meet.
Upon seeing me, the soldiers stopped.
We were caught between the two: Elena and Rauf on one side, the soldiers on the other.
I swung about, grabbed at Owen, and dashed to the outer wall. I scrambled atop and braced myself between one of the gaps. Owen held up his arms. I hauled him up. I looked back only to see one of the soldiers kneeling, a crossbow pressed against his shoulder. He was aiming it at us.