At the Edge of the World (13 page)

35

T
HE THREE
of us walked slowly back to the oxcart. Right behind came an armed guard.

“Bear—” I began.

“Let me think!” he barked, cutting me off.

“Troth can’t do such a thing,” I persisted.

“Crispin,” said Troth, “I’ll do what he asked. Then he’ll set us free.”

“I don’t think he will,” I cried to her. “And what if Bear is hurt or killed in the attack? Didn’t you hear? He’ll have a halter tied round his neck! He won’t even be armed.”

Troth said nothing to that.

“Do
you
trust Dudley to set us free, if he gets his treasure?” I demanded of Bear.

“By Saint Jerome, I don’t know,” was Bear’s reply. We had reached the oxcart. Under the watchful eye of both the guard and the cook, Bear leaned into the oxcart and searched about for a piece of armor that might fit him.

He fetched up a chain mail shirt. It was corroded, and had some holes. Nonetheless, he pulled it over his head so that it covered half his arms, his neck, and most of his chest.

Troth and I looked on glumly.

Next, Bear rummaged around the oxcart for a breastplate. When he found one, he held it to his body for a fitting, knocking it with his knuckles to see if it was sound.

“Crispin,” he said. “Help me with the straps.”

I had watched his dressing with mounting despair. “Bear, we can get away and—”

“Crispin,” he barked, “remember: the man who thinks his enemy is a fool, is the greater fool. Now do as I say!”

Troth watched, wide-eyed as I, fumbling, buckled the leather straps behind Bear’s back so the plate was held to his chest. It fit poorly.

Bear next took up a helmet—examined it indifferently—and set it on his head.

He turned to the guard. “There are swords in there,” he said, with a nod to the cart. “Can I arm myself?”

“No,” said the man. “You heard the captain.”

Bear shrugged.

I looked at Bear. Though he did not have his old bulk, he was still a large man, but the ill-fitting plate and helmet served to make him ungainly and vulnerable in appearance.

“Now, come,” said Bear, “we have just a little time.” He put his arm about my shoulder, did as much with Troth, and began to draw us away.

The cook called, “The boy is to stay here!” He held up a sword of his own to show his strength.

“In good faith, I’ll have him for just a moment,” Bear called back. “You may watch us! I wish to make sure they know what to do.”

The cook lowered his sword. “Be quick,” he said.

With us at his side, Bear set his steps toward where Dudley waited with his troops. Halfway there, Bear stopped. No one was around us. “Listen well,” he said, his voice hushed but urgent. “We have this last moment.”

“Bear …” I began.

He touched my mouth to keep me still, then placed a large hand on each our shoulders and bent close so that our three heads were touching. “Know the love I have for you both,” he began. “As God is holy, you must escape, and find your way to freedom. You’ll most likely have to do so without me.”

Seething with frustration, I wanted to speak but could not.

He went on: “Know there is nothing in this that you have done. You are both without sin.”

I felt like screaming at him, hitting him with my rage that he was not letting me do
anything,
but insisting—as he did of old—to tell me what to do, refusing to allow me to act as I might. “Bear—”

“Crispin,” he hissed, “don’t argue! Now, I will go along with Captain Dudley, and see what God has in store. Troth, start off as he bid you. Crispin, you
must
free yourself from the one who guards you. Join Troth. It’s your only hope. As soon as you meet, run off. The two of you need each other.”

“But what of you?” I cried.

“By my Blessed Lady, I have no desire to leave off living,” he said. “But if you two can free yourselves, my prayers will be answered. Perhaps God has some means for us to stay together. If He does, I don’t know it.”

“Bear,” I pleaded, “you must let me—”

“Crispin, honor me and my love by living free. Troth, do the same. Cling to one another. Find some place to be. Let it be as it
may
be! Pray for my soul, but never neglect your own. Do you understand me, Crispin? Free yourself and get to Troth. Do what you must do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, but—”

Bear, breathing heavily, would not stop, would not let me say one thing. “Troth,” he went on, “trust yourself first, then Crispin. Always honor Aude. Find a way to live that lets you be yourself. No God—yours or mine—can ask for more.”

That said, he reached round and pulled us toward him in an embrace.

I could not—would not—believe it would be our last.

Bear turned sharply away from me. Guiding Troth with a large hand at her back, they went where Dudley waited with his soldiers. Bear was followed by the guard.

My heart a burning stone in my chest, I remained behind, watching them go. Twice Bear looked back at me over his shoulder. So did Troth. She made a quick hand sign:
come.
I would have bolted that instant, if I had not felt a sharp poke upon my back. I turned. It was the little cook. His sword was in his hand.

“You’re to come with me,” he commanded.

Which was greater, my despair or my rage, I can hardly say. I only know that I was trembling, my vision blurry. I had to struggle to find breath.

I allowed myself one last look at Bear and Troth, and then let myself be guided back to the cart. As we went, I strained to find some degree of self-possession, knowing I must think clearly, grasping that my task was to get free quickly. I had little doubt I would have but one chance—if that.

Once at the oxcart, the cook pulled up a coil of rope, one end of which had already been tied to the spoke of the cartwheel. The cook fastened the other end round one of my arms, pulling the knot taut.

“By Saint Peter,” he said as he tethered me, “small as I am, Captain Dudley had marked me to be the one to go into that tower. But God answered my prayers when you came along with that wretched girl. A good captain, if a hard man. For your own sake, you’d best pray she’ll succeed. For now, lad, rest easy. There’s nothing you can do.” That said, he busied himself among his iron pots, content to let me be his prisoner.

I stood there, trying to shape my fury, using it to make a plan. From where I was, I could see the troops, plus Dudley and two others on horseback. Bear, large as he was, stood out from the others. I watched, horrified, as a soldier slung a rope round his neck, and pulled it tight like a hanging noose. Even as I had been tied to the oxcart, Bear was tied to the pommel of Dudley’s saddle.

I could no longer see Troth. But as sure as I knew anything, I had no doubt she would not run away as Bear bade her. To try and save him, she would do as Dudley had commanded.

The soldiers were forming up, receiving final instructions from Dudley.

“Will the captain keep his word?” I called to the cook.

He looked up from his pot, into which he was cutting onions with his dagger. “It depends on what happens,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Captain Dudley has talked of that treasure for many a month. God willing, he’ll have it. And I beg your forgiveness in advance, but I’ve been ordered to slay you”—he nodded to his sword which lay close to his hand—“if you act ill. Pay heed: my life is forfeit if I disobey the captain.

He spoke with ease. That he meant to act by his orders, I had little doubt. He had his sword, and there was a dagger in his hand. I had nothing.

I swung back round to watch the troops. They had begun to move off the hill, presumably toward the castle. The last I saw of Bear, he was being led away like a captive beast.

36

W
HAT I DID FIRST
—with my back to the cook—was pluck at the knot that held me. But it was too tightly drawn, and when I glanced round at the cook and found his eyes on me, I left off.

Baffled, I slumped against the cart and racked my brains for something else to do. It was then that I recalled Bear’s words: he had turned to the guard and said, “There are swords in there,” and nodded toward the cart.

Belatedly, I realized he had been talking to me! He had told me where I might find a sword.

Heart pounding, I measured with my eye the rope that held me, as well as the height of the cart. I decided the rope was—hopefully—long enough to let me reach into the cart.

I glanced at the cook. For the moment he was turned away from me, dagger in his belt, tearing at some cabbage leaves. “Saint Giles, be with me,” I whispered. Fully aware that I would have but one chance, I made a hasty sign of the cross.

I took a deep breath, set one foot on a wheel spoke, then hastily heaved myself up. My leap was barely high enough to allow me to bend into the cart. Sure enough I saw a sword—had Bear moved it closer? I reached for it. In my haste, not only did I miss, I tipped it away. Frantic, I lunged a second time. That effort allowed me to snatch the hilt. Grasping it tightly, I swung it around in a wide arch, while leaping back, so that I landed awkwardly on my feet.

The cook heard me. Startled, he turned about. Seeing what I’d done, he gawked for a moment. In that brief time, I pulled the rope that bound me tight, swung the sword down, and chopped at it with all my strength. It split apart.

I was free.

But now the cook snatched up his sword and leaped toward me.

I was no swordsman, much less a fighter. I could only do such things as Bear had tried to teach me. What’s more, no matter the cook’s intent, I had no desire of harming the little man. Escape was all.

Yet the cook would have at me, swinging wildly with his sword, swearing vile oaths, vowing he would kill me. But as God was kind, I found myself quick enough to parry his efforts with my sword. When he fell back, ready to strike again, I grasped the handle of my sword in both hands and swung out at him as hard as I was able. Even as I did, he also struck so that our swords met with an ear-breaking
clang
of metal. The force of my blow caught him unprepared. His sword was knocked entirely out of his hands, where it fell some paces away.

Red-faced with rage, he gave not an inch but snatched up his dagger and came at me furiously. I retreated, holding the sword before me. “Get back!” I screamed.

Trying to outwit me, he sidestepped, and then, with dagger raised and poised to strike, he threw himself at me. In hasty defense, I swung round, lifted my sword toward him—so that he ran himself upon it.

He hung there, openmouthed, in skewered surprise.

Terrified by what I’d done, I jumped back, bloody sword in hand, and stood there as he fell to his knees, blood gushing from his wound and mouth. Eyes rolling, he mouthed some garbled words—might they have been holy prayers!—then fell forward, face into the earth.

Horrified, my stomach heaving, so dizzy with fright I could hardly stand, I was compelled to lean upon the nearby wagon. “Forgive me, forgive me …” I murmured, and though I tried to make the sign of the cross, my hand shook so I could not.

I waited one more dreadful moment, gulping for air, afraid to look at the dead man. Then I recalled myself, turned, and ran, the death-dripping sword still in hand.

Trying not to think of what had just happened, I charged to the crest of the hill where we had stood before and looked down at the round village of Bources. The
view
was much the same, and yet in process of much alteration.

Dudley and his men were marching in a line toward the castle, banneret fluttering. They were going very slowly, deliberately, even slower than when they attacked the village.

I looked for Bear, and saw him easily enough, he being larger than the rest. He was close to Dudley, held by the rope that kept him a hostage to Troth’s success.

At first I was puzzled by the soldiers slow advance. Then I realized it was only what Dudley had schemed—to show himself and his force, thereby bringing all the opposition garrison to the castle, away from the church.

Sure enough, I could see considerable movement on the castle ramparts. Soldiers were rushing about behind the crenellation. Horns were being blown, bleating shrill alarms. A bell began to sound.

The peasants in the field stopped, listened, and began to run toward the village.

I turned toward the church and the fortified tower. The church doors swung open. A body of soldiers and a priest burst out. From the way their faces were set, I could see they were looking toward Dudley and his men. Even as I watched, the priest and the soldiers raced across the drawbridge—going, I presumed, to defend and be protected by the castle. As soon as they passed, the drawbridge lifted. Not all the soldiers went. A few returned to the church. The doors shut.

It was all as Dudley had planned.

But were there more soldiers within the church? How many would there be for Troth to contend with?

Trying to keep from panicking, I gazed about but did not see her. I had no doubt, however, she was heading for that tower hole.

Sword in hand, I ran down the hill, straight for the tower. I had taken no more than a few steps when I realized I must take pains not to be seen. Not by Dudley’s men. Nor by anyone in the church. If I were seen by anyone, Bear’s life would be forfeit.

Crouched but still running, I ran forward in a great circle, away from Dudley’s force but hoping to come upon the tower indirectly. Now and again, I bobbed up in hopes of seeing Troth. But even when I came within fifty yards of the church tower, I had no idea where she was.

Meanwhile, Dudley and his men were now opposite the castle, keeping to the far side of the moat. His archers were shooting arrows. Though I was sure Dudley would make no attempt to cross the moat, those within the castle could not know that. I saw archers atop the castle ramparts lean forward and loose their arrows at the attackers. And Bear without a shield!

Knowing I had to find Troth, I forced myself to take my eye from the castle and look at the church tower. First, I took note of the flow hole that Dudley had spoken of, the one that he told Troth she must use to gain entry to the tower. I found it easily enough. I also caught sight of some movement aloft, behind the tower archer holes. That meant that some of the soldiers I had seen—still impossible to know how many—were within, ready to defend the treasure. The more there were, the more danger for Troth.

Taking a chance, I stood up, looked about. This time I saw her. She’d done as I had expected, gone to the tower, albeit indirectly, moving along the moat’s embankment, trying to reach the tower walls without being seen.

Wanting to reach her before she went any farther, I dashed around—as she must have done—toward the river moat. I knew I might be observed from the far side of the moat, but felt I had no choice.

I reached the embankment safely, and dropped down, wanting to keep myself hidden from those within the tower.

Troth was some thirty yards before me. She appeared to be gathering herself for a run to the tower.

Ignoring caution, I shouted, “Troth!”

She paused, turned, and looked back.

“Wait!” I cried. Still bent over, I ran forward along the moat bank.

“Troth,” I blurted out when I reached her, “I killed the one guarding me.” I held up the sword, still stained with blood.

In revulsion, she stepped back.

“He would have killed me,” I said. “Troth, he attacked me.

She gazed at me for a moment, then turned away, and looked toward the church.

“What do you wish to do?” she asked, her face averted.

“I don’t care what Bear told us,” I said. “We must help him.”

“I thought the same,” said Troth. “I’ve an idea.”

“What?”

“I’ll do what Dudley ordered. When I open the church doors—that’s what he wanted—he’ll lead his soldiers to the church. But, Crispin, he’ll be thinking mostly of the treasure. Then that’s when we must reach Bear and get him away.”

“Troth, Dudley tied a rope to Bear’s neck to hold him.”

Her mouth opened in shock.

“And not all the soldiers left the church.”

“How many are there?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure I saw some in the tower. Behind the arrow slits.”

Troth looked up. “I’m going anyway,” she said. “Stay here—in case I fail.” She made a movement to go.

I held her with a hand. “We’ll have a better chance to get the doors open with two of us inside.”

Troth offered no argument. Instead, she turned back to scrutinize the tower. “Crispin,” she said, “if we can get against the tower and move flat along the walls, they shouldn’t be able to see us, or shoot at us, before we get to that hole.”

She was right: the arrow slots were some one hundred feet above the ground, designed to repel attackers at a distance. Nor were there any turrets for shooting directly down.

“But we must hurry,” I agreed.

That said, she jumped up and raced for the church walls. I scrambled to follow, too fearful to look up.