Authors: Avi
A
LL 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.
G
ULPING 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.
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!”