King of the Middle March (29 page)

M
Y DEAR BOY,” SAID OLIVER, “I WANT TO HEAR ABOUT
the Saracens! And that cardinal—Capuano. The sword of the Spirit and the helmet of salvation! Jerusalem!” Oliver waved his arms as wide as the world. “Yes, and about Venice, and your reading, your writing. I want to hear about holy men and heathens and the way to heaven, but you—all you want to do is ask about Gatty!”

“I'll tell you!” I replied. “Everything! I promise I will.”

“But…,” said Oliver. “I know you.”

“Sir John said she left me a message. Can't you tell me that first?”

“Tell you?” said Oliver. He levered himself up from the bench and lurched across to the chest. He turned the key. “I can do better than that, Arthur. I'll show you.”

Oliver triumphantly held up a little roll of parchment, as if it were the king's Great Seal.

“Did you write it?”

Oliver puffed out his chest. “And Oliver the priest and scribe…,” he said very grandly.

“The Book of Nehemiah!” I cried. “It wasn't Oliver, though!
And ezra the priest and scribe
…”

“Excellent, Arthur! All's not lost, I see.” He handed me the parchment. “Your missive,” he said.

I saw at once that it was bound with violet ribbon.

The ribbon I bought for her, with my last farthing, when we went to Ludlow Fair. “To tie up your hair…or wind round your field hat…or wear like a belt…”

I began to shake.

“She bit it in half,” said Oliver, screwing up his face. “Half for you and half for her, she said.”

I unrolled the parchment.

“And she wound hers round her wrist,” Oliver said. “Her left wrist.” I knew he was watching me closely.

“Your characters are all so neat and small,” I said.

Oliver sniffed. “Oliver the scribe,” he said. “Not, I fear, Oliver the grammarian. I did offer.”

Gatty to Arthur on any day

Where are you today I keep wondering. I often talk to you and see you easy. You got the sky on your shoulders. You remember when I said let's go to Jerusalem? I can't explain but somehow I thought it, I believed it, and now I'm going. You and your singing will keep us all safe, Lady Gwyneth says. Arthur, when are you coming back? I haven't forgot going upstream. You promised. Or can you ride to Ewloe. Them bulls, and me wearing Sir John's armor, and rescuing Sian from the fishpond and going to Ludlow Fair, and everything…It's true! It is. Best things don't never get lost.

BY YOUR TRUE GATTY

I don't know how many times I read her words.

“Jerusalem!” I said. “Gatty! She'll enter Jerusalem.”

“As we all hope to do,” Oliver said. “And I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband…Well, Arthur? Which book?”

“I can't remember.”

Oliver tutted. “The Book of Revelation,” he said.

I should have been happy, I know—happy for Gatty, and her escape from fieldwork and hunger, happy for her new life, her singing, her pilgrimage.

“Come on now!” Oliver said in a warm voice. “Head before heart.”

“It's…it's just that…”

Oliver patted my back. “Thank God for His great mercy. He has brought you safely home.”

“And sent Gatty away,” I said.

S
LIM WOBBLED INTO THE HALL, FOLLOWED BY RUTH
, each of them bearing a huge platter heaped with dough-cakes and collops and slices of cheese. Everyone cheered.

Then Robbie, the new kitchen-boy, came in, holding up a little pot as if it were a chalice.

“Cowslop syrup,” he said in a small, squeaky voice.

Everyone laughed, and Robbie turned pink.

“For Arthur to pour over his dough-cake,” he added.

“You need cowslop,” said Slim.

“Why?” I asked.

Slim drew himself up and laid his hands over his huge stomach:

“Sip this spring's cowslop,
Then whisper her name.
Wherever she is
She'll be able to hear you.
It works like a charm.

And if you dream cowslop
You'll come to no harm
Wherever you are.

It will protect you
And ease your heart's pain.”

I was so happy to see everyone. Ruth is pregnant, but she won't give up working in the kitchen just because of that—she says she can put the baby in a bucket—and Dutton says we got more blood from poor Stupid than any pig before or since, and Joan has been in trouble again for letting her cow trespass on Sir John's pasture, and Johanna's got pains in her gut.…

Tanwen! The last time I saw her was when she was rowed away from Saint Nicholas. The oars creaked and bumped in the oarholes; they made such a hollow sound.

We understand and trust each other, because of being together on the crusade. I can depend on Tanwen and, somehow, I feel responsible for her. Maybe she and Kester can come to Catmole for a while.

Kester yelled when he saw me. I lifted him and whirled him around. Then I told Tanwen how Serle thinks of her and talks of her, and I gave Kester the shiny brass button.

“From your father,” I told him. “From him and Shortneck. It's one of Shortneck's bridle buttons. You can think you're riding together.”

Kester closed his damp little fist over the button.

“Let me see,” said Tanwen.

But Kester hid his fist behind his back.

Everyone in Caldicot—almost sixty of us—stood in the hall, talking and teasing each other and laughing, and then Sir John led me up to the little balcony and rang his handbell.

“April!” he called out.

No one said a word.

“Wake up!” said Sir John. “April!”

Still not a word.

“All right!” Sir John struck his bell.

“January!”

“By this fire we warm our hands,” everyone shouted.

“February!”

“And with our spades we dig our land.”

“March!”

“The seeds we sow grow into spring.”

“April!”

“And now we hear the cuckoo sing.”

“We do,” said Sir John. “We hear the cuckoo sing and we see our own fledgling fly back home.”

Everyone cheered again. My eyes felt hot.

“Each night has its own dangers and perils,” Sir John said. “Wolves in the fold, foxes in the coop, night demons, nightmares. To go on a crusade is more dangerous than all that. We should all get on our kneebones and thank God for bringing Arthur safely home.”

For a moment, it was quiet in the hall, almost quiet. Just Joan muttering, and Brian sneezing…

“All right! You can get to your feet!” Sir John said. “Now if you go on a long journey, homecoming is bittersweet. Nain has died. Hum has died. Hum's mother has died. Lankin has died. The wisewoman we need to cure us is very sick herself. Not only this. Merlin seems to have left us. Gatty has gone away. And yet—” Sir John paused. “The seeds we sow…in the dark they grow…green blades rising. Ruth is pregnant. Martha's pregnant.”

“So am I!” Slim shouted out.

Everyone howled with laughter.

Sir John waited until there was order again, flicking his handbell with his forefinger.

“Well, Slim!” he said. “Pilgrims will be soon coming to Caldicot instead of leaving Caldicot. You're a miracle!”

Everyone laughed again.

“Each ending is a beginning,” Sir John called out. “Leaves fall and die, a tree sticks its black fingers into the sky and rattles them, and the next moment its buds are sticky and rosy and then it bursts into leaf again. So Arthur's return—I should say, Sir Arthur…”

Everyone gasped.

“Yes,” said Sir John. “Arthur was knighted in Venice! Sir Arthur de Gortanore! His return is a beginning. He's to take over his father's manor at Catmole, down near Knighton. He has work to do. New duties! High hopes! Isn't that right, Arthur?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Welcome home!”

Just as Sir John and I were coming down from the balcony, Lady Alice arrived from Gortanore with Grace and Thomas and Maggot.

“Grace and I both want you for ourselves,” Lady Alice told me, smiling, “but I'm your stepmother, so you must honor me. Grace, you can talk to Arthur after that—all day, if you want.”

Lady Alice and I strolled out to the herb garden.

“I rode over to Holt again yesterday,” she said. “Guess what? Lord Stephen was sitting up.”

“That's wonderful!” I cried.

“He knows he's back home, but he can't remember anything
about the journey. I do believe he's going to make a complete recovery.”

“I'll go and see him,” I said. “As soon as I can.”

We sat down on the same bench where, four years ago, Lady Alice told me she'd heard rumors Sir William was a murderer, and I swore by Saint Edmund not to tell anyone.

“I have to talk to Thomas and Maggot,” I said. “You know how Thomas gave me my mother's ring?”

“I do now,” Lady Alice replied. “But I didn't until you told me and Lady Judith. They promised to help you find your mother too.”

“Yes, and in return they made me promise to give them positions at Catmole after Sir William died.”

“They had no right to ask you that,” said Lady Alice.

“But I agreed.”

“They were desperate to find somewhere safe,” Lady Alice told me. “While Sir William was alive, people at Gortanore were afraid to accuse them, but they'll speak up now. Several villagers have told me that Thomas and Maggot buried Emrys's body. You need to confront them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell them they broke their promise. Tell them they didn't help you.”

“They'll say they tried everything. They did before.”

“What they did,” said Lady Alice, “was use you.”

“They threatened Lord Stephen too,” I said. “When he warned them he'd make other arrangements so I could meet my mother, they threatened to tell Sir William.”

“You see,” said Lady Alice, “they're two worms. Tell them they
didn't keep their part of the bargain and you have no intention of bringing them to Catmole.” Lady Alice's eyes softened. “Catmole!” she exclaimed, and she smiled. “Anyhow, I know exactly what Thomas and Maggot are like. They can stay at Gortanore, whether they like it or not, and I'll keep an eye on them.”

The last time Grace and I saw each other at Caldicot was before we found out we had the same father, and still believed we might be betrothed. I remember we sat in my climbing-tree for hours. Then we stood on top of Tumber Hill but we couldn't see Wales because it was too dark, and Grace said that didn't mean it wasn't there, and Wales was a matter of faith. She said she knew we couldn't often meet, but she and I could be like that for one another. A matter of faith.

She was so angry when we couldn't be betrothed; she accused me of not really caring but just saying I did.

But the daggers have disappeared from Grace's eyes now. She's tall and willowy, and quite pale.

We walked down to the churchyard to visit Nain and little Luke, and I picked a few wan, starry primroses and placed them at the foot of each grave.

“When little Luke died,” I said, “he took Lady Helen's happiness with him. But now she's found it again.”

“I hope Winnie won't take away your and Tom's happiness,” Grace said. “Or your friendship.”

We walked over to the wall overlooking the pond, and hoisted ourselves onto it.

“You need each other more than either of you needs her,” she said in a thin voice.

“We'll be all right,” I said. “I think we will.”

Grace put her arm through mine. “Boys do have strong feelings,” she said. “You were right.”

“You remember!”

“I'm sorry for you and Tom. I love you both.”

For a while we sat side by side. I picked up a pebble lying on top of the wall and lobbed it into the water. Slowly the ripples spread, until the whole pond gently swayed.

Grace leaned forward and put her face between her hands. “I have chosen,” she said, “to become a nun.”

“Grace!”

“Well, a novice. I told our father.”

“He never told me.”

Grace winced.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“It wouldn't cost him as much as paying a dowry!”

“Tom didn't tell me either.”

“Quite right,” said Grace. “He knows I wanted to tell you myself. I've thought about it for three years.”

“Since…”

“I want to wear white robes and black,” Grace said. “I want to learn to read and write, like you. I want to sing and pray seven times each day. I want to be a bride of Christ.”

“I couldn't do that,” I said. “Be a monk, I mean.”

And neither could Gatty, I thought. Better a pilgrimage than a nunnery.

“Actually,” said Grace, “I think you could. Part of you, anyhow.”

“In Zara,” I said, “on our crusade, there was a nun. Sister Cika.”

“That's a strange name. I'm entering White Ladies as soon as the prioress sends for me! You know, beyond Wenlock.”

“I saw terrors,” I said. “A singing teacher cut to pieces. Women used and murdered.”

“Were they Saracens?”

“What does that matter? A little Christian boy trussed and catapulted over the city wall.”

“Oh Arthur!”

“Sister Cika took me to her spirit-garden. Each flower and plant there was holy. Aaron's Rod, Yellow Archangel…I wanted to stay forever.”

Grace nodded. “But your way's through the world,” she said. “I do know that.” She gazed at me, and then her eyes filled with light. “Arthur!”

Sitting on the wall, we embraced.

“I'm so happy you've come back,” sighed Grace. “I've been able to see you again. It's a gift from God!”