At the Crossing Places (9 page)

I
KNOW I'LL GET PUNISHED FOR IT, BUT I SKIPPED MY
lesson with Haket this afternoon because I wanted time to think about everything I've seen in my obsidian.

I was walking upstream along the riverbank when I saw Rowena and Izzie sitting on a flat stone with their backs to me, and Rowena was holding something twisted in her right hand.

“Scratch him!” she cackled, and then she scratched whatever it was with her long fingernails. “Squeeze him! Screech him!”

“Haket's heart is as black as his cassock,” Izzie said.

“Hell-black,” said Rowena fiercely.

Izzie was holding something in her right hand as well, and she bent over it and crooned:

“Witch-in-the-twig,
Rider-in-the-broom,
Tell me, tell me,
Teach me what to do.
In the water's womb
Whirligig!
Tell me, teach me,
How to make him love me.
Make him love me
And I will love you.”

“It's a pity his ears stick out so much,” Rowena said.

Izzie giggled.

“You witches!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

The two girls clutched each other and looked up at me with open mouths.

“Nothing!” said Izzie, and she tossed a stick-man into the dark river.

Rowena shook her head and her long, dark hair whipped from side to side. “Go away, Arthur!” she said fiercely.

So Rowena does hate Haket. But why? I'm going to have to find out.

Anyhow, whose ears stick out so much? Surely Izzie wasn't putting a spell on me? She's so stupid.

T
OMORROW, ASH WEDNESDAY, IS MY BIRTHDAY.

“The first day of Lent,” said Lord Stephen. “Very disappointing, Arthur. But we can't change the Church calendar. Ash Wednesday follows Shrove Tuesday, and Shrove Tuesday follows Collop Monday, and they always have done. However! What we're going to do is recognize your birthday eve.”

This morning, we all had to make our confessions to Haket, and I felt very uneasy, because I've been thinking about what I heard and saw on the riverbank and I'm sure Haket is forcing Rowena to do something against her will, maybe even giving him her body. If he is, how can I confess to him? And, anyhow, who does he make
his
confessions to?

Shrove Tuesday is a holiday, the first since I came to Holt, and this afternoon many of the people living on the manor gathered in the South Yard. But not Haket, I'm glad to say.

First Anian and Catrin tied little spurs to two cocks, but I don't really like watching them stab each other's eyes and rip each other to pieces. After that, I wrestled with Anian and threw him, although he's two years older than I am. But then Sayer, the kennelman, threw me, and so did Simon—he's stronger than he looks. All the same, I know I'm stronger than I was last year.

“Arthur!” Rowena called out. “Izzie wants to wrestle with you.”

Everyone laughed, and Izzie blushed.

“I won't,” I said. “You're both stupid.”

“What about Rahere?” Alan said in a sneering voice. “You'd like to wrestle with Arthur, wouldn't you?”

“Certainly not!” said Rahere huffily. “Wrestlers don't jest!”

When we met in the hall for supper, Lord Stephen bowed to me. “Will you sit down, sir?” he said.

Lord Stephen showed me to my place and brought me a little basin of water. He kissed the towel draped over his right forearm, and I washed and dried my hands. Then Lord Stephen served me, and not until I'd eaten the first mouthful of my egg-and-butter pancake was anyone else allowed to start.

After we'd finished our pancakes and boiled chicken stuffed with garlic and apricots—the last meat and butter we'll eat until after Easter—Lord Stephen rang his little handbell, and Gubert carried in a wobbling, striped jelly. It had fourteen layers, and each one was a different color.

“Gubert!” exclaimed Lord Stephen, and he smiled and opened his hands.

“Ah!” sighed Rahere. “The very sight of it…turns my insides to jelly.”

“Strained saffron, my lady,” said Gubert.

“Which?” asked Lady Judith.

“The bottom stripe. Then parsley-juice green, and pink rose petals…that violet-blue, that's sunflower. Egg white…” Gubert explained each stripe until he'd reached the top layer.

“Poppy,” guessed Rowena.

“I know,” said Izzie. “Plum skin.”

“Or blood,” said Lord Stephen.

“Sandalwood red,” said Gubert proudly.

“Imported from Venice,” Lady Judith announced. “My merchant buys sandalwood and pepper and caraway from Venice.”

“Let Arthur sniff!” Lord Stephen said.

I leaned over the jelly, and the sweet confusion of scents and spices swirled inside my head.

“Arthur's smelly!” Rahere said quite fondly.

“You'll bring home lots of spices from the Holy Land, I hope,” Lady Judith said. “They cost so much here, when you can get them at all. I've heard the Saracens even serve their meats with sauces of different colors.”

After this, everyone shook hands with me and wished me a happy birthday.

“Happy as a clam,” Rahere said, and he opened and snapped his mouth several times. “Well! As happy as you can be with ash on your forehead.”

“You've been here at Holt for six weeks already,” Lord Stephen said. “Now, on Friday I want you to ride over to Gortanore.”

“This Friday!” I exclaimed.

“I've arranged for you to stay for one week.”

“Do I have to, sir?”

“And in the meantime,” said Lord Stephen, “I must somehow make do without my excellent squire.”

Then Lord Stephen and Lady Judith stood up. They bid us all a peaceful night and left the hall. Gubert and Anian and Catrin cleared the dishes, and everyone lay down around the fire.

I couldn't sleep, though. I kept thinking about having to go to
Gortanore…I'll be really glad to see Lady Alice. She understands and trusts me. But I haven't seen Grace since we talked to each other about being betrothed. The light danced in her eyes, and she said we must be a matter of faith to each other. That's what I wanted too, and I feel so sad. I do want to talk to Grace, but I don't know what to say. But what makes me afraid is having to meet Sir William. I'm not looking forward to that at all.

After a while, I came up here to my room, carrying two candles. I began to write this.

I know Lord Stephen and Lady Judith honored me this evening, but I feel so sad. Holt's not my true home. Neither is Caldicot, and I wish it were. It's where I grew up, and I miss everyone, even Serle. It's weeks and weeks already since I saw Gatty, and I don't even know when I'll see her again.

To serve as a squire: That's like being a false son. It lasts for a while, but then it comes to an end. And when it does, where will I belong?

I wish Lord Stephen wasn't so reasonable. He doesn't have to be. He could have said he wanted to keep me here, and refused to let me go to Gortanore.

H
E WAS SITTING ON A GRAVESTONE WHEN I WENT INTO
the church for my lesson, and he was still there when I came out again.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

The old man looked up at me with his watery eyes. The skin on his face was almost transparent, and I could see the blue veins stretched over his collarbone.

“Who is?” he replied.

“You. Are you all right?”

“They're here, you know,” the old man said in his cracked voice.

“Who?”

“He went first,” the old man said. “I buried them.”

“Your parents, you mean?”

“I'm listening to them,” the old man said. “She does most of the talking. You, boy! You obey the commandment.”

I lowered my eyes.

“You think too much,” said the old man.

“Who are you, then?” I asked.

The old man looked at me and smiled forlornly. “I can't remember,” he said.

“That's Wilf,” Rowena told me in the hall. “Haven't you seen him before?” She goggled her eyes and tapped her head. “He's cracked and empty. An old water pot.”

I
N MY STONE, I COULD SEE A HANDSOME YOUNG MAN
mounted on a mare, with a herdsman standing beside him holding the bridle. Three door-knights were blocking their way.

“Where will I find King Arthur, then?” the herdsman asks.

“Not so fast,” one knight replies. “Stable your mare first, and change your clothing.”

The herdsman looks at his dirty smock and torn trousers. “All I got,” he says. He walks up to Arthur-in-the-stone and bows awkwardly. “Bless you, sire,” he says. “When you was married, you promised to give any man what he asked for.”

“I did,” replies the king.

“Right!” says the poor man. “Will you make my son here a knight?”

“A knight!” exclaims the king, and he looks at the youth, his open, almost flat face, his tousle of fair hair. “You're asking a great deal,” he tells the herdsman. “Who are you?”

“The cowherd, sire. Aries.”

“And is this your idea?”

“His,” says the cowherd. “I got thirteen sons and they're good lads. But this one! He never lifts a finger if he can get away with it. He's always throwing his javelin or loosing arrows. He's even got an old sword.”

“What is your name?” Arthur asks the young man.

“Tor, sire,” he replies.

“Daylight and nightlight,” the cowherd goes on, “he won't give me no peace. He keeps asking to be made a knight.”

“Let me see your other sons,” Arthur tells Aries.

As soon as Aries comes back into the hall with his other twelve sons, I can see none of them look in the least like Tor. Some have mouse-hair and some dark, and some have eyes set rather close together: One way or another, they all look like their father.

“I will keep my word,” the king tells Tor. “Give me your sword.”

Tor lifts his smock. “Here, sire,” he says.

Tor kneels to the king and Arthur taps him on the shoulder with the naked blade. “I dub you knight,” he says. “Sir Tor, be gallant. Be courteous. Be loyal. And if you prove yourself, there will be a place for you at the Round Table.”

Sir Tor rises, and at once Merlin steps into my stone. He walks up to the king.

“Will Tor make a good knight?” Arthur asks him.

“He should,” says Merlin. “He's the son of a knight and king.”

“A knight and king?”

“Listen to me,” Merlin says. “This cowherd, Aries, is not his father.”

Aries growls.

“No,” says Merlin. “Sir Pellinore is.”

“Yes,” says the cowherd. “And I'm the son of Queen Eleanor!”

“All right!” Merlin tells him. “Fetch your wife. Let's hear what she has to say.”

When Aries's wife comes into the hall, she curtsies and smiles.
“Me and my greyhound went out the end of Frigg's Pasture,” she says, “to milk my two cows. And this knight rode up.”

“Go on, woman,” Merlin says.

“Well!” says the woman. “I didn't want to, really. Not really! Well! I didn't even know his name.” Then the woman smiles brightly at Tor. “But there!” she says. “Look at my fine son.”

“You see?” Merlin says to the cowherd.

Aries doesn't look Merlin or the king in the eye. “First I heard of it,” he says in a surly voice.

“I'm not surprised,” says Merlin.

“Are you insulting my mother?” Tor demands.

Merlin sighs. “The truth will help you much more than it hurts your mother,” he says. “Your mother conceived you before she was betrothed to Aries.”

“That's the truth,” says Tor's mother.

“And your blood-father is a good man,” Merlin tells Tor. “Sir Pellinore. A knight and a king. He will recognize you and provide for your mother.”

Tor's mother takes her husband's arm.

Aries sniffs. “Well, then!” he says gruffly.

T
HE THIRD DAY OF MARCH. IN MY WHOLE LIFE, I HAVE
never dreaded anything as much.

“We'll be there in good time,” said Sir William's messenger, Thomas. “Before midday.”

The way Thomas clucks and makes sudden jerky movements is very strange, and so is his habit of tilting his head and peering at me with one keen eye. He's not chicken-brained, though, and I know Sir John trusts him.

Just before we reached Gortanore, we came to a little wooden shelter on the top side of a large meadow, right on the fringe of a wood.

“Where the wild boar snorts,” said Thomas.

Before I could get Thomas to explain himself, a grubby little woman stepped out of the shelter and blinked in the bright light.

“Maggot,” Thomas informed me. “My wife.”

“God be with you, Maggot,” I said.

Without bothering to hitch up her muddy skirt, and not for one moment taking her beady eyes off me, Maggot gave me a kind of bow. Then, still looking at me, she drew Thomas behind the shelter.

“Exactly the same,” she said in a whisper.

At this moment, a lady on horseback came galloping across the
meadow towards us. It was Lady Alice, wearing her burnt-orange cloak and raising her reins high in greeting.

“Arthur!” she cried. “Arthur! Come on!”

Then Lady Alice wheeled round. Her wimple billowed behind her, and I galloped after her into Gortanore.

I
HALF-EXPECTED SIR WILLIAM TO STRIDE OUT OF
Gortanore and thwack me over the head with a mace. But as soon as we reined in, Lady Alice panted, “He's not here!”

“Not here?” I shouted, and I led Lady Alice's horse to the block and helped her to dismount.

Lady Alice took my head between her hands, tousled my hair, and kissed me on both cheeks. “He's gone over to Catmole,” she said. “You didn't expect that.”

“And you know…I'm your stepson,” I said uncertainly.

“True!” said Lady Alice. “And I can't say I expected that!” Then she narrowed her hazel eyes. “So you're going to obey me, aren't you?”

“Oh!” I said. “I'm so glad to see you. I was afraid of coming.”

“I know,” said Lady Alice, smiling. “Tom and Grace are waiting in the hall.”

“Doesn't he want to meet me?”

“You may be partly right,” Lady Alice replied. “It's very painful for you, I know, but it is also difficult for Sir William. No! A messenger rode over from Catmole after breakfast. Three of Sir William's cows are bloated.”

“When will he…” I began.

“He never tells me,” Lady Alice replied.

As soon as we opened the hall door, Tom jumped up from the fire-bench. First we bowed politely and then we hugged each other. But Grace stood up rather stiffly. When I smiled at her, she only half-smiled back; and when I embraced her, she felt like a cat arching its back.

“Welcome to Gortanore!” Lady Alice said brightly. “We've all been looking forward to your visit. You three saw one another in November, I know, but Arthur's a year older now; this whole world's a century older.”

“What's it like?” said Tom. “At Holt?”

“Now, then!” said Lady Alice. “There'll be plenty of time for you to talk. But first things first.”

“We know already,” Grace said quite fiercely.

“On New Year's morning,” Lady Alice continued in a calm voice, “your father informed you that he has a second son. Arthur!”

Tom shook his head and grinned at me.

“And on the same morning,” said Lady Alice, “at Caldicot, Sir John told Arthur that he and Lady Helen are his foster parents.”

“But why did they have to foster him?” Tom asked.

“And then Sir John told Arthur he's actually Sir William's son…but not Lady Tilda's son.”

“Not Lady Tilda's son?” exclaimed Tom.

“Who is your mother, then?” Grace demanded.

I lowered my eyes.

“So, Arthur,” said Lady Alice, “you and Tom are half brothers. And Grace is your half sister.”

“I don't want another brother,” said Grace loudly. Then she whirled round and walked away.

“Grace!” called Lady Alice.

But Grace walked right out of the hall and left the door open behind her.

Tom shook his head. “Well!” he said, and he blew out his cheeks. “At least you won't have to marry her now.”

“Please!” said Lady Alice.

“I don't know what to think about all this,” Tom said, frowning. “I need to think what to think.”

“Tom!” said Lady Alice. “Go and find Grace, and tell her to go straight to the solar. She's to wait for me there.”

“Why is Grace so upset?” I asked Lady Alice as soon as we were alone.

With her thumb and right forefinger, Lady Alice drew one of her brown curls out of her wimple. “Why do you think?” she asked.

“Is it because…?”

“Yes,” said Lady Alice. “You hoped to be betrothed to Grace. Didn't you?”

“Yes,” I said in a small voice.

“And she wanted to be betrothed to you. With each fingertip and drop of blood in her body.”

“Did she?” I whispered.

I remembered how I sat with Grace in my climbing-tree on Tumber Hill and asked her whether it would be all right if we were betrothed. I remembered how my heart leaped when Grace told me that even though we couldn't often see each other, we could still know the other would be faithful and waiting.

“I still wish we could be,” I said. “I wish Sir John were my father.”

“You're a boy,” Lady Alice said quietly, “and your life is changing. It's exciting! You've gone into service with Lord Stephen; you're taking the Cross, and that's a wonderful thing to do. But it's not like that for Grace. Her life today is exactly the same as it was last year, except that now it's without the hope of being betrothed to you.”

“But surely you and Sir William will find her someone else.”

“Of course,” said Lady Alice. “But that's not what she wants. Be patient with her, Arthur! She's not really angry with you; she's hurt. If she's angry with anyone, it's with her father because he has wrecked her dreams. But she can't lose her temper with him, can she?” Lady Alice twisted her curl round her forefinger and slid it back under her wimple. “When I was a girl, I used to confuse love and marriage,” she said. “Many young girls do.”

The fire whined and sucked; then it shook itself, and we sat down side by side on the fire-bench.

“Now, then,” said Lady Alice. “Almost one year ago I entrusted you with my terrible secret.”

“I haven't told anyone,” I said.

“I told you Sir William murdered a young man.”

“Yes.”

“And that was all I knew.”

“Sir John knows as well,” I said. “Or at least he half-knows. And he told me this man was the husband…my blood-mother's husband.”

Little stinging sparks flew up and out of the fire. Smudges of ash drifted down and settled on our laps.

“All of this happened before I married Sir William. Before I
had even met him,” Lady Alice said. “The first thing I heard was my husband had murdered a young man. But later I was told this man had accused Sir William of committing adultery with his wife. He shouted at Sir William, in front of God's altar and the congregation. And then someone told me that a village woman and her baby had been sent away from Gortanore.”

“You mean…?”

“So of course I was sure the baby must have been Sir William's. But listen, Arthur!” Lady Alice took my hands between hers and squeezed them. “What I never, never knew was that the baby was
you.
”

“When did you find out?”

“Only when we came to Caldicot before Christmas, and Sir William and Sir John talked about you. Until that moment, I believed you were Sir John and Lady Helen's son.”

“But why did Sir William take me away from my mother?” I asked. “Didn't she want to keep me?”

Lady Alice squeezed my hands again.

“Do you know her?” I demanded.

“Arthur, you know how I care for you. I always have. My own stepson.”

“But I want to find her. Do you know her?”

Lady Alice shook her head. “I know where she might be.”

“She's alive, then! Is she?”

“Arthur!”

“Please!”

“This is dangerous. The last thing Sir William wants is for you to start digging things up.”

“Does he beat you?” I asked.

Lady Alice lowered her eyes. “That's nothing to do with you,” she said quietly. “Now be very cautious when you talk to Sir William. Remember, he doesn't suspect you know all this. He doesn't even know that I do.”

“How did you find out?”

“That's another story,” Lady Alice said. “All Sir William knows is that if ever the truth were told, he would be tried and hanged. King John would take Gortanore and Catmole and the manor in Champagne. So you see, he'll stop at nothing to ensure that what's dead and buried stays dead and buried.”

“He's not going to stop me from finding my mother,” I said fiercely.

“And remember,” said Lady Alice, “Tom and Grace don't know anything either.”

“Does anyone else here know that Sir William is my father?” I asked.

Lady Alice looked at me. “If I tell you…” she said slowly.

“Who is it?”

At this moment, Tom ambled back into the hall, grinning. “I found her,” he announced. “Up a beech tree.”