Crossing To Paradise (4 page)

The
moment the first crowing cockerel woke her, Gatty was instantly awake. She unlocked the hall door, and long-legged it to the rainwater barrel; she drove her fist through thin ice and, gasping, dashed-and-splashed the freezing water over her face and head; she shook herself like a longhaired terrier, and then fleet-footed back into the hall with little rivulets running down her chest and her back.

Nest was still cocooned and yawning, so Gatty quickly dressed herself and went to wake Lady Gwyneth in her chamber, and to help her dress.

“You're very bright-eyed,” said Lady Gwyneth, smiling.

“It's a pilgrim morning!” Gatty replied.

“It is!” said Lady Gwyneth.

“A once-in-a-life morning.”

“That's how we should treat each morning,” said Lady Gwyneth.

“And now your smock, my lady…your new sandals…Here's your hat and scarf. And here's…” Gatty opened Lady Gwyneth's new grey cloak with the scarlet cross stitched to her right shoulder.

“Gatty!” said Lady Gwyneth, shaking her head. “You're in too much of a hurry. You're doing everything in the wrong order. At this rate I'll get to Jerusalem before I leave Ewloe, with a sandal on each hand and my socks hanging over my ears!”

Gatty grinned. “You wear so many things, my lady,” she said. “It muddles me up.”

“Yes, very bright-eyed,” Lady Gwyneth repeated. “They're signs of life and health. Do you know what Abbess Hildegard says about blue eyes, like mine?”

“No, my lady.”

“Thoughtless and willful! I'm not, am I? Willful? Well, I'm determined.
Still, Hildegard says a person with blue eyes makes sure everything turns out well.”

“And here's your staff, my lady.”

“Come on, then!” said Lady Gwyneth. “It's high time Nest stirred her lazy bones.”

Away they went to pray in church, and before long they were joined by the other pilgrims, even Nest, and by everyone living at Ewloe.

The church was full of whispering and coughing, sniffing and scratching, foot-scraping, laughing, until Austin rose up before God's people and quelled them with a stony stare.

The priest blessed the pilgrims, and named and blessed each and every thing they were taking with them, even Gatty's grey-and-green fire-flints. Then he commended the manor of Ewloe and each soul who lived there to the mercy of God.

And that was that. Everyone shuffled out of church, and stood around in the churchyard.

Lady Gwyneth gathered her pilgrims around her. “Nest,” she said. “Gatty. Stand on either side of me. We'll lead the way.”

For a moment the three of them gazed up at the speckled walls, the four little windows, the moon-shaped window. Then they turned away. They raised their eyes to a bright star, still shining in the east.

Snout hoisted Hew onto his shoulders. Tilda carried her baby granddaughter. Emrys walked arm in arm with his shaky father. Everyone in Ewloe accompanied the pilgrims through Wepre Wood, and into Sword Wood. It wasn't very long before they all grew quiet, sobered by thoughts of the separation ahead. The pilgrims knew that some of them might reach the end of their lives before they returned to Ewloe, and the villagers knew some of them would not live to see the pilgrims return. One by one, those who were leaving embraced parents, children, friends, everyone who was staying behind.

Not Gatty, though. There was no one at Ewloe who particularly cared whether she was going or staying.

Don't matter, Gatty thought. The people I care about are at Caldicot.
Them and Arthur. Yes, and Lady Gwyneth and Snout and Everard and all.

But then, at the very last moment, Mansel, the shoemaker's son, stepped up to Gatty. He put one hand into each gown pocket and pulled out two soft felt shoes, yellow as finches, their toes and heels patched with russet leather.

“For me?” said Gatty.

Lady Gwyneth and Nest walked on, and Gatty and Mansel were left together. His eyes were so bright.

“You made them?” asked Gatty.

“When you're tired, see. When your feet are aching. You can wear them in the evenings.”

Gatty felt her eyes pricking. “I will,” she said huskily. She grabbed Mansel and hugged him. Then she took a few steps, turned back and waved, and walked briskly away.

Snout sank his buck teeth into his wedge of bread, bit off a lump, and chewed it for almost as long as a cow chews her cud. Lady Gwyneth nibbled the edge of her wedge, quick and keen as an Armenian mouse.

“Well?” she asked. “Why are we here? Why are we making this pilgrimage?”

The pilgrims looked glumly at one another, uneasily shifted their buttocks, rubbed their chins, and raised their eyes to heaven for guidance. Each of them knew how Lady Gwyneth liked plans and explanations, but no one had expected to have to speak up this soon.

“Lord Jesus,” Emrys began, “he rode into Jerusalem on a foal. If I can ride in after him, I'll be happy. Anyhow, you asked me to come, my lady, and look after all our horses.” The stableman looked round the group, and suddenly drew his dagger and waved it menacingly. “Anyhow,” he said, “where would you be without me and Snout?”

Everyone laughed and Lady Gwyneth rewarded Emrys with a small smile. “What about you, Tilda?”

“To beg Lord Jesus to purify my body and loosen my stiff limbs,” Tilda replied. “Especially my poor hands. And then I'm going to beg Jesus for a better husband.”

“Better than Emrys?” asked Nakin.

“You devil!” said Tilda. “I mean I want Emrys to treat me better. I'm not a big…big…what is it?”

“Bigamist,” said Lady Gwyneth.

“Like you said the Saracens are.”

“No!” said Lady Gwyneth. “No, I didn't say that. Nakin! What about you?”

“I'm most at home away from home,” the merchant replied, “and for me, travel means trade.” Nakin cheerfully rubbed his hands. “And while I'm in Jerusalem, I'll ask for forgiveness! Forgiveness for all my past sins and,” said Nakin with a sly smile, “any little new ones I commit on the way.”

Nakin's words, thought Gatty, they're slick as snot.

Snout made a squelching sound and unglued his mouth. “I'm going to get on my knees and rub my nose against Jesus's grave and…and…”

“Snort!” said Nest.

“Nest!” protested Lady Gwyneth.

“…and cry out, I am. Cry out to Lord Jesus to cure it.” Snout looked at his fellow pilgrims. “To tell you the truth,” he confided, “I doubt it will make any difference.”

“Believe that it will,” Austin told him.

“Yes, and I'll come home with a sackful of herbs and spices,” added Snout.

“Very good,” said Lady Gwyneth.

“I'm eager to learn more about the singing skills of the Saracens,” volunteered Everard, “and their famous singing teachers. Who has not heard of Ziryab?”

No one had heard of Ziryab, not even Lady Gwyneth.

“And Lady Gwyneth has charged me with a duty,” Everard said in a solemn voice. “To teach Gatty how to sing.”

“Indeed I have!” Lady Gwyneth said.

“Fa…Sol…La…,” sang Everard, and he waved to Gatty to join in.

“La-a-a-a-a,” sang Gatty.

“Go on,” said Everard, “and on and on and on and on…”

“A…a…a…a…a…a…”

“On!”

Gatty coughed. “Can't,” she gasped. Her eyes were bright with excitement. “I haven't got no more breath.”

“You must learn to breathe properly,” Everard told her.

“Now then, Nest,” Lady Gwyneth said. “What about you? Why are you making this pilgrimage?”

Nest put her forefingers to her temples and slowly shook her head. “I have such a terrible headache, my lady.”

“You must tell us later then,” Lady Gwyneth said kindly. “Who is left? Austin?”

“By enduring this pilgrimage, with all its slings and arrows, we commend ourselves to God,” said the priest gravely. “I, too, long to see the places and touch the walls and walk the ways I've heard about and read about and preached about.”

“Amen,” said Lady Gwyneth. “Well now, Gatty, what about you?”

Gatty heard Lady Gwyneth's question in her gut.

“Well?” asked Lady Gwyneth.

Gatty took a deep breath and combed her golden curls with her fingers. “I want to see where Jesus was born,” she sang out, “and…and I'm going to strike sparks for you.”

Lady Gwyneth smiled. “I'm sure you are, Gatty,” she said.

“I didn't use to think Jerusalem was further than Chester.”

Nakin shook his head at how anyone could know so little. His dewlaps wobbled.

“I didn't know it was across the sea,” Gatty said.

After finishing their bread and drinking water from their leather flasks, the pilgrims continued their journey, and their first exhilaration was
shadowed by uncertainty, then by tiredness. Only Gatty, on her way north to Ewloe, and Emrys and Nakin had traveled such a distance in one day before.

“The way to think of the journey,” Nakin told them, “is in parts. This first from Ewloe to London is on foot, and that'll take nine days.”

“Nine days!” exclaimed Nest.

“With a following wind!” said Nakin.

“And after that we'll have our horses,” Lady Gwyneth said. “Nakin, how long with horses from London to Sandwich?”

“Three days,” replied Nakin.

“You see, Nest?” said Lady Gwyneth. “A journey in parts. And remember, each mile brings us a little nearer to Jerusalem, and to Paradise too.”

“How many calves' tails do you need to climb from earth to heaven?” Gatty asked.

“Calves' tails,” Lady Gwyneth repeated. “I don't know!”

“One,” said Gatty. “One if it's long enough. That's a Christmas riddle at Caldicot.”

By the end of the afternoon, everyone was quite giddy with exhaustion. Half the time they laughed at riddles as simple as Gatty's, and horsed about, and half they didn't really want to talk at all.

Not long before dark, the pilgrims reached the hostelry at Whitchurch, as Nakin had predicted. Its earth-walls were grey; the thatch was grey. Its shoulders were lopsided and it kept its head well down.

“Please go in and check there are no fleas,” Lady Gwyneth told Nakin.

“There's nowhere else to stay,” Nakin replied. Still, he ducked his head and went in, and before long reported, “No fleas. Only rats and mice!”

To begin with, each day was less easy than the previous one. Nest had pinching boots and a raw left heel and Tilda had to mix an ointment each morning, and rub it into Nest's feet.

“At this rate,” Tilda complained, “we'll be out of ointment before we're out of England!”

On the fourth day, Nest's heel was so painful that, after the pilgrims
had stopped at noon in the middle of a wood to eat bread and dried fish, she refused to stand up and continue the journey.

“You must,” said Lady Gwyneth.

“I can't, my lady,” said Nest. “You've seen how I was limping.”

“Well, you can't stay here,” said Lady Gwyneth. “We're halfway to London and in trouble already—because of one raw heel. What are we going to do?”

“Come on!” Gatty said impatiently. “Get up, Nest!”

“No,” said Nest.

Gatty clicked her teeth and looked to heaven; Snout and Emrys looked at each other.

“We'll have to carry you,” said Snout. “Pickeback.”

“Piggyback, you mean,” exclaimed Gatty. “I often carried piglets like that!”

So that's what Snout and Emrys did. Taking turns, they carried Nest, pickeback and piggyback, all afternoon.

That evening, Gatty asked Nest whether she would like to wear Mansel's soft felt slippers.

Nest shook her head.

“You can,” said Gatty.

“No,” said Nest impatiently. “They're only made of scraps anyway.”

On the fifth morning, Everard clutched his throat and complained his glands felt as large as pigs' bladders; and Tilda's arthritis in her left hand hurt so badly she carried her arm in a sling. Of all the pilgrims, Gatty was least affected by small aches and pains. After all, she had spent almost every day of her life plowing, stone-picking, sowing, haymaking, reaping, stooking, hauling.

So when they all trooped into another shabby hostelry shortly before noon, Lady Gwyneth decided to call a halt for the remainder of the day.

“The afternoon needn't be wasted,” she said. “Austin, will you please give Nest and Gatty their lessons?”

Nest closed her eyes and sighed noisily.

“And you,” Lady Gwyneth went on, turning to Emrys and Snout, “you two can practice your fighting skills. Heaven knows, you need to!”

“Sir Snout!” exclaimed Gatty.

“It's no laughing matter,” Lady Gwyneth said. “There may not be too much to fear crossing England. But after that? Nakin's absolutely right. It's crucial that we're properly protected.”

True, Lady Gwyneth's armed men, Crok and Armin, had tried to teach Snout and Emrys how to thrust and parry with their double-pronged willow-staffs that were as long as quarterstaffs, and how to circle an opponent with a drawn dagger, and use a scrip as a kind of leather shield. But although Emrys and Snout were not fearful or unwilling, they were still very poor material.

Egged on by the other pilgrims, they lunged and stumbled and swiped clean air and sweated and swore until it was all Gatty could do to stop herself from joining in. Then they tripped over each other, and got their arms and legs into a tangle, and Nest completely forgot her raw heel and rolled over on her back, laughing.

“We both know what to do,” Snout gasped, “but we can't persuade our bodies to do it.”

“So I see!” Lady Gwyneth said, smiling.

“Snout's too clumsy,” Emrys panted, “and I'm too slow.”

“Well,” said Lady Gwyneth. “We're depending on you. You must practice whenever you can. Now then, Gatty. And you, Nest. Your lessons!”