The Cross of Lead (16 page)

53

T
HE MAN WHO GUIDED ME DID not speak as we moved along narrow alleys and lanes. Never once did we set foot on the main street But once, when we heard the watch approaching, he slipped into an alcove. Breathlessly we waited until they passed.

It was then I said, “I need you to take me to the White Stag tavern.”

“I was told to bring you to the walls,” he said. “Show the place to me, and I’ll trouble you no more. And I’ll pay you,” I said, holding out some pennies.

He put out his hand, which in the moonlight showed me he had but three fingers. I dropped the coins.

For a moment he seemed to weigh the money. “It’s not far,” he said and limped away.

After passing through a warren of muddy lanes we came to the head of a dark alley. “There,” the man said, pointing.

No light came from any building. “Where?” I asked.

“That building.” He gestured to the head of the alley and a narrow structure two stories high.

I looked at it again but when I turned back to thank the man, he’d already gone. All I could hear of him was the foot scraping in the dark.

I studied the house he had pointed out. It was the moon that allowed me to make out a sign hanging over the door, which bore an image of a white stag, ghostlike in the faint light. Not only did the building seem on the verge of collapse, it appeared completely deserted.

I approached the building and rapped softly upon a stout door. There was no response.

Reluctant to leave, I put my ear to the door and listened. I heard a sound within. Emboldened, I knocked again. The door creaked open. I saw no one, but a voice spoke, “Who is it?”

“I’m Bear’s apprentice,” I whispered. “He’s been taken.”

The door shut.

I put my ear to the door again. I was sure I heard voices. Perhaps, I thought, they were discussing what to do.

The door reopened a bit. “What’s your name?” I was asked. “Crispin.”

“Come,” someone said even as the door swung open wide enough for me to slip within.

I looked around. A small candle provided little light amidst the shadows. The room was not unlike the Green Man’s, but smaller, with fewer tables and benches.

I could make out five men. Their faces were indistinct, partly hidden with cowls, making it clear they did not wish to be recognized. Still, I had a vague sense that at least some of them were those who had gathered in the shoemaker’s house earlier in the day.

“What brings you here?” I was asked.

I was sure it was John Ball who spoke.

“Bear has been taken,” I said.

“By whom?”

“The soldiers. The ones who came to your meeting.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He was brought to the Furnivals’palace.”

“Are you sure?”

“I saw him dragged in.”

“God have mercy on his soul,” someone else said.

“They’ll torture him,” said another. “They’ll make him give our names.”

“He doesn’t know them.”

“He won’t inform on you,” I said. “I’m sure he won’t. He’s too strong for that. He’d rather die.”

“Braver and stronger men than Bear succumb to pain,” said one of the men.

“And he’s grown weak,” the man I thought was John Ball said. “When we met a year ago, he was ready to join us in our brotherhood. Since then, he’s altered his mind.”

I said, “He says things are not ready.”

“How would a juggler know about such matters?” someone asked.

“The man’s a spy,” John Ball said. “It’s his business to know.”

To hear the revelation was to know that it was true. The only part of my surprise was that I had not thought it out myself.

Then John Ball said to me, “Why did you come here?”

“I need to help Bear.”

“You can’t,” said another. “The palace is too well guarded. Besides, they’ll have put him in the dungeons.”

“Boy,” said John Ball, “Bear told me you’re Lord Furnival’s bastard son. You were most likely the reason our meeting was discovered. Didn’t Bear turn away from our brotherhood? How can we be certain of your loyalties? If you had any sense you would be gone by now.”

“It was I who warned you before,” I said. “And it was Bear who helped you escape.”

There was some uneasy shifting about by the men.

“He’s lost his way,” John Ball said angrily. “We can’t endanger ourselves any further.”

There were some low, if indistinct, murmurs of assent.

I said, “Can someone at least guide me to the square?”

“What do you think you can do?”

“I can’t abandon Bear,” I said.

“If it’s true who you are, they probably took him as bait,” said someone. “For you. You’re doing exactly what they want.”

“I have to try.”

One of the men came forward. “I’ll bring you close.”

54

W
E REACHED THE SQUARE NOT long after the church bells rang for Matins. As soon as we arrived, the man who had guided me disappeared without a word.

I looked over the square. The bright moon revealed a field of empty tables and stalls, deserted by its trader swarms. All lay in uneasy silence, putting me in mind of the abandoned village where I had first met Bear. But here, at one end of the square, stood the palace of the Furnivals. It was huge and dark, save for two windows on the second level. There, some dim light glimmered.

Opposite, at the other side of the square, the great church rose up in all its all majesty, its stained-glass windows glowing faintly like the embers of a smoldering fire.

As I stood and listened, I heard the sound of chanting coming from the church. Priests were at their early prayers. Their blended voices rolled across the square like a rising and falling wind.

“Media vita in morte sumus:

Quem quaerimus adiutorem Nisi te domine?

Qui pro peccatis nostris juste irasceris.

Sancte Deus…”

I made the sign of the cross over my heart, imploring Saint Giles to guide and help me as he had done before. Then I turned to the palace where Bear was being held.

Even as I wondered if he was alive, I spied some movement by the central doors at the lower level.

Shielding myself behind some deserted stalls and tables, I made my way closer to the palace. When I peeked out, I saw two guards standing by the main doors. One of the men was leaning back. His arms were folded over his chest, his head bent down. He gave the impression of being asleep. The other guard was pacing restlessly.

I crept closer and studied the building. It was quite clear that there would be no getting past the main-door guards. How then could I possibly find a way inside? Then I recalled seeing John Aycliffe on the balcony. Perhaps the second level was not so well guarded.

The problem was to get there.

I moved along the square so I could examine the far side of the palace building. There, other buildings crowded in. And in the moonlight, what I discovered was that between the palace and the next building there existed only a slight separation. It was hardly more than a crevice, not big enough for a man to squeeze into.

But I was still a boy.

After waiting until the restless guard moved as far away as he was likely to go, I darted forward and squeezed into the breach I’d found. It was so narrow I went in sideways.

It was too dark to see much. But I could feel around. The palace walls were jagged stone. The wall opposite was made of some rough clay or plaster.

I put down Bear’s sack. If I returned I could retrieve it. If I didn’t return, it wouldn’t matter.

Barely able to turn about—I was like a kernel of wheat between two stones—I pressed my hands against the opposing walls. Using my fingertips to grasp small edges and bumps, I began to move slowly up. When high enough off the ground, I lifted my legs and pushed my feet against the walls so as to gain even more purchase. Straining every bit of the way, I could climb the walls like a spider.

Exactly how long it took me to reach the balcony, I don’t know. It was higher than the roof of the Stromford church. Even when I reached the level of the balcony, I was not where I needed to be. The balcony jutted out beyond the building’s front wall, whereas I was lodged against the side wall.

Pushing my back hard against the palace stone, while my feet pressed against the clay wall, I managed to turn about. Now I was able to wedge myself securely in place even as I freed my hands.

Just beneath the balcony, a stone carving of a lion, its jagged mouth agape, protruded. By stretching one arm to the utmost, I was able to reach the beast’s lower jaw. Grasping it firmly, I released the pressure of my body from the walls.

I swung out, holding to the lion’s mouth with one hand, legs dangling high above the ground and the guards below. With my other hand I stretched up and clutched the balcony itself. Now I was clinging to the balcony with one hand. I moved the other hand up so that now I dangled with two hands. Even as I swung my feet in to gain some purchase, I hauled myself up, pulling and pulling again until I had finally hoisted myself over the balcony railing. To my great relief, no one was there. As far as I could tell, the guards below hadn’t seen me.

Legs shaking from my effort, I stood on the balcony and gathered my breath. Not daring to waste any time, I hurriedly crept inside through an open balcony door. In so doing, I entered a dim and narrow hall.

I neither heard nor saw anything to cause alarm. Only at the farthest end was there some feeble light.

I looked about. The area into which I’d come was nothing more than a shallow entryway. I edged forward, pausing to notice doors on either side of the little hall. I set my ear to one of them. When I heard nothing, I pushed it in.

In the faint moonlight that came through a high small window, I saw only flags on wooden poles.

I turned to the other door, listened, then pushed it open, too. Along one wall was a rack of glaives. Another wall bore broadswords. A third held some daggers.

I took up one of the daggers, then withdrew, shutting the door behind me.

I now moved toward the end of the entry hall, leaned forward to peer in—and gasped.

55

I
LLUMINATED BY LIGHT CAST from a few all-but-guttered candles in wall sconces was a room of vast size. It was far bigger than any room I’d ever seen before, large enough to contain more than a hundred souls. All of Stromford could have crowded in.

The wooden ceiling was decorated with carved interlocking flowers and vines. Walls bore panel after panel, finely wrought, upon which painted images of saints had been set.

At the very far end, just opposite where I stood, was a gigantic fireplace, faced with stone and painted tiles. The dull remnants of a fire burned.

Close to this hearth, on one side of the room, was what appeared to be the stairway.

Before the hearth stood a massive, long table, with benches and chairs. The table was littered with the heaped remains of what must have been a great feast. Bones, breads, bottles, and bowls lay scattered everywhere, as if voracious giants had gathered to dine. There were mazers and trenchers, knives and napkins, goblets—things I hardly knew, and more than I could count.

In the dimness I was able to make out a number of doors set in the walls. One of these doors was open. From the room beyond, a little flickering light emerged. I went to it and, moving cautiously, peeked in.

I had come upon something very much like a church, but it was still a room. At first glance the room seemed to contain nothing but gold, gold that burned with a richness my eyes could barely absorb. These golden surfaces were encrusted with countless jewels—blue, purple, and red—which, in the flickering candlelight, seemed to pulse with a life their own. All in all, it was more wealth than I ever could have imagined existed on this earth.

At its far end was an altar upon which stood a cross of gleaming gold. Before the cross were some lighted candles that brought illumination to the room. To one side of these candles were jeweled boxes, probably containing saintly relics.

Spellbound by such magnificence, I stepped farther inside. It was then I saw that the walls and ceilings were covered with images of holy souls. Their deep, dark eyes gazed down on me with such penetrating grief and wisdom I did not doubt they peered into my very heart.

Then I realized that on the altar a single image had been placed. It had been set to the other side of the candles, opposite the relic boxes. Here, within a jewel-studded frame, Our Glorious Lady in Her flowing robes of blue was revealed. Kneeling on the ground before Her was a knight in full armor, hands clasped in prayer, his face uplifted toward the Virgin.

To my utter amazement, I recognized the face of the knight. It was my own, the very one I’d looked upon in the stream when Bear had made me cut my hair and wash my face. But now—as sure as I knew anything—I realized I was looking upon the image of my father.

Feeling anger and curiosity, I drew closer. The kneeling man appeared so devout, so adoring of Our Lady. Yet I knew him otherwise: a lofty lord without kindness or caring for my mother. As for me, I doubted if he had had any thought at all. Just to see him in his exalted state, made me know with finality that I was not him. No, not any part. I was myself. What I had become.

Thus I sank to my knees, and putting aside the dagger, prayed that God on His throne, with my mother by His side, would judge Lord Furnival for what he truly was.

I was completely absorbed when a voice behind me said, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I sprang to my feet and turned about.

It was John Aycliffe.

56

A
YCLIFFE’S BLACK-BEARDED FACE, hard, sharp eyes, and frowning lips were frighteningly familiar. So was the sword at his side. The more I gazed on him, the more my panic rose and my eyes turned toward the floor.

“You,” he said into the silence. “Asta’s son.” Though it was a struggle to lift my eyes, I did so. His gaze showed such disdain, I could feel my wrath rise within. Here was the man who had been so cruel to my mother. Who had treated me with such contempt and wished me dead. Who had murdered Father Quinel. Who had abducted Bear.

“The wolf’s head,” he said. “How dare such a filthy peasant as you even presume to put your foot within this place?” He turned toward the entryway.

“If you’re intending to call the guards,” I said, “tell them Lord Furnival’s son has come.”

He halted and turned back to me. His swarthy face had become pale. “What did you say?”

“I am Crispin,” I said, working to keep my gaze steady on his face. “Lord Furnival’s son.”

I saw him glance over my shoulder at the image of Lord Furnival, comparing me to him.

“You’re nothing of the kind,” he said and once again turned to go.

“You know what I’ve said is true,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t hear the quaver in my voice. “You’ve always known.”

Again he paused. “You’re not even human,” was his reply.

“I’ve proof,” I insisted.

“You can’t prove what isn’t so.”

In haste, I took out my cross of lead from my leather pouch. “It’s written here,” I said, holding it up. “It was my mother’s. Given to me when she died. She wrote the words on it.”

“Words? What
words’?”

“It reads, ‘Crispin—son of Furnival.'”

For a moment he was still. Then he said, “Anyone can write words.”

“Not anyone,” I said with growing anger. “It was my mother. And I believe them. As do others. And people will need only look upon me to see who I am. And when I say I am the grandson of Lord Douglas—”

“Give that cross to me!” he cried, holding out his hand.

“No,” I said. “It belongs to me.”

Furious, he stepped forward and lifted a fist as though to strike me.

In response I held up my hand, using the cross that rested in my palm as a shield.

He hesitated.

“I know what happened,” I said. “Lord Furnival brought my mother to Stromford. He left her there with me, making you our keeper and granting us only a living death. When Richard du Brey came to Stromford with news that my father had returned to England and was mortally ill, you were charged with killing me. It’s
you
who fear me. You fear I’ll become your lord.”

He made no response, but his eyes told me that I was right.

“It was you who killed Father Quinel,” I went on. “To keep him from telling me who I was. It was you who said I was a thief and proclaimed me a wolf’s head so that any man might kill me.”

“Your mother was nothing but a servant,” Aycliffe said. “She was too low to reach so high. She forgot her place. It didn’t serve her well. There’s an order to things which God Himself has put in place. It can never be changed. How can you expect to stand against it?”

“I came for something else,” I said, hardly able to contain my fury.

“Money?” he said.

“Your soldiers took a friend of mine.”

He said nothing.

“He goes by the name of Bear,” I continued. “A great red-bearded man.”

“What about him?”

“If you’ll let the two of us—both him and me—leave Great Wexly, we’ll not come back. You’ll never see me again.”

After a moment he said, “How can I be sure?”

I lifted my trembling hand. “I’ll swear it on this cross.”

“You forget,” he said, “you’re a wolf’s head. All I have to do is call the guards. Anyone may kill you. You’re nothing.” So saying, he turned about and stepped from the room.

I reacted by reaching down, snatching up the dagger, and leaping forward, flinging myself at his back.

I took him by such surprise that with a cry, he stumbled, tripped, and fell, crashing to the ground. Even as he struggled to reach his sword, I was on him again, knocking him down a second time.

I pressed the dagger’s point into his neck. “If you call the guards, I’ll kill you,” I cried, pushing his face to the floor.

Panting heavily, he made no response.

Summoning all my strength, I drew the blade against his neck. Blood began to flow. “What you wanted for me,” I said, “is about to happen to you.”

“Will you,” he whispered desperately, “swear upon that cross and in the name of God, that if I let you and this man go, you’ll never come back and make no claim upon the house of Furnival?”

“Willingly.”

“And you’ll give me that cross?”

“When we have passed through the city gates.” Even as I spoke I worked to keep my hand steady so he never ceased to feel the pressure of the dagger’s point. “But you,” I said, “must swear first.”

“I … will,” he said, as though it was a painful thing to say.

I released him.

He sat up, and touched his neck, looking at the blood that smeared his fingers.

“Swear,” I said holding up the cross of lead but keeping the dagger near.

He hesitated, but then he said, “In the sacred name of Jesus, I, John Aycliffe, swear that I shall allow you—Asta’s son—and the man called Bear, to leave this city insofar as you have sworn never to return, never to claim Lord Furnival to be your father, and to leave the cross with me.”

Then I said, “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I, Crispin, do swear that if you let Bear go, he and I will leave Great Wexly and never return. Nor will I ever make claim that Lord Furnival was my father. Furthermore, once out of the city I’ll give you the cross.

“Now,” I said, “take me to Bear.”

His reply was to gaze at me with eyes full of hate. But then he got to his feet and began to walk away, saying, “Follow me.”