The Dark Knight (42 page)

They were still miles from the gates, still too far away to reveal many of the city’s particulars beyond its size and shape. However, there in the distance, the entirety of London was visible from the crest of the hill where they had reined in their horses.

The city was spread out across the river valley like a rough, spotted blanket made up of mostly browns and grays, laid amongst the greenery of woodlands and rolling green hillsides. The city was split on its south end by a wide ribbon of bluish-green water that had to be the river Thames. Dozens of specks seemed to float motionless on the water, barges and boats with billowing white sails, so far away from their vantage point that it took a few moments of studying the sailboats before she realized most of the boats were actually moving.

The outlines of buildings and towers and church
steeples sprouted up everywhere in thick spikes that reminded her of a cave her mother had taken her to when she was a child, where dark crystals covered the floor and sprouted upward in haphazard yet very sharply defined lines and distinctly squared crystal shapes. London’s “crystal” steeples and towers were so numerous that she kept losing count of them and quickly gave up trying.

There were windmills as well, and she was startled to realize that she hadn’t even noticed them at first. They were dwarfed and made insignificant by the city itself; the size and scale of the wall that surrounded the city as well as the number of buildings within the walls were beyond anyone’s imagination to describe.

“Avalene?”

The sound of Dante’s voice finally penetrated her dazed senses and she realized that it was not the first time he had tried to gain her attention. She answered without looking away from the sights before her. “Aye?”

“What think you of London?” he asked, with a gentleness to his voice that she found soothing.

“There are no words for it,” she breathed. “That is to say, there are words, but I do not know if I have enough of them. How can all of these people survive in one place? How does the lord mayor of London provide food for so many? How does he hear their complaints and judge those with disputes? How do they all keep warm in so many houses? How can he—”

“Come,” he interrupted, with an indulgent laugh. “I will tell you more about the marvels of London on our way. There are more clouds on the horizon and I want to be under a roof the next time it rains. Before you know it, we will be inside the city.”

There were still a half-dozen small villages between them and the city, the first no more than a cluster of
thatch-covered houses crowded around the road. Each village grew successively larger until there was no longer a gap between the towns and it felt as if they were already in the midst of the city. Dante explained that London had long ago outgrown its walls and the outlying villages were often near the manor houses of nobles and church leaders who preferred living in the countryside along the river, but still needed to be close to London to attend the king at court and accomplish their business.

It was while they were in the last village that he signaled Rami to take Bodkin’s reins. He maneuvered his horse next to hers, reached over and slid his arm around her waist, and then plucked her from the saddle and settled her onto his lap. It was a familiar, comforting place to be. Still, she wondered at his actions.

“You will be safer with me,” he said, in answer to her silent question. “You have never been to a city of this size and are already so busy gawking that I would not have you plucked away from me in a moment of distraction.”

“You think someone is waiting to abduct me in London?” she asked. “How will they know who I am?”

“You are not quite that well known,” he said with a chuckle. “There are always ruffians on the streets looking to pluck a pretty dove. A gang could drag you from a horse and disappear with you into the warren of alleys in the space of a heartbeat.” He studied her expression and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I would hunt them down, of course, but you might be injured in the process and I am anxious to reach home and hearth in good time.”

She recalled her plan to flee from the men who would keep her safe, the ill-thought idea that she could find a kindly stranger to take her in. He had been right. Her plan for escape would likely have ended in disaster. Still,
she wasn’t about to admit her misjudgment so she sniffed once over his arrogance in thinking her so helpless … and then gave another sniff to test the air. “What is that
smell
?”

“Ah, ’tis the smell of the beast that is London,” he said. “Best prepare yourself, my lady. On a warm day such as this, the odor does not improve.”

His words were unfortunately prophetic. Still, the smell was not as overwhelming as she had feared it might become and not all of the elements that made up the smell were bad. Most prominent was the smell of fire. A smoky haze covered most of the city from fires that burned wood and charcoal, Dante told her, and other more noxious burning materials that she could not identify. There was also the definite smell of sewage, although it was more pronounced when they were closer to the river and hardly noticeable at other times. Sometimes she could smell livestock, other times the scents of food. She became almost accustomed to the odors by the time they reached the old Roman walls that surrounded the city.

Even having seen the whole of the city from a distance, the reality of the place up close was altogether different. Oliver and Rami became separated from them as they passed through the gates, proving that much of her plan would have worked. Dante pulled up in a wide courtyard to regroup and she realized that was the only part of her plan that was workable.

The hustle and bustle of the city bewildered her, with people coming and going in every direction, the streets a haze of hot dust, and seemingly every person in the city felt a need to shout. Men, women, and children carried baskets filled with goods, or they held wide boards with a rope looped behind their necks and attached to the ends of the boards to balance all sorts of wares. Many
hawked hot meat pies and baked ribs, foods that could be eaten with fingers rather than off a trencher. Fruit peddlers shouted out the quality of their fresh strawberries and cherries. Pints of wine were praised in a booming baritone. Still others sold hot sheep’s feet and mackerel. The scents of so many dishes set her stomach to rumbling.

Dante signaled to a group of about a dozen men who loitered near the wall, milling about empty handcarts that all appeared to have held unpleasant burdens in the recent past. A pair of men took wooden shovels from a cart and eyed their horses as they walked toward them. Both men wore battered straw hats that might have been yellow in an earlier lifetime and their homespun clothing was just as filthy. The younger-looking one spoke first. “Where to, m’lord?”

“Tower Street near Saint Olave’s,” Dante answered. “Half now, and half when we reach our destination.”

There was a quick back-and-forth discussion about the amount and form of payment, and then they set off again with the two men and their cart trailing behind them.

“Gong farmers,” Dante told her, as his horse fell in line behind Armand’s. “There is a harsh fine to take a string of horses through town and not clean up after them. Londoners are particular about their streets and want only their own sewage in their trenches.” He pointed to a long, narrow building near the wall. “The lord mayors have made themselves popular over the years by sponsoring privy houses and paying for their upkeep. There are two score seats in that particular privy house, half on each side and divided by a wall to separate the men’s side from the women’s. ’Tis rare to see anyone relieve themselves on the streets.”

“London men actually use privies?” she asked, marveling
at the concept. “I did not know any man could be trained to be so civil when out of doors.”

He rolled his eyes but she found something else to be distracted by before he could respond.

Like most things to do with the city, London’s dwellings were like nothing she had seen before. Almost all of the upper stories of the houses projected outward over the streets, which turned the streets into long, narrow tunnels just tall enough for a man on horseback to pass through. She could no longer get any sense of London’s vast size and the city shrank to encompass only the small, closed-in areas in their immediate path as they moved through town. All the while the din of the streets never ceased with merchants and peddlers competing with each other to sell their goods.

The goods themselves changed as they passed through different parts of the city where different guilds were based. Sometimes she could tell what guild area they were in from the smells; bakers, fishmongers, dyers, and leatherworkers were easy to identify. There were cloths of every variety for sale near the mercers’ guild streets, and then they went through curriers’ streets, and then cheeses, chandlers, cutlers, and many more who were clustered together in their own districts.

If the merchants and peddlers weren’t enough to deafen a person, there were bands of musicians who roamed the streets or played near inns or alehouses, some of them popular enough to have the crowds singing along and stomping their feet. Then there were the signs; hundreds of them, it seemed, with brightly painted pictures to represent the name of the establishment or public house. She wondered how anyone could hold a thought in their head with all this noise and so many things to hear and see and smell.

What astounded her most of all was the complete lack
of greenery. Dante assured her there were parks scattered around the city, set well away from the roads they traveled, and that some of the houses contained courtyards large enough for small wooded areas. Still, it was strange to ride for so long a time through so many streets and never see so much as a blade of grass. London was a land more foreign to her than any wilderness of Wales.

“Are we almost to your house?” she asked, as a half-dozen tough-looking boys swarmed around them in a ragged circle. All of the boys begged for handouts, first one calling out to distract them while the others rushed forward, and then another called out, almost as if they were volleying their voices back and forth.

She was ready to be off the streets and away from this madness, and realized with a start that she was all but clinging to Dante. She made a conscious effort to shift her weight farther away. Had she really thought to negotiate these streets on her own? He took one of her hands and guided it behind his back until her arm was wrapped securely around his waist, and then he glanced down for just a moment and winked at her.

Just like that her mind turned to mush. London was forgotten. She was in his arms, safe. Everything would be all right.

“My town house is just ahead,” he told her with a nod to indicate the direction. “ ’Tis the row ahead and on the right, where the street opens up again. Look there, past my house, and you can see the Tower of London.”

Her heart skipped a beat even as her gaze moved up the street. She could indeed see the gray stone walls that must be part of the Tower. Closer to them she saw a row of what appeared to be seven identical half-timbered houses that rose five stories above the street, capped with slate roofs.

“Which of the houses is yours?” she asked. She had
assumed that a man so well known would be wealthy, and he had claimed as much, but this surpassed her expectations.

He hesitated before answering. “My quarters are in a wing behind this row. These look like separate houses but they are part of the same structure. Do you see the big wooden doors below the middle section? That gateway leads to the courtyard. All of these houses are actually the front of one large palace, once owned by the Earl of Ashland.”

She gasped as she realized the enormity of the place. “One man owned all of this?”

“Aye,” he said. “There are dozens of palaces scattered across the city, most owned by powerful earls and dukes but a goodly number owned by wealthy barons and merchants. This is one of the larger palaces and it could accommodate four hundred people. You will find the courtyard is much larger than what most Londoners enjoy. The street front is leased to merchants, but most of the palace is empty aside from the score of servants required to keep up the place and another score of soldiers to stand guard. My sister and brother-in-law lodge here when they are in town with their retinue, but they are rarely in London so I have the place mostly to myself.”

Her brain could scarce conceive of the notion. All of this was his. He lived in a palace. One of the largest palaces in London.

And she had once thought herself above his station in life?

“The Earl of Ashland,” she mused. “He was stripped of his lands and titles years ago.”

Dante pressed his lips together and said nothing.

She also recalled that the earl was now dead, although she could not remember the circumstances of his death.
It seemed Dante recalled the circumstances quite clearly.

“Oh.”

He studied her face for a moment. “This does not upset you.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “I am sure there is a reasonable explanation.”

“You are not curious about the explanation?”

She shook her head. “I would rather not know the details.”

A look of relief flickered in his eyes, and then his gaze moved away from her. Armand had dismounted while they spoke and she watched him tug on a bell pull next to a door that was cut into the palace gates. She breathed her own sigh of relief that they were not bound for the Tower. A few minutes later a small, square section of the door opened as a guard apparently checked to see who was on the other side, and then the gates themselves opened. Armand remounted his horse and rode inside. She craned her neck as they followed, her eye drawn by glimpses of greenery. She blinked once as they entered a different world.

Dante had not exaggerated about the size of the courtyard. A long, straight path paved with crushed shells split the wide expanse in two. Lush gardens lined either side of the path in neatly tended squares. Here, at last, was the grass she had missed along with more than a dozen apple and pear trees. Smaller shell paths led away from the main roadway and she noticed a group of perhaps a dozen soldiers milling about beneath some of the trees, almost hidden from view by the greenery. Once the gates were closed the riotous sounds of the streets were little more than a distant buzz, no more annoying than the sound of a bee.