The End of Time

by Avi

  19

  BUILT INTO THE WALLS, the entry to Calais consisted of a massive stone structure with a huge front gate of thick iron bars, which could be lifted and dropped by ropes. Poking out from these walls at an angle was a watchtower that looked down upon the entryway. Along its crenellated top, soldiers stood on guard.

  Before the gate was an area paved with small stones. It was there that soldiers were questioning people seeking entry to Calais. Indeed, the city—with its walls, moats, towers, and soldiers—seemed a hard knot of war and defense, exceedingly difficult to enter.

  Since the soldiers were closely examining everyone, the throng moved slowly. The one who appeared to be in charge was a soldier. A captain, I supposed. He was a tall, florid-faced man with a loud barking voice. His boots were high, his hands gloved. At his hip was a heavy sword. It would have taken a brave man to challenge him.

  As I edged closer, I tried to learn what was being asked, wanting to be prepared with acceptable answers. It turned out the captain was demanding to know where people had come from—what ship or town—and what manner of business they might have in Calais. Other soldiers were searching through baskets, poking into bales, and opening chests.

  “Are they looking for something?” I asked a mariner who stood in the line before me.

  “Smuggled goods.”

  “Is it hard to gain entry?”

  He made a grimace. “Just as hard to get out.”

  “Why?”

  “They will tax whatever goods are brought in or out.” He spat upon the ground.

  For the most part, the people wishing entry were mariners and claimed—usually speaking English—that they had come off one ship or another and needed to reach masters already at the markets. Some of the people passing through spoke French. There were peasants, too, with baskets of food to sell. The captain reminded all that the city gates closed when the night bells rang for compline and would not open again until prime. No exceptions would be made.

  “Boy! Step forward!” came the cry when it was my turn. I took a deep breath, told myself not to be fearful, and walked forward.

  The captain looked down at me with hostile eyes. “Quickly, boy! What brings you here?”

  “Please, sir, I was with a group of musicians hoping to play at the wedding feast that will be given by Master Humfrey Talbot for his daughter.”

  “Why aren’t you with them?” he demanded.

  “We became separated,” I replied with a measure of truth. “Have they passed through?”

  “I’ve no idea. A fair number of musicians have arrived,” he allowed.

  “A family of five?” I said.

  “I can’t say,” he returned gruffly. “All right. Pass along! Hurry!”

  Much relieved, I hastened forward and finally entered the city of Calais.

  After being in the open for so long, I was overwhelmed by the swarming city. The people were like penned sheep, a mass of men, women, children as well as horses and oxen. Citizens were generally of the poorer sort, but I could see numbers who were wealthy. They were all clothed in brown or black, with an occasional priest in white. Here and there a rich person arrayed in brilliantly colored cloth passed by, leading well-dressed servants.

  The streets were stone paved while the closely built houses were timber framed, plastered with white or yellow-brown clay. These houses were generally two stories high, although a few buildings had a third level hanging over the street. Many buildings bore flags and banners, as well as signs proclaiming the goods sold within, such as bread, tools, shoes, or cloth. Crowds of people were buying and selling, crying, “Hot pies, hot!” “Wine of Gascony!” “Flanders caps!” “Fresh water!” Armed soldiers strutted about like big, plump geese, and people made way for them. Over all was an intense city stench—dung, rot, bread, ale, and sweat.

  Great Wexley’s streets had gone all which ways. In Calais, however, they ran in straight lines. Even so, when I first entered and began to wander, I kept coming upon the outer walls. Once I came upon a corner where walls joined. A round tower was set there, its entryway open, revealing stone steps that led to the ramparts.

  At length I crossed over two narrow streets and stepped into a huge market area, far longer than it was wide, dominated by a tall central tower. At the far end of the market was a huge and bulky fortress.

  The main market was crowded with stalls, tents, and pavilions of all sizes. Here was selling of a different order than on the streets: huge bales of sheep’s wool were everywhere, some open, some tightly wrapped with cord. Merchants and tradesmen were bargaining in loud voices. I saw many coins exchanged and heard the clicking abacuses as accounts were reckoned. For the most part, English was being spoken. But I heard French, as well as other tongues unknown to me.

  While the wool market was a major part of the trade, there was another large section in which quantities of fish were being sold. Some was fresh, but much was salted away in barrels. Then there were other parts where quantities of food, pottery, baskets, and clothing were offered.

  I had never seen such a crowded place, not even Great Wexley. The throng was so thick, I hardly knew where to turn. Even so, I kept searching—often having to push my way through—constantly looking for members of Elena’s family.

  Then, above the clamor, cries, and shouts, I recognized that skirling bagpipe sound. I had little doubt it was Rauf and the family. How different it sounded to me now! I hated these people. How then to explain the joy and relief I felt? It took me by surprise.

  I followed the sound, and sure enough I spied them—encircled by a crowd—playing their instruments. Elena stood before the others, singing. Gerard had his harp, Rauf the bagpipe, Woodeth her mandola. Owen beat his drum. In front of all was the monkey, Schim. Holding Rauf’s red cap in his paws, he approached people, begging and receiving coins.

  Owen saw me first. The moment he did, he smiled broadly, only the second time I’d seen him do so. Then the other members of the family caught sight of me. They seemed startled that I was there, exchanging vexed looks. Nonetheless, it took only a moment before they shifted their response and acted welcoming—without ceasing their music making—with smiles and nods of greeting, which I had every reason to distrust.

  Rauf even paused in his playing to rummage in his sack, which lay at his feet. From it he pulled up the old recorder and held it out. I took it and joined in the performance.

  I do not know how long we played—not so very long—but at length the crowd’s interest waned enough that Elena called upon us to stop. When we did, Rauf snatched his cap from Schim—who hissed at him—took out the coins, and put them in his bag. Once released, the monkey darted to Owen, leaped up, and perched on his shoulder.

  Meanwhile the whole family gathered around me with a cascade of questions:

  “When did you arrive?”

  “By what route did you come?”

  “How did you escape the French?”

  “How did you get here so quickly?”

  “Where did you get your new clothing?”

  I related what I had done, which they received with approval, even laughter. Indeed, they acted as if they were truly glad that I had rejoined them. In particular, they were much amused by my account of how I came to have a new set of clothing.

  “Ah Crispin,” cried Rauf with a clap upon my shoulder, “that’s twice you’ve stolen from a dead man. You’re a true thief.”

  Elena threw him a look of irritation, but to me she said, “Just know we’re glad to see you.”

  My eyes went to Owen, who stood beyond the others. He made a small shake of his head.

  I understood him all too well.

  20

  THE FAMILY HAD arrived shortly before I did and had yet to find the house where the wedding was to occur. Though Elena decided it was time to find Master Talbot’s home, they did something I found curious. Rather than dip into Rauf’s money sack, they used the pennies they had just earned with their playing to buy some bread. I took it
that was meant to show how very little they had.

  We left the market area and, with instruments in hand, returned to the narrow streets, where Elena asked directions. It fell out that Master Talbot was a major merchant in the wool trade and was well-known. We were soon directed to a Purfleet Street.

  As we went along, Gerard made a point of staying close to me, insisting I hear how they came to the city. It was of such little account, I grew suspicious of his chatter. Stealing a glance back, I saw Elena and Rauf in intense conversation. The moment they saw me looking at them, they broke off. I had little doubt they were talking about me and that my returning to them had upset their plans.

  It was not long before we stood outside Master Talbot’s house. It proved to be a large timbered structure of three levels. Its sheer size proclaimed it the home of a wealthy man. Bright-colored flags flew from poles. Banners draped from many windows, windows that even had some glass.

  On one side was an entryway, which appeared to lead to some place of business where merchants were coming and going. On the other side was a door to the house itself, guarded by two men in bright yellow and red capes. One of the men was older than the other. He was a portly, sallow-faced fellow with a girdle of keys about his ample waist that suggested he was the steward. He smelled of some sweet perfume. Elena approached him.

  “Worthy master,” she addressed him after making a deep bow. “We’ve come far to bring music to Master Talbot’s daughter’s wedding.”

  “You’ve arrived in good time,” the steward returned. He was eyeing the monkey suspiciously. “What’s that beast?”

  “A performing monkey.” Elena beckoned to Owen, who set Schim on the ground and bid him jump. He did a somersault.

  Despite the steward’s gravity, he grinned. “That will amuse the bride. Let’s hear your music skill.”

  “Quickly, now,” said Elena to us, “do your best!”

  We lined up and began to play, but after a few moments, the steward waved his hand. “Enough! Well done. My master will be pleased. Enter. Just make sure you keep that beast on his tether.”

  It was the other, younger servant who led us into an enclosed courtyard, where there were many people milling about. Most appeared to be cooks, bakers, and vintners bringing food, preparing for the wedding feasts. In one corner were other musicians with their instruments, practicing. They gave us a nod, which Elena returned, even as we were led on.

  The servant took us to the back of the building, into a large hall with an arched ceiling. The hall was lighted by many candles, the air perfumed. A central fireplace glowed with warmth.

  There were tapestries on some walls, white plaster on others. In the middle of the room, long trestle tables had been set up, though I saw no benches. The floor was strewn with sweet green rushes.

  “You’ll perform up there,” the servant said, pointing to a balcony, which overlooked the hall. It was opposite a raised table at the other end of the room. “Master Throckmorton, the steward—with whom you just spoke—will inform you of your time.”

  We were led behind the building, passing through a crowded, bustling kitchen, to a place where a series of sheds and stables stood.

  “You’ll stay here,” the servant informed us.

  Our shelter was a horse stable, each stall having three sides of rough wood wall, large enough for two horses. Overhead was a solid roof and deep, fresh straw on the ground where we could sleep in some comfort.

  “The cesspit is around the back,” the servant told us. “When supper is available, you’ll be called. Be advised: there is much work to be done, so my master may require your assistance.”

  Rauf frowned and exchanged a knowing look with Elena. He gestured to me. “You may call on that boy.”

  The servant marked me with a look, nodded, and left.

  “These rich people think they buy us whole,” said Gerard with disgust.

  “We’ll do well enough,” Elena assured him.

  Woodeth looked the stall over. “We’ve slept in worse,” she pronounced.

  To which Rauf, in a low voice, added, “It will be made up in payment. There are great riches here.”

  They laughed.

  After setting their belongings down, Rauf announced that he and Gerard would seek a tavern. For her part, Elena said she would return to the kitchen to find some food. She told Woodeth to remain with Owen and me.

  “They can take care of themselves,” Woodeth protested.

  “Do as you’re told!” Rauf commanded as he left.

  The three went off. Woodeth, clearly peeved, glared at me. “Well, Master Crispin,” she said, “your return has upset their plans.”

  “Why?” I said, truly confused. “How do you mean?”

  She shook her head. “Do you think they would tell me? If you want my advice, be on your watch. Especially with Rauf.”

  She would—or could—say no more, but sat herself down against the stable wall, all the while keeping one arm protectively around Rauf’s sack. As if to withdraw from the world, she closed her eyes.

  For a brief time, I considered grabbing Owen and bolting away. I doubted, however, that Woodeth was truly asleep. Even more, I feared Elena’s sudden return.

  Beckoning, I got Owen to retreat into the far back of the stable, where we sat side by side. Schim stayed in the boy’s lap.

  “You see,” I whispered to him, “I didn’t forget you.”

  His grubby fingers clutched my hand, as if wanting to be sure I was there and that I would not leave him. “They were sure the French would catch you,” he said, his low, shaky voice revealing his emotions. “That we wouldn’t see you again. You heard what Woodeth said. That’s what they wanted.”

  “But why?”

  “They don’t trust you.”

  He looked over to Woodeth to see if she was listening. Satisfied she wasn’t, he drew closer.

  “Because I don’t speak much,” he said in a small, breathy voice, “they don’t think I listen. As soon as you left, they talked as if I weren’t there.”

  “What did they say?”

  “That it would be good if the French took you.”

  Upset, I just looked at him.

  “They feared you wouldn’t obey them,” he explained. “Elena called you a pious priest.”

  I nodded toward Woodeth. “What was she warning me about?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think she knows. They don’t tell her things.”

  “Can you guess?”

  He glanced up at me. “Some other way to use and get rid of you.”

  “Why don’t they just tell me to go?”

  “They fear what you know of them. Is it true Rauf showed you their money?”

  I nodded.

  “They spoke of it. Elena berated him.” The boy fingered my new cloak. “Did you really find your clothing on a dead man?”

  I nodded. “I was cold and wet. Then you know nothing of their plans?” I pressed.

  “Just that they intend to steal from this house.”

  “We’ll get away first,” I assured him—and myself.

  “Will you…will you really take me with you?” He stroked the monkey’s back. “And Schim?”

  I nodded. “To Iceland.”

  “Is that far from England?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “We’ll need a ship. But there are many here. And—God grant it—we’ll find one bound the proper way.”

  “Will…that be hard?”

  “I’ll find a way,” I said, wishing I truly knew.

  “I…I don’t care where I go,” he confided. “I’d rather die than stay. But—”

  Elena returned.

  As Woodeth bestirred herself, I wondered if she had heard anything of my talk with Owen. I reminded myself that I must be careful. In truth, I could have little doubt Owen was right: these people would find some way to use me for ill. That gave me but one task: we must get ourselves away as soon as possible.

  21

  ELENA BROUGHT B
ACK barley bread and new cheese, which, quite famished, I ate readily enough. Owen ate too, sharing some of his food with Schim.

  “It’s all that Rauf had hoped,” Elena announced gleefully. “There’s fine goods and money here. And the food: you should see how much! Boar’s head, venison, swan. Lark pies and tarts. Spiced wines. Eggs aplenty. No end to it! A great wedding feast.

  “And Crispin,” Elena went on, but in a lower voice, “you’ll be pleased to know that someone in the kitchen whispered to me that Master Talbot is not just a merchant, but a smuggler. You see, we’re no different than the rest of the world.”

  Not wishing to talk about that, I said, “When will the wedding happen?”

  “In two days’ time,” Elena replied with real excitement. “With festivities to last three days. The master’s daughter is to marry a rich merchant from Bruges. The musicians come from many places: England, Hainault, and Flanders.”

  “With all the ships here,” said Woodeth, “we should have no trouble getting to England.” The way she looked at me made me wonder if she had heard my words with Owen.

  Elena said, “Crispin, are you coming with us or going to that Iceland you spoke of?”

  “To England,” I lied, “surely.”

  “Then you can come with us,” said Elena.

  The truth was, I had no reason to believe any of them. Not after what they had done. Not after what Owen said. But now that I had returned, they seemed to want to make sure I remained with them. I suspected they already had made a plan what to do with me and did not wish me to slip from their grasp. But I could only guess at what they intended.

  For a while no one spoke. I sat there, frustrated, trying to consider what I should do. My best notion was going to the market. My hope was that in such a busy, crowded place—with so many seafaring travelers—someone might tell me how to find Iceland.

  As I sat there, keeping my hand warm in my inner pocket, I fingered the coin Rauf had given me. I glanced at Owen, who was shivering in his ragged tunic. It gave me an idea. “If this wedding feast is so fine,” I said to Elena, “I’d like to get some better clothing for Owen.” I held up the coin.