by Avi
Aude reached out to Troth. The girl scurried over and with her help, the crone got to her feet. “The belt,” she said, “the herbs.”
Once ready, Aude said, “Come,” to the girl and put one hand on her shoulder. The two moved toward the entryway.
“Old mother,” Bear cried out. “God’s blessings on you.” Aude halted. She turned, and twisted round with her birdlike look to consider Bear and me with her one good eye. “Be blessed,” she muttered.
An unhappy-looking Troth made a sign, which I understood to mean “Good-bye.”
As soon as Aude and Troth went from the bower I turned to Bear. “Bear, you heard. Men are looking for you. We need to leave now.”
Bear grunted. “God knows we have our enemies. But, Crispin, the man said they went off.”
“The sooner we go, the safer.”
He laughed. “The best time for elders to advise youth is when youth presumes to advise their elders.”
“But I’m right!” I cried, now angry.
“Crispin, since those men had no way of knowing we were here, it’s unlikely they’ll come back. We’re safest here. Anyway, by Saint Aldegon, I’m not strong enough to go. My fever lingers.”
“You’ve not said so.”
He shrugged. “A man’s weakness is his best kept secret.”
“Weakness is not your usual way of living.”
“Crispin, I was close to having this living!”
“Has that so changed you?”
“Should it not?”
Feeling frustration and anger, I glared at him, then went to the entryway of the bower, and looked where Troth and Aude had gone. Then the thought came to me: if I’m ever truly to be free, I must act for myself. I turned back to Bear. “I’m going with them,” I announced.
“Why?” he asked.
“I want to learn if anyone in the village is aware of us. We need to know how safe we are.”
“You’ll only draw attention.”
“Bear, the man said only you were sought. Not me. Besides, you said you’re not well. Then give way to me. I’m old enough.”
He snorted. “The man who must prove himself a man is still a boy.”
“Have you forgotten? You said I should feel free to disobey you at any time.”
“Crispin!” I heard Bear cry. “Don’t!”
But I had already started off.
13
WHEN I CAUGHT up with Aude and Troth, the girl acknowledged me with a glance of surprise. Aude paid no mind. She merely plodded on. No one spoke.
After perhaps two leagues, we began to move along a narrow track that suggested more frequent use. After another league, we came out of the woods and made our way into a shallow valley.
Some twelve or fifteen dwellings were scattered on either side of a muddy road with fields laid out in long strips, mostly in tillage. I took it to be Chaunton, the village of which Aude had spoken.
Houses were of timbered construction with wattle-and-daub walls and thatched roofs. A few had doors. No windows. Pigs, dogs, and geese roamed freely. I saw a small, decaying, gray stone church, its tower squat and square. The village sat well before it.
It was no different from other poor villages I had seen in my travels with Bear. Most likely it was owned—as Bear had once explained—by a distant lord or bishop or even an abbey, which saw nothing of the commune save rents or garnished goods.
No people were working the fields. Instead, a crowd was milling round the entryway of a house. I supposed it was where the birthing crisis was occurring. The number of people—perhaps twenty or twenty-five—gave me reason to think the whole town was there. From the custom of their dress, all appeared to be peasants, mostly men. But only women passed in and out of the house. As I knew from my own village, men were not allowed at a birth.
Our slow, awkward trudge into the village was soon noticed. All turned. A man detached himself from the others and began to run toward us, arms waving wildly. He was younger than the peasant who’d come to fetch us. His face was full of anguish.
“Dame Aude!” he cried. “Make haste! My wife’s in mortal pain!” It was Goodman William.
Despite the plea, Aude made no alteration of her pace, but plodded on as before. Bent over as she was, I don’t think she could have gone faster. Troth, meanwhile, pulled her hair across her face, hiding her disfigurement.
The peasant drew near. “Dame Aude,” he shouted anew. “In the name of God’s mercy, hurry!”
Aude, without looking up, mumbled, “Aude will try.”
“Her pain is terrible,” pressed the man as he drew close. “I fear she’s in great danger. The bailiff is with her.
Aude halted and peered up at the man. “The bailiff?” she said. “No man should be there.”
“He claims the right!” said the man. With that he took hold of Aude, and pulled to make her move faster. “You need not fear: he knows you’re coming,” he went on. “He only insists there be none of your gods or magic.”
Aude shook her head and tried—with little success—to resist the man’s dragging hands. “Aude can only do as she does,” she said.
Feeling awkward, out of place, suddenly not wishing to be associated with the two, I regretted I had come. I told myself I should go back to Bear. Even so, I stood there, wanting to see what would happen.
“But the girl,” cried the man, darting an anxious look at Troth. “She mustn’t come any closer.”
Troth, keeping her gaze down, gripped Aude tighter.
“Why?” Aude demanded.
“God’s mercy, woman!” cried the man. “You know the answer! She’s Devil-marked. She’ll bring peril to my wife. I beg you! In the name of Jesus, don’t argue! Just hurry!”
Aude, with a vehement shake of her head, said, “Not without the girl.”
The man tried to yank Troth away from Aude, but the girl clung to the old woman.
Though what I was witnessing upset me, I hardly knew what to do.
“You must hurry!” shouted the man at Aude. That time he pushed Troth back fiercely, enough to cause her pain. She turned to me with an open-faced appeal full of fright.
Unable to ignore Troth’s plight, I jumped forward, and tried to pull Goodman William away from her. The man, taking notice of me for the first time, swung out with his fist, striking me on the shoulder with force enough to throw me off. He resumed his dragging of Aude.
Angry, I lunged and tried to pry William’s hands away from Aude. Even as we thrashed about, a scream erupted from the house, a long, beseeching cry, full of awful anguish.
Ashen-faced, Goodman William released Aude and whirled toward the sound. Next moment, he swung back, went to his knees, clasped his hands, and looked up at Aude with eyes full of panic. “In God’s mercy, woman!” he cried. “Help my wife!”
“I can only try,” muttered the old dame, and moved forward again, clinging to Troth, as much as Troth clung to her.
As Aude drew near to the birthing house, the village folk retreated some paces. I could not tell if they moved from her because they did not wish to be near her, or to give her room. I was beyond their notice.
Then, just as Aude approached, the bailiff emerged from the house. At least I took him to be the bailiff. A big, burly man, he was dressed somewhat better than the others, with buskin boots and a paltry collar of some ragged sheep wool. His garments and hands were stained with blood.
When he appeared, the townspeople fell back to form a half circle behind him. Then, as Aude and Troth advanced, the bailiff stepped forward to block entry to the house.
“No,” he shouted. “You must not go further! You’re no Christian.” It seemed to me his cry was as much to the townspeople as it was to her.
Aude halted. Small as she was, she seemed to diminish in size before this man.
But then the distraught husband tried to shove the bailiff away from the entry, crying, “She can save my wife!”
“Better she die than be damned,” the bailiff said, refusing to
move.
Another terrible cry came from the house.
It seemed to drive the husband mad. With a sudden leap, he wrapped his arms around the bailiff and dragged him away. “Go to her,” he called to Aude. “I beg you! Go!”
Aude hesitated momentarily then went forward again. Troth stayed close. Next moment, the bailiff broke free from the husband and pounced at the old woman, only to miss. But he managed to take hold of Troth’s arm. As the old woman went into the house, the bailiff yanked the girl back, forcing her to stay behind. As that happened, the husband followed Aude within and was also lost to my view.
The bailiff forcibly thrust Troth away from the house. “Evil thing!” he cried. “Begone!” He began to pummel her about her head and shoulders.
With sudden rage, Troth erupted. Whirling about, growling and grunting like some wild beast, she kicked and clawed at the bailiff. Small though she was, her attack came with such unexpected ferocity that the bailiff doubled over, putting his hands up to protect himself. The crowd, which had been inactive until then, came to life. With a shout, they rushed forward.
14
AT FIRST I thought the people were going to help Troth, and free her from the bailiff. It took just moments for me to realize otherwise: like a pack of attacking dogs, they joined the bailiff in beating Troth, kicking and clawing at her. “Kill her. Kill the Devil-girl!” they screamed. Troth tried to resist but was quickly overwhelmed.
I was so stunned by what was happening, that at first I remained rooted where I was. But when I saw Troth fall I ran forward and dove among the swarm of brawling people. I struck out at whomever was before me, receiving as many blows—if not more—than I gave.
In the middle of this struggle came a long, drawn-out cry from the birthing house, a cry of appalling torment. It crested above all shouts and screams, enough to cause the mob to stay their fury.
In that brief lull, I wedged myself among the mob. Troth was cowering on the ground, crouched, arms up to protect her head, crying uncontrollably, bleeding. I put my arms round her, shouting, “Troth! It’s me! Crispin!”
She gripped me.
Holding her tightly, I pushed back with my body, kicking and shoving as best I could, until I dragged the sobbing, gasping girl from beneath the frenzied swarm. The crowd did not even seem to know she was gone.
Once I’d freed Troth from the mob, I lifted her bodily and began to haul her away as best I could. But as we moved away, there came another shriek from the house: the tormented cry of the husband, Goodman William. “Dead!” he screamed. “My wife and babe are dead!”
Hearing the death cry, the people as one shifted their attention to the house.
I stopped and turned, the weeping Troth still in my arms. As we looked on, Goodman William staggered out. Collapsing to his knees, head striking the earth, he beat the ground with his fists. “Dead! Dead!” he cried repeatedly.
The people went to him as if to provide comfort. As they did, the bailiff rushed into the house.
I let Troth down so that she stood on her own unsteady feet. She was trying to regain her breath, straining from me. Fearful that she’d go back and be caught by the crowd, I would not let her go.
Next moment, Aude appeared, blood upon her. She did not come on her own. The bailiff was dragging her by her hair. Being so light, so frail, the old woman could make but feeble resistance.
“Kill her!” shouted the bailiff, throwing her to the ground. “She worships foul gods! She caused the good wife’s death!” He began to kick the fallen woman. Next moment, the people swarmed round and attacked Aude too. I could hear the blows, the cries.
Troth, with a horrific scream of pain—as though her heart were being ripped from her chest—struggled to free herself from me. Frightened that the villagers would turn on Troth, I clung to her tightly. Though she made dreadful, pleading sounds, I began to pull her away, fleeing as best I could.
At first I simply ran, paying no heed where I was going, save making my way out of the valley. No longer hearing cries from the village, I stopped and looked back. The crowd had drawn back. A mangled, bloody body lay before them. It was Aude.
I had no doubt that she was no longer alive.
Troth strained desperately to get away from me.
“There’s no helping her,” I said, unwilling to release her. “If you go back, they’ll kill you, too.”
Suddenly, Troth turned about and, sobbing uncontrollably, clutched me around my neck so tightly I gasped for breath.
“We need to get back to Bear,” I told her. “I don’t know the way. Troth, take us back to Bear.”
I pried her grip loose, but kept holding her, fearful she would bolt back to Aude.
The two of us stared toward the village. The people had gathered round Aude’s broken body. Then some one pointed in our direction. Two men started running toward us. One was the bailiff. I had little doubt what might happen.
“Troth,” I pleaded, “we must get to Bear!”
Though weeping and struggling for breath, Troth bolted toward the forest following unseen paths. I, who but moments before was her protector, was now in need of her guidance.
15
WE ARRIVED at the bower panting, gasping for breath. “Bear! Bear!” I cried as we burst in.
Troth, crying wildly, ran to Bear and buried her face in his chest. Taken by surprise, Bear wrapped his arms about her, even as he looked over at me for an explanation.
“They’ve killed Aude!” I shouted.
The blood seemed to drain from his face. “Who? Why?”
I told him what had happened as quickly as I could. “And they’re coming after us,” I said. “We must leave. Now!”
Bear looked at me then spoke into Troth’s ear, loud enough for me to hear. “Troth, you can’t stay here,” he said. “You must come with us. We’ll keep you safe.”
Troth, her whole body shaking, as if the tumult of her emotions were writhing within, frantic to burst free, nodded mutely to Bear’s words.
“Crispin,” he called to me, “get whatever’s ours. Hurry!”
I gathered up our sack, making sure it had our few things.
Gently, Bear pushed Troth away from him, and knelt before her, face to face.
I drew close, but didn’t know what to do or say.
“Troth, hear me,” Bear said. “By all that’s holy, I swear by your gods and mine—by blessed Saint Bathild—we shall take care of you. Protect you. Do you understand me?”
Troth, sobbing, struggling for breath, and constantly smearing tears with dirty hands, looked around at me.
“We will, Troth, we will,” I said, anxious that we leave.
Bear, not waiting for her to reply, asked, “Is there anything you wish to take?”
Crying with hard grief, she looked about, then ran out to the hawthorn tree and tore off a sprig, which she concealed among her clothing.
“Crispin,” Bear called, “are you ready?”
I held up our sack. “I have everything.”
Bear grasped the girl’s hand. “We must go,” he said.
Troth, as though unwilling to look at what she was leaving, pressed her face against Bear. He squeezed her close again.
I waited some few feet off.
Bear gazed upward toward the sun. He took a deep breath. “We’ll go south,” he said at last.
“Where?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “Away.”
With that Bear strode off, still holding on to the whimpering Troth. I came a few steps behind, sack in hand, looking back over my shoulder.
Suddenly Troth stopped. From her garments she took out the hawthorn, held it over her head, and murmured words I did not understand. Then, as though possessed, she turned and began to run.
16
AS GOD WOULD HAVE IT, Troth led the way. We went southward, first running, then walking, then running again. My great fear was that Bear, not fully healed, would be unable to keep her pace. As it was, he had to pause and
rest more than once. My own breathing was heavy. My legs ached.
Troth never looked back. Not once. All that she had been she seemed to put behind her. Backward glances were left to me. With all my fearful turnings I grew stiff-necked but saw nothing to suggest we were being followed.
I did not speak. But, then, I did not know what to say or what to think. In my thoughts I kept seeing what had happened. Its dreadfulness did not, would not fade. It brought on a constant shivering, as if death’s cold hand gripped my neck and would not let it loose. What, I wondered, could Troth be seeing in her mind?
I recalled all the doubts I had about Aude and Troth: how I thought them evil, malignant spirits. Then—as if to excuse myself—I asked myself why my blessed God had not intervened in Aude’s final moments. Why had He let it happen? Was He waiting for me to act? Was He unmoved because Aude worshipped other gods? I did not want to believe that of my most merciful Jesus. I also asked, what of Aude’s gods, her beloved Nerthus? Why had she not saved Aude?
When my footsteps brought me no answers, I allowed myself the notion that to run away may well be the answer God provides.
It was dusk when we halted, still deep among the trees. How many leagues we had come, I could not begin to reckon. Troth, I think, could have gone on. It was Bear who insisted we must stop. Face flushed, in a filthy sweat, limping, he was exhausted.
Troth immediately sat down, rolled onto her stomach, and cradled her head in her arms, eyes turned from us. There she lay, unmoving, surely the most soul-weary of us all. Now and again she whimpered. Was this the first time she was so far from her bower? Away from Aude? I would have guessed as much.
“We better not light a fire,” Bear cautioned.
“Do you think we’ve been pursued?”
“May God, in His mercy, say no. But it’s best to take care.”
“And food?” I said, realizing we had not brought any.
“We’ll need to be content with nothing till the morrow,” said Bear.
He sat next to Troth, close enough that she might know he was there. I sat on her other side, my knees drawn up, held by my arms.
