by Andy Croft
The sky was bright and grey. On the other side of the hill the wind was cold. There were thick clouds to the east, but it looked like the rain would hold off for a while. It had rained a lot in the last few days so the road was thick with mud. In places it was no more than a dirt track. It was hard work for Will’s horse to pull the wagon through swampy fields and bumpy paths full of potholes and puddles.
Will followed the wooded slopes of the river curving away to the long line of blue hills in the south. Beyond Netherford the road was wider, the ground less boggy. He overtook a drover with some fifteen sheep and a woman and her daughter pulling a cart full of straw. He passed a hooded pilgrim walking the other way. A few wealthy travellers overtook him on horseback.
By noon, Will was feeling hungry. His mother had given him some bread, onions, cheese and an apple for today’s journey. He would have to find somewhere on the road where he could sleep and eat tonight. Will reached into the wagon for the satchel. But when he opened it there was no apple. He looked round. It must have slipped out and fallen onto the road. He took a bite of the hard cheese instead.
For several hours the road ran along by a river. Will waved at the small boats and barges carrying goods to market. In the distance he could see the spires of village churches across the fields.
Later, he passed two bodies swinging on gibbets at a lonely crossroads. Outlaws. These men had been left hanging here as a warning to others. He shivered as he watched the crows peck at the bodies. When he was a child his mother used to sing him songs about outlaws like Robyne Hude of Barnesdale:
‘In summer, when the corn is long
And the scythe is sharp and keen
The cuckoo sings her summer song
Inside the forest green,
Of Robyne in the forest free
Beneath the ancient greenwood tree.’
He thought about the tales his mother had told him about the dragons that lived over the hill, the trolls that lived under bridges and the devils that waited at crossroads for weary travellers. In these stories there were men whose faces grew in the middle of their chests and women with beards. The world outside Brampton suddenly seemed a dangerous and lonely place.
Late in the afternoon, Will was feeling hungry again. He turned to open the satchel. As he did so a slim arm crept out from under the bales of wool and grabbed the loaf of bread.
‘Oi!’ he shouted, dragging the thief out from under the wool. The thief fell off the cart and landed face down in the mud. Will jumped down after him and pulled out his knife. Before the thief could get up Will was on top of him. He pulled the thief onto his back and pressed the knife against his throat.
‘Get off me, you great lump,’ cried the thief, spitting out mud. ‘It’s me! Adam!’
Chapter 5
A Pig’s Bladder
‘What do you think you are doing?’
‘Trying to get you off my chest,’ said Adam, pushing Will away.
‘I mean, what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve run away,’ said Adam, as he scraped bits of mud of his face and hair.
‘Run away? From Brampton?’
‘Yes. I decided that you need looking after on this journey. Someone has to keep an eye on you, or else you might starve to death. Thanks for the apple, by the way. I wouldn’t mind a bit of that bread and cheese. Have you got anything to drink?’
Will picked Adam up. ‘You are going back home. Now!’
‘Oh no I’m not!’
‘Oh yes you are!’
‘I don’t know the way. Anyway, I’m coming to London with you.’
‘Oh no you’re not!’
‘Oh yes I am!’
‘You can’t!’
‘Who says?’
‘Father says. Anyway, they will be fretting about you by now, and Father can’t manage all the work without you.’
‘Stop worrying. I told Sam last night. He will tell Father where I am. And he says he will help with the sheep.’
Just at that moment, the heavens opened with a flash of lightning and a long drum-roll and crash of thunder.
‘Quick!’ yelled Will. ‘Under those trees!’
By the time they had moved the wagon under the trees, they were soaked to the skin. They sat under a dripping oak-tree, sharing the bread and cheese and watching the rain fall. If Adam was going to go home, he would have to wait for the rain to stop. The road was becoming so muddy it would soon be impassable. After a lot of arguing, Will eventually agreed to take Adam with him to London. He tried to make it sound like he was doing his little brother a favour. But Adam thought he was secretly pleased to have company.
It carried on raining heavily all evening. Soon, the fields on the other side of the road were underwater. Later, the rain began to slow down. Eventually, the clouds left the sky and the road glittered in the moonlight like a river of cold silver flowing down to London.
It was raining again when they woke the next morning. They were stiff with cold and soaked through. They made slow progress along the muddy roads. Several times they had to leave the road and drive across the swampy fields. They passed farms, small villages and several manor houses. At the top of a hill stood a windmill, its long wooden sails turning slowly in the wind. Several flights of geese flew over their heads and into the mist. How quiet and peaceful England seemed.
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Adam.
Will hesitated. Just at that moment he had been thinking how pretty Agnes would look with her hair in ribbons. ‘Er – nothing. I mean, I was thinking about Brampton, and what Mother and Father are going to say when you get home. Why? What are you thinking about?’
‘London!’
The rain fell steadily all day but Adam was too excited to worry about the weather. This was the first time he had ever left Brampton. Until yesterday his world had been bound by the church, the mill and the wood. But now he was out in the wide world.
That afternoon, they saw the outline of a stone castle in the distance.
‘Do you think a giant lives there?’ asked Adam.
‘I am not answering that,’ said Will. ‘You know that giants are only in stories.’
‘Well a giant must have built it. It’s taller than the biggest oak tree!’
Will laughed. ‘And your head is thicker than the thickest oak tree!’
They spent another night sleeping under trees to stay dry. Will suggested lighting a fire. But they couldn’t find any dry sticks with which to light it. In the morning they were still wet and cold.
On the third day they reached Oxham. They made their way among the thick crowds of people in the market-square, buying and selling. Adam had never seen so many people before.
‘This is nothing,’ laughed Will, ‘just wait until we reach London!’
Adam couldn’t imagine how London could be bigger than this. It reminded him of the story in the Bible when all the dead came alive and climbed out of their graves.
They found Master Watkyn’s house behind the market-square. Mistress Watkyn opened the door to them. They waited in the hall while she went to fetch her husband. The house had two storeys and a wooden staircase. The walls were hung with fine tapestries showing eagles and lions. Three silver candlesticks stood on a large oak table. Someone was playing a viol in one of the rooms. They could smell bacon cooking. At home Will and Adam only ate meat on special occasions. They suddenly felt hungry.
Master Watkyn eventually emerged with a bill of exchange for the wool. After their business was done, Will and Adam went out into the market square looking for something to eat. They bought a cheese pie from a cookshop and sat eating it on the steps of the market-cross. Some people were drinking and dancing on the stones. A group of dark, curly-haired men were playing pipes, whistles and drums. There was a wrestling-match on one side of the square. On the other side, some older men were pitching quoits.
The peace of the square was suddenly interrupted by an invasion of noise and violence. A crowd of men rushed into the ma
rket, knocking over some of the stalls. Chickens flew into the air and dogs began barking. There must have been fifty men fighting in the middle of the street. In the middle of the scrum, a ginger-haired man was being punched by some of the others. It looked to Adam as though they were fighting over a ball made from a pig’s bladder. The ginger-haired man was shouting for his life, but he wouldn’t let go of the ball.
Some of the dancers joined in, pushing and throwing punches. The crowd in the square started cheering. There were so many people tugging at the ball that Adam thought it would burst. Suddenly, the man with the ball broke free from his attackers and kicked it high into the air. A squint-eyed man caught it and the fighting began again.
‘What are they doing?’ asked Adam. ‘Why are they fighting over that ball?’
‘It’s a kind of game,’ said Will. ‘It’s called football. There are two sides. Both sides are trying to get the ball to the other end of the town.’
‘Doesn’t look much like a game to me,’ said Adam. ‘Someone is going to get hurt in a minute.’
Will nodded. ‘Last time I was here with Father, a man was stabbed to death playing football. Old King Edward made playing it illegal. Now they are only allowed to play at Shrovetide and on market days.’
At that moment, the crowd of footballers started surging towards the market-cross, where Will and Adam were sitting.
‘Come on,’ said Will, pulling Adam to his feet. ‘We had better get going. We’ve a long walk ahead of us.’
Chapter 6
A Warm Fire
Adam and Will sat by the fire, letting the heat dry their wet clothes and warming their feet. The walk from Oxham had been long and hard. They both had sore feet. Adam had a blister on his right foot and Will’s boots were leaking. They were both very hungry. And very grateful to the woman who had taken them in from the rain. She had agreed to give them a fire, a meal and a bed if they would help her with the milking in the morning.
The wooden shutters in the windows were closed to keep the rain out. There was no chimney, so the room was full of sooty smoke. Weak candles made from rushes dipped in animal fat lit the gloom. There were tools and pots hanging from the beams on hooks. In the corner was a wooden chest. The hard earth floor was covered in straw.
The woman was bent over the fire, stirring a pot. Her husband was dead, killed three months ago by the smallpox. She made her living by brewing ale for travellers on their way to London. A small baby lay grizzling in its cradle. Three grubby children ran in and out of the doorway. So did a piglet and several hens.
The food was nearly ready so Will and Adam joined the other travellers on the wooden benches in the corner. Two of them were drovers on their way to the market in the nearest town. One was a travelling friar on his way to Durham. His eyes were dark and his thin face was sun-burned with travel. He had just returned to England from a pilgrimage to Spain. A fourth man lay with his head on the table. He appeared to be asleep. Adam couldn’t help noticing that he only had one hand.
‘Travelling far?’ asked the widow woman.
‘We are indeed,’ replied Will, ‘we are going to London town!’
‘And what business might two young boys have in London?’ she asked.
Will smiled. ‘We are taking something to the lord of our manor, Philip de Mandeville.’ He tapped the satchel on his knee and looked round. ‘Very valuable it is.’
The two drovers looked suitably impressed and the one handed man stirred in his sleep.
The woman put some hard, white cheese, dark rye bread, beans and barley onto the table. The old friar muttered a prayer and they started eating in silence. The one-handed man woke and helped himself to some beans. Adam watched the friar as he chewed his bread. It was amazing to think that the old man had been to Spain, when he had never even left his village before.
Eventually Adam could not contain his curiosity any longer.
‘Father, do you mind me asking – what is Spain like?’ he asked.
The friar continued eating but he said nothing.
‘Is it true that their faces are in the middle of their chests, father? And do the women there all have beards?’
Still the old man said nothing.
‘Did you see any devils?’ he asked. ‘Or dragons? When you were in Spain, did you see any dragons?’
The friar stopped eating and looked hard at Adam.
‘I saw worse than dragons, my lad.’
‘What could be worse than dragons?’
The old friar frowned. He pulled out a knife and carefully cut himself a slice of the cheese.
‘I’ll tell you what I saw.’ He paused. ‘I saw the beginning.’
‘The beginning?’ asked Will. ‘The beginning of what?’
The friar crossed himself again. ‘The beginning of the dance…’
Adam and Will looked at each other. The old man was talking in riddles.
‘What dance?’ asked Adam.
‘The Dance of Death,’ said the friar. ‘The Dance of Death…’
Adam and Will looked at each other and laughed. ‘But that’s just a game we all play at Hallowmas,’ said Will. ‘My brother here died only last week. He made such a noise! I’m surprised you didn’t hear him squeal down here. Oink oink, oink oink!’ He laughed.
But the friar wasn’t laughing. ‘Death has started a deadly dance with us all. And the dance won’t stop until we all drop dead.’
The room went quiet. Everyone looked at the friar.
‘God is angry with us,’ he whispered. ‘It is the end of the world, the end of the world…’
One of the drovers wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and burped. ‘Come on, old man; stop scaring these lads with your black tales. And go easy on that cheese. Too much cheese gives a man bad dreams.’
The friar glared around the room. ‘These are the Last Days, I tell you. The French king will not agree peace. King Edward has just buried his baby son, Prince William. And now there are rumours of an evil sickness in France. The King’s daughter was on her way to Spain to be married. But she died on the way. They say that the plague took her…’
Chapter 7
The Great Mortality
Adam broke the silence. ‘What’s a plague?’
‘An invisible cutthroat who creeps up behind you and slits your windpipe. You can’t see him. You can’t hear him. And you can’t touch him.’
Adam felt suddenly cold.
‘It is a sign of God’s anger,’ continued the friar. ‘I have seen floods in France, deeper than in Noah’s time.’
Adam thought about the flooded fields they had passed on their journey.
‘Earthquakes too, in Germany and Italy.’
‘What’s an earthquake?’ asked Will.
‘It’s when the earth opens up and swallows you.’ The friar put a crust of bread in his mouth and swallowed it. ‘Like a great dragon.’
Will shuddered.
‘Many died in Italy when the earth swallowed them alive. Some have seen strange stars in the sky at night. Three years ago Saturn, Jupiter and Mars were in close position. And you know what that means…’
Adam and Will didn’t know what it meant, but the friar didn’t give them chance to ask.
‘It is the Great Mortality,’ he said, cutting himself another slice of cheese. ‘It has many names. Some call it the Blue Sickness. Others call it the Black Plague or the Great Death. The French call it La Peste. In Spain it is known as La Peste Negra. It doesn’t matter what name you give it. Ever since the Fall of Adam and Eve we have been doomed to die. Every man and woman born. This plague means that we shall all die sooner for our sins.’
Adam was starting to feel worried. ‘But why? What have we done? Why does God want to punish us?’
‘God is punishing us for our human wickedness,’ growled the friar. He looked round the room, as if looking for wicked people to punish. ‘God is angry with us all,’ he said, as he began to list the evils of the modern world. ‘Lazy shepherds, crooked me
rchants, vain women, weak kings, priests who preach against the Holy Church, runaway peasants, children who disobey their parents…’
Adam felt sure the friar was looking at him. He had disobeyed his father by running away to London with Will. Was it his fault? Was he to blame for all these disasters? He started to feel sick.
‘How can we protect ourselves?’ asked Will. ‘I mean, if this plague comes to England.’
‘If it comes to England?’ The friar shook his head. ‘It is already here. You mark my words. They say that the plague has lately visited Bristol.’
‘Bristol? Where’s that?’ asked Adam.
The friar ignored Adam’s question. ‘Remember, the plague will only harm those who are wicked. If you fear God and obey the Church, you will be saved. Go to Mass twice a week, pray for forgiveness, walk without shoes, fast once a year and the plague will not harm you.’
‘I don’t care about your plague,’ said one of the drovers, ‘I am not going out on the road in this weather without any shoes to my feet!’
The one-handed man shook his head. ‘There’s only one way to cure the plague,’ he said. ‘First you must place a live hen next to the swelling. That will draw out the sickness from the body. Second, you have to drink a glass of your own water twice a day.’
‘Your own water? You mean… I think I would rather go without shoes than do that!’ laughed Will.
‘No, no, no,’ said the widow. ‘What you have to do is this. First you must roast some egg-shells and grind them into a powder. Then you chop up the leaves of a marigold flower. Put the egg-shells and marigold into a pot of good ale. Add treacle and warm over a fire.’
‘I like the sound of treacle and ale!’ laughed the drover, draining his drink.
‘And the warm fire,’ added Adam, who was still wet from the rain.
The friar scowled and lay down in the straw by the back wall. The woman poured more ale, and the cold chill of the friar’s warnings melted in the heat of their laughter.
But later, when the others were asleep, Adam lay awake on his bed of straw thinking about the old friar’s words. Outside it was still raining. He could hear the rain hammering on the roof. In the distance there was a faint rumble of thunder. He listened to the sound of the others breathing. One of the drovers was snoring loudly, like a barking fox. The baby woke and cried and was comforted by its mother. The pig grunted in its straw on the other side of the cottage. On the beams above Adam’s head, the hens were settling down for the night. Adam listened to the thunder. It was getting closer now, louder, angrier.
