The Cross of Lead

by Avi

  I immediately backed up some steps.

  His survey, however, was brief, for he turned and went.

  I recalled Bear saying people would come a great distance for the market day. Even so I asked myself if it was merely accidental that he came to the Green Man’s door. Could he be in search of me? Or Bear?

  I hastened up to our room to tell Bear, but he was still asleep. Reluctant to wake him, I returned to the steps to stay on guard. But as I sat there, I found it impossible to escape the sensation that something dangerous was drawing in upon to us. It put me to mind of the snares Bear used to catch the birds we ate: an unseen loop, pulled tight, until the unsuspecting birds were caught. Perhaps we now were those birds.

  43

  I HAD BEEN SITTING FOR I DON’T know how long when Widow Daventry noticed me. For a moment she stared at me as if she’d not seen me before.

  “You there, boy,” she called, avoiding my name, though she knew it perfectly well. “You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”

  Taken by surprise—for I was sure I hadn’t been told I belonged there—I made no protest but came down the steps. In haste, she took me by an arm and led me away. Though one or two of the men called out, asking who I was, she did not answer.

  “Where’s Bear?” she asked when we entered the back room.

  “Asleep.”

  “You mustn’t be seen,” she said. “He should have told you.”

  I made no reply, assuming Bear had told her of the attack on me, and that she felt a need to protect me. If Bear trusted her, I told myself, so should I.

  I looked about. We were in a kitchen filled with food. On one side stood great barrels. From the smell of them, they contained wine or ale. Against another wall was a brick oven. There were shelves upon the walls where loaves of bread and trenchers lay. They smelled like bliss itself, enough to make my mouth water.

  “Make sure the pies in the oven don’t burn,” the woman told me, handing me a long, shovellike wooden tool. “Place the done ones there,” she said, pointing to the shelf. “There are breads ready to bake in there,” she added, indicating a wooden chest.

  Then she bustled out, but not before saying firmly, “And stay in here.”

  I peeked into the oven where the pies were baking. With the tool I’d been given, I reached in and fetched out some. Seeing that they were not so brown as those on the shelves, I returned them to the heat.

  While waiting, now and again adding more wood to the oven fire, I looked about me, amazed anew at the quantities of foods I saw. Dangling from a ceiling hook was a piece of meat as large as I had ever seen, spotted thickly with flies. Bunches of herbs—I recognized parsley, sage, and rosemary—hung from the ceiling, as did onions and leeks. Turnips and cabbages sat on shelves. Bushels of grain were there. There were clay jars and bowls aplenty, filled with I knew not what. Everything had a different smell, some pleasing, others not.

  After a while I rechecked the oven. The pies were now uniformly brown. In haste, I slid them out and attempted to place them on the shelves with the others, all but scorching my hand. One was so hot it slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground, where it broke open.

  In a panic, I scooped up the pieces and tried to push them together. When the bits failed to stay, I looked for a place to hide the damage, but finding none, I simply ate it, bolting the pieces like a hungry dog.

  Despite my nervousness—and the speed with which I ate—I could hardly believe how rich and fine it tasted, filled with savory things I had never eaten and could not name. What’s more, being hot from the oven, it filled me with a pleasing warmth.

  Widow Daventry bustled in. “Have you taken the pies out?”

  Feeling guilty, I said, “I put them on the shelf”

  She considered them, then me. “Except for the one you ate,” she said. She opened a wooden chest and took up five unbaked loaves of bread. “Bake these,” she said, “but eat no more,” she admonished before hurrying out.

  Embarrassed, I did as I’d been told, being much more careful this time. Still, I confess, the memory of the goodness lingered for a long time in my mouth.

  After a while Widow Daventry returned. “Now come with me,” she said, and led me into the tavern room. It was empty of her customers. What remained were scraps of bread upon on the floor, and mostly empty tankards on the tables.

  “Gather up the tankards,” she commanded. “And bring them to me.”

  I did as I was told. She took them, sloshing out what remained onto the floor.

  We worked in silence. She seemed tense. But then, as if she’d been thinking the matter over for some time, she said, “Crispin, I’m sorry for your troubles, but if ever a boy could find a good master, you’ve found him in Bear. As God is merciful, keep him close to his true calling—his juggling and his music. Don’t let him mingle too much with those who would cause trouble. Because"—she looked at me as if I knew something I didn’t—"if you don’t help him, things could go much the worse for you both.”

  44

  WHEN BEAR FINALLY APPEARED, he fairly stumbled down the steps, bawling for his breakfast. He had not put on his split hat.

  “Crispin,” he said when he saw me standing there, broom in hand, “with the widow demanding two pennies a day for our keep, it’s good to see you working. Where is the good dame?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Be so kind as to fetch her.”

  When I did, she had me carry in two of her meat pies plus a tankard of ale, which I set before Bear.

  “Ah, Widow,” he said with a grin, “I’m glad the boy is toiling on our bill. For the love of Christ, all need to work honestly for their bread.”

  “And I trust you will too,” she said.

  “So I shall,” he said, hand to his heart. “Except this morning I’ve things to which I must attend. Now, I don’t want this boy out upon the town again. It will be a mercy if you keep him busy and so reduce our debt. Can you?”

  Widow Daventry, who didn’t look too pleased, wiped her hands on her vest. “There’s always work in the kitchen. Just join me when he’s done,” she said to me and started from the room. At the doorway she paused.

  “Are you meeting with John Ball again?” she asked.

  “Widow,” Bear returned severely with a glance at me, “less said, less to deny.”

  She glared but left us alone.

  “Crispin,” Bear said to me between bites of food and swallows of drink as I stood opposite him, “beyond what she tells you to do, you need to attend to your music. Practice in our room. Otherwise your sinful caterwauling will turn aside her trade.

  “Now,” he said, speaking softer so only I might hear, “after None—when my business is over—you and I shall leave Great Wexly.”

  “I want that, too,” I said, much relieved. “But can’t I go with you this morning?”

  “It’s of no concern to yours. In any case you’ll be safer here.”

  “I think someone’s spying on us,” I said.

  “Explain yourself”

  “Do you remember the first village we performed in? You teased a one-eyed man.”

  “Did I? How?”

  “You made him angry when you toyed with his mazer. What’s more, he followed us into their church. He listened when the priest told you about the boy who killed Father Quinel. And when there was talk of the reward money, he looked at me closely. And, remember? You said we’d be here this day.”

  “You’ve been observant,” said Bear, attending mostly to his food. “But what of it?”

  “That same young man came to the door. He looked around and went away.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Bear frowned. “If he’s a spy, he’s a clumsy one. If he’s after you we don’t need to worry. My business will be quickly done. You’ll stay here and keep out of sight. Then we’ll go.”

  “But, Bear, I think I
saw someone across the alley last night, too.”

  “The same person?”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “Crispin,” he said, “for one so unwilling to see the world when first we met, perhaps you notice too much now.”

  “You’ve been protecting me,” I said. “Maybe I should be protecting you.”

  Bear looked around at me and grinned. “I like the thought. When I’m an old man I’ll remind you of it. But for now, be easy.”

  When Bear had fairly stuffed himself with food and drunk down the remainder of his ale in one great gulp, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose up.

  “Remember,” he said. “This time you must stay here.” Then, without any further words, he left.

  I followed him out the front door and saw him stride through the crowded street.

  Just to see him go off made me nervous. And sure enough, as Bear moved through the crowd, I observed the one-eyed man step out into the street and look after him.

  He was not alone. A man dressed in the blue-and-gold livery of Lord Furnival’s house was with him. What’s more, the one-eyed man pointed in the direction Bear had taken.

  I could have no doubt: the young man was after Bear, not me.

  Even so, when the one-eyed man turned in my direction, I quickly ducked inside. What he might have done I didn’t know, because I raced down the hall to the back door and leaped out into the alley and began to run. As soon as opportunity allowed, I went to the main street, and ran in the direction Bear had gone. I had to warn him.

  45

  I CAUGHT SIGHT OF BEAR ALMOST immediately. As he was so tall, his bald head all but gleaming, it was easy to follow him as he moved along the main street. Though his long strides kept him beyond my reach, I could follow without being observed.

  It being the Feast of Saint John the Baptist, a market day, the streets of Great Wexly were crammed with even more people than the day before. Every alley and lane was filled. The noise was deafening.

  I, who had every reason to stay unnoticed, was grateful for the crowds, and more so when I saw soldiers. Whether they were looking for me, or Bear, or just keeping order, I didn’t know. I only knew I must avoid them.

  Perhaps Bear saw them too, for now he plunged down a narrow side alley. I followed. Here, my pursuit proved harder, for he moved faster than before, turning this way and that, almost as if he knew I might be on his heels. Once, twice, I thought I lost him. Fortunately, his great height always gave him away.

  He had gone on in this fashion for some time when I saw him duck into a building.

  It was a large timbered structure, three stories high, the second and third levels leaning far over the alley upon which it faced. On the first, street level, was a large, shuttered window.

  Over the door hung a board upon which an image of a boot had been painted. By this, I took it to mean that boots and shoes were made and sold there.

  At first I hung back, keeping my eyes on the door to see if Bear would re-emerge. He didn’t, but a few other men went in, some of them, I thought, looking furtively about as they entered. It was as if they too feared being noticed.

  Nervous that Bear would be annoyed with me for disobeying his orders a second time, I decided not to go to him but remained on watch, my eyes alert for either the one-eyed man, soldiers, or men in blue-and-gold livery. But though the alleyway was full of passersby, I saw no one that gave me any reason for concern.

  I was about to move on, with the thought of peeking through cracks in the building’s front shutters, when another man appeared. A short man, he had a great dark cloak about him, hiding whatever clothes he wore. The hood concealed his hair. He too looked about as if to make certain no one saw what he did. Then he entered the house.

  It was John Ball.

  There could be no more doubt that this was more of Bear’s dangerous business, from which he had warned me to keep away. I had little doubt I’d not be welcome if he discovered I was close.

  Even so, my curiosity held me. As I passed the building I discovered a narrow passageway running by its further side. Pausing, I looked about to make sure I was not being observed, then slipped within it.

  The passageway was narrow, but I easily made my way until I faced a rough stone wall. Having gone so far, I decided to climb it.

  From the top of the wall I peered down into a small garden of flowers and herbs. The garden was surrounded by three walls built of rough stone, the other two being not much higher than the one I’d just climbed. The back of the house served as the fourth wall. The place was deserted.

  I dropped down into it.

  Facing the rear of the building, I now discovered a back door had been left partially open. I started to move toward it, only to be arrested by the sound of a passionate voice which said:

  “… that no man, or woman either, shall be enslaved, but stand free and equal to one another. That all fees, obligations, and manorial rights be abolished immediately. That land must be given freely to all with a rent of no more than four pennies per acre per year. Unfair taxes must be abolished. Instead of petty tyrants, all laws shall be made by the consent of a general commons of all true and righteous men.

  “Above all persons, our lawful king shall truly reign, but no privileged or corrupt parliaments or councilors.

  “The church, as it exists, should be allowed to wither. Corrupt priests and bishops must be expelled from our churches. In their place will stand true and holy priests who shall have no wealth or rights above the common man….”

  The more I listened, the more startled I was that I understood what John Ball was saying, that he was, in fact, describing the way I had lived, and how it was wrong and could be made right. But as his words went on, I realized too how hazardous this business truly was, nothing less than rebellion against the realm of England.

  Backing away from the door, I managed to climb the wall and moved hurriedly along the narrow alley toward the street. My intent was to return to the inn, there to await Bear and our departure from Great Wexly.

  Before stepping from the passage between the buildings, I took the precaution of looking up and down the passageway to see if I was being observed. Which is how I spied a group of soldiers coming toward me along the street.

  They were such as I had seen by the town walls: armor on their chests and rusty metal caps on their heads. Broadswords were in their hands. Daggers were at their hips.

  They were being led by a man who wore a vest of chain mail over a quilted blue jacket. In his hands he carried a crossbow. His helmet bore a crest of blue and gold. But I knew him as John Aycliffe. By his side was the one-eyed man.

  46

  HURRIEDLY, I PULLED BACK INTO the narrow passageway, but peeked out, watching as the soldiers paused. The one-eyed man pointed to the sign of the boot that hung from the building into which Bear and John Ball had gone.

  The moment the building was singled out, I had no doubt as to what John Aycliffe was intending.

  Wasting no time, I plunged down the narrow passage between the buildings, clambered up the wall, and slipped down into the garden a second time. This time, however, I didn’t pause at the rear door, but yanked it open.

  I looked in upon a small room filled with benches upon which sat some seven men, Bear among them. Standing before them was John Ball.

  “Bear,” I shouted, “soldiers are coming!”

  At the sound of my voice, he leaped up and spun about to face me. “Where?”

  “On the street.”

  Even as I spoke, there was a great crash from the front of the house: the door being broken in.

  “We are betrayed,” John Ball thundered. “Save yourselves!”

  There was a wild scramble for the rear door, as the men, Bear among them, raced to get out. I had to leap aside so as not to be trampled.

  Once the men were in the garden, Bear took command. Using his great height and strength, he fairly lifted the men onto the back wall one by one. Once there, they swu
ng their legs over, dropped down, and disappeared.

  The last to go was John Ball.

  At the top, the priest hesitated, and called: “Bear, don’t lose heart. Put your faith in mighty God and me. We’ll meet again tonight at the White Stag.” Then he too vanished.

  Bear swung about. “Crispin,” he said, holding out his arms.

  I ran to him. He picked me up and all but flung me to the top of the wall. From there I looked into a narrow alley in which people were passing, one or two who looked up at me with nothing more than idle curiosity. Farther down the way—turning a corner—I could just see John Ball scurrying off.

  I looked back toward Bear. He had just begun to climb the wall when the soldiers burst out of the house and into the garden.

  “Go, Crispin,” Bear cried. “Get out of the city. It’s you they want, not me.”

  I dropped into the alley. But instead of running off I stood in place. Heart pounding, I strained to listening, trying to guess what was happening on the other side of the wall. What I heard were shouts: “Hold him. Secure him.” Then came the sound of blows. Finally—as though from a greater distance—I heard cries, a scream, more shouts. Then, no more.

  Frantic, but hardly knowing what to do—go to the aid of Bear or take care of myself—I hesitated. Guilt and fear engulfed me equally. Unable to abide not knowing what had happened, I climbed back upon the wall and looked into the garden.

  It was empty.

  I swung over it, dropped back down, ran toward the door and stepped inside.

  The room where the meeting had taken place was a shambles. Nor was anyone there.

  Opposite the door by which I’d entered was another open door. I ran through it only to find greater disorder. Several low worktables had been overturned. Shoes, slippers, and boots—in various stages of manufacture—lay scattered.

  I went through another door that led me into the front room of the house. On two trestle tables, shoes and boots were displayed. And here a soldier was standing looking out the broken front door.