Alis (22 page)

“Give the boy to me!” Thomas’s voice was low and furious.

Peter tightened his hold on Alis and she stared at Thomas, her heart beating fast. Putting her hand gently on the child’s head, she said in her most conciliatory tone, “Master Thomas, won’t you forgive Peter? He has been sufficiently punished for his naughtiness, and he will go home quietly now like a good child, I am sure.”

Red-faced with heat and rage, he stared back at her. “I will decide when he has been sufficiently punished. Give him to me.”

She did not know what to do. She could not yield up the boy who was clinging to her desperately, but she could see that Thomas was not going to back down. To make matters worse they had attracted a small audience, mainly children and a few mothers, who were watching avidly.

When she did not move, Thomas said coldly, “The boy is under my authority. I will punish him as I see fit. The matter does not concern you, and when you are no longer a child yourself you will, perhaps, know better how to conduct yourself.”

Alis felt her cheeks burn and heard Elzbet’s intake of breath: no one spoke to the Minister’s wife like that. She put her arm protectively over Peter’s shoulder. “The welfare of the children of this Community is most decidedly my concern, Master Thomas, and I must tell you that however you do things where you have come from, we do not beat small children publicly for trivial offenses here.”

He curled his lips in contempt. “Whether the offense is trivial is a matter of judgment. But since you object to his being punished where he has offended, I will take him home and attend to the matter there.”

This was too much for Peter, who had ceased his sobbing and turned his head to listen. He slipped free from Alis’s sheltering arm, shot off along the bank, jumped the stream, and disappeared at a run into the trees beyond. Rachel, who had been standing wide-eyed with fright, gave a whimper of terror. Thomas turned toward her but only said sharply, “Get you home, Rachel. Tell your mother that I will be there shortly.”

She gazed at him white-faced, unable to move. Then from among the watchers, a young mother carrying a small girl on one arm stepped forward and took Rachel by the hand. She did not look at Thomas. Saying comfortingly, “Come along, little one. Let us go and find your mother,” she led the child off. Another woman shooed the rest of the children away, leaving Alis and Thomas with only Elzbet as witness. He was still holding the willow rod. Now he tossed it aside.

“Well, Mistress Alis, if the boy should come to harm, no doubt you will feel able to explain to his mother how it came about.”

“He will not come to any harm,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “And if he does, I will most certainly be able to explain to his mother”—she paused—“and to the Elders, also.”

Despite the heat, his face went white. For a moment he seemed to have difficulty breathing. “Do you dare to threaten me?”

Uneasily she remembered the prayer-house fire. Thomas had meant her to be blamed for that: he was dangerous. She said as calmly as she could, “I do not threaten, Master Thomas, but you know well that when a child goes missing, it is a matter for the Elders.”

Now for the first time Elzbet spoke up. “I think, Master Thomas, that some of the older boys will know where Peter goes to hide. If he knows that he will not be any further punished, he will be persuaded to come home, I am sure.”

Thomas hesitated. Then he said stiffly, “I thank you, Mistress Elzbet. Let the matter be closed. Obviously it is not my wish that any harm should come to the child.”

They watched him walk away, and Elzbet let out a long breath. “What ails him?”

“He likes to rule,” Alis said.

“But Peter is not even his own child. Surely Leah does not allow it?” Elzbet’s face was indignant.

“What can Leah do if he says the boy is disobedient? She is already afraid that the Elders will think she lets Peter run wild, having no father at home.”

Alis put out a hand to help her friend up. Elzbet hauled herself to her feet, panting a little and saying, “Well, I must speak to Martin. He has a brother just thirteen who will know the hiding places hereabouts. Let us hope the child has not gone farther afield.”

Peter had not gone far. An hour’s search found him, still tearful, curled up by the wall of the ruined hut in the woods.

 

 

Because he had been found so soon, the Elders did not concern themselves in the matter, but it caused a good deal of talk. Some thought that Alis had done well and that Thomas had been too hard on the child. Others said that Leah should be grateful to him; the boy was fatherless and needed discipline. Thomas regarded Alis coldly whenever they met.

It grew hotter and hotter. The fish lay gasping in the shrunken shallows of the stream, while above swarms of tiny insects danced in the stillness.

A
t last the heat broke. One night there was a storm. Great sheets of lightning lit up the sky. Thunder roared and cracked as if the world would split open. The water bounced off the dry earth and swept down the stream bed until it was more like a river. Then there were days of gentle warmth and blessedly cool nights when it was possible to sleep again.

Late one evening, Alis stood at her doorway breathing the scented night air. Galin was out at the bedside of a dying woman. Moonlight silvered the roofs and pathways, deepening the shadows between the houses. Here and there, a little lamplight glinted behind shutters, but mostly the houses were dark. She wondered what would happen if she made up a bundle, put on her shawl, and walked away into the night. It was tempting. But it would do no good. She had rebelled before, and it had brought only sorrow. She turned wearily and went indoors.

Some hours later she woke suddenly, not knowing what had disturbed her. Perhaps Galin had come home, and the sound of his return had penetrated her sleep. She propped herself up on one elbow and listened. She could hear nothing, but maybe he had come in and was sitting motionless with exhaustion as she had found him on other occasions. Well, she would be a good wife for once and go down to him. Very likely he had not eaten, for he did not look after himself. He was a good pastor. If only he were not her husband!

She opened her chamber door and stopped. Someone was calling her name softly but urgently from outside the house; she could hear it now. Sick or in trouble, and wanting the Minister no doubt, but why did they not use the knocker? She felt her way down the stairs to the front door and unlatched it. She felt a weight against it as she pulled it open and then something fell in at her feet. A girl’s voice said, “Hurry! Get him inside. I have hurt him.”

Alis felt the world tilt madly. The voice was Edge’s, and the figure at her feet in the flood of moonlight was her husband. She thought she had only dreamed her waking and that in a moment she would wake indeed in her narrow bed, but then the figure at her feet groaned. The light fell upon a tufted fair head as the girl half lifted him over the threshold and kicked the door shut. This was no dream. In the renewed darkness the voice that was Edge’s said, “Light a lamp. He needs tending.”

Dazed but obedient, Alis fumbled her way across to the table where the oil lamp stood ready with a tinderbox beside it. Her hands trembled so much she could hardly manage.

Edge, for it was indeed her, was kneeling beside Galin. “Help me get his shirt off. We must bind up the wound.”

Alis stared in horror. His shirt was soaked with blood. Stupidly she said, “What are you doing here? What has happened?”

Edge looked up at her. “It was an accident. He took me by surprise and I went for him with my knife. Don’t stand there like a fool. I need some help.”

When Alis did not move she added savagely, “Do you want him to bleed to death? Fetch some strips of cloth, and hurry!”

The knife had laid his arm open from elbow to shoulder—as deep as the bone in places—and the wound yawned like a great mouth. They bound it tightly but still it bled.

“I must fetch the Healers,” Alis said.

Galin groaned suddenly and opened his eyes. His face was gray in the lamplight and clammy with sweat. In a hoarse whisper he said, “Help me up.”

“He’s better off lying down,” Edge said abruptly, but Galin began to struggle up, groaning in pain. They propped him against the wall. His breathing was ragged and the blood was already soaking through the outer bandage.

“Drink.” His voice was a whispered gasp.

Alis brought him water. He looked deadly sick. “I’ll go for help,” she said. “You stay with him.”

“No, I can’t stop here,” Edge said, terror showing on her face.

“They’ll take me.”

In her confusion Alis had forgotten that it was Edge who was the attacker. “But I must get help. He’ll die.” She did not know what to do. How could this be real?

“Alis.” It was Galin—hoarse still but stronger-voiced now. She knelt down beside him. He put his good hand on her arm. His eyes were shut.

“Who is she?” His breathing was easier and he spoke more clearly.

“She’s called Edge. She’s . . . she was my friend in the city. I don’t know how she comes to be here.”

“Friend?”

She hesitated for an instant in her horror at his injury, but her memory of all that Edge had done for her was too strong. “Yes. A good friend. She looked after me. I might have died without her, or worse. But you mustn’t talk. I will go for the Healers.”

He shook his head weakly. “No Healers.”

She stared at him. “But you’re hurt. Your arm is still bleeding, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s bound tight. Nothing more to be done. No Healers. Stay with me.”

“But . . .” Surely he did not mean it.

“Please.” He gripped her arm.

“All right.” She did not understand, but how could she leave him? She gave him some more water.

He coughed and groaned. A little fresh blood oozed onto the bandage. “Is she still there?”

Alis nodded.

“I want to speak to her.”

Edge crouched down beside him.

With an effort, he turned his head toward her. “Why were you waiting for me?”

“I wasn’t,” Edge said. “I wanted to speak to Alis. I’ve news for her.

But it was too late when I got here. I meant to sit on your doorstep till morning but I fell asleep. I’m sorry I hurt you.” Her voice trembled suddenly. “I didn’t mean to. I was dreaming I was still in the city.

Then—I don’t know—I thought you were attacking me. I . . .”

He shook his head slightly. “It doesn’t matter.” He coughed again, wincing at the pain. Then he said, “You must get away. Come day-break there’ll be no escaping. Help me to my bed first.”

With some difficulty and many pauses for him to breathe, they got him up the narrow stairs and into the front chamber. Once more the blood oozed through the bandage, and the sweat broke out on his forehead. He was breathing raggedly again, gasping as if he could not get all the air he needed. At last he was propped up on the pillows of the bed. When he could speak he said, “Now you must go before it is too late.”

Edge said nervously, “Shouldn’t I wait until the moon goes down? I might be seen.”

He shook his head. “Once this is known, there’ll be a search. You must be as far away as possible.”

He closed his eyes as if he had no more strength to speak. Alis and Edge waited. After a while he said in a weaker voice, “Alis, there is money in the cabinet below, you know where. Give her half of it, and some respectable clothes. If she takes a wagon and is dressed better, she’ll be less noticed.”

He leaned back exhausted and waved them away.

Still dazed with shock, Alis found clothes for Edge and made up a parcel of bread and cheese for her to take with her. The money was little enough but she gave her half as Galin had instructed, putting it on the table so that she did not have to touch Edge’s hand. She shrank from her; she could not help it. Edge said desperately, “Don’t, Alis. It wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have woken me like that.”

Alis cried out in protest, “He couldn’t have known. What if he dies?”

Edge clenched her fists. “He won’t! I’ll go and then you can get help. But Alis, did they catch you? How do you come to be married to him?”

“The boy Luke I told you about—I heard that he was dead. So I came back here.”

Edge nodded. “Better here than life on the streets. But this man, your husband”—she looked incredulous—“how can you care about someone like him?”

How could she explain? She had hated Galin often enough and wished him gone, but never like this. “He’s a good man, kind. Even though you’ve hurt him badly—killed him maybe—he didn’t want you caught, did he?”

Edge flinched. “No—he didn’t. There’s not many men like that; most of them are worse than dogs. Jojo was all right, though, and Dancer, too.” She looked at her right hand and shuddered suddenly. “I hope he doesn’t die. I never wanted to kill anyone.”

Edge sat staring at the table, looking pale and sick. Alis watched her. The sour-metal odor of blood seemed to hang in the air. Surely it could not be true that Galin lay bleeding upstairs. And what was Edge doing in Freeborne?

Alis forced herself to speak. “Come, put on these clothes and tell me the news you came to give me.”

Slowly Edge reached out a hand for the first item. She began to wrap herself in the dark garments Alis had found for her, saying as she did so, “Jojo and I left the city. Things are bad there. Mute’s dead and Weasel lost an eye in a fight—he’s nastier than ever. I mean to try life over the sea if I can, but it’s no good for Jojo. He has pains in his head, forgets things. He’s not fit for a long sea journey, I don’t reckon. And he said he wanted to see his parents so I was bringing him.”

“Is Joel with you?”

Edge shook her head. “Don’t know where he is. He just disappeared one morning. We’d slept the night in a barn and I went off to see if I could find us something to eat. When I got back he was gone. He’d gotten like that.”