At the Edge of the World (12 page)

32

W
E SET
out the next day at dawn. Beneath low clouds, the sky was layered bloodred, the air damp enough to promise rain. Richard Dudley led the way on his horse. The other soldiers marched behind, Bear, Troth, and I among them.

At one point, Dudley wheeled about and came back to speak a few words to Bear. I did not hear them. When I asked Bear what was said, he would only shake his head. His look, however, was grim enough to fill me with foreboding.

We went on. Our pace was moderate, for which I was grateful since Bear seemed weaker. He had begun to limp again and clutch the old wound. All I could think was: we must get him free.

Midmorning, a chill rain began to fall. Sometimes heavy, it turned the road and us muddy. A few times the oxcart bogged down and needed pushing and pulling to keep it going.

The farther we went, the more somber the men grew.

“Bear,” I said, “what’s going to happen?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” he said.

It was afternoon—the rain had become a gray drizzle—when we emerged from a small thicket of trees and paused. Dudley cantered back to Bear.

“The village I told you about this morning is just ahead,” he said. “We’ll get provisions there. Do you still not wish to take part? You can show off your sword skills.”

Bear shook his head.

“But you will watch,” said Dudley. “Next time—that’s the important one—you’ll have no choice. Is that understood?”

When Bear only nodded, Dudley galloped off.

“Bear—” I said, “you must tell us what’s going to happen.

“They are going to attack a village.”

“Attack!” I cried.

“And loot it.”

Troth, not knowing the word, said, “What’s
loot?”

“To steal.”

“Does some enemy of theirs live there?” she asked.

“Their enemy is whoever they choose to call such,” said Bear.

The soldiers gathered round the oxcart. From beneath its canvas cover, they took up body armor and helmets. There were mostly dull and rusty pieces, battle-battered. Broadswords were hefted, shields gripped. Five of the men, archers, filled their quivers with arrows.

It did not take long for the men to ready themselves. A rough, ragged, and motley lot, they bristled like hedgehogs with their weaponry. Though sullen, many knelt and offered up reverent prayers and crossed themselves. Richard Dudley did the same.

When their observances were complete—marked by Dudley’s standing and putting on his helmet—they moved out from beneath the cover of the trees. It was then I noticed that one of the men—armed with a sword—had been posted to guard us closely.

We moved with the others until I saw the village they were about to strike. It consisted of some fifteen small stone houses on a hillside, set so close together I was reminded of a flock of huddled sheep. Tilled fields lay below on flat land. The houses, built of russet stone, had large wooden doors braced with iron fittings. Roofs were of red tile. Windows were small, without covering. I think I saw a little church. The air was gray, the fields dull green.

Though drizzling, perhaps fifteen people—men, women, and children—were in the field before the village. They looked no different from English peasants: boots, brown tunics, caps of muted color. One man was using an ox to break the soil with a wheeled plow. The rest were also working the earth with steady thrusts of spades. I might as well have been in my own English home.

We three were ordered to remain where we were—behind the soldiers—and observe. Our guard stood closest to Troth—as if she were the prize.

Before us, the muddy soldiers were drawn up in a long line. Led by Dudley, they began to move forward. As they did, a cock crowed. I shivered with fright.

There was nothing forceful or rushed in the soldiers’ forward advance. Instead, they moved with a severe steadiness that bespoke their harrowing intent. In the center of the line came the five archers, bows in hand, each with an arrow nocked.

“Bear!” I said, “They are—”

“Be quiet!” snapped our guard.

“God have mercy,” whispered Bear, and made the sign of the cross. Troth started to cover her eyes, but was so transfixed she did not do so.

The soldiers were no more than a hundred yards from the village when one of the field women stood to stretch her back. In so doing, she happened to glance round. Seeing the soldiers coming, she let out a shriek, hoisted her tunic, and ran. Startled, the other villagers looked up. Tools were dropped or flung away. The ox was abandoned. The peasants scrambled toward their houses.

Drawing bowstrings to their ears, the archers loosed their arrows. I watched—amazed—as each archer sent off some ten arrows in almost no time at all. The arrows flew in great, high arcs with a thin,
hishing
sound—only to plunge with terrible speed. Five people fell.

Even as they dropped, Richard Dudley raised his sword. He and the two horsemen galloped forward. The other soldiers—save the cook and the one who guarded us—dashed forward, swords in hand, bellowing as they went. Anyone who stood in their way was struck down.

Terrified people burst from houses, trying to escape. A few attempted to stand firm with sticks or rods. One or two had swords. I think I saw a priest. I heard a bell clang. But the resistance lasted no more than moments. All were over-186whelmed. My own eyes saw some two dozen killed, mostly men, but a few women. At least two children. The priest as well.

I sank to my knees, horrified. Troth began to cry. Bear swore mightily.

Our guard laughed.

There was more. As I looked on, the soldiers began kicking doors open, moving in and out of houses, taking what they chose. They met no opposition. Mostly they took food and drink. There were too, or so I heard, a few coins stolen, perhaps some weapons. The plunder was heaped into the cart that the cook had guided to the village center to receive the goods.

Butchery and looting complete, Dudley and his free company marched off, leaving the living to bemoan their fate. As they trudged along the muddy road, the soldiers talked brightly, boasting with mirth of their martial deeds, their faces streaked with helmet rust and blood. Wine was drunk. Some men staggered. A stolen ox, tethered to the cart, was led along. Once, twice, he bellowed.

I hardly knew what to think or say. The high spirits of the soldiers brought me the deepest pain. Bear spoke not at all. Troth, by my side, now and again took my hand. That hand was cold, and trembled.

I turned to Bear more than once. All I could ask was, “Why?”

“We’ll talk later,” he muttered and cast a darting glance at the men around us by way of warning. I said no more.

But Heaven—with its gentle, if unceasing rain—wept.

33

T
HAT NIGHT
, after camp was set atop a small hill—their usual defensive practice—the soldiers made merry. They drank much and sang harsh songs. Dudley joined them. At one point, he staggered up to us—for we sat glumly apart—and, pointing right at Troth, shouted, “Tomorrow, ugly one, you’ll be there with us!”

As he stumbled away, Bear reached out and drew Troth to his chest. She pulled away and sat rigidly, fingering her hawthorn sprig, staring I knew not where. Though not said, we understood the need to wait until we could talk privately.

Gradually, the soldiers succumbed to sleep. Such light as there was came from the dwindling central fire. I could just see Bear’s face—wan, full of sorrow. Troth’s visage—pale, tense.

“Bear,” I whispered, “you must talk to us.”

He shook his great head. “God’s truth! What can I tell you that you don’t already know?”

“Why did these men do such a thing?”

He took a deep breath. “Earlier this year, the Duke of Lancaster—he for King Edward—and the Frenchman, Bernard Du Guesclin—he for his King Charles—made a truce. Which is to say, yet another pause in this never-ending war. As usually happens, there are dismissed soldiers with nowhere to go. Answering to no lord, they do as they choose, plundering as they wish. Free companies, they’re called. Though they may send their prayers to our Jesus, they’re no better than those who killed Him. Brigands. Murderers.”

He became silent.

In that silence, I said, “Bear, those stories you told Dudley, about those things you said you did when a soldier. You … were you making them up … weren’t you … to gain their trust?”

Bear looked at me, eyes full of pain. He started to speak, stopped, took a deep breath and spoke most haltingly. “Crispin,” he said, “on Judgment Day … when …189when all shall kneel to be judged before our Blessed Lord, no man who has warred shall be unblemished.”

Stunned by what he was saying, I was afraid to speak. My eyes filled with tears.

Bear reached out, touched my cheek and whispered, “A child’s tear is the true holy water.”

I could not speak.

“Listen well,” said Bear, recovering some strength in his voice. “Both of you. Most of my days I lived for myself. I was free. I was a sinner, like these men, but, as God knows, not all I did was bad. But much was. Then you two came. Crispin first. Then Troth. In the full measure of my life, it’s not been for so very long. I can only pray that God will say it’s enough. To find such love as I have for both of you is to bind oneself to life, and living. And as my Lord Jesus knows and teaches—a new, and loving life cleanses the old.”

“And you
are
kind!” I cried.

“And good!” added Troth.

“I pray that God may forgive me as generously as you two do!” said Bear. Impulsively, he reached out and hugged us to his chest. “It’s you,” he whispered, “who are my redemption. In children there is mercy.”

“Bear—” I said.

“Crispin, I am tired to my soul. More than tired.”

“What do you mean?” I cried.

“I must rest. To find some place and stay. I’ve wandered too much. My sins hold me back so that I can hardly move.”

Then Troth, very softly, asked, “What will happen tomorrow?”

“Richard Dudley means to attack the village of which he spoke. You heard him: he claims a fortune is to be found there. He insists that in you, Troth—being small and agile—he’s found a way to reach it. Exactly how, I don’t know. But I will make every effort to ensure you’re safe.”

“We should run off now,” I said.

Bear shook his head. “Crispin, by our Blessed Lady, we cannot. They are watching us. If we try to escape, we’ll be cut down. Or at least you and I. They mean to use Troth. We need to be here for her. We’ll know more tomorrow. Let’s hope all goes well.”

I said, “You once told me a wise man has as many hopes as reasons. Is that all that’s left to you—hope?”

He sighed. I studied Bear’s face. He
had
become old.

He reached out and chucked me on the chin. “Yes, hope.”

“Hope for what?” I cried.

“That we do not,” he whispered, “fail each other.”

34

D
AWN CAME
with gray skies, the air sweet and soft, holding hints of more rain. The trees upon the hill where we camped, stirred in a gentle breeze. Birds flew high and in haste, as if—I thought—to escape. How I wished we had such wings! How I dreaded the coming day!

The cook broke our fast with bowls of mashed wheat grain. We ate with our fingers. The soldiers, stiff and slow to rise, put themselves into battle garb. After their night of revelry, they were sober in mind and spirit again. Some, as before, went on their knees in prayer.

What kind of men—I wondered—were these that killed by day, drank by night, but prayed each morning?

Richard Dudley did not deign to speak to us. Instead, he urged his men to complete their preparations. Only when that was done, did he mount his horse and lead the way from the encampment. As before, we three were herded among the rest and made to march along. Bear limped and offered no talk. It caused me grief to see him so resigned. If ever there was a time, I told myself, now I must be a man. But even as I had the thought, I made a correction: no, I thought, be just yourself and find a way to free Bear and Troth.

Toward midday, we worked our way just behind the forested crest of another hill. It was there, among some trees, partly hidden, that Dudley called a halt. He ordered his troops to stay back. No fire could be made lest it give off smoke.

He came to us. “Follow me,” he commanded.

We went to one side of the hill, standing among some trees from where we were able to gaze out upon a flat plain. Dudley drew Troth to him roughly and made her stand before him, putting his thick hands on her shoulders so she could not bolt. That he even touched her filled me with rage.

Bear and I stood to either side—as close as we dared.

What we saw was a sweet, green valley, tilled fields, occasional trees, a pond or two, plus a serpentine river that ran through all. People were at work in the fields. Near the center of this unruffled world stood a circle of a village with some fifty structures set about a tree-filled center. No wall around it. Instead, the river flowed toward it, and then went completely around it—thus serving as a wide moat that provided protection.

A drawbridge crossed the water. At the point where this bridge crossed, a castle stood within. Built of dark gray stone, it was some four levels high, longer than wide, with a crenellated rampart. At the end nearest the river moat, a round keep had been built. It had a fair number of arrow slits from which archers could shoot down to defend the bridge. Here and there, a corbel had been built for the same purpose. The keep’s top rampart was also crenellated. From it hung a flag.

“That,” said Richard Dudley, “is Bources. And
there
is our treasure.” He swung about, and pointed to a large church built of the same gray stone as the castle. But the church stood
outside
the moat.

At first glance, the church looked no different from other churches I had seen. Longer than it was wide, it had extensions to either side to give it the shape of a cross. The main entry—large double wooden doors—was at the side rather than at the front of the church. A cross stood above it.

But here, one end of the church abutted the river. At the other end was a tower—part of the church, but not a spire. The high cross was elsewhere. This tower was a tall, square structure with a pointed roof. From what I could see, its entryway must have been
within
the church. Moreover, the upper part of this tower had slits from which one might shoot arrows down. In short, it was something I had never seen before: a fortified church. In so being, it also guarded the drawbridge that crossed the river.

“King Edward,” said Dudley with a grin, “decreed that the church, not the garrison, should protect the treasure. Which is to say, he trusted his priests more than his officers.”

“How do you intend to get at it?” asked Bear.

“A deception,” said Dudley. “Most of the soldiers are in that castle,” he said. “The flag proclaims as much. My men and I shall act as if we intend to attack it, that we are laying on a siege. That will keep all forces within the castle, as well as draw those who are stationed in the church. That will leave the church unguarded—save a few. Of course it will be closed. But happily, there is a opening at the base of the tower. Can you see it?”

We looked. I could see a small hole near the base of the fortified tower.

“Why is it there?” asked Dudley. “Well now, do you see how the church is set up against the river moat? At times the river rises and floods. That water floods the church. But those holes—and at the other end—allow the water to flow out.

“The river-end hole sits beneath the waterline. And the land-side hole is too small for any grown man. But it’s not,” he said, slapping his hands hard down on Troth’s shoulders, “too small for this unhappy girl.

“Very well then, my ugly one,” he went on. “You shall go through the opening, slip inside, thereby gaining access to the church. Once within, you’ll open the doors. We shall be waiting and watching. The moment we see the doors swing out, my troops and I shall wheel about, enter the church, and pluck up the treasure.”

“How are the doors kept closed?” Bear asked.

“A wooden crossbeam. On the inside. Is she strong?” Dudley asked.

“Strong enough,” said Bear. Then he asked, “Will there not be soldiers inside the church?”

Dudley shrugged. “At most, the few who barred the door from within. It shall be the girl’s task to get by them.”

“And if she cannot?”

“We’ll try again. With your boy. With two chances, we should succeed.”

Bear struggled for words. “Whose soldiers are in the castle?”

“The flag tells us it’s an English garrison.”

“Then you’re attacking your own people,” said Bear.

“They would as soon slay me.”

“Is it not King Edward’s wealth?”

“You said he died. Well, then, I proclaim it forfeit.”

We stared silently at the view before us. “When do you intend to do this?”

“Right now. Before we’re discovered. Very well: I have instructed the girl what to do. Have I been clear? Answer me!

“Yes,” said Troth.

“What did she say?” demanded Dudley. “I can’t understand her.”

“She said yes,” said Bear.

“Then she spoke well! Now then,” he said to Bear, “you will be with me while we attack the castle—even as she enters the church.”

“And the boy?”

“He will remain behind—with the cook. If the girl fails, we’ll use him to do the job. What say you, boy?”

“Bear’s not strong enough,” I said. “Let me go in his place.”

“Absolutely not,” said Bear quickly.

“But—”

“Crispin!” cried Bear. “Do as he says.”

I stared at him, hardly knowing what to think or feel: furious about what was happening, angry that he was still trying to protect me, afraid that I was being left alone, frustrated that I would not be able to do anything.

Dudley, however, only smiled. “So be it,” he said.

“Now, tell me … what will happen to me?” said Bear. He was struggling to contain his anger.

“As I said, you shall stay by my side,” said Dudley. “With a halter round your neck. To keep you from escap-ing.

“A halter!” I cried.

“Shhh!” said Bear. “Will I be armed?”

“I think not,” said Dudley with something of a smile. “You might attack me. No, you shall be held hostage until the girl—or boy—achieves what I desire. So then, girl, boy, hear me well: if you do
not
succeed in the task I’ve set you, I’ll slay your father. Is that understood? The treasure in the church is his ransom. Which is to say, it’s on you whether he lives or dies. Help me get the treasure, and you shall all be freed. Fail, and his life—and yours—are forfeit. Is that clearly understood?”

Troth could only nod. I suppose I did too.

Dudley turned to Bear. “Now, get yourself some armor.”