Crossing To Paradise (30 page)

“But you don't use it, I hope,” Oliver said darkly. “Your left hand.”

“I found a Saracen doctor in Venice,” Austin told them, “and he had a cure. All kinds of herbs I'd never even heard of before.”

“You see,” said Gatty. “It's like I said. They've got medicines and know about the stars and singing and snake-charming. They haven't got tails.”

“But they are not Christian,” said Oliver, between his teeth.

“The Saracens are certainly infidels,” Austin said, “but a fair number of them live in Venice and they do have great skills. They're good, kind people. I've seen them with my own eyes. Your Gatty, she's an eager student!”

Oliver sniffed. “I dare say,” he said. And then he relented. “You taught her to read? And write?”

“As you asked me to do,” Austin replied.

Oliver puffed himself up a little and beamed. “To the best of my knowledge,” he declared, “Gatty is one of a kind.”

“One Gatty is quite enough!” said Sir John.

“I mean,” Oliver went on, “outside the monasteries, is there any other Marcher woman, any at all, young or old, who can read and write?”

“I just remembered something,” said Gatty.

“I have just remembered something,” Oliver corrected her.

“Yes.” Gatty scooped up the gown of her cloak, still spotted with mud and dung; she thumbed-and-forefingered the hem, and then began to tear at it with her teeth.

The others watched her without saying a word.

“That's it!” Gatty exclaimed triumphantly, ripping the hem and secreting something in the palm of her hand. “Poor old cloak!”

“What is it, Gatty?” Sir John asked.

“I forgot and I just…I have just remembered. Before Lady Gwyneth died, she gave me something and said I mustn't tell no one about it. No one at all.” Gatty smiled ruefully at Snout. “Not until I got home.” Gatty turned to Austin. “And then, Lady Gwyneth said, I must be certain to give it to you.”

Gatty opened the palm of her right hand. On it lay the little almond-shaped silver seal. The dragon, winking.

Austin's white face flushed. “You know what this is?”

“No,” said Gatty. “Must be important, though.”

The priest's breath was quite jerky. “Oh yes!” he said. “In her will, Lady Gwyneth speaks of this seal.
Y ddraig.
The dragon.”

“What is it, then?” Lady Helen asked.

“Lady Gwyneth says that if she falls mortally ill while she's on pilgrimage, she will entrust this seal to another person, and tell that person to give it to me—to give it to me once we're back home.”

“Like I have,” said Gatty.

“Like I have done,” said Oliver under his breath.

“In her will,” Austin continued, “Lady Gwyneth says that if anyone should give me this seal within twelve months of her death…”

“What?” asked Sir John.

“…it would be because that person had rendered her the very greatest service, and that person would in return be entitled to a parcel of Lady Gwyneth's own land.”

Lady Helen clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Land?” Sir John repeated, looking very serious.

“Her own acres,” said Austin, “close to Ewloe Castle.”

Sir John looked at Gatty, and frowned. “Are you sure?” he said.

“Quite sure,” said Austin.

“But she's…well, a chamber-servant.”

“Sir John,” Austin said firmly, “this chamber-servant reached Jerusalem, saved Lady Gwyneth's soul. She alone has enabled Lady Gwyneth to cross to paradise and see her baby son, Griffith ap Robert, again. I know, if anyone does, how very greatly she esteemed Gatty.”

Sir John looked at Gatty, this girl he had known since the day she was born. “I've never heard of such a thing,” he said. “It won't be easy for you to claim it.”

“You understand?” Austin told Gatty. “Your own land.”

“Me?” said Gatty.

“Oh, Gatty!” cried Lady Helen. “This will change your life.”

“It certainly will,” said Sir John. “With land comes responsibility. You'll have duties to the people who work your land, just as they will have duties to you. With land comes position and respect.”

“Your own chamber-servant!” Lady Helen exclaimed. “What you wear and what you eat and what you eat off and what you drink and who you know and…”

“Yes,” said Sir John. “This will change everything.”

“Go
up to Arthur's old room, then,” Lady Helen said. “That's empty.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“I can't think why, though,” she added. “The hall's warmer.” And then, as Gatty bounded up the fourteen wooden steps to the gallery, carrying her cloak and saddlebag, “Don't take long now! Gatty!”

Arthur's old room wasn't empty, though.

Gatty inspected the slice of apple-tree trunk—the one she had helped to haul up from the Yard and Arthur used as a perch for his inkwell. She sat in the short window seat, and put up her knees, and pressed her back against one side of the alcove and her feet against the other. She felt the late afternoon wind, chill on her cheek as it funneled though the wind-eye, slightly hissing. She ran her hand over the ramping dragon Arthur had cut into the stone on the left side of the alcove. She listened to something or other scritching in the thatch.

The small stone room was charged with memories.

Gatty began to peel off her clothes, and as she did she remembered snatches of the song she had sung almost twelve months before:

Will I be standing in the manger?
Will I be kneeling at His crib?
I got no gift I can bring,
But I can sing…I'll bring songs!

The church bell began to ring: first two jerky croaks, somehow caught in the bell's bronze throat, but then a clear, lovely, rhythmical pealing.

A church service, thought Gatty. For me? Well, me and Snout.

Gatty drew her beautiful yellowy-green silk dress from her saddlebag and carefully spread it out on the flagstones.

No, she thought. I can't! I can't wear it. Who does she think she is? That's what they'll say. Everyone will.

Gatty stared down at the dress.

Maybe Joan's right. I'm not the same. Not the same as I was.

I am, though. I'm the same but not the same because I seen so much and learned so much. But being different isn't wrong, is it? That old man in the pound, he said difference can be a threat but it can be a wonder.

Gatty inched her tongue through her lips. I am who I am, she thought, and I can't do nothing about it. They'll get used to it. They'll have to.

I know! I'll cover my dress up in church. I won't let no one see it, not until after.

Gatty pulled off her tunic. Then she raised the dress over her head, and she slid her freckled arms into its airy, gorgeous sleeves.

It's strange, she thought. These sleeve-dragons with their pearl eyes, and Arthur's alcove-dragon here; my silver seal-dragon; and Lady Gwyneth with dragon's blood in her veins. Dragons everywhere!

Gatty's dress rustled and settled around her. When she pinched the silk, it stayed pinched—and she almost had to pinch herself to believe it was really hers. She placed the grey-green sash around her slim waist, and clasped the square, silver buckle.

Before she had time to find and put on the amber necklace Signor Umberto had given her, Gatty heard steps galloping up the staircase. Very quickly she gathered her cloak around her.

The door burst open.

“Gatty!” exclaimed Sian. “Are you ready?”

“No!” said Gatty.

“You've got to be. Everyone's waiting.”

Gatty pulled her violet ribbon out of her bag. “Here,” she said, “tie this round my wrist.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so.”

“Cert-ain-ly, my la-dy!” Sian replied, exaggerating each syllable. “Come on! Everyone's here!”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Stephen. Lady Judith.”

“Lord Stephen!”

“Sir Walter de Verdon and Lady Anne.”

“Them!” exclaimed Gatty.

“Sian!” called a voice from far below. “Gatty!” It was Lady Helen.

“I didn't know they were coming,” Gatty said.

“Much better than that!” said Sian, her eyes flashing.

“Oh no!” cried Gatty, alarmed.

“What's wrong?”

“I didn't know! I didn't know they were. I just wish…”

“What, Gatty?”

“I just wish, well, it was everyone at Caldicot. I wish Nest were here.”

“Who?”

“She's good at all this. Better than I'll ever be. I haven't even run a comb through my hair.”

“You never did before,” said Sian in a surprised voice.

“Here! Help me with this hairnet.”

“It's gold thread!” breathed Sian.

“Just fix it with these pins. Now! My perfume.”

“Perfume!”

Gatty rummaged in her saddlebag and uncorked a small pot. Then she dipped her little fingertip into it, and dabbed it behind Sian's left ear.

“Eek!” exclaimed Sian. “It smells like Christmas!”

“Cinnamon and sandalwood and musk,” Gatty told her, dabbing some onto herself. “Now this.”

“What is it?”

“For your lips. Brazilwood cream.”

“You're different, Gatty,” said Sian enthusiastically. “What else have you got?”

“Gatty! Sian!” It was Lady Helen's disembodied voice again. “Hurry up!”

Gatty smeared some cream on her own lips. Then she scooped up her pilgrim's hat, jammed it on, and tied the scarf under her chin.

“Here's your staff,” said Sian. “Come on!”

Gatty could hear all the chatter and laughter coming from inside the church. But when Sian unlatched the heavy oak door and swung it open, everyone turned round to look at her. And except for one low whistle and a snigger, and a behind-the-hand, stifled “Wooh!” they all went quiet. Oliver was waiting in front of the rood-screen, with Austin and Snout on either side of him.

“A time to be born and a time to die,” he said, grimacing, “and a time to wait, and wait, and wait.”

“I know,” said Gatty. She looked at Oliver, abashed, and her long, golden eyelashes flickered.

“Yes,” said Oliver. “Well!”

Snout took Gatty's right hand. “My fair pilgrim,” he said.

“My only Snout,” replied Gatty.

“Sian,” said Oliver, “you may go and tell Sir John and Lady Helen that we're ready to receive them and all their guests. You may tell them we're at last ready to receive them.”

“Shall I tell them twice then?” asked Sian, wide-eyed.

“Go on with you,” said the priest. “And don't trip over your long tongue.”

Sian hurried out, leaving the church door wide open, and the villagers began to murmur and then to chatter again. Gatty inspected the wall painting of Jesus sitting on a rainbow, and that miserable huddle of men and women standing outside the gates of Hell, and the glaring monster with the half-naked woman between his teeth. As soon as I can, she thought, I want to look at that painting in the vestry. The one of the fishermen. I want to read its gold words.

Then Gatty heard a noise in the porch, and Sir John with Lady Helen on his arm stepped into the church.

Gatty stared at the door into the dark. Next, Lord Stephen limped in, leaning heavily on a stick; Lady Judith's right hand was clamped under his other elbow. Then came Lady Alice de Gortanore, so light on her feet she looked as if she had been blown in by the wind. And she was followed by Sir Walter and Lady Anne de Verdon, smiling and sprightly as lambs.

Still Gatty stared, fearful. Her heart! It throbbed in her chest, her temples, her wrists.

And then, spring-heeling, bold, and one step ahead as usual, came flame-haired Winnie.

Gatty's breath. She didn't have any!

Still she stared.

Spring-heeling, bold, and one step ahead—of Tom de Gortanore.

Tom de Gortanore! Funny, ambling, kind, blue-eyed Tom, Arthur's cousin, who never hurt a fly if he could help it.

Gatty gazed at them as they followed the others up the nave to the benches. She stared at them, uncomprehending.

While Sir John's guests were taking their places, Sian advanced on Gatty. “I'm your chamber-servant!” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“What's happened?” Gatty asked at once.

“What do you mean?”

“What are they doing?”

“Who?” asked Sian.

“Winnie and Tom. Where's Arthur?”

“Arthur?”

“You told me. You told me. Their wedding, Arthur, Winnie…”

Sian's face lit up. “Not Arthur!” she exclaimed loudly, and then she put her hand over her mouth.

“Not?” gasped Gatty.

“Of course not! While Arthur was on crusade, Winnie fell in love with Tom.”

Oliver cleared his throat and clucked twice. “May our thoughts and feelings and the words of our mouths please you, O God,” he began.

Gatty didn't know whether she was boiling or freezing; dressed or naked; whether she was standing downside up on the floor or upside down on the roof beam. You could have bounced her floating heart from side to side of the church.

But as Oliver assured everyone that, despite the failure of their harvest, they were twice blessed in one season, first by Winnie and Tom's marriage and then by Gatty's return, she knew she was laughing out loud, laughing and sobbing. Both.

“I told you all,” Oliver called out, “that, God willing, one of our own lambs would reach Jerusalem. Do you remember? I asked her to pray for each one of us at the Golden Gate and each of the holy places.”

“You did too,” Snout said to Gatty under his breath.

Oliver beamed. “And now Gatty has come back to us,” he said. “The same but changed. She can sing, you all know that. But because of Austin here, the priest at Ewloe, she can read! She can write!”

Austin's bushy eyebrows twitched. “The truth is,” he said in his powerful, dark voice, “Gatty all but taught herself.”

Oliver locked his hands over his portly stomach in almost complete satisfaction. “Not perfectly, mind. But then, who can?”

In the inviting pause that followed, a voice called out loudly from the back of the church, “You, Oliver!”

Everyone laughed.

“I suppose that was Macsen,” Oliver said.

Another pause, and then the same voice drawled, “I suppose it was,” and everyone laughed a little bit more.

“Gatty and Snout are our lifeline to Bethlehem,” Oliver continued. “Each one of you, high-born or lowborn, healthy or hungry, old or young, man or woman, is joined through them to the birthplace of our Savior, just as each baby is joined—joined by its
umbilicus
—to its mother. Draw near with faith.”

Oliver gave the pilgrims an expansive wave and stepped aside.

Gatty loosed her scarf, swept off her hat, and at once remembered
she was wearing her golden hairnet! There was nothing she could do about it.

She looked around at the people who had known her all her life, all gathered now under one roof, and smiled calmly. Then she turned her gaze to Sir John's noble guests. Proudly, she looked at Winnie.

Winnie observed the golden ring on the middle finger of Gatty's right hand, and the rash of green silk below the hem of her thick grey cloak. She took note of her golden hairnet. Winnie returned Gatty's long gaze, and then she lowered her eyes just a little; very slightly, she inclined her head.

Gatty took a deep breath. “When we rode through Dung Gate on our donkeys,” she began, “out of Jerusalem, you know what I thought? I've been riding to Bethlehem all my life! Listening to Oliver and the Bible and that. Looking up at this wall-painting here—the star, the shepherds, the manger…

“There's so much! Well, I got to begin somewhere. We rode through groves of orange trees, and pomegranates, and figs. And me and Snout, we saw the well, the one the Star in the East fell right into.”

“And the cave,” added Snout. “We saw the cave where Herod the King threw the corpses of all the little children, ten thousand of them.”

“And another cave,” said Gatty, “glistening and white, where Mary suckled Jesus.”

It was so quiet you could hear the sound of the candles burning. And in this stillness hushed and deep as midnight, the latch of the church door lifted.

Everyone started and caught their breath!

Through the door and straight into the shadowy gloom at the back of the church stepped a small woman, wearing a white cloth cap. A man followed her, not smiling but almost smiling—it was Merlin!

Gatty knew Arthur was there. She knew he was standing in the porch. She knew it before he stepped in and closed the door, lightly and fiercely.

For just one startled moment, Gatty and Arthur caught one another's eye.

Oliver cleared his throat. “The cave where Mary suckled Jesus,” he prompted Gatty. “You saw the cave.”

“Yes,” said Gatty. “One drop fell from Mary's breast onto the rock, and ever since then that cave has oozed milk.”

“The Church of the Nativity looks like a copse,” Snout told everyone.

“Inside it does,” Gatty agreed. “A copse of shining birch trees, only all the columns are marble. Silvery-white marble. You go down sixteen steps into the manger. Rock steps. There's a large silver star lying on the ground.”

Gatty closed her eyes. “I felt like I was unborn,” she said. “Like I was still in my mother's womb, beginning again.”

“All the pilgrims were laying things on the ground,” Snout went on. “Bones and badges and stuff. They were asking Jesus and Mary to bless them.”

“I got one thing blessed,” Gatty said, holding up her right hand. “This ring here! This most beautiful ring, with Mary on it, and Jesus in her arms.”

Gatty didn't look at Arthur. Not quite. But she knew Arthur was looking intently at her.

“Badges and bones,” said Snout. “Saracens were selling them at their stalls up in the cloister. I told Gatty we'd need every penny we had and she wasn't to buy anything, but she did anyhow! I still don't know what.”

Gatty smiled. Unhurried, she opened her scrip, and burrowed into it.

“You know who it's for, though,” Gatty said.

“Oliver,” Snout replied.