The End of Time (11 page)

R
AUF AND I returned to the stall and the family. When we got there, Rauf shoved me away from him.

“Well?” Elena said to him.

“Done,” he replied meaningfully, but said no more.

Humiliated, I staggered into a corner. There I fell upon my stomach, face pushed into the straw so no one would see me or my tears. I swore by all the apostles I’d get away from these people or die. Perhaps it would be better to go back to England. Anywhere. My fear was that we had too little time to change plans.

In the end, if I had any doubts that Iceland—no matter what it was—would not serve me better than this, such notions dissolved. For the moment, however, all I could be was patient.

For most of the day, Owen and I were given little choice: we were kept in the stall like prisoners. I so wanted to tell him about my meeting with the Icelanders, and from time to time the boy looked at me with sad eyes full of questions. But I, fearful of being overheard, dared not speak.

At one point Elena, Rauf, and Gerard went off to talk
in private. As before, Woodeth stayed to watch over us. Even so, I didn’t dare talk to Owen. I did not trust her. The boy seemed to understand and kept his silence.

When Elena returned, she stood over me, head tilted slightly to one side in that gesture of puzzlement she sometimes had. I rolled away, having no desire to look at her.

“Where did you go this morning?” she asked.

“To the market, where I bought those apples,” I muttered.

“Is that all?” she asked suspiciously.

“I stopped in a small church. To pray. I was not gone for so long.” What I said was true enough, if hardly complete.

She sighed and said, “Ever the pious one. I’m sorry Rauf acted as he did.”

“Why did he beat me?” I asked.

“He has a pointed temper” was all she would say. “It’s not always well aimed. I’ve made him promise he won’t do that again.”

I did not believe her. But then I too was lying. The thought came: live with liars, become a liar.

“Will you still wish me to play music with you?” I asked.

“Of course,” she answered, then turned away. Instructing Woodeth to remain, she went off somewhere.

At length I sat up and looked about. I had no idea where Rauf and Gerard were, though I was just as happy not to be in their company.

Owen and I kept to ourselves at the back of the stall, Schim with us. Woodeth posted herself by the entryway. There was no way the two of us could get by her. Regardless, I did not have the strength to try.

For my part, I kept thinking of how I was going to get back to Thorvard. And if I did, would he be willing to take Owen when he learned how young and small he was? What if he said no to the boy? What should I do? I had to remind myself he had not positively said he would take me. Only if he could not find some mariners.

I don’t know what the others did that day. They came and went, though one of them always remained on guard. Even when I went to the cesspit, I was followed.

When Rauf finally reappeared, he glowered at me—as if I were at fault—but thankfully kept his distance. Schim grimaced at him with anger. Twice we were brought food and drink. None of them talked in front of us.

By early afternoon Woodeth was again guarding us. As she sat there, bored, she fell into a doze, breathing the breath of sleep. Only then, in a quick whisper, did I tell Owen about the Icelandic folk. I admit, though, I did not
tell what I’d learned about the place.

“Do you think they’ll truly take me?” he asked.

I nodded. “But I must get back to them before the day is out.”

“How can you?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed.

“Could I?” he suggested.

“Brave boy. But it has to be me.”

The afternoon was waning and I was becoming increasingly uneasy: I
had
to speak to the Icelandic people. Elena was now our guard. I was about to go on my knees and beg her to let me go when one of the steward’s servants appeared.

“I’m in need of assistance,” he said, addressing Elena. “The benches in the hall must be placed around the tables. The steward said I could have your boy for a time.”

Elena looked at me and then at the servant. “Will you be sure to keep a good watch on him?”

“Of course,” he returned gruffly, and beckoned me to come.

I looked to Owen and gave a small nod in hopes he would understand I was going to try and reach the Icelanders. Then I hurried out of the stall and followed the servant.

The task required of me was simple enough. Another
boy and I carried some fifteen benches from the main courtyard into the banquet hall. I never knew the other boy’s name or he mine. It didn’t matter. We did as we were told. The task soon being done, as I had hoped would happen, the steward’s servant dismissed me and told me I should return to my masters.

I did not hesitate for a moment. I raced through the courtyard, out the front door, and headed for the market. Determined to avoid anyone from the family, I ran through the streets in an irregular fashion. When I reached the market edge, I paused. It was not as crowded as in the morning. That meant there was greater ease in spying members of the family. But it also meant I, too, might be seen.

Haste, however, was foremost in my mind. Knowing no second opportunity would be had, I ran across the market, making for the spot I had seen the Iceland people.

This time only Halla, the old man’s daughter, was there. She was behind the baskets calling “Iceland stockfish!” to the few who passed.

I went and stood before her, fearful of even looking up and too breathless to speak.

“Ah! The boy who wishes to go to beautiful Iceland.”

With my chest tight enough to burst, I forced myself to look up and nod. Her pretty face showed amusement.

“Even now, hearing what my father said?” she asked.

“It will…it will be enough, mistress.”

She grinned. “You must not believe all he said. He’s had family feuds over land. He’s bitter. The people there are not bad. And the land is beautiful. Full of fire and ice.”

I could only nod.

“But he’s surely right about one thing,” she continued. “It’s hard getting there. No easy jaunt. He didn’t exaggerate. Have you thought to that? It can—will—be treacherous. God’s holy name, it’s many a storm that has shaken his old beard! It’s not just age that turned it white.”

“I’m willing.”

“Dark, dreary, and long,” she warned, her face now solemn.

The pain in my chest was enormous. I went down on my knees. “Please, I must go.”

Halla gazed at me as if I were a puzzle. Her voice softened. “Why so desperate, boy?”

“I…I wish to live in freedom,” I said.

“Freedom!”

I could only nod.

“Poor creature. Are you threatened here?” she asked. “Trying to escape a beating? A hanging?”

I had become so frantic I could no longer speak. I could
only hope my eyes—welling with tears—spoke for me.

“There’s something else here,” she said. “You need to speak to me true. I’ll not harm you.”

“Mistress,” I forced myself to say, “if I don’t go…I’ll be murdered.”

“Murdered?”

I nodded.

“By whom?”

“Thieves…devils.”

“Have you done some great wrong?”

I shook my head.

I heard her sigh. “Tell me your name again.”

“Crispin.”

“Crispin…so be it. We’ve not been able to find any mariners. My father said that if you returned you could come with us—”

My heart leaped. “Blessings on you, mistress. With my friend?”

“He agrees. But pay heed, Crispin. We leave tomorrow at dawn, if tide and wind are willing. Our cog is called the
Stjarna
. That’s ‘star’ in your tongue. My father told me to say you
must
be there. If not, we’ll leave without you. Understood?”

All I could do was nod.

Halla smiled. “In Iceland, loyalty is all. And may two boys, with the help of Saint Nicholas, do the work of one man.” She held out her small hand as if to make the bargain.

Hardly knowing what to say, I took her hand and kissed it. “We’ll…we’ll be there!” I blurted out, and jumping up, ran as fast as I could back to Master Talbot’s house, only hoping I’d not been missed.

A
S I RACED BACK, I tried to think of the best way I could get in the house without being noticed by the family. It was not a beating I feared but the discovery of my plans to escape.

I went straight for the front door, the main entryway. As before, a servant was standing there. Others were coming and going, loaded with food and whatnot. I ran straight up and said, “One of the musicians,” and without waiting for permission, plunged past the door. I was not restrained. Without stopping, I went into the courtyard and
then sprinted for the banquet hall, hoping to go back to the stable stall in the same way I had come.

Master Throckmorton was there, surveying the hall. As soon as he saw me, he cried out, “You there, boy! Move these candelabra from here to there.”

More than happy to oblige, I did as ordered, saying nothing. When I put the candelabra where he desired, he stepped back, only to tell me to move it somewhere else. This he did any number of times.

In the midst of this task, Elena stepped into the hall. In a glance, she saw the steward and me at work. I paused and looked at her.

“Good master steward,” she called. “Do you still have need of the boy?”

“The boy?” said the man, hardly noticing who or what I was. “For a few more moments.” He directed me to move the candelabra yet one more time.

Elena waited impatiently.

“There,” he said when I’d done as he bid. “That will be enough. Be off with you.”

I bobbed my head and went to where Elena waited. She scrutinized me. “You’ve been away a long while.”

“He kept me busy,” I replied.

“A self-important man. Now come along.”

She led the way back to the stable. The rest of the family was there. Rauf, upon seeing me, looked his angriest. Elena stepped in front of him. “You needn’t have worried,” she said. “The steward was keeping him at work.”

To my relief, Rauf’s anger eased, and I received no more than his glowering look.

I went to the back of the stall, where Owen and Schim were waiting. I sat down. The boy gazed at me, eyes beseeching news of what had happened. Not even looking at him, I murmured, “A ship is waiting. We must leave at dawn.”

He let go a long breath, as if he’d been holding it the entire while I’d been gone.

Woodeth came and sat near us. She said nothing. But it was perfectly clear we would be guarded as closely as possible so we could not get free. In other words, we were to be held hostage until their thievery was complete.

As I sat there, I considered the three necessary things we must do: flee from these people, get out of the city, and get to the Icelandic boat.

Great Lord Jesus, I thought, let it be!

From that moment on, I remained alert for the smallest chance of escape. Alas, no occasion came that afternoon. We were guarded too tightly.

At one point Rauf offered me those three apples I
had bought and told me to practice my juggling—to keep me busy, I suppose.

Then as night drew on, I realized that the city gates would close at compline. At that point, even if we had gotten away from the family, we would have been unable to leave the city. And then there would be the night watch. Thanks to Rauf, the soldiers would know me on sight.

To make things more difficult, that evening the first of the wedding banquets was to be held. Since all the musicians were to take part in the festivities, we would be included. I supposed Rauf would make sure to put me in the forefront of the family that I might be widely recognized—much the way he had brought me to the soldiers. So it proved.

How I despised Rauf!

When our time to perform came, we advanced to the balcony, which overlooked the hall. We got to it by a narrow, twisting flight of steps, up from the kitchen area.

The kitchen—hot and smoky with its open fires—was in a continual commotion of food preparation, with cooks, servants, servers, helpers, and cleaners in an unending frenzied storm of work. Some cooked. Some colored the food red, blue, or green, even gilding it with gold! Others shaped food into forms, making it look like a swan, a castle, a ship—all to be eaten. One attached peacock feathers to a bird made
of sweetmeats! The perspiring, bellowing steward presided over all like a commander at battle with his army.

Every course of food and drink was brought to the table by a parade of servants in multicolored livery and was announced by trumpets blaring gloriously. For each change of dish, a different group of musicians was brought out to play. While we waited, we were occasionally offered food left uneaten by the banquet guests. There was much.

I took silent note that from time to time Rauf wandered off. Where he went, I had no idea. I suspected he was searching about the house. I imagined him taking an inventory of what he intended to steal and entertained hopes he would be caught.

In all this time, Owen and I were never left alone, not for a moment. That meant the boy had yet to hear what I had agreed with Halla. The news fairly burned within me.

When the family’s turn to perform finally arrived, we trooped up the steps to the balcony while some Flemish musicians came down. Once on top, we could look and see who and what was there.

Directly across from us, at the other end of the hall, was the bride-to-be, the first I had seen of her. To my great surprise, she was hardly older than eleven or twelve years—younger than Troth. Seated in the center of a raised table,
she was dressed like a lady in a fine silk kirtle of green and blue, with long sleeve tippets touched with lace. Her hair was braided in careful circles over her ears, a bejeweled gold band holding all in place. Yet, for all this womanly attire, I was struck by how girlish she was. Moreover, despite all the festivity, she sat stiffly, staring out at those who sat before her with a look of someone dazed.

To either side of the girl sat older women. Perhaps one was her mother; I could not tell. There were also men at that front table—garbed in rich finery—all quite old, with forked beards, and one or two bald heads. I presumed one must be her father—Master Talbot. I did wonder if one of these old men could be her intended husband. I could not tell. None of the men paid attention to the girl, or she to them. I had never given her—the object of all this activity—any thought before. Now I found myself feeling pity for her.

Right below us, at the tables, were many guests, sixty or more in number, men and women. None were of the bride’s age.

The display of clothing and color was dazzling: hats, gowns, capes, sleeves, tippets, furs and feathers, elegant boots, gloves, tunics, long sleeves of more color than I could name. Everything seemed encrusted with gold, feath
ers, silver, and jewels. Here and there, like sprinkled salt and pepper, were the white and black cassocks of priests. Everyone was talking, a constant bubbling babble.

As soon as the trumpets had sounded, Elena called upon us to play, and so we did. For the most part, we performed cheerful tunes—the harp, drums, mandola, recorder, and bagpipe—playing well together.

As I had guessed he might, Rauf ordered Owen and me to go forward. “Owen! Take Schim!” he commanded. “Make him do his tricks. Crispin, juggle! Amuse the bride.” It was, I was sure, another effort to display me to as many as possible.

We went to the front of the balcony. Owen set the monkey on the rail. He got the beast to somersault on command. Then Owen began to beat his drum. I commenced to juggle.

The bride looked up, her face transformed from dull indifference to one of glee. She clapped her hands and turned to one of the women seated next to her and pointed up to the balcony—to Schim, I believed.

When Schim—on Owen’s command—jumped up and down, all the while grinning, the girl bride laughed and applauded yet again. A number of the guests turned and looked at us, pointing, gesturing.

I turned toward Rauf. He nodded his approval. He had gotten us the attention he desired.

Shortly after, a new course was announced, and we were ordered to descend from the balcony. A group of other English musicians replaced us and, following the trumpet flourish, began to play.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, we were given food and drink and then directed back to our stall. The talk was less about our performance than about the wealth of the guests. The family’s anticipation was blatant as they imagined what lay in store for them. And though they kept Owen and me close, for the most part they paid us little mind.

Unexpectedly, the harried steward appeared and cried, “Young Mistress Talbot, the bride, wishes the boys—and especially the monkey—to be presented to her.”

Automatically I looked to Rauf. “Of course,” he said, and rose as if to come with us.

“Only the boys,” said the steward with a dismissive gesture. “And the beast. Just make sure he’s tethered.”

Once again I looked toward Rauf. He in turn looked to Elena.

“You must bring them back quickly,” Elena told the steward. “We need them to perform.”

“Of course,” the steward replied, eager to leave.

Elena turned to us. “Go,” she said.

Owen and I jumped up—Schim on Owen’s shoulder—and followed the rapidly walking steward back toward the house, hardly knowing what to expect.