Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [17]
He snorted. “The man who must prove himself a man is still a boy.”
“Have you forgotten? You said I should feel free to disobey you at any time.”
“Crispin!” I heard Bear cry. “Don’t!”
But I had already started off.
13
WHEN I CAUGHT up with Aude and Troth, the girl acknowledged me with a glance of surprise. Aude paid no mind. She merely plodded on. No one spoke.
After perhaps two leagues, we began to move along a narrow track that suggested more frequent use. After another league, we came out of the woods and made our way into a shallow valley.
Some twelve or fifteen dwellings were scattered on either side of a muddy road with fields laid out in long strips, mostly in tillage. I took it to be Chaunton, the village of which Aude had spoken.
Houses were of timbered construction with wattle-and-daub walls and thatched roofs. A few had doors. No windows. Pigs, dogs, and geese roamed freely. I saw a small, decaying, gray stone church, its tower squat and square. The village sat well before it.
It was no different from other poor villages I had seen in my travels with Bear. Most likely it was owned—as Bear had once explained—by a distant lord or bishop or even an abbey, which saw nothing of the commune save rents or garnished goods.
No people were working the fields. Instead, a crowd was milling round the entryway of a house. I supposed it was where the birthing crisis was occurring. The number of people—perhaps twenty or twenty-five—gave me reason to think the whole town was there. From the custom of their dress, all appeared to be peasants, mostly men. But only women passed in and out of the house. As I knew from my own village, men were not allowed at a birth.
Our slow, awkward trudge into the village was soon noticed. All turned. A man detached himself from the others and began to run toward us, arms waving wildly. He was younger than the peasant who’d come to fetch us. His face was full of anguish.
“Dame Aude!” he cried. “Make haste! My wife’s in mortal pain!” It was Goodman William.
Despite the plea, Aude made no alteration of her pace, but plodded on as before. Bent over as she was, I don’t think she could have gone faster. Troth, meanwhile, pulled her hair across her face, hiding her disfigurement.
The peasant drew near. “Dame Aude,” he shouted anew. “In the name of God’s mercy, hurry!”
Aude, without looking up, mumbled, “Aude will try.”
“Her pain is terrible,” pressed the man as he drew close. “I fear she’s in great danger. The bailiff is with her.
Aude halted and peered up at the man. “The bailiff?” she said. “No man should be there.”
“He claims the right!” said the man. With that he took hold of Aude, and pulled to make her move faster. “You need not fear: he knows you’re coming,” he went on. “He only insists there be none of your gods or magic.”
Aude shook her head and tried—with little success—to resist the man’s dragging hands. “Aude can only do as she does,” she said.
Feeling awkward, out of place, suddenly not wishing to be associated with the two, I regretted I had come. I told myself I should go back to Bear. Even so, I stood there, wanting to see what would happen.
“But the girl,” cried the man, darting an anxious look at Troth. “She mustn’t come any closer.”
Troth, keeping her gaze down, gripped Aude tighter.
“Why?” Aude demanded.
“God’s mercy, woman!” cried the man. “You know the answer! She’s Devil-marked. She’ll bring peril to my wife. I beg you! In the name of Jesus, don’t argue! Just hurry!”
Aude, with a vehement shake of her head, said, “Not without the girl.”
The man tried to yank Troth away from Aude, but the girl clung to the old woman.
Though what I was witnessing upset me, I hardly knew what to do.
“You must hurry!” shouted the man at Aude. That time he pushed Troth back fiercely, enough to cause her pain. She turned to me with an open-faced appeal full of fright.
Unable to ignore Troth’s plight, I jumped forward, and tried to pull Goodman William away from her. The man, taking