Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [2]
“And to you, sir,” I returned. “If it pleases, I saw your alestake. I’d like to purchase bread and drink.”
“Have you anything to pay?” the man asked. His eyes squinted as if to take my measure, or his aim.
“Enough,” I replied, “for me and my foot-weary master.”
“What master?” he demanded.
I gestured. “He sits right here, sir.”
Not bothering to look, the man muttered something that sounded like a curse as he withdrew into the darkness of his house.
How good it was to rest. Bear remained on his bench, eyes closed, face turned to the sun’s kind heat. I took myself to the table where I sat, head in my arms. As I had not slept for two days, a surge of weariness swept through me.
The man returned, kicking open the lower door with a thud loud enough to make me sit up. Only then did I note the sheathed dagger that hung upon his hip. Not that I cared: he was carrying two wooden mazers full of drink, and barley bread was tucked under his arm.
My mouth watered.
The man set the mazers down and dropped the bread. “Where’s your master?” he demanded.
“Right there,” I said, nodding toward Bear.
The man turned round—and started. “By the wounds of Christ!” he cried when he saw Bear. “It’s you!”
2
HIS CRY STARTLED ME, and made Bear blink open his eyes. “We thought you dead,” said the man to Bear. It was as much an accusation as a statement.
“All in God’s good time,” returned Bear, scrutinizing the man with his red-rimmed eyes. “How do you know me?” he asked. “And who is we?”
Instead of answering, the man swung about to look at me as if to reassess who I was. I recalled him then. He was a member of John Ball’s rebel brotherhood, which had met at a shoemaker’s shop in Great Wexly. At that meeting, Bear had helped this man and others to escape, though it resulted in his being taken prisoner.
The man turned back to Bear and asked, “Aren’t you the one they call Bear?
I am.
“The spy,” the man said, not kindly. “How did you free yourself?”
Bear considered the question and then said, “The boy freed me.”
“Lord Furnival’s bastard?”
Bear frowned. “His name is Crispin.”
“This one?” the man demanded, turning back to me.
“Himself.”
Alarmed, I rose to my feet, though I did not know what to do. It was hardly the moment to tell him that to ransom Bear’s liberty, I’d renounced any claim to my noble name.
The man considered me with harsh contempt before turning back to Bear. “Why have you come here?”
“Be assured,” said Bear, holding up one of his large hands as if to show it empty, “it’s by chance. We’re trying to get as far from Great Wexly as we can. Passing by, the boy saw your broom. We’re weary. Hungry. I’d no idea you lived here. In faith, I don’t even know your name.”
“Have you abandoned the brotherhood?”
Bear paused. “My friend,” he said, “the only thing I wish to abandon is my fatigue.”
“We’re all weary,” snapped the man. “Did you give names in exchange for your freedom?”
“Not I,” said Bear.
“Watt the butcher has been taken. So too, Guy, the miller’s man. We don’t know what’s become of them.”
“God bring them quick release,” said Bear, making the sign of the cross. “I’m from other parts. By Saint Peter, I don’t know any of your names.”
The man glanced about, as if others might be lurking near. Momentarily, he fixed his eyes on me.
I was so agitated I hardly knew where to look.
“Then was it this boy,” he persisted, “who bought your freedom with our names?”
Bear sighed. “The sole payment he gave was his courage.”
“I don’t believe you,” said the man.
“That’s as you may,” said Bear. “But, as Our Sacred Lady is witness, what I say is true.”
I kept wishing Bear would do something. I just wanted to leave.
“Then explain if you will,” cried the man, growing more raddled each moment, “why among those held only you are free?”
“I cannot,” said Bear.
“The authorities would never let you go without something in exchange.”
“I know nothing about our brothers,” said Bear. “I saw no one else where I was held. God knows they pressed