Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [22]
“What is it about an empty countryside that seems so peaceful?” mused Bear.
“No people,” I replied. “And we have been fleeing them for too long. Do you know where we are?”
Bear was taking his rest, sitting with his back against a tree, gazing out upon the open world. Close by, I leaned against another tree. Troth sat near Bear on the ground, clasping her knees in her arms, staring at the landscape. I wondered if she had ever seen so much land in one vista before.
That made me recall how much I had come to see of the world. Indeed, as I gazed out upon the unending land, I sensed how much more there was for me to see. The thought pleased me.
Bear glanced at the sun. “We are still going south,” he said.
I asked, “Do you think anyone could be following us?”
Bear grunted. “There’s an old saying: ‘No matter where they go, the ignorant never travel far.’”
“May Heaven make it so,” I said.
We sat and stared. After a while I said, “Forgive me, but I’m hungry.”
“I am too,” said Bear. “Troth, are you?”
She shook her head, but whether to give a yea or nay, it was hard to know.
“Then it’s time we found some place to perform,” said Bear. “That church,” he said, pointing to the spire. “There should be a town or a village hard by. Crispin, it seems as if God wishes us to resume our old labors.”
“Are you strong enough?” I asked.
“Methinks I must be,” he returned.
“Will it be safe?”
“We can be watchful.”
“And Troth?”
“In time, she needs to learn the drum, or make music in some other way. Or even dance. She can begin by passing around my cap for coins.” He turned to her. “Troth,” he said, “I suppose that with Aude not given to much talk, you had little reason to use words.”
Troth nodded.
“Well, by Saint Ursula,” said Bear, “we’ll engage to teach you as much speech as we can until you converse as freely as a bishop. Come now, surely you can say your name.”
Troth, alarm in her eyes, looked down, as if ashamed. She forced herself to look up again. Her hands were fists. Indeed, her face contorted with some inner struggle until she said, “Oth.”
It was a reminder to me of her fierceness.
“Well done!” cried an exultant Bear, patting her back. “Did you hear, Crispin? Troth speaks her name as well as you and me.” He added a private wink over her head so I would not contradict him. “By Saint Drogo, Troth, before long we shall have you giving speeches before King Edward at Westminster!
“Now, then, Troth, can you say Crispin? Can you say Bear?”
Shyly at first, the girl spoke her sounds with halting struggle. They were not the words as I might say them. But Bear was generous—as only he could be—in her praise. He would find no fault. And she, in her grave way, repeated the words over and again, determined to get them right.
Laughing with pleasure, Bear got up and took Troth by the hand so that she might walk by his side. We started for the place where the spire stood. As we went along, Bear paused to point out things and say them loudly to the girl, “Tree! Grass! Stone!” and such, insisting she repeat his words.
No matter what she uttered, Bear always told Troth she had spoken well, exceedingly well. I joined in the praise. The praise seemed to free her. She spoke with ever greater frequency.
From that point on, Troth spoke as if to make up for lost time. That it was hard for others to understand I can attest. And, God’s truth, she never did speak much, or with great complexity. Indeed, I learned to read her hands and eyes as much as I heard her words. Those eyes of her spoke much. Bear and I, who heard her repeatedly, came to understand her manner, voice, and speech. Or, as Bear once said: “Mind, Crispin: a loving heart hears more than ears.”
Thus when I render Troth’s talk here on forward, I’ll give it as we understood it, not the broken way it was spoke.
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