Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [28]
Half the inn’s roof was gone. Stone walls, by God’s mercy, were mostly intact though dressed in soot. Doors were broken. Most of the wine and ale pillaged. The same for victuals.
Worst of all, Benedicta, a widow woman, had one of her two sons slain by the marauding troops. A tall, stately woman, with long black hair in a single braid and black garments, she was severe-looking in her sorrow. There being little custom since the attack, she was willing to have us and our paltry pennies. Despite her great grief, she welcomed us as ones who had no such loss as she, so she could open her sorrow to Bear, who always served as a broad funnel for people’s grief. With so many of her neighbors consumed by loss, the poor woman could find no pity, and she was in sore need of some.
She set a broken table for us, and somehow secured trenchers and some small meat with not enough rot to keep us off. Then she and her surviving son—twice my age and a likeness of his mother—joined us, and talked of their heartache to Bear. In so doing, they struck a friendship. Bear told her that Troth and I were his children and he a widower.
While they talked, Troth and I stayed in a quiet corner and listened. After much discussion of the attack, they spoke of the late King Edward, of Richard the new boy king, the Duke of Lancaster, and the war with France, which had gone so poorly for England of late.
Much land—and many men—had been lost in the Aquitaine, which is where Benedicta’s husband had died two years previous. A truce had been made between England and France, but she said English soldiers had been abandoned in France and they fought on as brigands.
The woman asked Bear to tell his story. Perhaps to gain her empathy, he revealed that he, too, had been a soldier and spoke of fighting in France with the Black Prince. “It was hard and terrible,” he told her.
She asked Bear if he knew her husband, and named the knight with whom he fought.
Bear shook his head. “There were too many.”
“Now you must tell me why are you here,” said Benedicta. “Or do you mean to enlist again?”
“Not I!” cried Bear with alacrity. “We’re only wandering minstrels, hoping to stay awhile.”
“I fear you won’t earn much with your music and dancing here,” she said. “People will cling to what they have.”
Seeing Bear downcast, the woman said, “What say you labor for me in return for food and lodging? I need the help.”
“I’ve not my usual strength,” said Bear.
“I’m sure it’s enough.”
A bargain was quickly made.
Thus commenced a pleasing, even restful time as we stayed on at the broken inn. With a loan from Benedicta, Bear was able to purchase new clothing—breeches, shift, hose—and, at last, some boots. Troth was also garbed, though she refused wimple on her head and shoes. It was appealing to see her mix of solemn pleasure and discomfort in new clothing, a bird with new plumage, though her plumage was but a simple wool kirtle.
For work, Bear was called upon for lifting, hauling, and repairing. While he was not as strong as he had been, he was strong enough. I prayed he’d regain it all.
Indeed, concerned for his state, I kept a self-appointed task of being his—and Troth’s—protector. At times I thought we should go elsewhere, to one of the lands Bear had spoken of, so as to be free of all thoughts of pursuit.
Of this, however, I said nothing, knowing my restlessness was stirred not just by fear, but also by seeing the ships and sea, feeling their allure. For I, who had lived so confined, so closed, saw the sea as boundary-free, a notion I found exciting.
Meanwhile, Troth and I were asked to do smaller tasks—to clean or fetch. She was too shy to talk to others. Only with me would she chatter. Thus she and I, finding more time to be alone, learned more about one another’s lives.
She was much taken by the story of my mother’s secret life, how I had fled my town, my meeting with Bear, and what happened in