Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [3]
“I don’t believe it.”
Bear snorted with contempt. “Believe what you wish.”
“I say you’re an informer!” cried the man. “A traitor to the brotherhood!” He turned then, and with a broad stroke of his hand and arm, swept bowls and bread away, sending all aground. “I’ll serve neither you nor the boy. Take yourselves off before I kill you both.” His hand was on his dagger.
Greatly frightened, I edged from the table.
Bear ruffled his beard with deliberate care while eyeing the man with visible—if mute—ill will. Then, with a grunt, he used his large hands to push himself up from the bench. He was a head taller than the man—enough to make the man back away some steps.
“Crispin,” Bear called. “We’re not wanted here.”
“Your kind are not wanted anywhere,” declared the man. “Traitors! Be gone with you!”
Quite slowly, Bear walked away from the house, moving in the direction of the road. I stayed close by his side. But knowing all too well the man was behind us—and recalling the dagger—I found it hard not to turn around.
“Crispin!” Bear whispered harshly. “Don’t look! It will provoke. Just head for the trees.”
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Only by his face. As he said, he’s part of Ball’s brotherhood.”
We moved to the road, crossed it, and approached the forest. Bear’s step continued to be measured, refusing to honor the man by looking back.
I was not so composed. In spite of Bear’s warning, I darted a glance back. The man was standing before his house. To my horror, he had a longbow in his hands. Worse, he had nocked an arrow and was pulling back the drawstring.
“Bear!” I shouted. “He’s going to shoot at us!”
3
UPON THE INSTANT, Bear swung about and shoved me so hard I tumbled. Then he dove down. Even as he did, I heard a sound—zutt!
Bear gave a harsh grunt, cried, “Run!” then picked himself up and ran headlong for the protection of the trees.
With Bear hobbling along as best he could, we stumbled into the forest. Once there we continued running for I don’t know how long. When at last Bear halted, he leaned against a tree, gasping for breath. He looked at his left arm. I followed his gaze and near swooned: an arrow was sticking through the fleshy part. Blood was trickling down.
“Bear,” I cried. “He struck you!”
“Just barely,” he said, though his hand was already crimson with blood. “If you had not warned me, I’d be dead.”
“Forgive me,” I said. “When I said we should stop I only meant—”
“No, no. It’s only sweet Jesus—and you—who care for me. Feel free to disobey me at any time.”
I gazed back, but could see nothing of the road, the house, or the man. “Do you think he’ll follow?”
“That kind will get others first. And then, I promise, they’ll follow.”
“But wasn’t he a friend?”
“Doubt it not; old friends make the worst enemies. I know their secrets and their way of thinking. If they believe I’ve betrayed them, I’ve become their worst foe. They won’t rest until they kill me. But no more talk,” he said, beckoning me toward him. “You must pull the arrow out.”
“What do you mean?” I cried.
“Take hold of the end of the arrow, break off the feathered end, then pull the whole thing out.”
“Are you … sure?” I stammered.
“Crispin,” he said, “more men die of wounds than blows to the heart. Quickly, now!” He held out his arm, winglike.
With my stomach churning to the point of illness, I went to him. Bracing myself, I gripped the arrow at the nether ends.
Bear gritted his teeth. “Do it!” he said.
I faltered.
“Crispin,” he shouted. “On my life! Break it!”
Hands shaking, I took a deep breath, and broke the arrow.
“Jesu!” Bear cried out.
I stood there, panting, feeling faint.
“Now!” he commanded. “Pull it out, pointed end first!”
Grimacing, I did what he told me, then flung the arrow away as if it was some loathsome snake. The effort left me so weak, I leaned against a tree.
Bear, meanwhile, bent over, scooped up some dead leaves, and pressed them against his bleeding arm. It staunched the blood somewhat.
“Will … will you be all right?