Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [31]
As we wandered, there were times Troth hid her face—for people would stare, point, and even call her names—which made her shy. She was never so with me. My friends soon accepted her.
In the evenings, back with Bear, who talked expansively to Benedicta and Luke, Troth and I found in exchanged glances all the talk we needed. Sometimes we communicated with the hand signs that had become our secret language.
I talked freely to Bear—or at least tried to—but since that time when he would not talk, I was much aware there were things in him he did not want me to know. It grieved me to see how he had changed: no longer the boisterous believer in his own bigness, when even his rebukes made one smile, when his jests taunted all, when his very being could embrace the whole world.
But when Troth and I talked, we were equals. I could say anything to her, and she to me.
“If God could give you what you most wished,” I once asked her, “what would it be?”
“Aude.”
“And if not her?”
“To be with Bear … and you,” she replied.
After a moment she asked me the same question, and I replied, “To be with Bear and you.”
“Then it’s the same prayer,” she said, “and therefore perhaps the stronger.”
Then I asked, “If you could be anything you desired, what would it be?”
She replied: “Ordinary. And you?” she asked.
“A man.”
A man. “Like Bear?”
I was about to give a quick yes, for I did so admire and love him. But I found myself hesitating and unsure of my words, except to think, I was not him. I must be myself, Crispin.
“No,” I said quietly, cautious to speak so. “I think … I want to be different. Perhaps a mariner.”
So it was that as often as I could, I took her to look upon the sea, sitting on the high bluff near the large castle tower that survived the attack. Most often we sat in silence and did little more than stare upon the sea’s great expanse.
Once she asked, “Crispin, what lies beyond the sea?” She was pointing to the farthest line of ocean—where water and sky met,
“In faith, I don’t know.”
“Is there anything? Or is that the edge of the world?”
“I suppose what you can’t see,” I replied, “is always the edge. And fearsome to look over.”
“Aude often spoke of the edge of the world.” Then she said, “Could it be Nerthus’s world?”
“Which is?”
“The land beyond. Where … I hope Aude is. Crispin, shall we stay in Rye?”
“I want to be free to see the world.”
“Even to the edge?”
“Aye.”
She said, “I’d go with you.”
“I would like that.”
It was some twenty days or so after we arrived, on a late afternoon, the dark already descending, when Benedicta sent me to the miller for some flour. As I was wont to do, I took the long way about to the highest point, near the castle, so I could look upon the sunset sea which I found endlessly beguiling.
“Crispin!” I heard.
Taken by surprise, I turned. It was my friend Geoffrey, who had run up. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he called. His face was flushed.
“Is something the matter?”
“That brotherhood,” he burst out.
“What do you mean?”
“You told me your father was being pursued by some brotherhood. Three men have come to town. They have been asking for your father.”
I thanked him then fled back to the inn and found Bear, Benedicta, and Luke hauling a beam upon their shoulders. Fearful of speaking too openly, I ran to find Troth. She was in the courtyard, sweeping with an old straw broom.
“Troth!” I cried, “they’ve come.”
She turned pale. “The men from Chaunton?” she cried.
“No, ones seeking Bear. You must gather our things.”
She dropped her broom and followed as I ran back to Bear. In the interval the beam had been set it its proper place.
“Bear,” I said. “I must speak with you.”
“You’re free to do so.”
“I … I think it best,” I stammered, “that it’s only for your ears.”
“Come now, we have no secrets from our friends.”
I looked from him to the innkeeper. Deciding there was no time to argue, I blurted out, “They’ve come.”
“Who’s come?” said