Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [43]
Then—as if one thought followed from the other—I thought of what she had said of Bear: that he had never fully recovered from his time in Great Wexly or the arrow wound. Then we had had to flee. The storm had worn him more. He was much weaker. It would not have surprised me if he still had a fever.
Standing there, in a world I did not know, Troth before me, Bear behind—both out of sight—I had the keenest sense of how much these two—so different one from each other—made up my world. From that flowed an almost overwhelming sense that loving meant I must also know what it must be to lose them.
I don’t know how long I waited nervously, but Troth returned as suddenly and as silently as she had gone.
“Did you find anything?” I asked.
“Over there,” she said, pointing. “People.” Not knowing how to count, she held her hand up many times.
“Forty? Men? Women?”
“Men.”
“What are they?”
“Some had swords. Some wore helmets. I saw bows leaning against a tree. There were poles with metal points.”
“Did you hear them speak?”
“I wasn’t close enough. Do you want me to go back?”
“Show them to me.”
She set off and I followed. Within moments, we covered some forty or fifty yards, keeping ourselves hidden among the trees. Troth knelt and pointed.
Sure enough, perhaps forty men were gathered in a clearing. For the most part, the men were young, though I saw one with graying hair. They were dirty, tattered, and ill-shaven. Exposed arms had scars. Among them I saw no smiles, not one gentle face. No two were dressed the same. A few wore helmets, some of the kettle-hat kind, others, open-faced basinets. These helmets were dented and rusty. One or two had jagged holes. All the men wore shoes or boots, but no two jackets were alike. There was some metal plating worn, much tarnished. Some soldiers carried bullock daggers on their hips, some carried swords. A few shields, dented and without design or insignia, had been propped against a tree. I saw a pole with a banneret leaning against a tree, but could not make out its heraldry.
Some of the men were resting, backs against trees. One man had his eyes shut, sleeping. Others lay stretched out on the ground, perhaps also asleep. Most were standing, sharpening swords, or working arrows. It was as if they were preparing for some action. One small man tended a fire upon which sat a large pot. It was that which we had smelled.
I spied yet another man sitting against a tree. The soldiers seemed to defer to him. I took him to be their captain. He did not look to be very different from the others, though beneath his quilted jacket I spied what appeared to be chain mail covering his chest and arms.
“What are they doing?” whispered Troth.
“I don’t know. Resting. Preparing.”
“For what?”
“Battle.”
Then the one I took to be their captain lifted an arm, and called, “Jason! Come here.”
They were Englishmen.
29
FOR A MOMENT, I was tempted to rush forward and announce ourselves. I even took a step in that direction, but Troth held me back,
“You don’t know who they are,” she said. “We need to get Bear.”
Deciding she was right, we hurried back over the field, running once we were clear of the trees. Bear was as we’d left him, asleep.
We sat by his side, waiting for him to waken. From time to time, I stood and looked toward the trees. Though no one came, I was increasingly anxious.
“I think we should get him up,” I finally said and shook his foot.
Bear stirred. “Good morrow,” he muttered.
I leaned over his face. “Bear,” I said. “We’ve found people.”
“Where?” he said, without opening his eyes.
“Back among those trees.”
“What are they?”
“They speak English.”
“Are we in England, then?” he said, sounding relieved.
“I don’t know. Bear, they’re soldiers.”
“God’s grief,” he sighed, opening his eyes. “How many?”
“Say, forty.”
“No more?”
I told him what we had seen.
He pushed himself up and rubbed his face, as if to restore his blood. Looking at him, I had a thought I never had before: he seemed old. I would have sworn his beard had streaks of gray.
“No more than forty?