Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [44]
“It seems.”
“By Saint Barnabas … No more than that?” he asked a third time.
“Why is the number important?”
“A troop of just a few soldiers—unattached—could be a free company.”
“Should we fear them?” asked Troth.
“In truth, if we were in England,” said Bear, “they might be just going home.”
I said, “Where else could we be?”
He marked the places on his fingers: “England. France. Normandy. Brittany. Aquitaine. Flanders. Navarre.”
He remained sitting, sometimes glancing at the sun, or at the distant trees. He even studied one of his large hands. At last he heaved himself up. “Come along,” he said.
“Where?”
“God’s bones! Crispin, I’ve no stomach to meet with any soldiers. There is no safety with them.”
“Bear,” I blurted out, “there’s no safety anywhere!”
“What’s wrong with the soldiers?” said Troth. “Were you not one?”
He gave her a piercing glance, and seemed to swell with anger. She shrank back. The next moment, Bear’s fury faded. “We’ll get back on the cog,” he said, “and try to ride her out. There was another sail in the hold. Perhaps I missed a rudder. If we are in England and we could get to some other place along this coast, I’d feel much better.”
That said, he started back toward the cliff. Troth and I, following, exchanged worried looks. When we reached the cliff’s edge, Bear knelt and looked out.
“In the name of the Father!” he roared. “I am being held captive by my sins!”
“Why?” I said. “What’s the matter?”
“Look!” he said and pointed down.
Troth and I peered over the cliff. The cog, lifted by an incoming tide, had drifted out of the cove. She was bobbing out upon the sea.
He sat back heavily. “We could never reach her,” he said in such a voice I thought he might cry.
With the cliff before us falling away so sharply, we dared do no more than sit and gaze out upon the ocean. There, the cog floated on the water’s surface like an empty jug, moving still farther from the shore.
“By Saint Anthony,” Bear muttered. “What kind of folly is it not to know if one is lost or saved?”
“Shall I go back to those soldiers?” I offered. “Learn more about them?”
“Crispin,” Bear said, “if we are in England and they are English troops, we will have gained much. But if we are anywhere else, things might go badly.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s likely to be a free company. Thieves. Outlaws.”
Troth said, “We could hide below.”
“There is no hiding,” said Bear, “from the will of God.”
The wretchedness in his voice hurt my heart. It was much like that time in Rye when I told him of our pursuers: Bear in defeat. But then, I’d known of a way to escape.
Not now.
As we remained where we were, Troth and I exchanged anxious glances. I was sure she agreed we had to do something. Besides, it was a long while since we had eaten, and I was very hungry.
“The soldiers had food,” I said.
“Crispin!” snapped Bear. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Bear,” I cried, “we must do something.”
“Then pray to Saint Jude,” said Bear.
“Who is that?” asked Troth.
“A saint who intervenes for lost causes,” said Bear.
She turned to Bear. “Is our cause lost?”
He did not answer.
I looked across at Troth. She made another hand sign, which I understood to mean, “Wait.”
Bear got up slowly, stiffly. “We’ll all go,” he said.
“Where?” I said.
“I don’t think it matters. Let God decide.”
Troth stood.
“Why don’t you just rest here?” I said.
“By the breath of Jesus, Crispin!” Bear shouted. “Don’t presume to decide for me or heave me on the refuse pile. Not yet.”
“Bear—”
“Let’s go!” he cried.
I pointed to the trees. “The soldiers are over there,” I said, though I saw no sign of them.
“Eastward,” said Bear. “Then we’ll go north or south.”
Troth looked at me.
“South,” I said for no good reason.
We began to walk along the edge of the cliff. I went first, followed by Bear, then Troth. I went as fast as I could, but Bear was hobbling.
“Do you wish to me to go slower?” I asked.
“Crispin …” he growled.
We went on. But we had not gone for very long or far when Troth shouted, “Crispin!”
I turned and saw what she had seen. It was the troop