B00B9BL6TI EBOK (13 page)

It had been a very small and plain funeral. Her father had been a popular man in the city, but Alys wasn’t surprised that so few people had attended the burial, for everyone was too frightened to come out of their homes unless they were forced to do so. Apart from her and the children there had only been her neighbours from both sides, plus William, the two Peters and Ralf – and, strangely, Master Michael – but none of her father’s other acquaintances or fellow merchants. As she had been turning to leave the church she thought she’d also glimpsed a woman slipping out of the door, but she couldn’t see who it was – possibly someone who wasn’t even there for the funeral, but had just come in to pray. Still, at least Papa had been properly buried with the due sacrament, and she supposed she should feel grateful that Father Eustace was still willing to bury the dead, and that he had managed to find another man to help him shovel the earth back over the grave. It was done now, and her father had gone forward to everlasting peace – something which was in very short supply for the rest of them. She walked with the neighbours back towards the Drapery, her thoughts dwelling on her father and his love for them all. The sight of Master Pinel in his red hat saddened her, reminding her of those better times – the red had been a new dye he’d been trying out, and he’d tested it on a piece of wool only big enough for two hats, passing the other on to her father as a gift for his birthday, once he was satisfied with it. How they had all laughed at the garish colour and joked about them being seen as popinjays in the town …

Suddenly they were approached by a group of soldiers, and the children crowded around her in terror. She too felt a wave of fear and tried to disguise it for their sake. How fortunate that she was also with the others: although Master Pinel was small, and sought to hide behind his wife without anyone noticing, Gervase stepped out boldly, and at the sight of the strong young man escorting the women and children, the soldiers backed down from a confrontation and contented themselves with standing arrogantly by while they passed. How she wished that Thomas and Nick were there, so that she didn’t have to rely on the pity of neighbours. Close as they were, family was better. But they weren’t here, and they might never come home. She said yet another prayer for their safety and took the children home.

Now it was the middle of the afternoon and Alys could put off her task no longer. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the children that she was going out on such a potentially dangerous errand, so she contented herself with saying that she was going out to try and find some food – the Lord knew they needed that as well – and slipped out of the street door. Immediately she felt suspicious, as though she was marked in some way with a sign saying that she was up to something. She had an urge to try and creep quietly up the street. This was ridiculous. She must calm herself down. Although there were not many people on the streets, she was perfectly entitled to be out there on a quest for food, as were others, and to act differently would only arouse suspicion. She must try to quell her racing heartbeat and act normally. She hitched her basket higher on to her arm and walked on.

Their home was on the eastern side of the Drapery, so once out of the door she turned right and walked – calmly, she hoped – up towards the top of the street and then rounded the corner to start up the steep hill which led up towards the higher part of town. She was struck again by just how strange and alien the city looked. Normally there would be people everywhere, noise and traffic: carts and porters bearing goods which had been delivered at the staithe by the river; traders and apprentices bellowing about their wares; children and animals milling round and getting under everyone’s feet. Now the place was almost deserted – not even a chicken pecking round in the gutter. All the edible animals had disappeared, and she even had a feeling that there were fewer stray dogs than before.

She looked around her again, in case anyone was following, trying to tell herself that there was no reason why anyone should be. Her path was the way to the castle, to be sure, where nobody who was in control of their wits would be going, but it was also the right direction for the great cathedral, and it was there in the open space of the minster yard that the remnants of the market could be found, so it was an entirely sensible place for a respectable woman to be going. So far so good; nobody seemed to be giving her a second glance. The few people who were on the streets were busy hurrying about their own errands, keeping their heads down and eager to reach the safety of their own houses again. The danger in the city was ever-present, and as Alys reached the top of Steep Hill she heard a deafening crash coming from the direction of the castle: the French were unleashing their fearsome siege machines again, in another attempt to batter down the curtain wall. It was alarming from out here; it must be terrifying for those on the inside. Hastily she crossed herself and muttered a brief prayer for those who were trapped, before realising that she should perhaps also be praying for herself. As she reached the junction with Michaelgate, her courage failed her and she turned right towards the cathedral instead of left towards the castle.

Once in the open space of the minster yard she forced herself to calm down. Here there was a scattering of people, visiting the sparse stalls which still remained of the market, in search of food or other necessities. Alys took a short while to walk around, looking at the scanty wares on display, and was appalled to hear the prices. She would need to spend some of the stock of pennies on provisions, but should she do it now? By the time she got back after her errand, everything might be gone and the children would be hungry again. She drifted towards one of the stalls as the man behind it looked at her in hope, calling out what he had to offer. But then she became aware of the dangers of purchasing now: she would have to walk through the town on her own, past the homes and hiding places of hungry people, with a basket of food. That was no good – she would have virtually no chance of getting home with it unmolested. She would carry out her errand first and then return to buy whatever she could before hurrying home as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

It was only a short distance from the cathedral, but as she reached the area near the castle it was a different world. Almost immediately she began to pass houses which had been badly damaged when the city had been taken, and further on there was nothing but charred ruins and a foul smell. She shuddered at the thought that some of the destroyed buildings might hide corpses under the debris, and crossed herself once again.

The French had cleared an area near to the castle which she would have to pass. There were no people here: she was alone. What was she going to use as an excuse if somebody should ask her what she was doing? She moved back into the partial shelter provided by the rubble of a destroyed house to think, and it was then that she heard the sound.

She froze. Silently she listened, straining her ears, but it didn’t come again. Perhaps it had just been a rat or something, but she was sure that the noise must have been made by something bigger. Was somebody following her? Who could it be? What would she do if …? Her throat was constricting. With terror she realised that she was more or less in the same place as her father had been when he had been attacked – murdered, she should say now that he was dead, for the man who had struck him had surely caused his death, albeit three days later. Dear Lord, protect me from harm, I am trying to do what is right for the city and for my family. She dared not move.

She continued to crouch in fright, but for long agonising moments she heard nothing. Perhaps she had imagined it. But it was certain that there must be evil-doers in the city somewhere, for who else would have struck her father down? Somebody must have followed him into this very street and lain in wait for him, raising a weapon to crush the back of his head and take him away from his family. The thought of him lying there in the dark, alone and mortally injured, made her want to weep. But mixed together with the sadness she felt the first stirrings of – what? An indignation, an anger that one of his fellow citizens should have done such a thing; for surely it was a townsman – had it been the French forces themselves, they wouldn’t have left him there in the street, they would have dragged him off to their area of the city to try and get information out of him. She had heard of it happening. But the French were one thing; they were invaders, and one must expect them to be enemies. The people of the beleaguered city, on the other hand, should be working together to rid themselves of the invaders, not joining with them to do their dirty work. The anger became more pronounced and she felt a determination to do whatever she could to help the city’s cause. She would deliver her message no matter what the cost.

She peered cautiously out of her hiding place and looked over at the castle wall. Perhaps there might be some possibility of signalling to them, but there was nobody there. Even if there had been, it was too far to be able to hold any meaningful conversation: she could wave her arms perhaps, but the distance across the deserted open space was too wide to shout anything. If she tried she would merely alert the whole city, and soldiers would come running. No, she would have to come back once it was dark, and try to get closer. If she could only get to the north side of the castle, close to the walls and away from the French forces, she might be able to communicate with those inside. She would return later to carry out her task. Her mind made up, she stood, only to be seized by a pair of hands.

She screamed.

Alys felt a hand over her mouth, suffocating her. In a panic, she struggled.

A voice spoke urgently. ‘Miss Alys, Miss Alys, stop. Stop, I beg you, or you’ll get us both killed!’

She recognised that voice. Feeling the hands slackening, she released herself and turned to face Aldred. He watched her warily, but somehow she got the feeling that he was pleased he’d frightened her. He stood between her and the way out to the street, and she doubted she could get past him without a struggle.

She was angry, but some sense of caution remained and she spoke in a furious whisper rather than a shout.

‘What in the Lord’s name are you doing here? You frightened me half to death!’ A suspicion arose. ‘Have you been following me?’

He stepped nearer and she could smell the rank odour of sweat. ‘I saw you at the market, Miss Alys, and wondered what might bring you this way. It’s dangerous out here, you know, for a woman on her own. I thought you might need some … protection.’ He leered.

‘Protection! The only protection I need is from you, skulking around in ruined buildings.’

‘Ruined buildings, miss? Seems that’s what you were doing as well. A strange thing to do on your own – or were you perhaps waiting to meet someone? I’m shocked – taking a lover with your father barely in his grave …’

He was cut off as she slapped him hard about his leering face. She couldn’t help herself, but immediately realised that this had been a mistake. His eyes narrowed and he hissed at her.

‘Be aware, miss, that only my respect for your father stops me from striking you back. Otherwise I would punish you for that.’ He looked at her. ‘But know that I shall not forget it.’

She could say nothing. They stood in a furious silence for a moment. Alys couldn’t work out how she might extricate herself from the situation, for he still stood between her and the street.

The problem was taken out of her hands as he stood aside. ‘Might I
suggest
that you go back home where you belong. I will escort you to make sure you don’t fall into any trouble.’

There was nothing to be done. Casting one last glance at the castle, she moved out on to the street and started to walk back towards the cathedral, unwillingly bearing his presence at her side.

It was evening; perhaps an hour before the curfew, and Edwin was taking a last walk around the town with William. He was so tired he could barely put one foot in front of the other, but he needed to keep going. As they passed through the last remains of the day’s market, traders packing up around them, he saw a face he recognised from earlier. It was the small man who had been speaking with Master Michael, and who had disappeared. He was walking with a woman, although Edwin could only see her back as she looked at something on one of the stalls. Then she turned, and Edwin jerked out of his stupor, feeling as though someone had thumped him in the stomach, hard. She was very young, certainly several years younger than he, and she was – well, perhaps she wasn’t actually the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but it was definitely close. There was something about her which held his attention, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He realised he was holding his breath and slowly let it out. The mason, or whoever he was, had certainly made a catch there. He was hovering very close around her, so presumably she was his betrothed or his wife, although she seemed less keen to be close to him – as he watched she shied away and put an arm’s length between them. She looked melancholy. Perhaps they weren’t betrothed. He should stop staring. He must.