The End of Time (12 page)

W
ITH THE STEWARD some steps ahead, Owen and I were at last alone. “We need to escape tonight,” I whispered hastily. “The Icelandic ship leaves at dawn.”

He halted. “But…but how can we get away?”

“I’m not sure. Owen,” I blurted out, “I’m not exactly sure what we’ll find there.”

He looked up at me with worried eyes. “But we’ll get away from them, won’t we?”

I nodded, wishing that I could, at least, be sure of that.

“That’s all I care about.”

I said no more.

We were led, not back to the banquet, but to a small adjacent room. Lit by smoky candlelight, it was unadorned
save for some faded tapestries on the wall. The bride-to-be was sitting upon a red cushion in a large, high-backed chair. The chair made her appear even smaller, younger. Her feet did not even touch the ground, but swung with childlike impatience. The two women with whom she had been seated in the hall stood on either side, like guards.

The steward fairly pushed us through the doorway of the room, made a brief bow, muttered something about pressing duties, and hurried off.

When we first stepped into the room, the girl had been slumped in her chair. As soon as she saw us, she sat up and smiled broadly, bringing her hands together in a clap of excitement.

One of the women by her side gestured to us. “You may come forward,” she said.

We drew closer, pausing when it seemed near enough. Once there we bowed.

“Is that a monkey?” cried the girl, bypassing all polite talk. Her voice was as childlike as her appearance.

“It is, mistress,” I replied.

“I’ve heard of them,” said the girl, “but never saw one. You, boy,” she called to Owen. “Bring him near.”

A timid Owen advanced a few steps.

The bride could not take her eyes off Schim. “Is he…
is he dangerous?”

Owen shook his head no.

“Is the monkey yours?”

Owen, too awed to speak, only nodded.

“May I hold him?”

One of the women by her side put out a cautionary hand. “Mistress…”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” cried the girl with sudden anger, slapping the hand away. “I’ll be leaving soon enough, and I’ll never see you again. For that, at least, I’ll be grateful.”

The woman’s face reddened, but she stepped back.

To Owen, in much a softer voice, she said, “Come, boy, you need not fear me. I’m merely sulky. Bring him to me so I may be cheered.” She held out two pudgy, pink hands.

Owen stepped forward, took Schim from his shoulder and, still holding to his tether, offered him to the girl. The girl set the creature in her lap. Schim, as was his custom, sat on his legs and gazed up at her with great curiosity, then reached out and touched her lips and nose. The girl laughed gleefully. “Does he have a name?”

“Schim,” I said.

“Must you keep Schim tethered?” she asked, cautiously touching the monkey’s fur, stroking it gently.

“I don’t think he likes it,” I said. “But he might run away.”

“By Saint Anne,” said the girl with sudden earnestness while gazing into the monkey’s face, “I understand the poor creature’s fate.” She looked from one of the women to the other and said to us, “I’m tethered, too. And for the same reason. I would also run away.”

Not fully understanding, I said, “We congratulate you on your marriage, mistress.”

“You need not bother,” said the girl, her lips pouting. “I don’t want to be married! But it will happen tomorrow,” she added when one of the women made a movement to protest. “At the Church of Saint Nicholas. Did you know that my soon-to-be husband is older than my father?” She made a sour face, then leaned forward as if to share a secret with Schim. “I don’t like to even say his name. But then I can’t speak his Flemish language. He smells vile.” She sighed. “But my father wills it so,” she said to me. “My husband-to-be is a rich trader. That’s what matters. Yes, we will marry in the morning. After much feasting and music making—perhaps some dancing—I shall go off to Bruges. By My Lady’s grace, I may never be in Calais again. This monkey, even with his tether, is freer than I am. And you”—she meant Owen and me—“are freer yet.”

One of the women leaned in. “My lady, you must not—”

“I want you to go away!” the girl burst out. “I beg you! Can’t I have one last measure of liberty?”

The two women exchanged looks of alarm.

“If there be any kindness,” the girl cried, “I should like a moment with my new friends!”

Flustered, the two moved a step away. “We will be by the door, my lady,” one of them whispered.

“Farther!” shouted the girl. Then to us, in a softer voice, “Come closer, so we may talk in private.”

I advanced to where Owen was standing, right in front of the girl.

The girl studied Schim with a look of sadness, petting him gently on his head. “If I could exchange places with you,” she said to the beast, “I would. Or,” she said, nodding now at us, “with you.” Her voice became a whisper. “I suppose it’s sinful of me,” she confided, “but I truly can’t win.”

Owen stared at her.

“Forgive me,” I said. “Can you not object?”

The girl sat back in her chair and glanced, with a frown, toward the doorway, where we could see her women hovering. Leaning forward, she whispered, “No one listens to me.”

She studied us intently. “I should like to be free the way you are.”

“Mistress,” I said boldly, “we aren’t free.”

“How can that be?”

“Our family is not our true family. They…they are holding us.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Holding…you. Truly? Like…this monkey?”

I nodded.

“But surely you can come and go.”

We said nothing.

The girl slumped back in her chair. Still holding on to Schim, she stared at us for a long time. We stood there, unsure what to do or say. “The world isn’t kind,” she said, her voice full of sorrow.

For a moment I thought of Troth.

The girl became silent, staring off I knew not where. “What will you take for this monkey?” she suddenly asked. “I’ll have him with me. Name any price.”

“I…don’t want to sell him, my lady,” Owen said.

“I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“He’s…he’s all I have,” Owen whispered.

“Oh.” She sat back, sighing. “Then he, at least, is well loved.”

One of her women stepped back into the room. “My lady, your father wishes you to return now.”

The girl put her arms about Schim and hugged him gently. The beast examined the braids around her ears.

“My lady…” persisted the woman.

The girl leaned toward us. “By Holy Mary, I should like you, at least, to be free. Listen: I have heard my father speak of a tavern. It’s called—I think—the Lamb. It’s built against the city wall. He said there’s a passage there…. It’s used by smugglers.”

She grinned. “Because I’m a girl, they don’t credit me with ears. But if you can find that tavern, you might escape the city.” Her eyes glittered. “If only you could take me!” she said.

The second woman came into the room. “My lady!” she called more forcibly.

The girl held out Schim to Owen. As he took the monkey, the girl whispered into Schim’s ear, “May God grant you your freedom, too.”

That said, the girl slid forward in the chair until, stretching, her gown bunched up, her feet touched the floor. She stood and slowly went to the women who were waiting for her by the door. Just as she left the room, the girl looked back at us over her shoulder. Her eyes were full of tears.

We never learned her name.

Owen and I were left alone. I spun about to Owen. “We may be able to get away now.” But no sooner did we step away from the room than we found Elena just beyond the door, waiting for us.

“What did the bride want?” she demanded.

“To see Schim,” I said.

She only frowned.

We headed back in silence to the stable, where the rest of the family was waiting for us. All I could think about was the secret tavern passage out of the city. It would be the way to go—if I could find it.

“What happened?” asked Rauf as soon as we returned.

“She was just taken with the monkey,” Elena said.

“She wished to buy him,” I added, instantly regretting saying so.

“Mangy creature!” said Rauf. “I’d be willing.” He reached out and gave Schim a pinch, which made the beast screech and cling to Owen in fright. Rauf only grinned and said, “We’d get more for the monkey than the boy.”

That evening we played our music from the balcony one more time. It was long past vespers when we were done. By then the girl bride was asleep in her chair. Not even Schim’s tricks and jumps could stir her. In faith, no one seemed to
pay the girl any mind. How different she was from Owen and me. And yet—how much alike. I almost wished she were coming with us.

Afterward we returned to the kitchen, where we were offered more food and drink. There was some idle talk with other musicians, but I was too distracted to give it my attention. At length, to my relief, the whole family returned to the stall.

Once there Elena said, “We’ve been told that the wedding will take place at terce. The musicians will be part of the morning procession to and from the church.”

I wondered if Rauf would be at the celebration or about the house in search of things to steal.

“The bells have already rung midnight,” said Elena. “We need to sleep.”

They arranged themselves for the night, as if casually, but I took note that they had Owen and me lie down at the inner part of the stall, the rest blocking the way. Rauf took the outermost position. The night before it had been Elena. As I looked about, I sensed their tension and excitement. I wondered if they were about to embark upon their thievery. While I knew how wrong it was, I rejoiced at the thought. It could well mean they would be leaving Owen and me alone. Getting out of the stable would be much easier.

I was quite certain that the tavern the girl had mentioned was the place where Rauf had shown me to the soldiers. So I put my head to trying to recall the route we had taken there. Would I be able to find it in the night? I wondered if it would even be open. Hopefully those soldiers would not be there. Curfew had long passed. But it was there I intended to go.

Owen and I stayed close. Schim, too. Once we lay down, I managed to whisper into his ear, “We must leave at prime.” I had no doubt: we would have but one chance to do so. There would be no second.

“The tavern?” he murmured.

I nodded. We dared not speak anymore. Thus began one of the longest nights of my life.

A
T FIRST ALL was calm and peaceful. The church bells rang their calls to prayer. Matins. Lauds. The lantern outside our stall shed its languid light, occasionally stirred by some
random breeze. From within the house came an occasional clank and thump. No doubt, the kitchen people were preparing for the wedding breakfast feast. I heard the night watch passing, giving their cry, “All’s well! All’s well.”

I lay as still as I could, eyes open, listening as the family settled deep into slumbers: Woodeth’s sighs and murmurs. Rauf’s deep breathing. Gerard’s small sounds. My own slight movement, which made the straw crunch.

I tried not to think about what Thorvard said about Iceland. I preferred to believe Halla. More to the point, I reminded myself that Elena’s family intended to deliver me to the Calais gallows. I would have this one chance to escape these people and get on that Icelandic ship. Yes, going there would be an uncertain thing. But—I told myself—far better to risk an uncertain life than certain death.

I thought of Troth. I tried to push aside my anger at Bear. To think that he had been wrong made my eyes smart and my heart feel heavy. As if to turn from him, I sought the blessings of Jesus and Saint Giles. They would not abandon me. No more than I would do that to Owen.

I looked to the boy and gave his hand a light touch as reassurance. He returned it to show me he too was awake.

Shifting, I checked to see how the family had arranged themselves and planned a passage through them. That done,
I tried to remain alert. But despite my desperate desire to stay awake, I fell asleep.

I don’t know which came first, the church bells announcing prime or Owen’s touch. Perhaps one and the same. It didn’t matter. In the instant, I was fully awake.

I lifted my head and looked about. There was a faint glow coming from the lantern just beyond the stall. All else was dark. Owen was fully awake, sitting with his back against the wooden wall staring at me. The monkey lay in his lap, asleep.

I pushed myself up on my elbow. The family lay so deep in the straw it was difficult to determine just who was where. Even so, I made myself note them one by one. I counted the two women and Gerard.

Not Rauf.

Startled, I looked again. There could be no doubt. Rauf was not there.

Very slowly I shifted myself about until I could lean over toward Owen and whisper “Rauf” into his ear. He nodded his head as if to say he already knew. His gaze remained on me, waiting for me to tell him what to do.

Though fearful of Rauf’s return, I knew that if we didn’t leave then, we’d be too late to get to the ship. I indicated that Owen should leave the stall first.

Owen returned a nod of understanding.

As the boy—Schim in his arms—rose slowly, I dared not breathe. I did have a moment’s unease when the monkey woke and looked around, small eyes wide with puzzlement, tail twitching. Owen gently touched the back of his head. The creature responded by pressing his wizened face against the boy’s neck, but made no further move. Happily, Owen moved with little sound. Once, twice, he paused when Gerard, then Elena shifted in their sleep. Blessedly, neither woke.

It seemed long—but surely no more than moments—before the boy, with Schim now sitting on his shoulder, stood beyond the stall. The tiny flame in the lantern made Owen’s shadow loom large. Once out of the stall he looked around the stable and made a gesture for me to come.

Taking a deep breath, my heart beating very fast, I put my hand to the back of the stall and slowly pulled myself to my feet.

Grateful for the little light there was, I worked to avoid the sleepers, frustrated by the small scrunching sounds my feet made in the straw. Once, twice, I had to stop to calm myself. Each time I looked up and saw where Owen was waiting—his look intense, his large, staring eyes drawing me forward. Even the monkey stared
at me, the tip of his tail twitching.

Then Woodeth shifted, which brought me to a halt. Next Gerard swung his arm and actually struck my shin. After a momentary and frightful pause—during which he moved no more—I resumed my forward steps until I, too, stood free of the stall.

Once there we paused in the lanternlight for a brief moment, looking up and down. Then we turned in the direction that would lead us to the street.

Even as we did, Rauf stepped around the corner.