IT WAS SHORTLY AFTER THE church bells rang for late-afternoon Vespers that the widow reappeared. “I’ve found someone to help you escape Great Wexly,” she said. “You’ll go tonight. The man knows a safe way over the walls. If all goes well, you’ll not be seen.”
“But what about Bear?”
“In the name of God, Crispin,” she said, “you cannot help him. He’s already lost.”
She started to leave.
“Where do you think I should go?” I said.
She shrugged. “Go as far away as possible.”
“Bear spoke of going to Scotland.”
“Perhaps out of the kingdom is best.”
“I don’t know where Scotland is.”
“To the north,” she said.
“When will your man come?” I asked.
“After Compline—and curfew. Pray for clouds.”
“Why?”
“It will be darker.”
“Widow,” I said as the woman moved to leave me. “Where is the White Stag?”
“By the Western Gate. Why do you ask?”
Not wishing to mention John Ball—whom she seemed to hate—I said, “Bear spoke of it.”
She smiled grimly. “I’m sure Bear, God keep him, spoke of many taverns.”
I fell asleep, only to waken at the sound of ringing bells. Shortly after, I heard the tramp of feet outside. Then, from some distance came the cry, “The hour of Compline is at hand. The curfew is in force. No one may be on the streets.”
Not much later the widow appeared holding a lighted lamp. “The man is here. It’s time.”
I got up, making sure I took Bear’s sack as well as his hat. I also took some of the pennies we had earned and placed them in a pocket. Lastly, I touched around my neck to make certain my leather purse was there. I did not want to leave my sole possession—the cross of lead—behind.
“Widow,” I said, “I should pay for our lodging.”
“Don’t be foolish. You’ll need whatever you have.”
She led me down the steps. In the dimness of the empty tavern room, a man stood. He was rather small, with one shoulder higher than the other. His garb—jacket, leggings, and boots—was dark. He had a scabrous face, with a dirty cloth wrapped around his neck. His mouth was a narrow slit.
“God be with you,” I said to him.
“And you,” he said, avoiding my eyes.
Widow Daventry led us to the back door. Before she reached it she blew out the lantern. Only then did she open the door.
“The moon is full,” she whispered. “Be careful. God keep you well.”
“The Lord’s blessings on you for your help,” I returned.
Impulsively, she reached out and embraced me tightly, then with a sigh pushed me away.
I stepped into the alley. The man came close behind and shut the door behind us.
“Follow me,” he said.
Without a backward look he moved away. One foot dragged, so that as he walked, he made a little scraping sound upon the ground.
I glanced up to the clear sky with its bright, full moon. Ill omen or good, it occurred to me that I might never see the sun again.