lay down and went to sleep.
I could not.
Though I was excited by Bear’s promise, I was very nervous. Should I or should I not trust him?
I fumbled for my cross and was about to pray for guidance, but found myself pausing. I had already asked God for much, and he had given in abundance. Perhaps it was time for me to make the decision for myself.
With that thought I put the cross away and took a deep breath. I would trust Bear. The decision would be mine and mine alone. But I would stay alert for all that might yet come.
That decision made, I lay down and stared at the stars until I fell asleep.
33
W E SET OUT EARLY THE NEXT day beneath gray skies and scudding clouds. The road was muddy, the air moist and cloying. I was very anxious. Though Bear tried to wear his customary cheerful face, I sensed that there was unease on his part, too. Of this, however, he gave no voice.
At first we traveled, as we usually did, alone. By midday, however, people began to join us on the narrow road. As we drew closer to Great Wexly their numbers increased.
To see so many added to my disquiet. Bear, who had come to know my humors well, worked hard to calm me. “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “You’ll be safe. In the name of Jesus, I’ll see to that.”
As the road began to widen, it became more and more crowded. Knowing how ignorant I was of everything, Bear tried to explain some of what we passed.
“That one is a pilgrim,” he said, pointing to a man walking very slowly, his head down. “Notice his gray robes, as well as the heavy metal cross around his neck. With his hood up and his eyes cast upon the ground, he’s surely reflecting on his many sins. From the look of it he’ll probably need to go all the way to Avignon to see the Pope in his French palace or perhaps go as far as Jerusalem.”
A closed wagon came by, its wheels rimmed with iron, something I’d never seen before and marveled at. Pulled by large horses, it was surrounded by a group of men armed with glaives. The wagon, Bear assured me, contained, “some rich lady, in search of a wayward husband.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m only guessing.”
“Could it be a rich man?”
“It could,” he said with a laugh. “And he looking for a wayward wife.”
There were many peasants with baskets and sacks upon their backs. One woman I saw bore two buckets, each one dangling from a shaft, the shaft balanced on her shoulders. Some folk walked beside their wagons. Others pulled them. Children were equally engaged.
Bear pointed out London, Flemish, and Italian merchants, identifying them by their particular garb or badges. There were also a great variety of priests, nuns, and monks.
One monk wore the black robes of the Benedictine order. A Dominican—"They preach well"—was in white. Still another was in rough brown robes and sandaled feet. “He’s a begging friar of the Franciscan rule,” Bear said. “They take their sacred vows of poverty to heart. May God always look kindly on him and his kind.”
He made me give the friar a penny.
Some officials were, he said, from the county. One or two, on horseback, he claimed had come from the royal court in Westminster, close to London.
“Have you been there?” I asked.
“I have,” he said, as if it were a common thing.
There were tradesmen, traders, tinkers, masons, and carpenters, hauling goods of one kind or another.
Bear indicated a doctor, a lawyer, and an apothecary. One man, astride a great horse was, he said, a tax collector. He was closely guarded by armed men. Just to see him made Bear irate.
By the roadside were scores of people crying goods for sale or trade. Their offerings were laid out in stalls, low tables, on pieces of cloth, even on the ground. For the most part they were dressed more poorly than others I had seen.
Once a troop of helmeted soldiers passed us by. They were chanting raucously, pushing people aside as they came. In their hands were long yew bows. Quivers
I could not.
Though I was excited by Bear’s promise, I was very nervous. Should I or should I not trust him?
I fumbled for my cross and was about to pray for guidance, but found myself pausing. I had already asked God for much, and he had given in abundance. Perhaps it was time for me to make the decision for myself.
With that thought I put the cross away and took a deep breath. I would trust Bear. The decision would be mine and mine alone. But I would stay alert for all that might yet come.
That decision made, I lay down and stared at the stars until I fell asleep.
33
W E SET OUT EARLY THE NEXT day beneath gray skies and scudding clouds. The road was muddy, the air moist and cloying. I was very anxious. Though Bear tried to wear his customary cheerful face, I sensed that there was unease on his part, too. Of this, however, he gave no voice.
At first we traveled, as we usually did, alone. By midday, however, people began to join us on the narrow road. As we drew closer to Great Wexly their numbers increased.
To see so many added to my disquiet. Bear, who had come to know my humors well, worked hard to calm me. “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “You’ll be safe. In the name of Jesus, I’ll see to that.”
As the road began to widen, it became more and more crowded. Knowing how ignorant I was of everything, Bear tried to explain some of what we passed.
“That one is a pilgrim,” he said, pointing to a man walking very slowly, his head down. “Notice his gray robes, as well as the heavy metal cross around his neck. With his hood up and his eyes cast upon the ground, he’s surely reflecting on his many sins. From the look of it he’ll probably need to go all the way to Avignon to see the Pope in his French palace or perhaps go as far as Jerusalem.”
A closed wagon came by, its wheels rimmed with iron, something I’d never seen before and marveled at. Pulled by large horses, it was surrounded by a group of men armed with glaives. The wagon, Bear assured me, contained, “some rich lady, in search of a wayward husband.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m only guessing.”
“Could it be a rich man?”
“It could,” he said with a laugh. “And he looking for a wayward wife.”
There were many peasants with baskets and sacks upon their backs. One woman I saw bore two buckets, each one dangling from a shaft, the shaft balanced on her shoulders. Some folk walked beside their wagons. Others pulled them. Children were equally engaged.
Bear pointed out London, Flemish, and Italian merchants, identifying them by their particular garb or badges. There were also a great variety of priests, nuns, and monks.
One monk wore the black robes of the Benedictine order. A Dominican—"They preach well"—was in white. Still another was in rough brown robes and sandaled feet. “He’s a begging friar of the Franciscan rule,” Bear said. “They take their sacred vows of poverty to heart. May God always look kindly on him and his kind.”
He made me give the friar a penny.
Some officials were, he said, from the county. One or two, on horseback, he claimed had come from the royal court in Westminster, close to London.
“Have you been there?” I asked.
“I have,” he said, as if it were a common thing.
There were tradesmen, traders, tinkers, masons, and carpenters, hauling goods of one kind or another.
Bear indicated a doctor, a lawyer, and an apothecary. One man, astride a great horse was, he said, a tax collector. He was closely guarded by armed men. Just to see him made Bear irate.
By the roadside were scores of people crying goods for sale or trade. Their offerings were laid out in stalls, low tables, on pieces of cloth, even on the ground. For the most part they were dressed more poorly than others I had seen.
Once a troop of helmeted soldiers passed us by. They were chanting raucously, pushing people aside as they came. In their hands were long yew bows. Quivers
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