of arrows were on their backs.
Aside from the sheer numbers of people, what struck me most were the many ways people dressed, along with the great variety of colors to their clothing, colors I had never seen before, nor could even name. It was as if rainbows had come to earth, draped themselves on these folk, and paraded along the road. I soon realized it was not just words I had to learn to read, but what people wore as well.
“The town will be crowded,” Bear said. “You’ll see. People come from great distances.” He seemed pleased.
Though all but overwhelmed by what I saw, I was fascinated. To be sure, I stayed close to Bear as he strode forward with his great swagger. When people saw him coming they hastily stepped aside, gazing at him in awe once he went by. It made me feel proud. And safe.
But now the market town of Great Wexly loomed before us, as if it had sprung from the ground. Its brown stone walls were immense, stretching away for as far as I could see.
“Where do those walls go?” I asked, for I had never seen anything so vast.
“They surround the town in a great circle,” Bear said.
“Why a circle?”
“To keep all enemies out.” Then after a pause he added, “And in.”
Above the walls I observed spires—some with crosses—from which hung a host of multicolored pennants tossed and turned by breezes. It may seem odd, but it made me think the town had long hair, and each strand blown by wind was yet another color. I saw many housetops, too. It all seemed immeasurable.
By now the people upon the road had swollen to such great numbers, the press became intense. A constant clamor filled the air. I kept turning about, trying to see and hear the all of it, asking Bear what this or that might be. But he, no longer of a mind to answer my endless questions, strode on silently. I found myself reaching out to touch him, lest I fall behind.
As we drew closer to the walls, people began to squeeze together tightly. I wondered why, until I saw the town’s entryway before us. Built into the great wall, it was a deep tunnel that revealed just how thick the walls were.
“The Bishop’s Gate,” Bear said.
This entryway consisted of two massive black wooden doors, each one studded with iron bolts. The doors had been swung open and pushed back against the walls. Behind them, a portcullis had been raised halfway up, looking like teeth prepared to bite.
Above the entryway was a design with markings on it that looked like a shield. Black cloth was wrapped around it. Bear was gazing at it intently, but when I started to ask him what it meant, I realized he’d shifted his gaze to the gate.
I followed his look. Soldiers, their chests covered with iron plates, were guarding the entry-way. Pointed metal helmets were on their heads. Tall glaives were in their hands, swords at their sides, daggers on their hips. Atop the walls were other guards. What’s more, the soldiers were allowing only a few people in at a time.
Remembering the men at the bridge, I grew alarmed. “I think,” I whispered, my mouth dry, “they’re looking for someone.”
34
B EAR PUT A HAND ON MY shoulder. “Crispin,” he said softly, “try to show less worry. The worst disguise is fear.”
“What if they stop me?”
“I don’t think they will. But if they do, always remember what I told you; run away. Head into a crowd. Your size will hide you.”
Watching intensely, I saw that those trying to get into the town had formed two lines, which pressed through a gauntlet of soldiers. As we slowly made our way forward, I could feel myself becoming increasingly timorous.
“Here’s a better way,” Bear said into my ear. “When I tell you to—when we’re close to the gate—start playing the pipe. I’ll dance.”
“But won’t that make them pay more attention?” I said.
“Do as I say,” he said, but in so tense a fashion I dared not question him.
Instead, we edged along. Just as we approached the gate—and the
Aside from the sheer numbers of people, what struck me most were the many ways people dressed, along with the great variety of colors to their clothing, colors I had never seen before, nor could even name. It was as if rainbows had come to earth, draped themselves on these folk, and paraded along the road. I soon realized it was not just words I had to learn to read, but what people wore as well.
“The town will be crowded,” Bear said. “You’ll see. People come from great distances.” He seemed pleased.
Though all but overwhelmed by what I saw, I was fascinated. To be sure, I stayed close to Bear as he strode forward with his great swagger. When people saw him coming they hastily stepped aside, gazing at him in awe once he went by. It made me feel proud. And safe.
But now the market town of Great Wexly loomed before us, as if it had sprung from the ground. Its brown stone walls were immense, stretching away for as far as I could see.
“Where do those walls go?” I asked, for I had never seen anything so vast.
“They surround the town in a great circle,” Bear said.
“Why a circle?”
“To keep all enemies out.” Then after a pause he added, “And in.”
Above the walls I observed spires—some with crosses—from which hung a host of multicolored pennants tossed and turned by breezes. It may seem odd, but it made me think the town had long hair, and each strand blown by wind was yet another color. I saw many housetops, too. It all seemed immeasurable.
By now the people upon the road had swollen to such great numbers, the press became intense. A constant clamor filled the air. I kept turning about, trying to see and hear the all of it, asking Bear what this or that might be. But he, no longer of a mind to answer my endless questions, strode on silently. I found myself reaching out to touch him, lest I fall behind.
As we drew closer to the walls, people began to squeeze together tightly. I wondered why, until I saw the town’s entryway before us. Built into the great wall, it was a deep tunnel that revealed just how thick the walls were.
“The Bishop’s Gate,” Bear said.
This entryway consisted of two massive black wooden doors, each one studded with iron bolts. The doors had been swung open and pushed back against the walls. Behind them, a portcullis had been raised halfway up, looking like teeth prepared to bite.
Above the entryway was a design with markings on it that looked like a shield. Black cloth was wrapped around it. Bear was gazing at it intently, but when I started to ask him what it meant, I realized he’d shifted his gaze to the gate.
I followed his look. Soldiers, their chests covered with iron plates, were guarding the entry-way. Pointed metal helmets were on their heads. Tall glaives were in their hands, swords at their sides, daggers on their hips. Atop the walls were other guards. What’s more, the soldiers were allowing only a few people in at a time.
Remembering the men at the bridge, I grew alarmed. “I think,” I whispered, my mouth dry, “they’re looking for someone.”
34
B EAR PUT A HAND ON MY shoulder. “Crispin,” he said softly, “try to show less worry. The worst disguise is fear.”
“What if they stop me?”
“I don’t think they will. But if they do, always remember what I told you; run away. Head into a crowd. Your size will hide you.”
Watching intensely, I saw that those trying to get into the town had formed two lines, which pressed through a gauntlet of soldiers. As we slowly made our way forward, I could feel myself becoming increasingly timorous.
“Here’s a better way,” Bear said into my ear. “When I tell you to—when we’re close to the gate—start playing the pipe. I’ll dance.”
“But won’t that make them pay more attention?” I said.
“Do as I say,” he said, but in so tense a fashion I dared not question him.
Instead, we edged along. Just as we approached the gate—and the
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