a meadow where three brindled cows stood under the shelter of a huge oak. A weasel raced out in front of us and for a few seconds it forgot its size and vulnerability and reared up on its hind legs to threaten us, swaying to and fro like a snake. Then with a flick of energy it was gone into the long grass beside the track.
I was next to Sally, our steps swinging with the samerhythm. She had never left the confines of the village before and now she walked like a bullock being led to slaughter, her head bowed and her mind closed to anything beyond the thudding contact of her feet with the ground, the swishing of her cloak, the weight of the long staff in her hand.
When we stopped at midday to share a meal of hard-boiled eggs, hard cheese, hard bread and stale beer, she ate what she was given but refused the beer, preferring to drink from a nearby pool. The water was sweet and brackish and it coated the inside of her mouth with the taste of mud and rotting leaves. The monotonous cry of a bird sounded like someone calling out for help: her child perhaps, or was it her father or her husband? It was only now, that she was leaving the village that she was able to understand how much she had lost during the last year and how sad she had been.
As evening approached we reached a barn, and we spent the night there with the darkness immense outside and the rustling of rats in the straw. Sally was so restless that it was hard to know if she was awake or asleep. She whimpered like a little child, the noise so close and intimate it sounded like my own voice.
19
I want to try to put words to the shock I experienced when we entered the first town on this journey. It was the port of Great Yarmouth, the same place from which the leper had set out when he was bound for Santiago de Compostela. There was nothing extraordinary about it; it was a town like any other, but I had no idea what to expect.
We had passed through a forest of beech trees, their bark as smooth as skin and moss green. Then we followed a raised track that took us safely across an area of marshland. The colors on that marsh were so startling: dark reds and grays and purples interspersed with patches of water glistening like liquid mercury. And the birds. I had never imagined such a quantity of birds. They were a thick restless carpet on the land and rushing clouds of movement in the sky. I canstill hear the noise of them: burbling songs, harsh screams, the creaking of wings.
The walls of the town emerged out of the mist like a monstrous face with gates for its many mouths through which people streamed in an endless flow and towers for eyes, the narrow windows staring down to judge those who approached.
We joined the crowd that was heading for one of the gates and we were swept along with them and into the town. People shouted and pushed around me and there was a savagery in their determination which allowed no time to pause, no room for mercy. I caught hold of Sallyâs hand when I stumbled on the uneven cobblestones and I kept it in my grip as if I would drown without it.
The houses lowered at me and the streets between them were dark and narrow. There was a beggar lying in his own filth, the corpse of a dog, a heap of rags, a jumble of bones, a piece of broken chain and then we were suddenly tipped out into the light and space of the market square.
All the shops around the square were hung with signs to explain their trade. A surgeon had a wooden arm painted with dripping stripes of blood, a barber had a long sharp knife, a tavern had a bunch of branches tied together like a broom and leaning out so low that it brushed against the top of my head.
Above the cacophony of sounds I thought I could hear someone screaming in agony, but it was only a pig being slaughtered. I saw it stretched out on a trestle table, its skinpink and human, its throat cut so that the head lolled in a final ecstasy and the belly slit wide open and steaming into the air.
Two women were busy
I was next to Sally, our steps swinging with the samerhythm. She had never left the confines of the village before and now she walked like a bullock being led to slaughter, her head bowed and her mind closed to anything beyond the thudding contact of her feet with the ground, the swishing of her cloak, the weight of the long staff in her hand.
When we stopped at midday to share a meal of hard-boiled eggs, hard cheese, hard bread and stale beer, she ate what she was given but refused the beer, preferring to drink from a nearby pool. The water was sweet and brackish and it coated the inside of her mouth with the taste of mud and rotting leaves. The monotonous cry of a bird sounded like someone calling out for help: her child perhaps, or was it her father or her husband? It was only now, that she was leaving the village that she was able to understand how much she had lost during the last year and how sad she had been.
As evening approached we reached a barn, and we spent the night there with the darkness immense outside and the rustling of rats in the straw. Sally was so restless that it was hard to know if she was awake or asleep. She whimpered like a little child, the noise so close and intimate it sounded like my own voice.
19
I want to try to put words to the shock I experienced when we entered the first town on this journey. It was the port of Great Yarmouth, the same place from which the leper had set out when he was bound for Santiago de Compostela. There was nothing extraordinary about it; it was a town like any other, but I had no idea what to expect.
We had passed through a forest of beech trees, their bark as smooth as skin and moss green. Then we followed a raised track that took us safely across an area of marshland. The colors on that marsh were so startling: dark reds and grays and purples interspersed with patches of water glistening like liquid mercury. And the birds. I had never imagined such a quantity of birds. They were a thick restless carpet on the land and rushing clouds of movement in the sky. I canstill hear the noise of them: burbling songs, harsh screams, the creaking of wings.
The walls of the town emerged out of the mist like a monstrous face with gates for its many mouths through which people streamed in an endless flow and towers for eyes, the narrow windows staring down to judge those who approached.
We joined the crowd that was heading for one of the gates and we were swept along with them and into the town. People shouted and pushed around me and there was a savagery in their determination which allowed no time to pause, no room for mercy. I caught hold of Sallyâs hand when I stumbled on the uneven cobblestones and I kept it in my grip as if I would drown without it.
The houses lowered at me and the streets between them were dark and narrow. There was a beggar lying in his own filth, the corpse of a dog, a heap of rags, a jumble of bones, a piece of broken chain and then we were suddenly tipped out into the light and space of the market square.
All the shops around the square were hung with signs to explain their trade. A surgeon had a wooden arm painted with dripping stripes of blood, a barber had a long sharp knife, a tavern had a bunch of branches tied together like a broom and leaning out so low that it brushed against the top of my head.
Above the cacophony of sounds I thought I could hear someone screaming in agony, but it was only a pig being slaughtered. I saw it stretched out on a trestle table, its skinpink and human, its throat cut so that the head lolled in a final ecstasy and the belly slit wide open and steaming into the air.
Two women were busy
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