Read Online The Book of the Maidservant by Rebecca Barnhouse - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca Barnhouse
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I’m accustomed to. “Stop!” I say. “My mistress might hear you.”
He grins again. “You asked.”
My cheeks grow hot.
“Cheer up, little serving maid,” he says, and winks at me. “It’s Cologne! Look!”
Bell towers rise above the rooftops, and a wall encircles the city. I can see the broad river, brown as a cow’s back, and the bridge we’ll cross. Just on the other side of it, I see what must be the guard tower.
“Thomas!” John Mouse calls, and dashes forward to rejoin his friend. They banter in Latin, swiping at each other’s hats.
Two huge draft horses pass us, each ridden by a farmer, and John bows to them as if they were knights in armor. Thomas says something to him, and the two of them hoot with laughter.
John Mouse was so grave when he defended mymistress. Now he is so full of fun. He is the only one of the company who speaks to me without giving me orders. I watch his black gown fluttering as he and Thomas leap about. When he turns so that his eye catches mine, he grins and my heart gives a little leap. His eyes are so bright and clear.
Suddenly, they grow wide and he grabs Thomas by the shoulder. “Petrus!” he hisses, and then, “Don’t look back.”
I catch my breath. The mercenaries.
“Gather close,” the merchant says, keeping his eyes forward. “Once we’re through the city gates, they won’t touch us.”
Dame Isabel and Bartilmew draw near me. The students and Dame Isabel’s husband are just ahead. Where is my mistress?
I steal a fast glance behind me. She strolls along, her face distracted, her lips moving in prayer, unaware of our danger.
I slow my pace to let her catch up, my heart racing as fast as my feet want to go. Finally, as she ambles alongside me, I take her arm. “Quickly, mistress, the mercenaries.”
She turns toward me, her brow furrowed. “No, child, we’re safe from them.”
“They’re right behind us,” I whisper fiercely, tugging her sleeve. “Hurry!”
Nothing I do will make her go faster. The rest of the company is far ahead of us now. Other people on their way to the city pass us, every footstep making me cringe, thinking it’s the soldiers.
Up ahead, crowds of people jostle their way across thebridge and through the city gates. Petrus and the merchant are almost there, the rest of the company directly behind them. Dame Margery goes slower and slower.
A horse-drawn cart rumbles by, and we have to duck out of the way, putting more space between us and the other pilgrims.
My whole body is taut, my fingers clenched around my knife hilt. Are they still back there? I dare not look.
As the cart passes him, Bartilmew turns and sees us.
He opens his mouth in a wordless shout. At the same instant, a hand reaches for one of my braids.
Without thinking, I swing my knife behind me. It hits something.
Someone yells.
I run.
Blindly, I push my way past two farmers. Feet hit the ground behind me, and hands grab at me.
The cart blocks the path. I splash through the puddles beside it, lifting my muddy skirts to keep from tripping.
Past the cart, past the horse, onto the bridge.
People turn and stare as I elbow my way through, my skirt held high.
My breath comes in ragged gasps.
Below me, the river. Ahead, the guard tower on the city gates. All around me, people, too many people in my path.
“Let me through,” I say, but no one does.
A voice growls behind me, a voice I remember. The mercenary.
I push harder. Someone plucks at my cloak. I duckbeneath a man’s basket and dodge around a woman carrying a sack over her shoulder.
The guard in the tower shouts something down at me. I cross myself and dash through the gates.
My foot hits a stone and I fall hard, the heels of my hands hitting the mud, my pack slamming into my back.
Hands grab at my shoulders.
I twist to get away, but the hands hold me firmly.
I can’t get free.
“S top. Go easy,” a man says, his words slurred.
Bartilmew.
“All is well,” he says, lifting me to my
He grins again. “You asked.”
My cheeks grow hot.
“Cheer up, little serving maid,” he says, and winks at me. “It’s Cologne! Look!”
Bell towers rise above the rooftops, and a wall encircles the city. I can see the broad river, brown as a cow’s back, and the bridge we’ll cross. Just on the other side of it, I see what must be the guard tower.
“Thomas!” John Mouse calls, and dashes forward to rejoin his friend. They banter in Latin, swiping at each other’s hats.
Two huge draft horses pass us, each ridden by a farmer, and John bows to them as if they were knights in armor. Thomas says something to him, and the two of them hoot with laughter.
John Mouse was so grave when he defended mymistress. Now he is so full of fun. He is the only one of the company who speaks to me without giving me orders. I watch his black gown fluttering as he and Thomas leap about. When he turns so that his eye catches mine, he grins and my heart gives a little leap. His eyes are so bright and clear.
Suddenly, they grow wide and he grabs Thomas by the shoulder. “Petrus!” he hisses, and then, “Don’t look back.”
I catch my breath. The mercenaries.
“Gather close,” the merchant says, keeping his eyes forward. “Once we’re through the city gates, they won’t touch us.”
Dame Isabel and Bartilmew draw near me. The students and Dame Isabel’s husband are just ahead. Where is my mistress?
I steal a fast glance behind me. She strolls along, her face distracted, her lips moving in prayer, unaware of our danger.
I slow my pace to let her catch up, my heart racing as fast as my feet want to go. Finally, as she ambles alongside me, I take her arm. “Quickly, mistress, the mercenaries.”
She turns toward me, her brow furrowed. “No, child, we’re safe from them.”
“They’re right behind us,” I whisper fiercely, tugging her sleeve. “Hurry!”
Nothing I do will make her go faster. The rest of the company is far ahead of us now. Other people on their way to the city pass us, every footstep making me cringe, thinking it’s the soldiers.
Up ahead, crowds of people jostle their way across thebridge and through the city gates. Petrus and the merchant are almost there, the rest of the company directly behind them. Dame Margery goes slower and slower.
A horse-drawn cart rumbles by, and we have to duck out of the way, putting more space between us and the other pilgrims.
My whole body is taut, my fingers clenched around my knife hilt. Are they still back there? I dare not look.
As the cart passes him, Bartilmew turns and sees us.
He opens his mouth in a wordless shout. At the same instant, a hand reaches for one of my braids.
Without thinking, I swing my knife behind me. It hits something.
Someone yells.
I run.
Blindly, I push my way past two farmers. Feet hit the ground behind me, and hands grab at me.
The cart blocks the path. I splash through the puddles beside it, lifting my muddy skirts to keep from tripping.
Past the cart, past the horse, onto the bridge.
People turn and stare as I elbow my way through, my skirt held high.
My breath comes in ragged gasps.
Below me, the river. Ahead, the guard tower on the city gates. All around me, people, too many people in my path.
“Let me through,” I say, but no one does.
A voice growls behind me, a voice I remember. The mercenary.
I push harder. Someone plucks at my cloak. I duckbeneath a man’s basket and dodge around a woman carrying a sack over her shoulder.
The guard in the tower shouts something down at me. I cross myself and dash through the gates.
My foot hits a stone and I fall hard, the heels of my hands hitting the mud, my pack slamming into my back.
Hands grab at my shoulders.
I twist to get away, but the hands hold me firmly.
I can’t get free.
“S top. Go easy,” a man says, his words slurred.
Bartilmew.
“All is well,” he says, lifting me to my
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