in jeopardy,” he said. “That’s the kind of freedom that exists in this kingdom.”
With flint, steel, and tinder, he made a fire, which he told me to stoke with bits of wood. Then he took up the rabbit, spitted it, and soon had it roasting.
“Do you like meat?” he said, seeing me with my mouth agape.
“I’ve only eaten it a few times,” I confessed.
“A few times.” He laughed uproariously. “Ah, Crispin, the blessed saints were kind when they guided you to me. For my part, I love meat.”
When he proclaimed the rabbit cooked, he tore it apart, and gave me some. As I shoved the bits into my mouth with my hands, I admitted to myself it was the best food I had ever eaten. My resolve to flee abated—somewhat.
Later, when we had our fill—more meat than I had consumed at one time in my entire life—and the embers of the fire had burned low, Bear told me to lie down on the far side as he wished to speak to me.
What madness, I wondered, would he reveal to me now?
It had grown dark. The only light was our little fire. A breeze had sprung, which caused the flames to dance. Bear’s red beard seemed to glitter in the firelight, so that his face—despite the dark—was equal to any sun. His bald head gleamed like a moon. Indeed, he was big enough to fill the entire sky.
Then he began to speak of his many adventures, his riotous life, the marvels he had seen, the scrapes he had escaped, his fortunes good and bad. Never had I heard such tales. It was a world and life, a way of being, utterly unknown to me. What’s more, everything he talked about was stitched with laughter. It was as if life itself were a jest. Except, every now and then he’d cry out with an awful anger at what he called the injustices of the world.
Then he spoke of his soldiering days, fighting alongside the Black Prince in Gascony and Brittany.
“Our master has been fighting in France for so long,” I said, “I’ve never seen him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Lord Furnival.”
“Furnival,” Bear said. “You’ll be pleased to know his first home is in Great Wexly, where we’re bound.”
I said, “What manner of man is he?”
Bear shrugged. “I saw him too much. A great landowner. And arrogant. What he lacked in fighting skills he made up for in bragging, drinking, and killing. In that order.”
“But he’s a noble knight.”
He snorted. “Do you think that makes him less mortal? By God’s everlasting bones, Crispin, war is where the Christian is truly tested. Alas, your Lord Furnival was not one to inspire faith. If there were looting and cruelty to be done, he did more than his share. With a falcon’s eyes for ransom. As for those prisoners who would yield nothing …” Bear waved his hand dismissively. “Doomed. Regarding his fondness for women … I shan’t say. But you may believe me: As Jesus shall be our Judge, your Lord Furnival shall have much to answer for.”
“His steward is cruel,” I said.
“A suitable pair,” Bear said. “And what village is that?”
“Stromford,” I said before I could catch myself.
When he lapsed into silence I thought of what Bear said about Lord Furnival. It made me uneasy, thinking it might have been a mistake to reveal my connection and where I had come from. There could be a danger if Bear was truly mad and we were going there. And yet… he seemed to know so much, more than any man I had met. How, I asked myself, would he consider me when he knew more of what I was?
The fire smoldered. A breeze blew. A bird whistled into the dark. My uneasiness had just begun to subside when Bear said, “Now, Crispin, it’s time I learned the truth of you.”
23
I HARDLY KNEW WHAT TO SAY. I felt a desire to speak about who I was and what had happened. Yet it did not seem proper. He was, after all, my master. I was his servant. We were not equal.
But before I could think more on it he said, “When did your mother die?”
“A … short time ago,” I said.
“May the
With flint, steel, and tinder, he made a fire, which he told me to stoke with bits of wood. Then he took up the rabbit, spitted it, and soon had it roasting.
“Do you like meat?” he said, seeing me with my mouth agape.
“I’ve only eaten it a few times,” I confessed.
“A few times.” He laughed uproariously. “Ah, Crispin, the blessed saints were kind when they guided you to me. For my part, I love meat.”
When he proclaimed the rabbit cooked, he tore it apart, and gave me some. As I shoved the bits into my mouth with my hands, I admitted to myself it was the best food I had ever eaten. My resolve to flee abated—somewhat.
Later, when we had our fill—more meat than I had consumed at one time in my entire life—and the embers of the fire had burned low, Bear told me to lie down on the far side as he wished to speak to me.
What madness, I wondered, would he reveal to me now?
It had grown dark. The only light was our little fire. A breeze had sprung, which caused the flames to dance. Bear’s red beard seemed to glitter in the firelight, so that his face—despite the dark—was equal to any sun. His bald head gleamed like a moon. Indeed, he was big enough to fill the entire sky.
Then he began to speak of his many adventures, his riotous life, the marvels he had seen, the scrapes he had escaped, his fortunes good and bad. Never had I heard such tales. It was a world and life, a way of being, utterly unknown to me. What’s more, everything he talked about was stitched with laughter. It was as if life itself were a jest. Except, every now and then he’d cry out with an awful anger at what he called the injustices of the world.
Then he spoke of his soldiering days, fighting alongside the Black Prince in Gascony and Brittany.
“Our master has been fighting in France for so long,” I said, “I’ve never seen him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Lord Furnival.”
“Furnival,” Bear said. “You’ll be pleased to know his first home is in Great Wexly, where we’re bound.”
I said, “What manner of man is he?”
Bear shrugged. “I saw him too much. A great landowner. And arrogant. What he lacked in fighting skills he made up for in bragging, drinking, and killing. In that order.”
“But he’s a noble knight.”
He snorted. “Do you think that makes him less mortal? By God’s everlasting bones, Crispin, war is where the Christian is truly tested. Alas, your Lord Furnival was not one to inspire faith. If there were looting and cruelty to be done, he did more than his share. With a falcon’s eyes for ransom. As for those prisoners who would yield nothing …” Bear waved his hand dismissively. “Doomed. Regarding his fondness for women … I shan’t say. But you may believe me: As Jesus shall be our Judge, your Lord Furnival shall have much to answer for.”
“His steward is cruel,” I said.
“A suitable pair,” Bear said. “And what village is that?”
“Stromford,” I said before I could catch myself.
When he lapsed into silence I thought of what Bear said about Lord Furnival. It made me uneasy, thinking it might have been a mistake to reveal my connection and where I had come from. There could be a danger if Bear was truly mad and we were going there. And yet… he seemed to know so much, more than any man I had met. How, I asked myself, would he consider me when he knew more of what I was?
The fire smoldered. A breeze blew. A bird whistled into the dark. My uneasiness had just begun to subside when Bear said, “Now, Crispin, it’s time I learned the truth of you.”
23
I HARDLY KNEW WHAT TO SAY. I felt a desire to speak about who I was and what had happened. Yet it did not seem proper. He was, after all, my master. I was his servant. We were not equal.
But before I could think more on it he said, “When did your mother die?”
“A … short time ago,” I said.
“May the
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