Chapter 24      Oakford Inn

 

 

 

Snow filled the air.  There were single flakes the size of silver pennies and blossoms nearly as big as fists.  The blossoms flocked to earth like doves.  It was wet snow and it settled rather than drifted.  Hills and glens swiftly acquired whiteness and merged with the sky.  Trees huddled patiently.  All was quiet.

Stewart caught a blossom on his tongue and swallowed.  Snow tasted like nothing else on earth, for it fell from heaven, pure and unsullied.  He felt sheltered by its purity.

Away to the left, Edward grumbled, "This blasted stuff is melting into my blankets."  He spoke to no one in particular.  He whipped his bedding sharply, removing the accumulated snow, folded the blanket double, snapped it again, folded it once more and rolled it into an uneven bundle.  He stuffed the bundle under the waxed linen tarpaulin covering the cart and commented something unintelligible.  Then he wandered off.

Stewart put the smith from his mind and looked straight up.  He marveled at how each flake spontaneously appeared in the air over his head, became individual for a brief time, then joined its fellows in anonymity as it reached the ground.  Each flake could be the life of a man.  He chose a flake at random and assigned it his name.  It fell quietly and disappeared.  Its passing made him feel a little melancholy.  He looked another direction.

Snow capped the two big wheels of the cart, each of which stood nearly as tall as he.  The snow gave them a merry look.  They were constructed of heavy planking with petal-shaped holes cut into their sides to ease the weight.  The outer edge of each wheel had a broad, orange band around it with lettering in English writ bidding the wayfarer a profitable and uneventful journey.  Cadmon had told them what it said, and everyone remembered.

"Stewart," called Thomas softly.

Stewart turned from his reverie a little embarrassed.  He realized he had been called several times before.

Thomas smiled.  "We had best pack ourselves up.  Cadmon wants to make Oakford by tonight."

"I am sorry, Thomas.  The snow was so beautiful."

Thomas looked up, then casually brushed a fringe of snow from his eyelash.  "It is beautiful," he agreed, "though I cannot help wondering if the men who burnt us see it as a trail to follow."

His master was right.  By what whim did he enjoy the sky when such evil roamed about?  Remembering the exposed feeling in the small of his back the night before, he shivered, lowered his eyes, and headed for the many small tasks necessary for departure.  Breakfast had been cold bread, lard and warm cider, not much of a meal, but better than many had.  Winter was a time for tightened belts, no matter who you were, but especially if you were of the class that worked.  He remembered well.

"Thomas," said Stewart, beginning a question.

"Yes."

"What are we doing out here?"

Thomas shook his head and closed the gap between them.  He spoke in a soft voice, scarcely above a whisper.  "It is sketchy, Stewart," he said.  "Very sketchy.  Edward knows.  I think Alexander knows.  But the rest of us have been told very little."

Stewart looked up at his master.  Thomas softened.

"We are seeking out King John," said Thomas.  "Cadmon has some message for him, I believe.  The rest of us are escorts, part of the badge of authority he will need to gain an audience."

"Who are the men who burnt the stable?"

"I do not know.  Cadmon wears a strange look when he talks of them.  He knows much more than he is telling.  He is certain they are after us, but will not likely catch upon our trail for a few days yet.  But if they knew where to start, this snow would give them a ready map."

Stewart nodded thoughtfully.

"Best get to work," said Thomas, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

Stewart smiled, feeling as he had in the old days when Thomas was a simple squire.  Thomas turned and headed toward the horses, while he returned to his tasks.  He emptied the shelter of provisions and pulled other essentials from under the cart where he had placed them out of the snowfall.  He packed everything quickly.

As he took down the shelter, Aubrey ambled over with an amused expression.  He picked up two shelter poles and shaved the snow off them with his mittened hand.  They stood about six feet tall.

"Alexander!" he called.

Alexander looked up from his kit.  Aubrey hefted one of the poles toward him and Alexander caught it with one hand.  He smiled.  Quarterstaffs.  He had been getting noticeably better at the sport and rarely begged off an invitation.

Lovel barked at the tossing of sticks, but when he saw the game did not include him, he sauntered away to where the horses had been tethered.

Cadmon stood by his horse, preparing to mount, but paused to watch his squire.

Aubrey and Alexander moved into an open space and commenced.  They circled and feinted, probed and postured, but did little more than stir up the snow at first.  Then a crack waked the silence.  Aubrey caught Alexander's swinging stick against his own.  Aubrey shouted, "Well done!" and they circled again.  They scuffled, then another crack resounded.  This time, Alexander parried Aubrey's attack and returned the compliment.

Stewart saw Cadmon exchange a glance with Edward.  It seemed to be asking for an assessment.  Edward watched the two combatants a while longer, then addressed Cadmon with his eyes and nodded very slightly.  Approval given.  Stewart was glad.

James Beaumont leaned against a cart wheel, silent, his face empty of expression.  Stewart studied him briefly as he knelt to pick up a keg.  James had been very sober of late.  Well he might be.  He had quite a secret weighing on his conscience.  Did he suspect others knew of his deed?

The young knight watched Cadmon cautiously, as always.  What was he thinking deep in that cocky head of his?  Wondering if Cadmon suspected?  Entertaining feelings of regret?  Worse?  Stewart pondered the young knight's expression.  Some dogs are not to be trusted, he said to himself.  He would keep watch on this one.  Not that he did not trust Cadmon to look after his own welfare, but it could be that this time Cadmon's judgment had been distracted.  Perhaps he welcomed a danger into his camp thinking it was but a caution.  Yes, he, Stewart, would keep a watch, just in case.  He lifted the keg and placed it into the back of the cart.  James turned, resenting the sound, and walked away.

The quarterstaff combat continued for a few more minutes, eventually reaching a standoff.  Declaring a draw, Aubrey clapped Alexander on the back, and together they put the shelter poles into the cart.  It was time to go.

The knights and squires mounted their horses.  Stewart climbed into the cart.  The big draft horse hitched to the conveyance leaned into the weight and the wheels turned, trailing a double line where they split the snow.

Shortly after they established their pace, they pulled off the road and followed a narrow track alongside a stream.  They could only tell it was there by the lack of gorse and brambles growing in the wagon ruts, for snow had covered everything.  Stewart watched the backs of Cadmon and Edward as they picked out the trail.  He understood why Cadmon made for a village:  Once the snow stopped, out riders could easily find their trail if they kept to the main roads.  A cart and riders would stand out plainly.  But, if the snow continued, as it seemed intent upon doing, their tracks would cover and their whereabouts would remain a secret if they but left the road.

 It was now safer to be in the village routes, commingling with many carts and feet.  The snow was unfortunate, but Cadmon seemed to take it in stride.  He never seemed to hurry or show impatience.  He rarely spoke, except to Edward and occasionally to Alexander.  As everyone said, Cadmon kept close council.  It was hard to be on a journey with an unknown purpose.

Progress was slow.  They slogged through the morning, ate a quick, cold lunch, and moved on.  They left the stream and crossed a series of low hills on poor roads.  Daylight began to show signs of dusk, when at last the smell of smoke announced the proximity of Oakford.  Crossing to another hilltop, the snow covered roofs of the village appeared.  For a time as they descended the hill, they had a bird's eye view of the community.

Oakford was a simple stretch of houses, barns, sheds and pens nestled on either side of the road in a shallow valley.  Cleared fields skirted the village and trees crept near on all sides after that.  A church, an inn and a larger house belonging to the lord of the town stood out.  The town had grown tight against its stockade, and fresh timbers showed where troubled times had provoked renewed interest in security.

They approached a gate and a benumbed watchman.  Cadmon dismounted and spoke to the man.  Cadmon pulled out a document and showed him the red seal of William of Norbury.  Whether the watchman recognized the seal or was simply impressed by the showing of it, Stewart could not decide.  However, the watchman nodded and bade them enter.  He scrutinized each of them in turn.  He looked over the cart and the horses.  He clearly admired the war horses.

Through the gate, they saw few people about, though shutters parted a crack to lend view of the street.  They rode past the inhabitants without a greeting.  Cadmon stopped before the inn.

"We will sleep here tonight," he said.  Smoke issued invitingly through a roof vent.  "Judging from the stable," he gestured to the building in question, "we will have the place to ourselves."  The snow leading to the stable door lay clear and unmarked.  "Edward, will you see to the stowage?  I will make us known to the innkeeper."

Edward nodded and laughed.  "He heard your purse jingling two hills away."

Cadmon smiled, held his purse aloft, and pushed open the door.

Indeed, thought Stewart, perhaps three hills away.  While the door was open, Stewart glimpsed fresh rushes covering the floor and three big logs stacked upon the iron grate in the middle of the room, the first tongues of flame darting around them.  He also saw a long table with a cat standing imperially on top of it and a big brown dog lying expectantly under it.  A fat woman in an apron waddled toward Cadmon from the back of the room, bits of leaves from the rushes still clinging to her sweater.  Indeed, the entire household was ready for them.  Cadmon entered and the door closed.

"Get those horses in the stable," said Edward with characteristic roughness.  "Rub 'em down and feed 'em.  They carried more than we did.  Move the cart in after 'em and unpack.  Spread the blankets to dry.  Sort it all out and find out what we need."

Thomas smiled at Stewart when Edward turned away.  Stewart answered in kind, knowing the smile was meant to soften the sting of Edward's barking.

In short order, they accomplished all of Edward's commands.  Cadmon joined them and brightened everyone's spirits by announcing a tavern feast in the making.  Leaving Lovel to guard their belongings, the Norbury contingent entered the yellow warmth of the building, which had already accumulated some curious locals.  Several pretty girls with ribbons woven into their braids and tunics with long, tight fitting sleeves stared shyly at the knights and sneaked smiles to the more accessible squires.  To his pride and embarrassment, Stewart found one blond-haired girl with beautiful blue eyes watching him move about the room.

Walking with knights brought him into the fringes of their prestige.  Though he knew the attention he would have received alone would not have filled an acorn, he nevertheless felt himself stretching a little taller.  It was but human nature, and though he knew why he did as he did, he felt little desire to undo the situation, especially with the blond-haired girl watching him so intently.  It pleased him to the center of his pride, and despite his inner confusion, he smiled back at her.  When benches were pulled from beneath the table, she seated herself beside him.  He tried to remain calm outside but knew he blushed considerably and that the girl noticed his emotion with pleasure.  He tingled inside.

Thomas sat across and down from him, next to Edward.  Stewart avoided his master's eyes for fear of the humor he would find there when Thomas spotted the girl next to him.  Cadmon sat at the head of the table, Edward to his right, and Alexander to his left.  Next to Alexander was James Beaumont, who was seated across from Thomas, though neither seemed to take undue notice of the other.  Aubrey sat next to James, that is, next to himself, and Burke sat next to Thomas.  The remainder of their table, and another table next to the wall, was filled with locals, men, women, boys and girls.  Yet, the room was extraordinarily quiet for an inn.  Everyone seemed to be waiting for the knights to set the tone for the evening.

The girl put a slim hand on Stewart's sleeve.  He nearly started.

"My name is Mayda," she said, leaning in such a way that he could not have avoided her perfect blue eyes if he had wanted to.  "My father is the tailor.  We live in the back of the inn."  She pressed herself gently against his shoulder and thigh.

"Stewart," said Stewart.  He had meant to say more, but he felt like he was walking on ice, his feet all clumsy and askew, unbalanced, poised to fall, paralyzed, and enraptured.

"Stewart," she repeated.  "Stewart of Norbury?"

"Yes.  How did you know where I was from?"

"Your clothes are Norbury wool and weave," she said, as if the knowledge was of the most commonplace and obvious kind.  "How come you here in winter season?  You have not goods to sell and besides, everyone knows knights do not ride for merchants.  And the year is too new for pilgrimage or tournament."

This girl was inquisitive and sharp of wit!  He wished Thomas had told him what to say if someone asked him what they were doing on the road this time of year.  It was very awkward.  Thomas was making a nodding acquaintance with a young woman at the other table and was in neither the position nor the inclination to help him.

"Well?" said the girl.  "Cannot boys talk in Norbury?"

"Of course they can talk!" responded Stewart with smarting pride.  He was not a boy!   This girl, Mayda, had an insistent vein.  He turned to face her and saw her smiling with a teasing squint to her eyes.  She had the face of an angel, but the expression of a mischievous little devil.  She moved her fingers and nudged the back of his hand, as if to say, "Go on!"  Her skin felt as soft and warm as the down beneath the wing of a dove.

"I do not know," said Stewart, answering her original question.  "I am traveling with these knights of Norbury."

"Do not know?"  Her repetition sounded quite edged.

"No, I do not."

"Well, pooh!" she said.  "I was only asking."

Stewart pursed his lips.  She looked beautiful and her touch felt as wonderful as anything he had ever experienced, but altogether, she was not that pleasant to be with.  He almost wished she would go somewhere else.

Mayda studied the knights and squires seated up table from them.

"One of your knights is not from Norbury," she announced.  "The one they call Cadmon.  He wears foreign clothes."

Holy water and wine!  He began to feel uncomfortable around Mayda for reasons other than her sex.  She could see too much and he did not know how to answer her incessant questions.  Then to his relief, a distraction came.

The outside door opened.  A dandy looking fellow entered, shook the snow from his cloak, hung the garment on a peg by the door, and answered a broad smile from the innkeeper with an equally toothy grin.  A thick lock of brown hair, like the end of a paint brush, fell over his brow.  His face seemed habitually amused and his eyes fairly twinkled.  The newcomer by now had everyone's attention.  With a flourish, he reached into a copious linen bag and drew out a garish red hat of extravagant proportions, stuffed it on his head, then drew out a stringed instrument resembling a crwth, which carried a festoon of gaily colored ribbons dangling from it.  The ribbons had seen fair use, judging from their frayed appearance.  Striding to the center of the room, he drew up a stool and stood upon in, as pretty as a peacock.

"What a drab crowd!" he exclaimed.  "Innkeeper, these poor knights are in need of song.  Why, in providence, I am heaven sent!"  With a wrinkle of his nose, a brief frown of somber, dramatic thought, and a victorious raising of one eyebrow, he launched into a very bawdy song with an infectious rhythm.

The crowd picked up the refrain and began singing it along with the jongular, who eventually gave way his singing of it altogether, keeping himself busy plucking the strings of his instrument with great energy and style, while the crowd finished the verse.  To Stewart's horror, Mayda smiled viciously at him every time the refrain was sung.  He quickly came to dread its arrival as some people dread an eclipse.

By the time the jongular had done with the song, everyone, with the exception of Cadmon, moved their his feet with the music and wiped tears of mirth from their eyes.

Stewart sought some distraction from Mayda's vivacious presence.  He turned to Cadmon.

Cadmon sat easily at the end of the table, a half consumed tankard of ale in front of him.  It had been there for some time at that level, for a thin skirt of moisture clung to the lower half of the pewter tankard, like dew on a melon.  The cold ale inside caused that to happen.  He had often seen the effect but did not understand the why of it, but the line of moisture told by its presence that Cadmon was not drinking himself into a stupor as were most of the other guests, his knights included.  The restraint was typical of him.

Cadmon did not have tears of mirth in the corners of his eyes, though his expression was pleasant enough.  Cadmon never seemed fully able to transcend his thoughts to participate in the world to the extent others about him did.  His mind seemed the one, immovable point in his universe, and he navigated his life in reference to its anchorage.  Only in battle, as Stewart had seen the knight demonstrate with James Beaumont, did he seem to lose himself completely.  Surprisingly, he found himself feeling sorry for Cadmon, an emotion seemingly unnecessary where Cadmon was concerned.  Yet, he trusted his emotions, and if he felt sorry for someone, whatever his position or demeanor, there was usually just reason.

The jongular drained his tankard in a single draft, wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand, and said to the innkeeper, "That melted a bit of ice!  What say you thaw everyone out!"

Of course, the innkeeper immediately agreed, and receiving a nod of approval from Cadmon, the founder of the celebration, he signaled to his wife to refill the tankards of those who already had them and to provide anyone else with vessel and drink.  What a partnership between these two, Stewart marveled, watching the silent signals pass between the jongular and the innkeeper.  No doubt, the jongular took a cut of all drinks bought at his behest, and behind the sparkle of his eyes, Stewart detected a cool penchant for calculation.  But the audience bought the act, the exterior, not the underlying intent.

The party continued through several refills of the oil lamps.  Finally, someone announced the snow had stopped and the sky was clearing.  By the stars, it would be near nocturne, as the monks kept time.  Hours after sunset, hours 'til dawn.  The true middle of the night.  Like the night of the stable fire.  He shivered and felt his skin grow cool.  Mayda noticed and asked him if he felt all right.  He said that he did.  The lateness had dampened Mayda's impishness.  Her question seemed to express genuine concern without planting a seed for ridicule.

Mayda yawned.  "I am very sleepy," she said.  "Good night, Stewart of Norbury.  I am going to bed."  She stood, but paused before leaving.  She stooped and kissed him on the lips so quickly that he did not know what had happened.  If he not been numb with sleep, he would have blushed profusely, but as he was only half awake, he merely looked at her and blinked.

"Promise me you will say goodbye to me before you leave," she said.  Again, she seemed innocent and unconniving in her speech.  He decided he liked her much better when she was sleepy.

"I do not know when we are leaving."

"Tomorrow?"

"I do not know."

"You do not know much, Stewart of Norbury!  But if you can, promise me you will say goodbye."

He looked into her eyes and nodded.  She smiled at him, then turned on her heel and danced off into one of the back rooms.

If it was in his power, he would see her again.  The declaration came unbidden and unannounced into his mind, and he nodded to himself at the conviction he felt about it, quite bewildered.