Crossing To Paradise (5 page)

“I'll excuse Nest today,” said Austin. “I want to teach Gatty her alphabet.”

“Alpha-what?” Gatty exclaimed.

Austin opened his shoulder bag and found his silvery slate and a lump of chalk, and then a little crumpled piece of parchment.

“We can sit here,” the priest said, and he and Gatty sat down, side by side, under an old crab-apple tree.

Austin put the parchment on the ground in front of Gatty.

A.a.b.c.d.e.f.g.h.i.k.
l.m.n.o.p.q.r.s.t.
v.u.x.y.z. amen.

“Letters,” said Gatty. “What's this at the end?”

“Begin at the beginning,” Austin told her. Then, using a twig as a pointer, he advanced from letter to letter, naming it, sounding it, and having Gatty copy him. “Ai…a. Bee…b. See…c. Dee…d. Eee…e.

“There you are!” said Austin. “The letters we use to make words. Now copy each letter on to the slate.”

“I will!” cried Gatty eagerly.

“What's London like then?” Gatty asked Nakin as they and Lady Gwyneth led the group south.

“London!” he said. “Where can I begin?”

“Is it as large as Ludlow?” Gatty demanded.

Nakin gave a short, scornful laugh. “It's larger than all the Marcher towns rolled together!”

“Is it as large as France?” Gatty asked.

Lady Gwyneth smiled, then quickly tucked her chin into her cloak.

“You can't compare London to France,” said Nakin.

“Why not?”

“One is a city and the other's a country.”

“I didn't know that,” Gatty said.

“London's like a monster with one hundred arms,” Nakin said. “It's like the monsters in the sea beyond Venice.”

Gatty opened her eyes sky-wide.

“Yes, there are. And there's a huge fish, more than one mile long.”

Gatty gasped.

“But London's even longer than that,” Nakin told her. “And as wide as it's long. It's noisy. It's dirty. It's everything. You'll see.”

As
they walked on, Gatty thought of the largest, noisiest, and dirtiest things she had ever seen or heard, but nothing began to prepare her for the shock of stepping through the wide arched gate in the towering wall, and into the city of London.

The first thing was: a burly man pushed right between Gatty and Lady Gwyneth, in a hurry to get out through the gate as they were coming in.

The second thing was: Lady Gwyneth was smacked on the left shoulder by a flying cabbage.

“Yach!” bawled a woman at the burly man. “Next time I'll give you cabbage ears.”

Lady Gwyneth took Gatty's arm and held it tightly. She walked on as if nothing had happened.

Ugh! The stink! Sewage pits. Putrid fruit. Fish so rotten they glowed green in the gloom. Scrapheaps of heaven knows what. Mud. Under the sky's leaden lid, all London's foul odors swarmed and stewed around them. The smell was so thick Gatty could taste it! She grinned and screwed up her face like a pickled walnut.

There was no stopping. The pilgrims were part of a seething throng. Two men rolling a cart loaded with samples of wool. Another man carrying an oblong brass plate on his head! Another wearing harness. Three women clutching awkward hens to their breasts, and another cradling the horn of a cow. Dozens and dozens, hundreds, hundreds of men and women and children side-stepping, jostling, striding, barging, talking, bargaining, laughing, arguing, playing, skipping, tripping, yelling, wailing—or, like some people, slumped against walls, somehow sunken into themselves, with nothing left in this world to hope for.

“Where are we going?” Gatty called out.

“The Three Archers,” Nakin shouted. “Down by the river. Follow me.”

At the far end of the long street leading away from the city walls, there was a marketplace with three lanes spoking out of it.

Some people took the left lane, some the right, and some, like the pilgrims, chose the middle one. For the first time since entering the city, they had a little space to pause and draw breath.

At this moment, two boys came running up behind Nest at the back of the group.

The younger one brushed past her left arm; the other whisked the leather strap off her right shoulder and ripped away her pouch.

Nest shrieked; the pilgrims turned round to see what had happened; the two young boys just kept running.

“I'll get them!” yelled Gatty.

“No, Gatty!” shouted Emrys.

“Gatty!” Lady Gwyneth called after her. “No!”

But Gatty took no notice. She tore down the street after the two boys.

When at last they looked over their shoulders, the boys saw Gatty was after them. At once they split, and Gatty followed the bigger one, the one carrying the purse.

The boy led her through another marketplace and down a narrow passage where Gatty could hear her own footsteps echoing. She followed him through a kind of tunnel, all dripping and dark, where hands reached up and tried to clutch her. Then left, then right, then right again—or was it left? Then across a courtyard. That's where the boy tripped and, before he could get up, Gatty threw herself onto him.

“You rat!” she gasped. She reached for her knife.

The moment the boy saw it, shining, he didn't struggle at all. He went quite limp, and meekly allowed Gatty to take back Nest's pouch.

Gatty glared at him. “You,” she said, panting, “you should lose your left hand!” She got up, and at once the boy scrambled to his feet and ran off. Gatty opened her own pouch and tucked Nest's inside it. Still panting,
and excited at catching the boy, Gatty started to retrace her steps. Left…then right…then left again, was it? People kept getting in her way and after a while Gatty realized she had actually walked right round in a circle. She began to tremble. She had come back to the courtyard where she had pinioned the sneak-thief.

What about the gate then, Gatty said to herself. They'll have gone back to the gate, won't they? They'll wait for me there.

Several people told Gatty how to get back to the city wall but, when she did so, there was no gate. Gatty felt scared. She didn't know which way to go.

First she hurried east along the track following the inside of the wall, then she retraced her steps and set off west.

Stands to reason, she said to herself. We came in from the west, we did.

At last Gatty did come to a city gate, but it wasn't the right one, and no one was able to help her.

Gatty began to shake then. Her heart hammered in her chest. It was almost dark as she gathered up her cloak and hastened along the towering wall.

What if I can't find it, she thought. What if I can't find them?

God took pity on Gatty. In the dark, she stumbled upon the gate through which she and all the others had entered the city. Panting and trembling, she pressed her back against its ribs and sucked her red knuckles. She stared up at the wide arch…and that was when she remembered.

The Three Arches. No! The Three Archers. That was it, wasn't it? Down by the river.

Gatty gulped. For the second time, she set off down the long street leading away from the city walls, and took the middle lane spoking out of the marketplace.

When at last, after asking the way dozens of times, Gatty stumbled into the low-slung, candlelit tavern, Nest and Tilda saw her at once, and wrapped their arms around her; Nest began to sob. When Gatty extracted herself, she saw the corners of Lady Gwyneth's eyes were moist too.

“God forgive you!” she said, shaking her head.

“We thought…” sobbed Nest.

“I was!” exclaimed Gatty. “Lost like the Tribes of Israel.”

“No!” sobbed Nest. “We thought you were taken.”

“Or murdered,” said Tilda.

Gatty ran her hands through her hair. “There was a kind of tunnel,” she said, “and hands…and I swatted them!”

“Gatty!” cried Nest.

“I seen half of London. Where are the men?”

“There's Nakin!” said Tilda, pointing with her toe at the man lying with his face to the wall, snoring. “The others have gone right back to the gate.”

“I did that,” said Gatty. “A long way, that is.”

“You didn't catch them, then,” Tilda said. “The boys.”

Gatty's eyes brightened. “And all,” she said. She opened her pouch, and pulled Nest's out of it.

Nest began to snivel all over again.

“What's in it, then?” Gatty asked.

“My hairpins.”

“Hairpins!” exclaimed Gatty. “Is that all?”

“They're beautiful,” said Nest, opening her pouch. “My best ones.”

“What's in those pots, then?” Gatty asked her.

“My lotions,” replied Nest. “My eye-blacking.”

“I don't remember Austin blessing those,” Lady Gwyneth said. “Who said you could bring them?” And then she turned to Gatty. “Rushing off on your own like that was foolhardy,” she said.

“After hairpins and lotions and all!” said Gatty, slapping her forehead.

“And you put us all at risk,” Lady Gwyneth continued. “You put our whole pilgrimage at risk. Are you listening?”

Gatty lowered her eyes.

“You heard me calling after you,” Lady Gwyneth said angrily. “There's no place whatsoever for disobedience on this pilgrimage. If you're going to be disobedient, I'd rather make do with one chamber-servant. And I will.”

“I'm sorry, my lady.”

“Now!” said Lady Gwyneth. “Tilda! Order food and ale for Gatty.”

But Gatty couldn't eat. She felt too chastened and upset by Lady Gwyneth's reprimand, too exhausted. She felt as she used to feel when field-work had worn her to the bone, or Hum had beaten all her energy out of her. She just wanted to curl up like a wood louse. Gatty slipped down onto a wall-bench, and Nest and Lady Gwyneth sat on either side of her.

After a while, Nest put her mouth close to Gatty's left ear. “I know I'm sometimes unkind to you,” she whispered. “Forgive me, Gatty.”

Before they tried to sleep, Lady Gwyneth said prayers for the men, and asked God to guide them safely through the night to The Three Archers.

Tilda couldn't stop weeping. “I know I said I wanted a better husband,” she sniveled. “But I'll be a better wife. Bring Emrys back and I will.”

Lady Gwyneth put one arm round Tilda and the other round Nest. “It's in God's hands now,” she said.

That night, lying on a straw pallet, Gatty couldn't get to sleep for a long time because she kept thinking about how angry Lady Gwyneth had been, and kept worrying about the men.

Snout and Emrys, Austin and Everard didn't reach The Three Archers that night. And they didn't get there in time to break their fast.

So Nakin was unable to visit the Venetian trading house where he had deposited gold and silver coin to check that a credit note had been sent ahead of them to Venice.

“There's no point,” he said. “For all I know we're going to have to turn back.”

“How long should we wait here, do you think?” Lady Gwyneth asked him.

Gatty knew it was all her fault. She gnawed her knuckles, and said nothing.

When the four men did at last troop in, they were footsore, weary, hungry and frustrated. And when they saw Gatty sitting with the other women and Nakin, their first reaction was not so much of relief as indignation and reproach.

“Where have you been?” Everard demanded.

“We walked halfway round the city walls,” said Snout. “Four gates.”

“And said prayers at each of them,” Austin added.

“We've been halfway to Jerusalem already,” said Snout.

“Gatty knows she's done wrong,” said Lady Gwyneth. “She knows she almost wrecked this pilgrimage for us all. Now where did you men sleep?”

“Sleep!” exclaimed Austin. “We didn't.”

“We bought flares,” said Everard, “and kept searching.”

Snout looked at Gatty. He saw how downcast she was. Like a small, sodden, shivering terrier. Without saying anything, he took both Gatty's hands between his huge warm paws and cradled them.

Gatty sniffed and swallowed. Then she gave a loud hiccup and began to sob.

“Nakin,” said Lady Gwyneth. “You can go to the bank now.”

Tears were streaming down Gatty's freckled cheeks.

Lady Gwyneth nodded to Snout, reached out and put both arms round Gatty.

“We all admire your bravery,” she said in a quiet, warm voice. “And I forgive you, Gatty. But from now on, don't just jump in—stop and think first. Yes?”

Gatty rubbed her forehead against Lady Gwyneth's left shoulder.

“You men,” said Lady Gwyneth. “You need bowls of fish stew; you need to eat and drink and sleep. We'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to hire our horses.”

As
the pilgrims picked their way along the muddy bank, there were more gulls about than people. Fast and low they flew over the greasy river, beating the bounds, reasserting their fishing rights with screeches and little yelps.

It was so early that the livery stables looked deserted. The hire-horses were still dozing in their stalls, the fire pits had burned out, and when at last Emrys found Sayer, the stablemaster, sleeping in an empty stall, he had the devil of a job waking him up.

“It's too early for man or beast,” Sayer yawned. “You'll have to wait.”

“Wait for what?” asked Emrys.

“Solomon,” said the stablemaster.

“Solomon?”

“I don't do deals without him, and he can't do deals without me.”

Emrys sighed and reported back to Lady Gwyneth.

“We're in your hands now, Emrys,” Lady Gwyneth said immediately.

“Nine horses, that's what we want,” Emrys told the stablemaster.

“Are you deaf?” Sayer demanded. “I've told you already. You'll have to wait.”

“Nine,” Emrys repeated doggedly. “To go to Venice.”

“You can't go to Venice, anyhow,” Sayer said, yawning. “You can't ride on water. Treviso, you mean. Treviso and back again.”

“That depends,” said Emrys.

“Depends?”

“How sound your horses are,” Emrys said carefully.

“You good-for-nothing!” the stablemaster exclaimed. “All my horses are sound.”

“We'll see about that,” Emrys said.

“And Solomon and me will see about you,” Sayer retorted. “You wait here. I'm having my bread and ale, I am.” And with that, he turned his back on the pilgrims and clumped across the other side of the stable.

“Did you have to be so…so gruff?” Everard asked.

“No,” said Emrys.

“Why were you, then?”

“I met like with like,” Emrys replied. “To let him know what's what.”

“We don't want to have to walk to Venice,” Everard said.

“I won't walk for one more day,” complained Nest.

The stableman's breakfast put him in a more emollient mood. Smiling to himself, he led into the yard a huge roly-poly horse, standing at least seventeen hands. Its shining chestnut body was like a massive barrel.

“In the name of heaven!” exclaimed Emrys. “No one here is going to ride a draughthorse.”

The pilgrims pointed at the horse's heavy quarters and stubby legs, but although some more refined horses might have been offended, the draughthorse just gave the pilgrims a dim look and flicked its short ears.

“This,” said Sayer, his voice rising in pitch, “is Solomon. Aren't you, boy?”

By way of reply, the draughthorse dropped his large head, raised it, and then dropped it again.

“You mean Solomon's a horse?” said Nest.

“What a clever girl!” said the stablemaster. “Isn't she? Isn't she, boy?”

Emrys heard the way in which, this time, the stablemaster's voice lowered in pitch.

“Isn't she, boy?” the stablemaster repeated, and Solomon obliged by swinging his broad head from side to side.

The pilgrims laughed, all except Emrys, who was standing on his own well apart from the other pilgrims. He put his hands around his mouth, and neighed like a mare.

At once Solomon lumbered towards him, and Emrys patted his nose. “You know what's what,” he said with a rising pitch, “don't you, boy?”
And, sure enough, the draughthorse responded to Emrys's rising pitch, and gave a cumbersome nod.

After this, the stablemaster, now in altogether better humor, asked Emrys to help him lead twenty horses, ponies, and mules out of their stables so the pilgrims could inspect them.

“Come and help us, girl,” Emrys told Gatty. “You've got good horse sense.”

“Yes, Gatty, you have,” Lady Gwyneth said warmly.

And for the first time that morning, Gatty's heart lightened. She sighed in relief, and then she smiled.

From the moment she saw the Welsh cob, Gatty knew she was the one for her.

What was it? The way she arched her neck? Her silken feathering? Her foursquare, slightly bloodshot gaze? Or was it that she reminded Gatty so strongly of Pip, Arthur's cob? Her bright bay coat. Her white stockings.

Gatty stepped towards the mountain pony, and the pony held her ground. She inclined her head to her muzzle and picked up her breath: slightly sweet, like new grass; delicate, like violets.

Sayer walked up and slapped the cob's withers. “Lovely, isn't she?”

Gatty nodded, wide-eyed.

“She'll be a good friend,” the stablemaster told her.

“A friend is what I need,” Gatty replied.

“And she's tough. She'll go day and night.”

“What's her name?” asked Gatty.

“Syndod.”

“Welsh!” Lady Gwyneth called out. “Wonder! Marvel! Show her to Emrys.”

Lady Gwyneth made a fine choice too: a beautiful Arab, a grey with gentle, wide-apart eyes and a silken mane.

“The best horse I've had in years,” the stablemaster said. He combed the Arab's mane with his fingers. “Jerusalem,” he said. “Arabia. Those parts. That's where he comes from.”

Emrys approved of Lady Gwyneth's choice. “He'll have a temper on him,” he warned her. “Arabs do.”

“But his eyes!” said Lady Gwyneth.

“I know,” said Emrys. “He'll have a temper but he's gentle, he is.”

One by one, as the lemon sun swung up into the sky, Emrys helped each pilgrim to choose a horse or a pony. Austin was the last to decide, and he picked a fine white Andalusian horse.

“Saviour,” the priest announced. His eyes were like knife points. “Saviour!”

Lady Gwyneth clapped her hands.

“Is that everyone?” asked Emrys. And by the time he and Sayer had sorted out sweat-pads, saddles, bridles, bits, and all the other tack, and checked that each animal was well-shod, it was already noon.

The pilgrims walked their mounts round the yard, getting to know them a little, getting the feel of being up in the saddle, and Nakin pulled coin after coin out of the stiff leather pouch stitched to his belt, and gave them to the stablemaster.

“All right, then,” Sayer said. “You can sell these horses, any of them, to the livery stable at Treviso. Or you can leave them there while you sail to Jerusalem, and collect them on your way back home without further payment. That's right, isn't it, boy?”

Sagely, Solomon nodded his heavy head.