The outlaw's tale (6 page)

Evan’s fingers went back to playing as he said with a nod at Sister Emma, “She’s not as happy with the carefree life of the forest as she was last night?

“Last night was dry."

Evan smiled.  Like the rest of his uneven face, it was a crooked smile and difficult to read.  “Is she ailing?"

“Only complaining."

“And you're not."

“I've been wet before and have learned that I'll be dry again sometime and that until then there's no point in spending effort on complaining.  Are you more peddler or outlaw?"

Evan took the change of subject with hardly a pause of his fingers on the lute strings.  “More peddler, I hope," he answered.

“Have you robbed with them?  Or only gathered the information that sets them on their way?"

“Robbed?"  Evan showed amusement at the word.  “We don't do anything so base – and perilous – as that.  Not for a long while past."

“You just live merrily in the greenwood, poaching an occasional deer."

“Alas, not quite so simply as that, either."  He hesitated.  “But those are the questions you're going to ask and want answers for before you write to your uncle, aren't they?"

Frevisse nodded.  They were indeed, and since Nicholas was not to hand, Evan's answers would do for a beginning.

He had stopped playing.  Now he looked down at one of his hands laid aside on his knee.  A large hand, thickened across the knuckles, dark and rough with years of raw weather and hard work.  “I used to have some skill at the lute, but haven't the hands for it any more."  He turned his head to look at Frevisse.  “We're most of us like that here.  Not comfortable at what we're doing, not able to go back to what we were."

“You were a minstrel?"

Evan grinned his sideways grin.  “Not quite.  But it's not me you want answers for.  It's Nicholas."

“You don't want pardon, too?"

“Oh, very much.  But Nicholas is the pivot point.  If he receives pardon, we do, too."

“So what do you do, if you're not robbers anymore?"

“We gather gifts."

Frevisse took a moment to absorb that idea, then asked, “From whom?  For what?"

“From those well able to afford them.  They pay us and we see to it that no one else takes anything from them that they don't want to give.  They pay us and we protect them.  This is one of the safest parts of the realm."

“You require folk to pay you not to rob them?  I think the definition of `rob' is strained a little there."

“For what they pay us - and it's only modest sums from each, well within what they can afford - we see to it that neither we nor anyone else offends their property or person."

“No robbers but yourselves within your territory.  Very apt.  How far does Nicholas's `influence' spread?"

Evan shrugged, and slid away from the question.  “Far enough."

“And your part is to go about as a seeming-peddler..."

“Indeed I am a peddler.  And good at it."

“I remember.  What use old Ela at the priory may have for green ribbons I cannot imagine, but you sold them to her."

“Sold her one, gave her the other.  She'll never wear them, I doubt, but they'll glad her heart just because she has them."

“And that matters to you?" Frevisse said, surprised.

Evan touched his lutestrings in a tuneless, ragged run of notes.  “There's little enough gladness in the world.  I'll not begrudge it to anyone, and assuredly not so small a corner of it."

“But still, while going about your peddler's ways, you spy and judge who would be likely to pay for Nicholas's 'protection', yes?"

“Indeed yes.  And I keep an eye around for any who may need to be warned off our territory.  And advise which of our men should be sent where when time comes for collecting, that we not set up a pattern too easily guessed at."

“In other words, Nicholas commands but it's through you that he knows what orders to give."

Evan made a small gesture of agreement.

“Evan!" one of the outlaws called from the edge of the clearing.  “Nicholas wants you.  Come."

“If you'll pardon me?" Evan said, set his lute aside into a length of waxed canvas and wrapped it around for protection from the wet day, then ducked from the shelter and left Frevisse to her own thoughts.

By midday those thoughts had turned to worry.  The persistent wet and chill had finally driven her to keep Sister Emma company by the fire, along with a huddle of outlaws.  Now as the day went by it was becoming plain that Sister Emma was not imagining the depth of her discomfort.  She could no longer breathe easily, and she huddled and shivered over the fire, complaining that she hurt; and when Frevisse ventured to lay a hand on her forehead below her wimple band, her skin was hot with fever.

That was enough.  Frevisse went purposefully in search of Nicholas, and found him beyond the rough bushes that hid one clearing from another.  He was seated with Evan on logs under another canvas shelter, and by the looks on their faces as they saw her, they had been talking about her.  As they both rose and bowed to her, she ignored Nicholas' greeting and said, “Sister Emma needs to be taken somewhere she can be warm and dry and nursed.  Her cold has worsened into fever and will surely go to her lungs if she stays here longer."

Nicholas hesitated.

More forcefully Frevisse said, “We don't want her death on our hands.  There'll be no pardon for you in that."

Evan leaned to whisper in Nicholas' ear.  Nicholas, diverted from Frevisse, looked at him disbelievingly and started to protest.  Evan cut him off with, “By your leave, lady," to Frevisse, and drew Nicholas aside.

Shivering a little, Frevisse moved nearer to the fire.  It was larger than the one in the other clearing, with a better pile of drier logs beside it.  At the far side of the shelter Evan spoke vigorously but too low for Frevisse to hear.  Then Nicholas answered him, with more question than protest now, Frevisse thought, wishing she could hear what they were saying.  Evan spoke again and this time, at the end, Nicholas nodded.  When he came toward her, Evan behind him, he was smiling.

Sweeping her a low bow, he said, “Your need is my command.  Give me an hour, or maybe a little more, and there will be all you ask for and more."

Frevisse looked past him to where Evan nodded in confirmation.  Warm with relief, she said, “Then I'll thank you most greatly, cousin."

With only a little more farewell, Nicholas left, taking one of his men with him.  Frevisse picked up an armful of the dry logs and returned to Sister Emma's fire.

Later, Evan brought them cold venison and hunks of soggy bread and mugs of ale.  Frevisse ate willingly, but Sister Emma only shook her head.  “I can't," she whimpered.  “Everything hurts.  And I can't breathe."

The fact that her words stopped there instead of running on increased Frevisse's worry.  When Nicholas finally returned, she sprang to her feet in relief.  He cast a frowning glance at Sister Emma.  “She's no better?"

“She's worse.  What have you brought?"

“Not brought.  Found.  But you'll have to ride."

“How far?"  She doubted Sister Emma would be able to do much.

“Four miles maybe.  But there's a house at the end of it, dry beds and warm food and folk to see to her.  It's an easy ride, and we can haste once we're to the road."

“Then let's go as soon as may be.  She's worsening, I think."

Sister Emma barely protested when Nicholas, finally realizing she was not even good for walking, picked her up and carried her.  Wet branches whipped and spattered them; rain dripped from leaves overhead; the ground squelched underfoot.  Frevisse was soaked through to the skin when finally they came out on the wide way where they had left the horses, and Sister Emma was surely no better.

Hal was waiting.  As Nicholas put Sister Emma down on her feet, she swayed and said pathetically, “I feel awful.  And now I'm wet clear through.  And
cold
."

“She can't ride alone," Frevisse said, putting an arm around her to steady her.  Sister Emma sagged against her, crying softly.

“You, Hal," Nicholas said quickly.  “Take her horse and I'll hand her up."

Hal, looking harassed, handed Frevisse the other reins, hesitated over how to manage Sister Emma's box saddle, and finally swung up awkwardly behind it.

“Oh, this isn't right at all," Sister Emma moaned as Nicholas took her by the waist and heaved her up into her seat.  “I can't ride with a man."

“We're taking you somewhere you'll be warm," Frevisse reassured her as she tossed her reins to Nicholas.  He mounted and she quickly swung up to sit behind his saddle.

On the highway again, where they could ride on the grassy verge, they cantered to hurry the journey.  The rain had finally eased, but the day's chill was deepening and the heavy overcast made the hour seem later than early afternoon.  Sister Emma collapsed against Hal, sunk too far in misery even to notice the impropriety of leaning against a man.  Frevisse kept silent behind Nicholas, yearning to urge the pace.  And not soon, but sooner than she had set herself to endure, Nicholas said, “A quarter mile now maybe.  Not more."

She stirred herself to look around.  They were entering a village, the houses shuttered, eaves dripping, no one in sight in the muddy street.  Frevisse would have been willing for this to be their goal.  Even the down-at-the-corners alehouse with its bush thrust out over the street looked inviting after the rude camp in the woods.  As they rode past, the half-open door gave a glimpse of firelight and a crowded room, and a drift of hot, ale-scented air wafted to them.

“Beyond the village?" she asked.

“Not far.  You'll be made comfortable there.  Master Payne likes his comforts and has the money for it, so you'll lack nothing."

“He knows about you?"

“We do business together, clear and honest.  I told you I've not broken the law these three years.  But I have to live somehow and he's my way.  Don't go asking questions about me because he won't have the answers.  We're friends enough he'll do this for me, and send a messenger to Thomas Chaucer with your letter when you've written it."

“He's agreed to all this?  How did you explain Sister Emma and I being in your ‘keeping’?"

Nicholas shrugged.  “He's not to home right now, so I didn't need to explain."

“You persuaded his people to take us in despite him being gone?"

“Persuaded his wife.  She knows I have dealings with him, and doesn't have to talk things to death to understand them like some do.  Here's the turning."

As the highway swung leftward, a smaller road turned right.  Another hundred yards or so along that byway they came in sight of a half-timbered gatehouse set in a low wall running between outbuildings.  They were expected; a man was there to pull the gate open as they approached.  He stood aside to let them pass and pushed it shut behind them as they rode on into the manor yard.

The house across the yard rose a little higher than its surroundings.  Half-timbered like the gatehouse, white-plastered over its daub between the rain-darkened timbers, it was two storeys its entire, four-bay length.  A plain house, but ample.  And new, Frevisse guessed.  Built within the last ten years, with glass in some of the upper windows.  And there were at least three fireplaces; their smoking chimneys rose above the far side of the roof.  Warmth and food were very near to hand.

Their coming had been watched for from the house, too.  The door was opened as they reached the porchless front door and servants came out to hold the horses.  Hal lifted Sister Emma to the ground, and Frevisse slipped down from behind Nicholas.  Sister Emma feverishly brushed away Hal's hands and collapsed against Frevisse, coughing from somewhere deep in her chest.  Frevisse, praying this was not as bad as it was beginning to seem, urged her toward the door.

A woman waited there, a step safely back inside, away from the rain.  She was small in height and bones, a little woman with a worried face, dressed in an old gown faded to a soft blue-lavender under a plain, sensible apron.  But her hair and neck were covered by a white, full wimple and starched, layered veils which like her dress were of good linen.  Frevisse guessed she was Mistress Payne even before she said in a quick, fluttered voice, “Enter, my ladies, and be welcome.  We've a room all readied for you.  And dry clothing.  Please, come in."

Her gaze went over Frevisse's shoulder to Nicholas, still sitting on his horse in the rain.  “And you'll... come in?" she asked.  She seemed uncertain if she wanted him to accept her invitation.

Nicholas shook his head.  “I've matters to see to.  Tell Master Payne I'll see him when he's back."  He looked at Frevisse questioningly.

Frevisse nodded.  “I'll write as soon as I have chance.  Tomorrow surely if not today."

Nicholas nodded back his satisfaction and gestured to Hal to mount behind him.  Frevisse opened her mouth to protest.  They were taking her horse.  But she held quiet.  It was too much trouble; it might make too much trouble.  As the two men rode away, and a servant led Sister Emma's horse toward the stables, Frevisse gratefully gave Sister Emma over to a servant woman waiting to take her, and turned her own attention to Mistress Payne.

There were half a score of village men crowded in the Wheatsheaf, the village alehouse, this rainy afternoon.  So early in the summer men would rather have been in their fields, seeing to the weeding of the winter corn, or else in their cottage gardens tending to their lesser crop.  Or even in the barns, threshing the last of the past year's harvest.  But the year had been cold and wet, and what little wheat or barley or oats there had been was long since gone.  There was nothing in the barns to thresh, nor much left in the way of livestock.  Talk was that if this year went on as it had begun – more rainy days than dry and hardly enough sun to bring the seed up – then next winter there would be hunger even deeper than the last.

“I've to spend what good weather there is in the fields.  There's not been dry days enough to let me mend my roof, and the thatch is that beaten down there's rain come through t'loft at back," one thin-shouldered man complained to his fellows gathered on the benches near the hearth.