Wicked (19 page)

“Anyone else?”

“Just those pilgrims came through last night, oh, I almost forgot. Friar Francis with his choir boys.”

“How many were there?”

“Hmmm, say ten or so. Every last one of ‘em had voices like angels, they did. Each sang a solo hymn for their meal. ’Twas like heaven right here in the Old Keg and Boar.”

That pretty much ruled out Sofia. Tobin had heard her hum and that had been enough.

Parcin leaned closer and asked quietly, “Are you thinking she was with them?”

Tobin shook his head. “With the voice of an angel? I don’t think so. She could easily have been with the tinker or stowed on his wagon. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Hey, Gunnie!” Bess called out. “Remember the juggler?”

Gunnie began to laugh in a huge, bellowing laugh, and the other women and even the alewife herself were laughing with her. Gunnie slapped herself in head and said, “How could I forget him?” She turned back to Tobin. “A small band of performers, a jongleur and rope walkers. They had this dancing bear with them. The bear didn’t dance for us. All he did was sleep. But what was the best was this tall laddie who kept trying to juggle for his meal. He stood right up there on the bar and tossed them wooden balls high in the air. He was doing real fine, he was, dancing and hopping and then he got cocky, added a fourth wooden ball, then threw ‘em too high. Well, he missed. Them’s hard balls. Knocked himself out cold.” She broke into laughter again. “Dropped like a rock, he did.”

Tobin straightened and exchanged a knowing look with Parcin. “Was the lad about this high, slim, with black hair that stuck out from his head?”

“Aye, that be him. And he had these strange colored eyes, he did. Purple they was. Never seen purple eyes before. Was a spunky lad, at least he was until he went down.”

Tobin stood and grabbed his cloak. “Did they say where they were going?”

“Northeast. The singer was talking to a messenger who told him about some birthing celebration in the Marches, Glamorgan, I think. A place where performers could pick up a pretty penny for a few days work. When they left, carrying out that poor laddie, I heard ‘em say they was headed that way.”

Sofia would not go with them to Glamorgan, that he knew. Tobin tossed some coins on the table and turned to Parcin. “Get the men ready. We’re riding out now.”

Tobin went to the door and opened it. The wind had died down and it was dark but he knew they had to ride quickly, even if they did so by torchlight.

Parcin stood. “Get yourselves up and mounted. We’re to north this night.”

“Got what I want to mount right here in my lap,” one of the men said.

There were quiet moans and groans from the others and the serving wenches were whining among themselves.

Tobin turned in the doorway and looked back at them. He eyed the serving wenches, then looked back at his men. “If you can fuck, you can ride.” Then he walked out.

Chapter 15

Sofia awoke with a blinding headache. She sat up and blinked, then looked around.

“Ned’s finally awake, Mama!” Maude shouted as if her mother were in Cornwall.

“Wide awake!” Tildie shouted just as loudly. Sofia winced and slapped her hands over her ears, then moaned and fell back on the seat. The twins were perched on either side of her, as if they had been watching and waiting for the moment she opened her eyes. Their voices were as loud as trumpets, or at least they felt that loud to Sofia. She took a deep breath. “What happened?”

Tildie looked at her with her wide eyes and said, “You knocked yourself out.”

“Aye.” Maude nodded. “With the wooden balls.
Clunk
!” She slapped her hand on her head. “Right on the noggin.”

Sofia groaned, then touched her head. There was a huge egg-shaped knot on her crown.

Miranda was up front, near Alan, who was driving the team that pulled the wagon. She slid open the peep and stuck her head inside. “How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed.”

Miranda laughed. “Are you well enough?”

“Well enough. But my pride is hurt terribly.”

“It should not be. You made our year most profitable,” Miranda said.

“Profitable?” Sofia frowned. “How?”

Alan looked over his shoulder. “The tavern keeper gave us two golden crowns when you went down, Neddie, me lad. After she stopped laughing, she said she hadn’t seen anything so amusing in years.”

“Aye,” Tildie said, nodding and giving her a child’s serious look. “We are the very best entertainers ever. You should knock yourself out all the time.”

“No one understands true talent when they see it,” Sofia muttered. Then she shifted to her knees and moved forward. She pulled back one of the side curtains. “Where are we off to next?”

“Glamorgan. Camrose Castle.”

Sofia felt all the blood drain from her face.

“The earl and his lady are having a huge celebration for their newest son. We should make enough in two days to last us until next winter,” Alan said.

Earl Merrick and Lady Clio?

There was no way Sofia could go there. Surely they would recognize her. “Stop the wagon! I cannot go to Wales,” she said in a panic.

“Why?” Alan frowned, then slowed the wagon and looked inside. “’Tis safe. Fairly safe, now that Edward has built so many fortresses along the Marchlands. The Welsh have settled down and they would not harm us. We only have to worry about our own countrymen and the outlaws that plague the roads and forests of England.”

Come up with something quickly!

Sofia stood and grabbed the door. She faced them. “My mother made me promise on her deathbed that I would never go to Wales.”

Miranda looked at her. “Why?”

Why . . . Why . . . Why?

Sofia put her hand on her chest. “My poor father was killed by a Welsh archer. An arrow.
Phsst
! Right in the chest.” Sofia poked herself, then looked at the twins, whose eyes were wide. Sofia glanced up at Alan and Miranda. She felt a sharp stab of guilt in her belly. She had done little but lie to them, these people who were so kind to her. She averted her eyes because she did not like it that they cared when she was telling them the biggest lie she had told yet. She opened the door and hopped outside.

Alan and Miranda stepped down, too.

“You need not worry about me. Just let me off here and I shall trot back to that inn, since I was such a smashing success there.”

Alan smiled.

“Perhaps find a ride to London,” she told him.

“You need not leave us.” Alan slid his arm around her. “We’ve grown rather fond of you, me lad. You are welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“I’ve traveling in my soul, you know. Being a wanderer and all. I’ve a strong desire to see more of the city. You will do much better without me. The wagon is cramped and I have been here too long.”

Alan nodded and clapped her once on the shoulder, then he went to talk to Bernard.

Sofia looked up and her eyes met Miranda’s. “You have been good to me. And I thank you.” She reached out and put a few of her own coins into Miranda’s hands.

“Nay, you need not—” Miranda said and tried to hand them back.

“Aye. Please. Take them. I have more.”

Miranda looked at her. “I do not know who you are or why you are afraid to go farther. I suppose it is the same reason you are trying to be a lad.”

“You know.”

Miranda nodded.

“Do the others know, too?”

Miranda shook her head. “Nay. Sometimes it takes a woman to know a woman.” Miranda smiled. “I wish you well . . . Ned.”

Sofia hugged her and whispered. “I am Sofia.”

Sofia stepped back and she walked back to the wagon and reached inside to hug the girls. She turned and bid Alan, Bernard, and the sleeping bear farewell.

Soon she was standing alone on the side of the road waving good-bye. Her arm grew tired and her shoulder began to tighten, so she watched until the wagons were nothing but silhouettes, like small flowers bobbing off in the distance.

She turned away finally. She did not move. She just stood there.

What to do? Where to go?

She crossed her arms and tapped a foot; it helped her think. She could take the road back toward London as she told them she would and truly explore the city, see its underbelly, but she’d watch out for the wild pigs this time.

Aye, that seemed most likely. She took a few steps and then stopped, because she thought of home—well, not her home exactly, for that would have been Torwick Castle, where she had spent her first four years and which was part of her dower lands. But as far as she knew there was no one there but the steward appointed by the King and whatever servants were needed to keep it from falling into disrepair.

No, the home in her thoughts was Leeds or Windsor. Wherever the King and Queen were was her true home, she supposed, the only home she could remember. She paused then, thinking of home. She wondered what they all thought of her escape, then chewed on her lip for another guilty moment. She had never said good-bye to Edith, her dearest friend, and she could not have done so to Queen Eleanor either.

But she felt empty when she thought of them, as if she had lost something valuable and precious. She closed her eyes as a pang of homesickness swept over her, and she began to cry. Cry! She couldn’t believe she was crying again! Like some blithering fool, she was standing there truly missing all that she had thought she despised.

She would have wagered the world on a silver platter that she would have never, ever felt this way. But she did. She cried for home. She cried because she had lied to good people. She cried because she did not like what she had become.

It was an ugly thing to see herself as selfish. She stood there on the road and realized that she had made some terrible mistakes because of her own strong will to do what she wanted and not what others wanted.

She was not proud of what she had done; it ate at her like a worm that makes the apple rotten. So she took a deep breath and walked, trying to get past what she was feeling. But walking was not enough and soon she was almost trotting down the road, heading back toward the south, her arms moving with her running strides, helping to move her along at a faster pace.

Then she began to run, run as fast as she could, trying to run away from what she had done.

It was quite a while before she began to tire and she was no longer running or trotting but walking, every so often kicking a small gray stone ahead of her, then moving to catch up to kick it again, and again.

She wondered how many kicks of that silly stone it would take to get to the village, how many kicks if she were to walk clear back to London. After a moment she stopped and looked all around her.

She was completely alone.

’Twas an odd feeling and one she did not know if she liked or not. How very strange that when you did not have something, it seemed like the most valuable thing in the whole wide world and then when finally you have it, you were not changed one bit because of it.

A mayfly buzzed around her face, and she swatted it away. It flew away and lit atop some horse grass growing on the side of the road. There were trees on both sides now and to the west were low bushes and then thick forest and woods. She started to move on, hoping to find the inn soon, but she had no idea how far away it truly was. She was hungry and tired, but as luck would have it she spotted some berries tangled amid the low trees and scrub brush.

She left the road and crawled through the brush, snagging her braies on the thorns, but she found a ripe cache of wild gooseberries. She filled her tunic with them, then sat down in the low brush and ate her fill. They were juicy and sweet and they made her think of the pies at feast time and sweet buns filled with fruit coming warm from the ovens.

She laid down for a moment, just to rest. Only for a short time. Her cheek rested on her hands and her eyes drifted closed, until the buzzing was too much. She swatted away a few flies, frowning, and then took a long breath, closed her tired eyes, and soon she was fast asleep.

“Ye figurin’ some pigeon
is likely to come along this way?”

Sofia opened her eyes at the sound of that raspy and gruff voice, but she didn’t move. The voice that woke her was frighteningly close by.

“Aye.” Another more gruff voice answered. “We’ll follow the road for a while, mates. There’ll be someone wot wants to part with ‘is purse for the sake of ‘is neck.” The man began to laugh and others laughed with him. “Mebbe they’ll lose their necks and their purses, too!” The laughter was not amused or kind; it was cruel and evil, and she was scared.

She could hear the subtle shifting of their mounts and the jangle of reins. She did not know how many of them there were. From her position, she could only see the back legs of three mounts. But there were more than three voices. They were in the woods, just this side of the road, and it sounded as if they were barely a few yards away from where she lay.

She was afraid to do much more than take one shallow breath after another for fear they would spot her. If she could see them, even partially, surely they could see her. All they had to do was to look in her direction.

A bee buzzed a nearby weed and lit on the white flower, then moved to buzz her head. It circled and circled her head, then her ear. It lit on her neck. She held her breath and prayed it would fly away.

Go away! Go away!

It stung her and she jerked in pain, but covered her mouth with both her hands so she would not cry out. The sting burned up her ear and head and down her neck, over her shoulder. She could feel the bee struggling to free its stinger, which was still piercing her skin. Tears filled her eyes and she squeezed them tightly closed and lay there unmoving, waiting to hear the sound of the men riding away.

Slowly the bee stopped struggling and was still, still as she had been. The men talked for a moment more, then she heard the sound of their horses riding off down the road.

A sob escaped her lips and she slowly pushed herself up to her knees and elbows. Fear and relief mixed together to make her tears flow again and her breath still short.