Shield of Three Lions by Pamela Kaufman Read Free Book Online Page B

Scotland.”
    “Aye, of course,” she said, relieved. “What will ye do in such a wicked city?”
    “I’ll go directly to King Henry for help. I promise we’ll be back in Wanthwaite within the week.”
    “King Henry? There was a King Henry in these parts many years past who fought the Scots.”
    “’Tis the very same and my grandfather fought with him,” I saidboldly as any boy. “He knows my family you see, and will be glad to aid me.”
    “I wish I could go with you.”
    “No,” I said bravely. “Your family needs you here.”
    She broke into sobs anew to think of our fate.
    THE MOON WAS FULL, THE GLOAMING white as daylight, but we dared not wait longer. Depending on drifting cloud shadows for cover, we crossed the Wanthwaite River on a fallen oak far from the natural fording. On the other side we found a cow path which led through the wood to a pasture enclosed by a drywall. We climbed over the wall and walked close to it, prepared to stoop low if we heard anyone. The turf was spongy and uneven, my burdens heavy, and I turned my ankles constantly in my oversized boots. Soon my heels were bloody and I winced at each step but dared not ease my pace.
    When the wall ended, Dame Margery became confused and only my own intervention kept her from leading us right back to Wanthwaite. At last she decided that a distant clump of trees concealed our next path. We made a harrowing way across open ground, but she was right: the copse had been mere saplings when she’d gone this way before. Cart-ruts marked our road but we still walked behind the hedge: though footing was firmer, the grade was upward and my flopping boots were torture chambers. Therefore I agreed to pause at the top for Dame Margery to rest.
    The westerly wind blew strong on the hilltop, carrying with it a putrid odor of rotten flesh burning. Turning my head, I saw a red glow in the center of Wanthwaite’s turrets, a flaming funeral pyre where the pile of carnage had lain. Now I could hear faint shouts as well, knights celebrating their foul deeds. No wonder they hadn’t seen us with such bloody distraction! I cast one last grim look at my desecrated home and ran into the next valley.
    WE REACHED THE ANCIENT ROMAN Dere Street at dawn. Standing on the bank, I observed that the road was rough, with many missingstones, and thought of my blistered feet. I prayed fervently to the Holy Virgin to send me a company of nuns with a little donkey to spare. We then settled to wait for a suitable companion.
    The sun was risen to warm our backs when the first prospect appeared. Dame Margery squeezed my arm in possible farewell as we listened to harness bells and the unsteady clop of a horse on the treacherous stones. Shortly our candidate came in
view;
just as shortly we dismissed him. He was a fat churl with rolls upon rolls of lard giving his dappled steed a deep sway. His blouse was a filthy blue, his skin boiled, his eyes bright in their folds. Something bothered his breathing, for he snorted, sniffed, cleared his throat and spat, picked at his nose and ate the findings. We let out a sigh of relief when he disappeared on our right.
    Our next man, a leather-garbed shepherd, was traveling toward Scotland. Lance growled at the unruly sheep, but a sharp rap on his nose quieted him.
    ’Twas a bothersome long time before we saw man or beast after that. My worry grew greater and greater, for we’d eaten all our bread and I was getting hungry, not to mention my numbing weariness from lack of sleep or the paralysis of my vital faculties. ’Twas crucial that I find a charitable wight who would share victuals and even a horse, but the outlook was discouraging.
    My eyes had grown heavy when Dame Margery again grabbed my arm, digging her nails deep with panic. I listened and heard what alarmed her: the Scottish pipe. My skin prickled at the heavy deep drone dinning in time like steady groans from the earth’s womb, and I felt hot and cold together. Dame Margery was