The Door in the Wall (7 page)

Robin dared not move, yet there was no time to lose. He reached out his hand, but it fell short of touching the friar’s frock by almost a foot. He lifted himself as high as he could on his hands, moved one, bearing his weight, slid both legs after slowly, slowly then moved the other hand, and slid forward again. It did make some sound, but when he listened he heard only the sputter of the fire and a hound’s far-off barking. Perhaps the ale had silenced the louts.

He touched the friar’s shoulder. Brother Luke, used to waking at midnight for Matins, sat up immediately, saw the blur of white that was Robin’s face, but said nothing, only looked steadily into Robin’s eyes until his own grew used to the dark.

Robin whispered in his ear.

“Robbers,” he said. “Thieves!” pointing downward. Brother Luke nodded, held his fingers to his lips, and rose to his feet without a sound. He crept to the door, keeping close to the wall so as not to tread on a squeaky board. He lifted
the latch slowly and opened the door inch by inch, so that John, who lay against it, rolled into the room, still snoring.

Brother Luke took firm hold of John’s shoulder, and at the same time touched his mouth with a finger to warn him not to speak. John was awake in the middle of a snore, but he, too, was used to being wakened suddenly, and was well acquainted with danger, so, knowing that he always snored in his sleep, he began to snore again, nodding his head the while to show that he knew what was afoot. He gave one great snore, sighed heavily, then moaned, as if he had been dreaming and had turned over. He used that time to get soundlessly to his feet.

Luckily he had brought cloaks and other gear in the saddlebags. His own cloak, which was travel worn and patched, he presently tied by a corner to an iron-bound chest which stood under the window. He motioned for Brother Luke to go down first, showing by gestures how he would hand down the bags, Robin’s crutches, and lastly Robin. Then he would follow. It was not far to the ground, for the inn was only a cottage.

Would Robin be able to hold his weight by his arms? He could only try. It was a tight squeeze for the friar to go through the small window, but he got through and by way of the cloak, down to the ground. He grunted when the saddlebags landed against his stomach but was ready to reach up for the crutches when John leaned out to hand them down.

Then came Robin. John pulled the cloak in and wrapped it partly around him so that he could get out of the window without falling, and held him under the arms until he could get hold of the cloak. Robin was able to let himself down slowly hand over hand to land safely beside the waiting friar. Suddenly great scuffling and shouting began. John scrambled out of the window and slid to the ground.

Then Robin heard the big fellow say, “By my beard, the birds have flown!”

“The night hag take thee!” shouted the other. “We stayed too long over the ale!”

“Run!” shouted John catching up the saddlebags, while the friar hoisted Robin to his back, giving him the crutches to hold.

They ran, but already the thieves were sliding down the cloak and at their heels.

Robin turned and with one hand thrust the crutches between the big fellow’s feet, throwing him to the ground and bringing the other ruffian down on top of him.

“Haste!” urged Robin. “They are so befuddled that each is pounding the other, thinking it is us they have caught.”

They got to the stables, mounted the horses, and were away before the two oafs had untangled themselves. Brother Luke took Robin with him on Bayard, and John-go-in-the-Wynd, carrying the saddlebags, rode on Jenny.

Not until they were well through the village and out into the open country did they stop to rest and consider what they should do. There, just off the highroad, stood a great barn. The door was secured by a padlock, but John-go-in-the-Wynd managed to get in through the granary window. He opened one of the smaller doors to the weary travelers and there they finished the short night.

Before leaving in the early morning the friar said,

“We must leave a farthing for our host, whoever he maybe, and our blessing.” So saying, he said the morning office before they set out again.

T
HE
next morning the weather cleared, and by the end of the fourth day the spires of Oxford appeared. Before long they crossed the Cherwell into the High Street. Everywhere Robin looked, there were students, walking about or talking on street corners. They filled the punts and barges that crowded the two rivers. They sprawled under the park trees eating bread and cheese, but wherever they were, they talked and talked and talked.

Most of the students were poor, and were dressed in every sort of particolored gown or tunic.

“It seems to me,” said Robin, “as if they try to see how outlandish they can make themselves look.”

The travelers went up the High then turned on past the Saxon Tower and the market cross to St. John’s College, where they were received with courtesy and where they spent the night.

Beyond Oxford the country began to be more rolling.

Sometimes the road led through forests, then, again, it ran beside the river, crossed a bridge, and went up through a village. Once they had to turn aside and allow a cavalcade of horsemen to pass. It swept by in a fine parade of shining mail, bright banners, and gaily caparisoned horses. In their midst rode a lady with her attendants. Robin wished the lady had been his mother.

Where was his mother now? Did she know about him and where he was? Did she know that he walked with the help of crutches?

They followed the cavalcade up the winding road to the top of the hill, where there was a sign announcing a fair at Wychwood Bee.

“There will be jousting!” said Robin.

“There will be dancing!” said John-go-in-the-Wynd.

“And there will be little praying,” said Brother Luke.

“There will be no room at the inn, so we must not linger long.”

“Let us see a little of the fun,” begged Robin.

So they turned aside and spent some hours at the fair, tethering the horses near the gate, giving a penny to a lad for watching them.

All the country people had come from miles around. They had brought cattle and sheep, dairy butter and cheese, whatever had been their portion after giving what was due to the lord of the manor.

Lombards from Europe were there with goods from far-off lands. There were silks and velvets from Italy and France, laces from Flanders.

Robin wanted to be everywhere at once. He wanted to watch the tournament, the bear baiting, the wrestling, and the racing. He wanted to taste all the food: the pigeon pies, the honey tarts, that suckling pig with the apple in its mouth, and the jugged hare. He flitted from one booth to the other with Brother Luke after him.

Finally Brother Luke said, “Hast seen enough, lad? It is a good way to the next hospice, they tell me, and we have two or three days’ journey ahead of us. So come, my son.”

“Let me see only the rest of the Punch and Judy, then,”
agreed Robin, “and I shall be willing. For never have I seen anything so funny.”

“For that only, then,” said the friar, and went to find John who had been playing tunes and earning a few extra farthings from the dancers.

By night of that day they reached an abbey set in a hollow. Its square tower stood above the trees in sign of welcome to the travelers, who were most grateful for the hospitality of the abbot. He told them of the best road to their destination and of the deep wood through which they would pass.

There was frost on the ground when they started out next day. They had been a week on their journey and according to the abbot’s counsel they had still two days or more to go. Great rolling hills began to appear, and over them hung clouds filled with rain.

And rain it did before the hour was out. Then, when they had begun to enter the wood that embraced the hill, it slackened and the sun came out.

“Let us halt here for our midday food,” said John, whose jerkin was wet because his cloak had been left hanging out the window of the White Hart. “Here I shall build a fire to warm us and dry our clothes.”

“Let us hope we are not overtaken by marauding Welsh,” said the friar hopefully, “for we are at the border. We shall say the office, to remind us in Whose care we are, here as well as everywhere.”

They knelt in the woods, as if it had been a cathedral, as indeed it looked to be. For the trees, bare of leaves, arched overhead in the very same way that the groined arches of stone swept up high overhead in the Gothic churches. “Maybe that is where the idea came from,” thought Robin.

The fire felt comforting and warm. There was no ale and only one withered apple left, but water flowed in the river hard by, from which John filled the leather flagons. After they had eaten, John sang a ballad while he dried his clothes. When Robin asked if he might try the harp, John showed him how to hold it and pluck the strings, but it was not so easy as it appeared. John promised to teach him.

“By all accounts,” said Brother Luke, “this forest goeth for miles, and it may well be that we shall not come out of it by nightfall.”

“Now I remember this wood,” said John, nodding his head, “though it was but once I went through it. It is of great size, but there is a woodman’s cottage I recall wherein we can shelter for the night. I found the woodman and his goodwife courteous and kindly folk, willing to share what they have.”

“Let us be on our way,” said Robin, “now that we are
near to our journey’s end. I wish to see my godfather Sir Peter de Lindsay. Think you he is a good man as my father says, John-go-in-the-Wynd? Will he want me now to stay with him? For how shall I be an esquire or even a page?” Robin was thoughtful.

“It is well known in the country roundabout that he is a gracious master and a noble knight,” said John. “His lady, too, is well loved for her goodness to the poor.”

“Fear not, my son,” the friar assured him. “Thou’lt find kind friends in thy new home.”

All afternoon the way continued through the forest, yet there was no sign of its coming to an end. The dusk began to fall, and the howl of a wolf sent shivers down Robin’s spine. Still no woodman’s hut appeared and there was nought but forest trees and brush on every hand.

Finally, when it was so dark they could hardly see the path, Robin pointed out a feeble light. “See, there, through the trees,” he said, “a small cottage. That must be the place.”

“Ah,” John sighed in relief, “then I was not mistaken. It is the woodman’s cottage where we shall lodge tonight.”

“How welcome the hearth and fire will be,” declared Brother Luke. “Let us hope we shall be as welcome.”

“By my faith, if we be not welcome, then the serf is an ingrate. For when I passed this way before, I helped yon woodman bind up the wound he’d got from a fallen ax. Then I carried him on my back to the cot, where the woman tended him.”

The woodcutter and his wife made them welcome and shared gladly what they had. The ale was well brewed and there was pease porridge and bread for supper. Then John played the little harp and sang.

The next morning, well refreshed, the three voyagers set out on the last leg of their journey. The weather was
neither fair nor rainy, neither hot nor cold, but somewhere in between, “as English weather is like to be,” said the friar.

When true daylight arrived, they had come to the edge of the wood, and now the hills stood all about, being very high toward the north, where the Welsh mountains loomed in the blue distance.

For the most part the road lay low among the hills, winding in and out, following the river. A heavy mist hung over the valley so thick it was like a white blanket which parted only enough for the next step to be seen, then closed in again. When wayfarers were met, it was as if they had appeared by magic, out of nowhere. Once, where the road was narrow, a group of peasants suddenly came out of the mist and stopped to ask their way. Their speech was very strange to Robin, but John-go-in-the-Wynd seemed to know what they said, for he directed them in the same strange tongue.

“They are Welsh,” he explained, “and have wandered out of their way in the fog. My mother was Welsh, so I know some of the words. There is much trouble with the Welsh along the border here, but these seemed like harmless folk.”

Late in the afternoon a breeze suddenly sprang up. In a few moments the mists lifted and the air cleared. Robin looked up in amazement, for there, rising high against the racing clouds, stood a town with a church tower and castle complete. It must be, it was, Lindsay!

“Look!” he cried. “Look! There it is! We have arrived.”

“ ’Tis true,” agreed John. “ ’Tis as I hoped. We have arrived before sundown and can enter the castle before the gate is closed.”

“Now thanks be to Him who guided us aright,” said Brother Luke devoutly, blessing himself.

“Lindsay it is, surely,” said John, “for only Lindsay stands so, on a mound ringed with hills, like a pudding in a saucer. We’ve but to cross yon bridge, go up the hill and through the town gate, and we are there. From the market cross ’tis but a step to the castle gate. It is a happy end to our journey. Beyond the town and castle lives my own mother.”