The Door in the Wall (8 page)

They crossed the bridge and started up the hill. Now that he was so near to his destination, Robin dreaded the meeting with Sir Peter. What sort of welcome would he have, limping as he was on crutches? What sort of page could he be, having no free hands for service?

Robin need not have been afraid. As soon as they had passed through the outer gate, a messenger went swiftly ahead of the travelers to announce them. The drawbridge was down and the gate opened to them without question, and they were received in the Great Hall as if they had been emissaries of the King.

Sir Peter was scarcely recovered from his wounds. He sat in a high-backed chair near the fire, while Lady Constance sat at her embroidery frame with a small girl leaning against her knee. Nearby were her ladies and two little boys who romped with the hounds.

When the travelers entered the Hall, Lady Constance rose, and, drawing the children about her, stood beside Sir Peter to greet them.

“It is a true pleasure to welcome you into our household,” said Sir Peter to Robin, not seeming to notice that Robin could not straighten. “We are grateful to this good friar for his care of you, and to John-go-in-the-Wynd who is known to us. This is Lady Constance and our daughter Alison, and these are my two sons, Henry and Richard.”

Lady Constance warmly embraced Robin, crutches and
all. “We have long awaited your coming, dear child, and now we are most happy that you have safely arrived.”

“I shall make a sorry page, my lady,” said Robin ruefully. “But I can sing and I can read a little to while away the time for your lordship,” he offered, “and I can pen letters for you.”

Sir Peter kept Robin’s hand in his and spoke directly to him. “Each of us has his place in the world,” he said. “If we cannot serve in one way, there is always another. If we do what we are able, a door always opens to something else.”

There it was again, Robin thought, a door. He wondered whether Sir Peter meant the same thing that Brother Luke had intended.

Each of the travelers was assigned to his own place. Robin was to have a chamber in the keep. The friar was to be lodged in a little room over the chapel in the inner ward of the castle, and John-go-in-the-Wynd was given quarters over the outer entrance gate. Before leaving the Hall he asked a favor.

“By your leave,” he said, “I would like to visit my old mother, who lives not far away. But I shall stay here awhile until my young master finds his way about.”

Now that he was well received, Robin found everything about Lindsay exciting and interesting. The view from the top of the keep where they went in the morning was breathtaking.

“I can see for miles in every direction,” he said excitedly. “Surely no enemy could attack without being seen by the Watch.”

“Didst forget the fog?” asked John-go-in-the-Wynd, who had accompanied him.

“And look yonder,” said Adam the bowman, who stood
watch that day. “See that tiny moving spot in the field?”

At first Robin could not find anything that moved in the open field to which Adam pointed. Then he was justable to make out the figure of a shepherd and a flock of sheep. After a great deal of Adam’s directing and pointing he could see a woodcutter emerging from the trees by the river.

“By night, or under cover of mist,” said Adam, “a whole army could creep over hill and through forest without being seen. ’Tis from the north and west that we look for trouble. Lord Jocelyn to the west hath long coveted this domain. And Sir Hugh Fitzhugh, to the north yonder, who is cousin to Sir Peter, hath a quarrel with him.”

“But they could not take so strong a castle, surely,” said Robin.

“We can be starved out,” said Adam.

From the other side of the tower Robin could look down upon the town and the church roof, and see clearly how the church was shaped like a cross. He could see the roof of the market cross in the open square, and the people walking about. He could see the bend of the river and the two bridges, one leading west and the one to the south, where they had crossed yesterday. To the north the ground fell straight away down to the river more than a hundred feet below.

“My mother’s cottage is there,” said John, pointing north. “Over the hill and into the next valley.”

Robin could see where the tower of the village church showed above the trees. Beyond, he could see the manor house against a dark forest which crowned the hills far, far away.

“Is it near to the village, where yon church tower stands?” asked Robin.

“Aye, ’tis just there this side of the church. A tidy bit of a house on the heath where she lives alone with her cat. There is a path all the way. If thou’rt to call upon her she would bake thee a bannock.’ ”

Robin repeated the directions, but laughed at the thought of going all that way to make a visit.

“Go you by that road I see leading up from the river here?” he asked again.

“No,” said John, “for ’tis a long way round by Letham Bridge. I go through the town and by the drovers’ road and across the ford beyond.”

It was more difficult for Robin to go down the circular stair from the top of the keep than it had been to go up. Each step was set on a center newel, and the steps fanned out from it. Robin had to keep to the outside wall to allow room for the crutches to spread far enough to bear his weight. John went ahead of him to catch him in case he should fall.

“I shall get the way of it soon,” said Robin. Before the day was out, he found it easier. They had gone up and down stair after stair; up to the watchtowers and the belfry of the chapel. To the kitchens and storerooms, to the armory and down to the dungeons.

Then John took Robin to the stables to see the horses. There were dappled Percherons from France and shire geldings of tremendous size built to bear the weight of men in armor. There were lighter animals for hunting, hawking, and riding, and others still smaller, like the jennet Robin had ridden. Robin thought the gray one looked like his father’s favorite.

How he wished he might ride it, going astride properly, as he should. Would he ever again be able to mount a horse? Would he be able to practice in the tilting yard, or go ahawking? Would he ever stand straight and tall?

Last of all, they went to the workshop near the stables. There the yew bows were made and repaired; staves for lances and pikestaffs were cut. Such small things as plates, cups, bowls, and platters were made by the turners in the town. Arrows were made by the fletchers.

“It is here we shall make the little harp,” said John.

“Can we make it soon?” asked Robin.

“We shall begin tomorrow if I can find the wood,” promised John.

As soon as Robin was settled in the household of the castle, he was taken in hand again by Brother Luke, who laid out a plan of study and recreation for him that would fit in with the duties assigned him as page. Sir Peter had explained that he would expect Robin to attend to everything which it was possible for him to do. Part of each day was spent with Adam the yeoman shooting at a mark. Part of the day in studying Latin. Evenings after supper the household servants, pages, craftsmen, and all those not on watch gathered about the fire in the Great Hall where Piers Nitingale or John told tales or sang ballads. Each day the friar took Robin down the long path to the river to swim. The water was cold as ice and swift flowing, but now Robin had learned to grit his teeth and plunge in.

It should have been one of his duties to serve at the high table where Sir Peter and the Lady Constance sat with other members of the family and visiting nobles. But because it was so difficult for him to carry things, he was excused from that and was required only to see that his lady was well looked after and the little boys were helped with the cutting of their meat and breaking of the bread for “sopping.”

One of the hounds that searched for bones among the straw litter learned to come to Robin for tidbits, seeming
to know that he had found a special friend. Robin was careful to find bones from the joint with juicy bits of meat still clinging to them, and soon he was Robin’s friend. He even slept by Robin’s bed instead of near the fire in the Hall with the other dogs, and followed him everywhere. His name was D’Ath, because he had been brought from a town in Flanders of that name.

O
NE DAY
, late in October, as the friar walked with Robin along the side of the hill leading down to the river, D’Ath following, Robin stopped in the path.

“Think you it is really helping my legs to swim?” he asked anxiously. “I cannot straighten my back, and can walk only as before, halfway bent over. What think you, Brother Luke, shall I ever straighten?”

“I know not what to think about that.” Brother Luke sighed. Then he lifted his head and said firmly, “God alone knows whether thou’lt straighten or no. I know not. But this I tell thee. A fine and beautiful life lies before thee, because thou hast a lively mind and a good wit. Thine arms are very strong and sturdy. Swimming hath helped to make them so, but only because thou hast had the will to do it. Fret not, my son. None of us is perfect. It is better to have crooked legs than a crooked spirit. We can only do the best we can with what we have. That, after all, is the measure of success: what we do with what we have. Come, let us go on.”

Robin nodded slowly, then said hopefully,

“Peter the bowman says I have a good arm for the bow and a keen eye for the mark. I can put an arrow up quite well for a beginner, he says.”

“And how goeth the woodworking?” asked the friar.

“John-go-in-the-Wynd is helping me to shape the base of the little Saxon harp. It is to be almost like his but is to have my own mark. Where the front block holds the thin maple in a curve, his is plain. Mine shall have tracery. He bent the maple around an oval-shaped form whilst it was green. And meantime, John is showing me how to shape and smooth the post which is the upright. It, too, is of maple, but it is well seasoned and beautifully marked. From a deer that Adam the bowman killed we are drying gut for the strings.”

“Thou’rt becoming a true craftsman,” said the friar. “And wilt be able to play the harp when ’tis done?”

“Already I can pick out part of the tune of ‘Ca’ the Yaws’ and can sing it as well. It is sad, but pleasant to hear. When I learn it all I shall sing it for my Lady Constance. And when I see my mother again, I shall sing it for her.” Robin stopped for a moment, then went on thoughtfully,

“Think you my mother will know me when she sees me thus?”

“Thy mother will know and love thee always, my son,” the friar assured him. “Whether thou’rt bent or straight, well or ill, knight or clerk, lord or minstrel.”

When would he see his mother? Where was she now?

October had passed in lingering summer warmth. But with the coming of November there was often fog and rain. When it cleared, raw winds swept down from the north, whistling through corridors and hall, sending up whirls of dust in the courtyard, billowing the tapestries that hung on the wall.

Brother Luke took Robin each day, as before, to swim. They followed the path to a place near Letham Bridge. “It will be good for thee even in the chilly autumn weather,” he comforted, when Robin shivered at the thought of the
icy water. “It sends the blood flying through thy veins to warm thee. Besides, it strengthens thy body and, best of all, it strengthens thy spirit to do a hard thing.”

Robin was now quite strong, although he could not straighten. He was able to go about easily from keep to tower, from hall to chapel, from turret to dungeon. Even the twisting stairs held no terror for him, because he had learned to place the crutches carefully and swiftly where they would hold and balance him. He could play games with the boys in the courtyard, shooting at a mark, hide-and-go-seek, and duck on a rock. Robin’s keen eye and strong arms helped him to send the “duck,” a small pointed stone, so far he could easily get to the goal and back before the other boys could retrieve the duck.