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THIRTEEN

I was lucky. By the time I decided to get back on Darry again, a mile farther on, there were no more hound sounds to be heard. I guessed that Roland had given up, but I wasn't taking any chances. I kept going, though slowly now, and watchfully, in case someone with sharp eyes was still after me and had found my tracks. Meanwhile, it was clouding up again, beginning to look threatening.

Finally, the river woods ended, with cattle pastures extending to the shore. For quite a way the pastures were thick with tall tree stumps, fairly recent-looking at first and then older and more rotten. It looked as if the population was increasing and clearing more land. As I rode, it occurred to me to wonder if Bubba had gotten back to the cutter yet. I decided he couldn't have; he'd had a long way to go from where he'd left me.

At one point a bull trotted over to confront us. When he decided to do more than threaten, I had to stun him to avoid being chased back the way we'd come from. From there I aimed Darry northwest, to get on a road I could see that ran parallel to the river on this side.

Before long I could see an extensive palisade in the distance, and around it clusters of low buildings. A town, I decided. Inside the palisade, seemingly near the center of the enclosed area, was one largish building with a square tower. From where I was, it seemed to be made of stone. Probably a church, I decided, a building dedicated to their god.

Meanwhile, there was actually some traffic on the road here. An occasional crude wagon lurched and bumped in the rutted tracks. Men drove cattle, and bands of a smaller animal called sheep which make an almost constant bleating noise. Occasionally, a farmer pushed a wheelbarrow heaped with vegetables, or walked along with a rod across his shoulders. Sometimes dead poultry hung from the rod by their feet—ducks, and larger, long-necked birds that I think are called geese. At other times, baskets dangled.

I also met a few men on horseback, most of them apparently not knights, though every one of them carried a sword. None of them paid any attention to me. They were more interested in the heavy gray clouds, muttering and rumbling, that were moving in from the west. They had already cut off the early evening sun. I told myself it was going to be a wet night, and hoped dad would hurry. Meanwhile, I'd just have to take whatever came. A little rain couldn't hurt me.

Before long I came to the first buildings outside the palisade. The town seemed to have outgrown its wall, and was spilling out into the countryside. Some of the houses were made of boards and some of bricks. Their steep slanting roofs were thick bundles of long grass, laid down overlapping to shed the rain. And they'd soon have their chance: The great rumbling storm cloud, pulsing with lightnings, was almost overhead, moving fast, and the evening was suddenly getting dark before its time. A cold breeze whisked around us while the thunder boomed nearer.

The road entered the gates of the town. I'd liked to have gone in and looked it over, but somehow I felt uncomfortable about doing it. Besides, inside was not a good place for dad to pick me up. Another road circled the palisade not far outside, and I followed it instead.

I'd traveled it only a little way when I heard a roar approaching swiftly, a roar that was not thunder. Hailstones, mushy but big, began to spat down, followed moments later by a deluge of them as the roar was upon me. Suddenly, as if it had been saving itself for this, lightning flashed and stabbed. Thunder banged and crashed so close that my heart almost stopped, and Darry jumped, nearly throwing me. I found myself galloping toward the nearest house. Eaves that overhung its front, and the separate roof over the front entrance, were no protection at all. The wind drove a great mass of soft hail splattering against the wall and us as I banged demandingly on the door.

A middle-aged man opened it a crack, a sword in his fist. For just a moment he stared, then shouted over the roar of the storm to go around back. I did. He was waiting for me at the back door, a hooded cloak thrown over him, and led me on a run to an adjacent shed. There I took the bit from Darry's mouth, and the man replaced his bridle with a halter, tying him while I removed the saddle. Then he handed me a sack and took another himself, and we rubbed the horse down. When we were done, he nodded to me.

There was another horse in the shed, a smaller, older animal that didn't look nearly as good as Darry. There was also a small stack of hay. Apparently this man couldn't afford a barn with a hay loft, but bought hay now and then as needed. He took a crude-looking two-tined pitchfork and piled some of the hay in a manger where Darry could eat it.

When he had done that, he nodded to me again, and we walked to the door of the shed. So far, neither of us had spoken since his shouted order at the front door. Together we looked out. The ground was covered with two inches of slush and ice. The hailstones falling now were hard, and an inch thick, huge armies of them booming against the walls, bouncing and popping. He closed the door again and turned to me.

"The hail will stop soon enough," he said, and shook his head. "I don't think I've ever seen it come down so hard, and I've lived forty-four summers in this life." He looked me over curiously, his eyes taking in the unusual cut of the pants and boots that he could see below my tunic. "Where do you come from, and what is your business here?"

"I'm from a distant land," I said, "called Morn Gebleu. I'm in Normandy looking for my parents, and they are here looking for me. I have hope that the good god will bring us together, perhaps tonight." With that I crossed myself the way the locals did.

He crossed himself, too. "May it happen as you wish. Are you able to pay for a night's lodging?"

"No sir," I said. "But if I may stay here in the shed until the hail stops, I'll be on my way."

He shook his head. "No need. Your horse looks truly worn out, and you'll need to eat. If you could pay, I'd ask it, but I'll not turn you out on a night like this for lack of a copper or two. Come. It sounds like the hail has turned to rain now. We can run to the house with no more than a wetting, and dry our clothes before the fire. And my wife has a thick stew ready at this moment."

He threw open the door and we ran for it.

* * *

I really was hungry, and tired, too. When we had finished eating, we sat around and talked for a while, the man and I, his wife, and their thirteen-year-old daughter. They also had a grown son, whom the town magistrates employed as a guardsman. He would be home at midnight.

The man's name was Pierre, and he owned and operated a nearby tannery. I didn't know what a tannery was, but figured I'd better not ask. It might be something I'd be expected to know already. Anyway, they were good people, friendly, and frequently called upon the good Jesus and the gentle Mary, two principal figures in their religion.

Meanwhile, the bug bites I'd gotten the night before in Roland's castle were itching. All afternoon I'd been too busy to notice them much. Now I was trying not to scratch in front of my host and hostess, although I noticed them scratching now and then.

After a little while I was having a hard time staying awake, itch or no itch. They offered me a bag of hay to sleep on, but I wanted to sleep in the shed, where dad could get me without waking anyone. I couldn't tell them that, of course, so I told them I didn't want to be separated from my horse that long. Apparently that sounded reasonable to them, because they didn't say anything more about the bag of hay.

By that time, the storm had become just a moderate rain. The wife handed me a woolen cloak for a blanket, and I sprinted to the shed. Night was almost there by then, and inside the shed it was almost pitch dark when I closed the door, so I opened it enough to see by while I made a bed out of some of the hay.

I told myself that dad might be overhead right now, getting ready to land. But he might also be drinking a hot cup of korch and wondering how Arno and I were doing with Roland. Bubba might just now be trotting out of the woods into the opening. At any rate, I was too tired to sit up waiting; they could wake me when they got there. I lay down, closed my eyes, and the last thing I remember doing as I went to sleep was scratching my leg with my other heel.

 

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Framed