Will Sparrow's Road

  "That be him!” came a cry behind him. "That be the thief who took my shears!” And the booth keeper grabbed Will's sleeve. "Take him,” the man said to an official-looking person in a black hat and a coat of red worsted.

  "Shears? Nay, I have no shears,” Will said, and it was the truth.

  "Bailiff, search him!” the booth keeper cried, spraying spittle about like mist in the wind.

  "Search me, an it please you,” said Will. "I have no pocket nor pouch, and my purse is as empty as my belly. Where might I hide a pair of shears?”

  The red-coated man patted Will's sleeves and looked in his purse. He shook his head. "Nothing. Not even moths.”

  "I accuse him!” the booth keeper cried. "He must be taken.”

  "I will go most willingly,” Will said, "if you be sure the shears are in sooth missing.”

  "I have searched carefully,” said the booth keeper to the bailiff. "The shears were there, the boy was there, and now the shears are gone.”

  "You will search again,” said the bailiff, pulling Will back to the booth.

  The bailiff and the booth keeper searched through the booth and examined all the counters while Will stood somewhat apart, watching.

  "They be gone indeed,” said the booth keeper, just as a woman standing by said, "What is that glimmer in the dust there?” The glimmer proved to be the shears, lying on the ground under the counter.

  "You must have dropped them,” said the bailiff, handing them to the booth keeper.

  "Ne'er! That ne'er happened!” the booth keeper shouted. "He thieved them and then replaced them.”

  Everyone looked at Will, who said, "Say you I am a thief and I nip things and then I put them back again? I must be as stupid as a sack of rocks.”

  The bailiff and the onlookers agreed. The bailiff scolded the booth keeper for wasting his time and left, walking east.

  Will prudently headed to the west. "Stay away from my booth!” the booth keeper shouted after him.

  Will nodded, relieved to be at liberty and not in the cart with Nell, and determined never to cross paths with the angry man again. "Wonders and marvels,” he called as he hurried away, "oddities and prodigies, fine gentlemen. Come and see. In the booth hard by the ale stall.”

  A fair-haired man in a chestnut doublet was leaning against a cart, watching the rope walker. Will stared. Red boots. The man had red leather boots! Will's toes tingled. He wanted those boots with all his wanting. Why, he could do and be whatever he wished in boots such as those.

  A memory tugged at him. At the inn he had run from, a frequent customer had such boots. And fair hair. And a chestnut—He turned to run as the man shouted, "You there, boy, stop! I know you!”

  Will ran behind the saddle maker, through a crowd at the spice stall, and behind a purveyor of chickens, hanging by their feet and squawking. He jumped a basket of pears and apples, slid between two women in farthingales near the size of wagons, and knocked over a barrel of brooms and rakes. Past the ale stall he ran, back to the oddities booth, where he dove beneath the wagon.

  He looked out and saw red-booted feet move from the booth to the wagon. He held his breath. Had he been seen?

  Fitz's small worn shoes joined the red boots. "Have you seen a boy run through here?” a voice asked, the very same voice that had bid him stop.

  "'Twas no boy. 'Twas me,” said Fitz.

  "Nay, a boy. I chased him though the fair, but I do not know where he has gone.”

  "'Twas me, I said. Behold, I am still breathless from running.” Fitz panted a time or two, said whew and heu, and panted again. "I be sorry to put you to such trouble,” he added, "but knew not what you wanted and ran in fear.” Will heard the jingle of coins. "Take this for your pains, good sir, and forgive me.”

  There was such stillness that Will feared they could hear his pounding heart. Then: "Mayhap I was mistaken,” said Red Boots. "I took you for a boy my innkeeper once owned, a runaway, a liar, and a thief. Thought to trade him to the innkeeper for a meal or two. But belike I was mistaken. And in sooth 'tis no matter to me anyway.”

  "Indeed, sir, I am no boy and have not the breath to do much running, as you easily see.”

  There was laughter then, and Red Boots said, "Gramercy for the coin. A mug of ale will make me forget I ever saw him ... er, you.” And the red boots strode off.

  "You can come out now, stripling,” said Fitz after a moment. "He has gone.”

  Will waited, fearful that Fitz was fooling him and the man was lurking out there to grab him, but he could not stay under that wagon forever. He came slowly out.

  Fitz continued. "I would stay close by for a time to make certain the fellow has forgotten you. I will tell Tidball you have a griping of the gut.”

  "Why are you helping me?”

  Fitz raised both his great yellow eyebrows. "I have heard the girl at times laughing at your foolishness. The sound gladdens me.”

  Will was overcome with surprise at hearing such an unlikely thing from the disagreeable Fitz. And even greater was Will's surprise that he had run to the oddities for safety and protection instead of away. Greatest of all was his surprise at finding refuge there. The world is full of wonders, he decided.

  SEVENTEEN

  IN WHICH WILL GRIEVES

  A LITTLE AND LEARNS MUCH

  WILL STAYED very near the wagon with the Duchess for a day before he felt safe enough to return to the fair.

  "Sparrow,” Master Tidball greeted him, "I trust your gut will now allow you to work off some of the generous wages I pay you.”

  Will made to ask, What wages? but Tidball stopped him. "No, no. No apologies. Hie you now to the south end of the fair and tell the metalsmith I will see him this night. And hasten right back. You will need to help Fitz, for I have business elsewhere.”

  Will returned to the wagon to take the Duchess for a brief walk before he joined Fitz at the booth. As he was loosing her from the wheel, there came a familiar voice at his back. "How be you, young Sparrow?”

  "Samuel!” Will spun to face him. "Well met, Samuel, well met!” The boy's smile faded at the sight of the pig trainer. Samuel was no longer round nor lardy—indeed, his skin seemed far too big for him. The Duchess saw nothing amiss, it seemed, for she waddled and snorted up to greet him, rubbing her side against his legs. Will thought she would purr if she could.

  "Ah, my Porcine Duchess,” Samuel crooned, "you have missed me. And I you.” He rubbed the pig's head.

  "How fare you?” Will asked him.

  "The apothecary,” Samuel said, "has the notion that I am in need of more rest and less ale. And so the Duchess and I go to my sister and her husband in St. Albans. Lettice's face may be sharp as an ax, and her voice as well, but her heart is soft as her jelly. She will take us in and feed us.”

  The Duchess prodded the purse on Samuel's belt with her snout. "Looking for apples, be you? Have I yet failed you?” He pulled a slice from the purse, and the Duchess snapped at it greedily. "We will miss the performing life, the Duchess and I,” Samuel said to Will. "Mayhap we will do tricks with cards out behind the barn.” His eyes grew dim with sadness, as if a candle had suddenly blown out.

  Will wished to say something to ease Samuel's pain but could think of no words that would serve. He merely stretched out his empty hands as if offering what he had, which was nothing.

  "And we shall miss you, Will Sparrow,” Samuel continued. "God keep you safe.” From his purse he took a handful of coins. "I have coins still from what the fair folk collected for me. More than the Duchess here and I will need.” He poured a few, sticky with apple, into Will's hand. "Find a purveyor of old clothes and get yourself some boots, boy. It be too cold to tread the world with your feet bare.”

  Will's fists closed on the coins as he stood in silent sadness and regret and astonishment. Samuel stepped away, and the Duchess made to follow him. Then she turned back and rubbed once more against Will's leg, her tail spinning.

  Will's heart clenched with a pain he had neve
r known, or perhaps had long forgotten. Longing, loss, sorrow, but something more. Something not sad but happy and warm. Liar and thief though he was, the Duchess trusted him. And more. She loved him. His mam and father could not or would not, but this pig loved him. He threw his arms around her neck and smelled her dusty, herby smell one last time.

  In a moment Samuel and the Duchess were walking away. "God save you, Samuel. And may he look after the world's smartest pig,” Will called to them. Samuel raised his cap in farewell and commenced his tuneless caterwauling:

  He turned his face unto the wall

  And death was in him swellin',

  Good-bye, good-bye, to my friends all.

  Be good to Barbra Allen.

  When he lay dead and in his grave,

  She heard the death bells knellin';

  And every stroke to her did say:

  Hardhearted Barbra Allen.

  Will watched them go. "Phah!” he cried, and he threw a clod of dirt against an empty cart, and then another. "Phah! I will not again do as I am bid! I will do my own bidding!” He would spend Samuel's coins to buy himself a pair of shoes against the winter cold.

  The boots at the leatherworkers' stalls were heavy and stiff, and those at the bootmaker's fine and worth more pennies than he had. He stowed Samuel's coins in the purse at his waist and moved on.

  In ill humor he watched the archers and the stilt walkers and the acrobats. Nothing diverted him. Finally he returned to the woodland where he and the Duchess had played, and there he lay, face to the sky, muttering all the rude words he knew.

  He squinted. One dark cloud passing overhead looked like—yes, like the Duchess. A flying pig in the sky over Ely. He sang to the sky, his changing voice rasping and squeaking:

  Her snout is long, her eye is round,

  She's the biggest porker pound for pound,

  And she makes the most unlovely sound,

  Whee, whee, whee, whee, whee,

  Here at the Ely fair.

  And he shed a tear or two.

  By then afternoon was nigh. Fitz would be wondering where Will had gone. He stood, smoothed his shirt, and straightened his breeches. He walked back toward the booth, searching for a good excuse for his absence.

  "We have a challenger, goodmen!” a voice nearby called. "We have a challenger!”

  Indeed? For what? Will went closer. Beneath a tree a crowd whooped and cheered. Will pushed his way through. A giant of a man in rough brown doublet and trunk hose stood with onlookers circled around him. It appeared there was to be a wrestling match. Who was brave enough to stand up to such a colossus?

  A tall man with his paunch stuffed into a ginger doublet cried, "Here he is, the challenger. Can he topple our champion? Come and place your wagers, goodmen. Place your wagers.”

  The onlookers howled with laughter, and Will struggled to see why. God-a-mercy! The challenger was Fitz. Fitz, with his thick arms and short legs, brawling just as Master Tidball said! Fitz, who stood only as high as the champion's belt! Fitz threw his cap to the ground and removed his doublet, making ready to face the giant.

  "The two wrestlers shall meet here in the empty space,” the man in ginger announced, "and if one cause the other to let his back or shoulder touch the ground, he is said to have given a fall. If the challenger can avoid a fall for fifteen minutes of the hour, he is called the winner and will receive sixpence as well as a share of the wagers. Should he fell the champion, he shall receive a shilling and a full half of the wagers.”

  "Fell the champion? Can an ant fell a tree?” someone shouted, and the crowd shrieked with laughter.

  "Pity the poor wee thing, Hercules, and throw him down now before he wearies,” added another.

  The two wrestlers edged around each other. The giant laughed as Fitz gamboled and jumped about. "Come here, you puny weakling, you grub. Hold still and let me fell you,” the big man said.

  "You wish to fell me? You must catch me first,” Fitz growled.

  "Nay, elven man, let us end this.”

  Fitz continued to caper and carry on. Finally the giant reached out one long arm, grabbed Fitz by his hair, and threw him down. Fitz landed on his knees but managed to keep his back and shoulders off the ground.

  Will was torn. He relished the idea of the unpleasant little man thrown into the dirt, but Fitz was unfairly matched against the giant, and Will knew what it was to be small. "Take care, Fitz,” he called finally and reluctantly. "Cave et cura."

  The giant pushed Fitz with a great push that carried him into the watching crowd, and the crowd pushed him back. "Finish him, Long John,” one man called, and another, "Finish him afore I am late for supper and you have to answer to my wife!”

  Fitz would not be finished, but hopped and skipped about, taunting the big man. "I be lower to the ground than you and have not so far to fall, but you will topple like a tree,” he roared.

  The match went on and on, Fitz dancing around as the giant chased, wearying, moving ever slower. Finally the giant bent over to grab Fitz once again, but the little man scuttled away and ran between the giant's legs. He rammed his huge head into the back of the giant's right knee. When the leg bent, Fitz grabbed the enormous foot from behind and twisted it hard to the side. The giant toppled, and his shoulder hit the ground.

  There was silence, and then the crowd erupted into whistles and shouts, hisses and jeers. Coins were collected from those who had placed their wagers on the wrong man, and half were poured into Fitz's hands.

  Fitz limped away and Will ran after him. "Hoy, Fitz, hoy! What a spectacle!” Will twirled in glee. "You did teach the brute, Fitz, that you did!”

  Wincing, Fitz wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. Will's forehead furrowed. "But you suffer such hurt and abuse. Is it as Master Tidball says, that you cannot help brawling? You have taken all my wages. Are you so greedy that you must wrestle for even more?” Fitz stopped to replace his doublet and smooth his hair before he put his cap back on and limped forward. "Your wages? Tidball pays no wages, not to any, nary a penny. But someone must feed you and the girl and even me from time to time. She must have a new kirtle and cloak when she outgrows the old. Tidball does not see to that. Where do you think the coins come from?”

  "Scurvy liar, I disbelieve you. Master Tidball gives you coins and you drink them away.”

  Fitz jingled his winnings. "Believe or disbelieve, we eat well tonight.”

  Will stopped still. "You mean 'tis true? Verily? You provide the sausages and ale and such for us? But Master Tidball—”

  "The man is a nip-cheese. Also a scoundrel and a brute. Be watchful and wary and expect no good from him.”

  Master Tidball, Will realized, was indeed somewhat less kindhearted and friendly than he first seemed. He remembered the man's angry outbursts, his abuse of the girl, the cruel prank about the Black Dog. Could Fitz be telling the truth?

  Fitz stretched, groaned, and sighed a mighty sigh for one so small.

  "Have you pain?” Will asked him.

  "Aye, but this pain will pass. Worse yet is that I miss my Cecily. She went a year ago to be with daughter Agnes when she had her child, and she has not come back. When she is not with me, I find myself ill-natured and spleeny.” Fitz shook his great head.

  That explained his disagreeableness, Will thought. Fitz had a family elsewhere and longed for them. "Did you not care to go also?” Will asked. "Master Tidball disfavors and derides you, and you owe him nothing.”

  "Indeed, but I could not leave the girl here with him. She continues to defy him, and he will not stomach that for long. As yet he is bluster and threat, but I fear for her.” Fitz wiped his face with his sleeve and spat. "She has no one but me to watch over her.”

  "Could you not go to your wife and take Grace with you? or would your daughter be feared to look on her?” "Nay, my tall, lovely daughter has looked on her mother and me all her life without fear or disgust,” said Fitz. "She and her husband run an inn near King's Lynn, and certes they would welcome the girl.
But she belongs to Tidball.”

  Fitz walked on, Will at his side. Will looked down at the little man. "Why, Fitz, I believe you have grown smaller.”

  "Nay, you ninny, you be taller than when first you came. Still a shrimp, but a somewhat taller shrimp.” Taller? He was taller? Will squared his shoulders. Mayhap he would not be a runt forever. He rubbed his chin hopefully, but it remained whiskerless.

  They reached a small grove of trees and Fitz threw himself down. "Be off, Sparrow, and let me rest. I am too old to be earning money in this fashion. And watch out for Tidball,” he added with a yawn. "He can be cruel.”

  "I have known worse,” Will said. "My father were never a gentle man—he did like the sound of his fist thumping into something. But he was truly cruel only when cup-shot.” Will paused, remembering. "At the end he were cup-shot all the time.”

  He stood a moment and studied Fitz's weary face. Ugly, yes, and disagreeable at times, frowning and scowling, but he was the one who cared for them all. And the girl trusted Fitz, turned to him for comfort. Certes he was not what he seemed. Was it ever so? Had Will never noticed?

  The boy kicked a clod of dirt that proved to be a rock and shouted his pain to the world. Then he turned and left Fitz snoring beneath the tree.

  EIGHTEEN

  CONSIDERING WILL'S DECISION AND

  ITS CONSEQUENCES

  WILL WALKED aimlessly through the fair, for the first time heedless of the colors, the noise, the smells of baking pies and roasting meat. Head down, he was lost in thought. Fitz, the ugly little Fitz, had proved himself caring and brave. But what of Will himself? What was he? A liar and a thief, no good to anyone. He could do nothing for Samuel and the Duchess. Couldn't save Nell. When Grace was menaced by the young louts, he stood aside and apart. He wished to do so no longer and thought and thought about what he could do now.