Where the Path Leads-Chapter 8

• By Mary Drake –

            In the previous chapter, Emily makes friends with a visitor and is herself a visitor to the castle she has seen in the distance. Now, as she crosses over the castle drawbridge, she once again enters an unfamiliar world.

Over the Drawbridge

            Her calfskin shoes made no sound as she walked over the drawbridge, through the archway of the dark gatehouse, into another world.

            She froze in the open courtyard, larger than her entire school and probably with as many people, and more noise. Taking her by the elbow, Will urged her on, and they walked among the hurrying people going in every direction, talking and calling out to one another. Feet crunched in the dirt. A hammer clanged against metal as a blacksmith pounded horseshoes on an anvil, a large draft horse waiting docilely nearby with dinner-plate sized hooves. More horses neighed in their stalls.  A woman with her hair tied back in a scarf called out to clear the way as she carefully carried by them a large wooden bowl with a dark liquid in it—blood. A small boy led a baaing sheep. Woodsmoke filled her nostrils together with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling meat. Two young boys turned a large spit with a whole deer roasting on it, while a woman in a soiled apron basted it with a long-handled brush and a sweet-smelling liquid. Despite feeling sorry for the deer, which still had its antlers, Emily longed for some of it to eat. She hadn’t had any meat during her stay with Sophia. Women stirred cauldrons of meat stew, while on makeshift tables men skinned rabbits and pheasants and filleted fish, a messy business.  She looked away, but that didn’t shut out the cooking smell. She would have lingered but Will urged her forward.

            Two women with long poles stirred the contents of an immense bubbling, steaming cauldron. As she watched they pulled out dripping white cloths with their poles, holding them aloft to cool.  Then, one of them set down her pole and began to wring the laundry dry with raw, red hands.

            A shout from a man nearby startled her. He was plowing a small garden plot. 

            “Make ’im turn.  Turn, I say!”  He yelled at a little girl prodding the reluctant ox. Even though she beat the animal repeatedly, it walked forward with implacable determination. Will ran over, caught the ox by its yoke and pulled it sideways, saying something to the girl. She looked abashed but grateful.

             Coming back, Will took her hand and led her towards the keep where the noble family lived. Emily hoped to go inside, but instead, he put his finger to his lips for her to keep quiet, and they silently took a footpath around back.

            If the courtyard had been amazing, walking around back was like entering a dream. The busyness faded away and was replaced by a lush, green paradise intertwined with winding gravel paths, benches, and its centerpiece, a stone fountain atop which stood a willowy, white angel resembling a young girl, her head demurely inclined to one side, wings curled lightly in the air as though about to take flight, holding a fish, whose mouth spurted water that gurgled into a large bowl beneath. Along the pathways, daffodils nodded and grape hyacinth bloomed among mint and forget me nots. Pear and apple trees in flower fluttered white and pink petals to the ground. A weeping willow draped its spring green boughs to the earth like a young woman letting down her hair, and yellow forsythia and pink flowering almond bushes were everywhere, Along a privacy fence, grape vines trailed in lavish abandon. Unseen birds in the trees trilled their delight, and a mourning dove cooed gently. Emily thought she had escaped to paradise.

            Will brought her a dipper of water ladled from a bucket near the back door. It tasted heavenly; she hadn’t realized how warm and thirsty she was from running. Savoring the drink and the sights and smells of this idyllic place, she wasn’t immediately aware of the discordant sound until it intruded into her reverie—a long, deep, throaty growl. The dipper froze in her hands as she saw, out of the corner of her eyes, something shaggy and black, the size of a small pony. It was staring at her unblinkingly with small fierce eyes. 

            “Don’t move,” Will said. “Don’t look at him. Just look at the ground.”  He spoke soothingly to the beast and crouched down to its level. “Here boy.  Come here.” 

            To Emily’s horror, he held out his hand as if wanting to get bitten, but it was menacing her, not Will. Hair raised and teeth bared, the animal advanced threateningly. Suddenly, she was sorry for the secluded spot and wanted to scream for someone in the courtyard. Should she make a dash to get help? Her chest squeezed so tightly it made breathing difficult. The animal came close, its yellow eyes boring into her, every hair on its back quivering, lips bared showing sharp teeth and lines of drool, and still emitting a low, guttural growl that seeped from its throat.

            Surely moments passed but it felt to her as if time had stopped, her breathing had stopped, and still Will didn’t cry out. If her heart pounded any harder, she thought it would come out of her chest. 

            “Come, Emilia. Put out your hand, let him sniff you. He doesn’t know you and until he does, you’re an intruder,” Will said.

            She hesitated. Was he kidding? Offer her hand to this huge beast, to bite off? Was it a dog? The only dog she’d ever been around was Lyn’s ancient mutt that was kept outside on a chain. Whenever she was there, she and Lyn would go outside to give it some moldy leftovers. The dog greeted them with a dispirited wag and then, after eating, flopped back down. That was when Emily petted him, though he seldom showed much interest. These two animals bore no resemblance.

            “Go ahead Emilia.  You can’t act afraid.  He’ll sense it.”

            How could she not act afraid when fear must be oozing from her every pore?

            “Just let him sniff you and he won’t feel as if you’re a threat.”

            “He’s the threat!” she said hoarsely, setting down the dipper. Taking a deep breath, she slowly reached out her hand. How would she ever learn to weave without her fingers?

            “No. Crouch down to his level but don’t look directly at him, which to him is a challenge.”

            She glared at Will. What was he talking about? Was he really serious? He nodded. Even though the spring day was warm, the hand she held out when she crouched down was cold and trembling, and she closed her eyes, dizzily preparing herself for pain. When the wet nose touched her hand, she flinched, jerking away. 

            “It’s all right,” Will reassured her.

            Opening her eyes, she let out a sigh. Big Ben, she learned he was called, was no more than an arm’s length in front of her, his yellow eyes now inquiring, his tail swishing tentatively from side to side.

            They were both stroking the dog when a shrill voice from behind startled them. “Will Shoemaker! May the world spirit save me, I haven’t seen you since Chalica.” A dark-haired girl a head taller than Will wiped floury hands on her apron. Her long hair was pulled back with a bedraggled ribbon and her cheeks were smudged with flour, but she was smiling brightly.             

            “Greetings Maria. My friend here is just getting to know Big Ben. He wasn’t too sure about her.”

            “He’s fierce with strangers. Obviously, she’s no one we know.”

            “He frightened her, I’m afraid. Maria, this is Sophia Weaver’s niece, Emilia, come to visit from far off.”

             Emily smiled.  

            Maria nodded, looking her over from head to toe where her gaze finally rested on the shoes. She turned again to Will.

            “You haven’t picked the best time for a visit. We’re all busy with preparations for the Duke of Kent who’s returning the Baron’s daughter. It’s been nothing but cooking and cleaning for the last week. All I’ve done is make crusts for meat pies from sunup until sundown. Cook’s in a right foul mood I can tell you that. Best not get in her way.”

            “We don’t plan to stay. I just brought Emilia to see the garden, and the bailey.” When Emily looked confused, he explained, “The courtyard.”

            In a stage whisper Maria asked Will, “Does she speak another language or is she mute?”

            “I just didn’t know that term,” Emily blurted out.

            “Strange accent,” Maria said, still addressing Will. “How did the two of you end up with time off?” Her tone was tinged with resentment.

            Will fumbled for an answer, but before he could say anything, Maria rounded on Emily. “Did you bring any of Mistress Weaver’s cloth with you?  I could go see if the seamstress has a mind to buy some.”

            Emily shook her head. 

            Maria‘s chin jutted up into the air and the scraggly ribbon that secured her hair waved back and forth as she shook her head. To Will again she said, “Who’s never heard of a bailey? Leave it to Mistress Weaver to have an odd apprentice. The teacher’s no better’n the student.”

            Emily wanted to defend Sophia, but a warning look from Will kept her quiet. 

            More politely, Maria queried, “Are you learning the weaving trade from your aunt?”

            “Well. . . that wasn’t why I came here, but she is teaching me.”

            “Tell me,” Maria leaned in closer, more conspiratorially, “does she really use fairies to do her weaving at night, to handle the finest threads and get the cloth done when we’re supposed to be abed?”

            Thinking it a joke, Emily laughed, but Maria drew herself up defensively. Will took her elbow again steering her back to the bailey.

            “We must go Maria.” 

            Emily regretted leaving the lovely hidden garden.

            “We’ve got chores. I’m sure you’ve more pies.” To Emily’s surprise, the dog followed her, sniffing hopefully in the direction of the cooking meat.  Now that it realized she was no threat, it seemed to like her.          

            Maria also took a few steps after them, reluctant to let Will leave.

            “The shoes your father made for Cook helped her ever so much with her fallen arches,” she continued.

            Will nodded and waved through clouds of billowing woodsmoke as they threaded their way back through the bustle. All the noise of animals and people still rang in her ears, but the scene had a dream-like feel. Several women and children bent over the piece of earth that had been plowed, a few raking it, others planting seeds.

            Maria came after them a few more steps, finally brushing the flour from her cheeks. 

            “They did her wonders,” she called out. “She was pleasanter to work with for a while, though it didn’t last. Her black bile returned, even with the new shoes.” Maria cast a nervous glance backward.

            “Best you go back to your work,” Will called. “She may notice you’re gone too long for a drink.”

“Goodbye Will Shoemaker.” Maria waved through the din. A little boy with a sheep in tow regarded her with amusement. “Promise you’ll sit by me at the May Day feast.” She watched until they disappeared outside the drawbridge.