The End of Time

by Avi

I nodded earnestly.

  “My name is Thorvard,” said the old man. “Thorvard Hjalmarsson. My son, Mord Thorvardsson. My daughter, Halla Thorvardsdotter. Once from Iceland.” He spat upon the ground as though disgusted. “Now from Bergen in Norway. We speak English because we trade with Englishmen.” He held out his large hand.

  I took it. It was calloused, his fingernails yellowing and cracked. The other two crowded close, full of grinning cheer, poking each other as if telling jests.

  “Mind, once to Iceland,” Thorvard went on, “there’s little beyond!”

  I could only nod.

  “What might you know of ships and sailing?” demanded Thorvard. “We sail an old cog.”

  “I’ve sailed one.”

  “Not in northern seas, I’ll wager,” said Mord. “Not in winter.”

  “In storms,” I assured him, which was true.

  “Even so,” said Thorvard, “it’s a long way to Iceland. Not many voyage there at this time of the year.” He plumped a heavy finger on my chest. “It’s brutal work to sail northern seas.”

  I forced myself to stand still as if to demonstrate my bravery. “I’m…not afraid.”

  He glared down at me. “If we are to get there before full winter is upon us, we must leave—God and wind willing—soon. Say, tomorrow at dawn. But as I said, we’re short of men. I’ll offer this much: come back at the end of day. If I can’t find anyone, better a minnow to chew than no fish at all. Did you say there were two of you?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Good! Come back, and I’ll see what has transpired. I may have no choice but to take you on.”

  Grateful for even that, I bobbed my head and turned to go when he called. “Boy! What do you know about Iceland?”

  I swung back. “If it pleases, master,” I said with knowing, “Iceland is a land without kings, or lords, or armies. Men live in freedom there.”

  “Freedom?” He laughed loudly. “Who told you that?”

  “A…good man.”

  “Good? If the one who told you such things believed them, he was the devil’s own fool. Maybe such was true one or two hundred years ago. Not now. Iceland is ruled by Norway’s king. Bad rule, but rule it is. Håkon the Sixth he’s called. As for lords? We have them. Armies? Men can and will defend their families and kin. Often. And they don’t do so alone. Soldiers? You may be sure they’re there.

  “Yes, some live in peace, but many don’t. We have our earls, our bishops. The land itself is full of anger. Cold and hot burst forth all the time. In short, Iceland is as far from Eden as it is from here!”

  I was so stunned by his words, all I could do was stare at the man, searching for some hint that he was teasing. “Is…that…true, what you just said?” I got out, hardly able to breathe.

  “As God is my witness!” he roared. “Iceland’s an awful, godforsaken place! Here! Ask my children.”

  Halla, the young woman, perhaps sensing I was upset, nodded solemnly but said, “It’s a beautiful place!”

  My very soul was shaking. I could barely stand. Somehow I managed to murmur, “I’ll…I’ll come back, master. I…promise.”

  Reeling, I turned away only to see Elena on the other side of the market.

  24

  SURE THAT ELENA was searching for me, I hastily ducked away and, keeping low, scurried around the fishmongers. Only when I thought it safe did I try to see where she had gone. Since she was short, moving quickly, and the day not yet very bright, it took a while to locate her.

  As I watched, I saw her go from stall to stall, talking to the sellers much as I had done. I glanced toward my Iceland man, fearful she would go to him. By God’s grace, she did not. Then I realized she was only doing what she’d told Rauf she’d do: seek a voyage to England. But I had to believe she was also looking for me.

  Half running, I circled around, wanting to find some place to gather my tumbling thoughts. I moved from the market and made for the outer rim of the city, near the walls. All the while I tried to keep alert, ready to bolt in case anyone from the family came into view. It was by keeping such a constant watch that this time I saw Rauf.

  There were moments I truly thought these people were devils bent on tormenting me!

  Rauf was standing with a group of soldiers before the open door of a tavern built against the city walls. The sign over the tavern door portrayed a golden lamb. Among the soldiers was the very captain I had seen at the city gates. The same one who had questioned me.

  At first the soldiers and Rauf seemed to be doing no more than talking. But as I watched, I observed Rauf drop coins into each of their hands. I had little doubt: he was selling me.

  I backed away in haste, and then dashed down one of the side streets, intent on a quick return to the stables. I braced myself for a scolding, or worse.

  But as I ran along, I came upon a church so small it might have been a chapel. Desperately wanting some time to calm my spinning thoughts, I darted inside.

  It was dark and cold within, the air touched by a trace of incense. A small and solitary candle burned on the altar. Its light illuminated the cross, which bore the broken figure of Jesus. The floor was stone, covered with old, dry rushes that crinkled beneath my step. Walls were stone, too, with paintings too faded for me to see what tale they told.

  I looked for some sign, some picture as to which saint was sacred there to make acknowledgment. It was too dim. And I was too upset to make a study. But I did see that against one wall was a tomb, placed so the morning’s light fell there first. It rather looked like a table, its top supported by thick pillars. On this slab lay the sculptured form of a rich lady, her long-fingered hands—made of stone—clasped in calm and everlasting prayer.

  Would that I was as peaceful! I fell to my knees, bowed my head, and pressed my shaking hands together. As soon as I did, I began to sob, deep body-racking sobs, as if the very calmness I had sought gave vent to my anguish. In my head I kept hearing what Thorvard claimed: that Bear’s words about Iceland were false. That nothing good was there. That I would never find my freedom.

  But how—I asked myself again and again—could Bear have told me something so wrong? How could he have not known? Did he not know everything?

  My heart raged and cried. Even as I wept, a storm of anger at Bear swept through me—a sense of betrayal, a piercing pain that cut my heart and caused me to cover my face with my hands. How could he tell me something untrue! Were all my struggles to go to Iceland for naught? How could I take Owen to such a place? Would I not be free there? Bear had not known! A liar! I hated him! All I could do was weep. I was lost!

  The choice that loomed before me—to stay or flee—seemed appalling! To stay meant I would be hanged in exchange for the family’s thievery and murder. But if I should flee to Iceland, I would be going to a very distant place that offered nothing of what I wanted! Where I might not be any better off than where I was!

  But in the end—in my desperate state—it seemed to me that Iceland—whatever it might be—offered a small grain of hope—which is to say, life—and that little hope was better than what Elena’s family had planned for me.

  “Dear God,” I whispered, “bring me some kind of miracle, some kindness, that we might go off with that Icelandic ship—if that man will only take us.”

  But how could we get out of Calais? It was walled. Harder to get out than in, I had been told. I could see that for myself. And soldiers were everywhere. Soldiers, paid to catch me.

  “Dear Saint Giles,” I whispered to the empty darkness. “I need you so much now. It’s all too hard. I’m too young. I can’t do this by myself. I beg you! Help me! Tell me what I should do!”

  Alas, no voice or vision was bestowed on me.

  I remained in the chapel for some more moments, trying to settle myself. How long I remained there, I don’t know. I even gazed upon the stone lady, wishing that I were her! Then, quite abruptly, I realized I must get back to the house and the family before Elena and Rauf. To do otherwise would
make things even worse.

  First, however, I had wits enough to search hastily about in the food market and, for a halfpenny, purchase three apples. They would be, I could only hope, my bribe to the family to excuse my absence.

  I raced back to the merchant’s house. Once I found it, I plunged around to the back alley and went to the stable stall.

  Standing there was Rauf, waiting for me.

  “Where were you?” he yelled, his anger as immediate as it was intense.

  “At the market,” I said. Behind him, Woodeth was watching. So were Gerard and Elena. Owen was in a corner, looking terrified.

  “Who gave you permission to go?” Rauf demanded.

  “No…one.” I drew out the apples and presented them as an offering. “I went to get these…for all.”

  He reached out and knocked my hands. The apples flew all which ways.

  “Not for one moment are you to go off alone!” he shouted. “Is that understood? You’re to stay with us. Always! With me!”

  “If it pleases—”

  Furious, he swung the full weight of his hand against the side of my head. It was so unexpected, I fell to the ground in pain and dizziness. Before I could recover, he stepped over me and kicked me in my side. “Do you understand me now?” he cried.

  “Yes…” I managed to say, in great pain. I wanted to strike back, but I knew it would be useless.

  He bent over and shook his fist in my face. “You’re to do only as I say!”

  My side throbbing, my nose bleeding, I remained on the ground, hoping to be left alone. But the next moment he grabbed my arm and hauled me up. “Come with me!”

  Too stunned to resist, I allowed myself to be dragged away. None of the family tried to interfere.

  Rauf shoved me out of the stall and into the alley.

  “Where…where are we going?” I said, smearing the blood away from my face.

  “The night watch wishes to meet you!” he said, and shoved me forward.

  He marched me out to the street, constantly pushing and shoving. Soon enough I realized where we were going: the tavern where I had seen him talking to the soldiers. Was he to hand me over to them right then?

  When we reached the tavern, we went inside. It was a large, dark, and smoky room, the ceiling low with heavy beams, with one small, open window and a hearth burning wood. Set about the room were heavy oak tables, with men sitting around them. For the most part, they had tankards before them, while a few had trenchers from which they were eating.

  In the far back was a high table. A large man with a stained apron over his bulging belly was using a ladle to pour drinks from a barrel into tankards, which were then served by a woman.

  Rauf—still gripping me tightly by my arm—took me into a corner where some soldiers were seated around a table, drinking. Among them I recognized the captain, the same one whom I had seen him talking to a short time ago.

  Rauf shoved me forward. “This is the boy I told you about.”

  The soldiers looked up at me with, at most, indifference.

  The captain nodded and said, “You need not worry. We’ve marked him now.”

  The other soldiers laughed. One cried, “He’ll barely weight the noose.”

  I recalled the gallows I had seen upon the strand.

  Rauf pulled at me anew, this time leading me out of the tavern.

  “There,” he said, without releasing me, “don’t doubt it but they know you now.”

  Though I was sure I understood what he had done, I asked, “Why did you bring me?”

  “So they might know you as one of us,” he sneered. “It’s the love I have for you, Crispin. When we leave the city, I wouldn’t want them to take you up, would I? Now let’s go back to the others.” He gave me a shove, and I stumbled on.

  For my part, I was perfectly aware that he had made it even harder for me—and Owen—to escape.

  25

  RAUF AND I returned to the stall and the family. When we got there, Rauf shoved me away from him.

  “Well?” Elena said to him.

  “Done,” he replied meaningfully, but said no more.

  Humiliated, I staggered into a corner. There I fell upon my stomach, face pushed into the straw so no one would see me or my tears. I swore by all the apostles I’d get away from these people or die. Perhaps it would be better to go back to England. Anywhere. My fear was that we had too little time to change plans.

  In the end, if I had any doubts that Iceland—no matter what it was—would not serve me better than this, such notions dissolved. For the moment, however, all I could be was patient.

  For most of the day, Owen and I were given little choice: we were kept in the stall like prisoners. I so wanted to tell him about my meeting with the Icelanders, and from time to time the boy looked at me with sad eyes full of questions. But I, fearful of being overheard, dared not speak.

  At one point Elena, Rauf, and Gerard went off to talk in private. As before, Woodeth stayed to watch over us. Even so, I didn’t dare talk to Owen. I did not trust her. The boy seemed to understand and kept his silence.

  When Elena returned, she stood over me, head tilted slightly to one side in that gesture of puzzlement she sometimes had. I rolled away, having no desire to look at her.

  “Where did you go this morning?” she asked.

  “To the market, where I bought those apples,” I muttered.

  “Is that all?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I stopped in a small church. To pray. I was not gone for so long.” What I said was true enough, if hardly complete.

  She sighed and said, “Ever the pious one. I’m sorry Rauf acted as he did.”

  “Why did he beat me?” I asked.

  “He has a pointed temper” was all she would say. “It’s not always well aimed. I’ve made him promise he won’t do that again.”

  I did not believe her. But then I too was lying. The thought came: live with liars, become a liar.

  “Will you still wish me to play music with you?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she answered, then turned away. Instructing Woodeth to remain, she went off somewhere.

  At length I sat up and looked about. I had no idea where Rauf and Gerard were, though I was just as happy not to be in their company.

  Owen and I kept to ourselves at the back of the stall, Schim with us. Woodeth posted herself by the entryway. There was no way the two of us could get by her. Regardless, I did not have the strength to try.

  For my part, I kept thinking of how I was going to get back to Thorvard. And if I did, would he be willing to take Owen when he learned how young and small he was? What if he said no to the boy? What should I do? I had to remind myself he had not positively said he would take me. Only if he could not find some mariners.

  I don’t know what the others did that day. They came and went, though one of them always remained on guard. Even when I went to the cesspit, I was followed.

  When Rauf finally reappeared, he glowered at me—as if I were at fault—but thankfully kept his distance. Schim grimaced at him with anger. Twice we were brought food and drink. None of them talked in front of us.

  By early afternoon Woodeth was again guarding us. As she sat there, bored, she fell into a doze, breathing the breath of sleep. Only then, in a quick whisper, did I tell Owen about the Icelandic folk. I admit, though, I did not tell what I’d learned about the place.

  “Do you think they’ll truly take me?” he asked.

  I nodded. “But I must get back to them before the day is out.”

  “How can you?”

  “I don’t know,” I confessed.

  “Could I?” he suggested.

  “Brave boy. But it has to be me.”

  The afternoon was waning and I was becoming increasingly uneasy: I had to speak to the Icelandic people. Elena was now our guard. I was about to go on my knees and beg her to let me go when one of the steward’s servants appeared.

  “I’m in need of assistance,” he said, addressin
g Elena. “The benches in the hall must be placed around the tables. The steward said I could have your boy for a time.”

  Elena looked at me and then at the servant. “Will you be sure to keep a good watch on him?”

  “Of course,” he returned gruffly, and beckoned me to come.

  I looked to Owen and gave a small nod in hopes he would understand I was going to try and reach the Icelanders. Then I hurried out of the stall and followed the servant.

  The task required of me was simple enough. Another boy and I carried some fifteen benches from the main courtyard into the banquet hall. I never knew the other boy’s name or he mine. It didn’t matter. We did as we were told. The task soon being done, as I had hoped would happen, the steward’s servant dismissed me and told me I should return to my masters.

  I did not hesitate for a moment. I raced through the courtyard, out the front door, and headed for the market. Determined to avoid anyone from the family, I ran through the streets in an irregular fashion. When I reached the market edge, I paused. It was not as crowded as in the morning. That meant there was greater ease in spying members of the family. But it also meant I, too, might be seen.

  Haste, however, was foremost in my mind. Knowing no second opportunity would be had, I ran across the market, making for the spot I had seen the Iceland people.

  This time only Halla, the old man’s daughter, was there. She was behind the baskets calling “Iceland stockfish!” to the few who passed.

  I went and stood before her, fearful of even looking up and too breathless to speak.

  “Ah! The boy who wishes to go to beautiful Iceland.”

  With my chest tight enough to burst, I forced myself to look up and nod. Her pretty face showed amusement.

  “Even now, hearing what my father said?” she asked.

  “It will…it will be enough, mistress.”

  She grinned. “You must not believe all he said. He’s had family feuds over land. He’s bitter. The people there are not bad. And the land is beautiful. Full of fire and ice.”

  I could only nod.

  “But he’s surely right about one thing,” she continued. “It’s hard getting there. No easy jaunt. He didn’t exaggerate. Have you thought to that? It can—will—be treacherous. God’s holy name, it’s many a storm that has shaken his old beard! It’s not just age that turned it white.”