'Black pudding,' she said. 'Good. My favourite.' I pulled on my leather jerkin. 'I'm afraid I shan't be sharing it with you. I'm going away for a few days, to Gloucester.'
'Gloucester?' Margaret Walker looked up, dismayed.
'What do you want to go there for?'
'You've no horse,' Lillis objected.
'I don't need one,' I answered, 'while I've my own two legs. It will only take me two or three days. I know the road. I've walked it more than once. Thirty miles, perhaps, as the crow flies.'
'But why?' Mistress Walker insisted.
I debated for a moment whether or not to tell them, but could see no reason why they should not know. 'I want to find out if Edward Herepath really spent Thursday and Friday night in the city, as he said he did, last March; the night of the Annunciation of Our Lady and the following one. Maybe, even after all this time, someone will remember him.'
'But why should you doubt his word?' Lillis demanded.
'I need to find out if he was speaking the truth,' I answered stubbornly. 'You asked me to unravel this mystery, and that is what I'm trying to do.'
She turned impetuously to Margaret for support. 'Tell him not to go, Mother! He's been ill. The weather's bad. He'll kill himself.'
'I doubt that. Not a great lad like him.' Mistress Walker eyed me levelly. 'Will you be coming back?'
I returned her glance, look for look. 'You have my promise.'
At that, she relaxed, and continued making her black pudding with renewed vigour. 'In that case, you must do as you see fit.' She wiped her hands on her apron. 'You'll need money. You've paid me well over the weeks. Let me return some to you.'
'No,' I said firmly. 'I have a little of my own store left, enough to start me on my way. I shall take my pack and sell as I go. I have been idle far too long.'
'It will delay you,' she argued. 'You will be gone longer than you need.'
'I have given my word to return.' I began fastening the pack on my back. 'You have no cause to be uneasy. But I need to feel the road beneath my feet again; to feel free and not bound by charity; to feel space all around me instead of being confined by city wails.'
I saw the sudden look of comprehension on Margaret Walker's face as she realized that I would never wholly settle down to a life of domesticity; that I was a rover by choice and not of necessity. I had of course told her and Lillis some of my past history, during the evenings when we had been gathered round the fire together, but I think, until that moment, she had not quite accepted that my decision to become a chapman had not, in some way or another, been forced on me by circumstances. It therefore came as a shock to her to discover that wanderlust was in my nature, at its very core.
'Even wanderers over the face of the earth need a place to return to,' I said quietly, arranging my cloak around myself and the pack, until I looked like a monstrous hunchback. I saw that she understood me, and guessed that she would come to terms with things as they were, not as she would like them to be. She was a practical woman who had learned not to expect too much of life.
She wanted a husband for Lillis and grandchildren to dandle on her knee. She had also, I suspected, wanted the comfort of a man's constant presence in the cottage, for she had had to cope too long on her own; but if that was not God's will, she would settle for what she was offered.
Not so her daughter. Lillis threw herself at me and locked her thin arms about my neck. 'You shan't go! I forbid it!' she said fiercely.
I laughed as I looked down into the angry little face so close to mine, lips parted to reveal small, sharp teeth, eyes blazing with fury. I put up my hands and ruthlessly tore hers apart, freeing myself from her clasp. 'I'm going,' I said calmly, 'and neither you nor anyone else can stop me.'
'I will stop you! I will!' She beat with the full force of her strength against my chest. 'You're not to leave me!'
Margaret looked on, a cynical smile twisting her mouth, for she knew already who would win the battle. My strength and height have always given me an unfair advantage, and so it proved then. I simply picked Lillis up and put her to one side as I made for the door, leaving her sobbing with impotence.
Grinning, I went back and, tilting up her small pointed chin, planted a kiss firmly on her lips. They tasted faintly salty. 'You'll see me when you see me,' I told her, 'and not before. But you will see me.' I kissed her once more and then was gone.
I was free. I was an my own.! had escaped the petty tyrannies of the women. There was a spring in my step, in spite of the overcast morning, as I walked across the Frame Bridge and under the arch of Frame Gate into Lewin's Mead. This indeed had once been a meadow, belonging many years ago, or so I had been told, to one of the castle reeves; but dwellings had now encroached on the open space, including some of the outbuildings of the Franciscan friary. It was the fate, even then, of so much of our land, as towns began to spread outside their walls. And nowadays, of course, in this year of Our Lord 1522, towns are stretching their tentacles even further into the countryside, and I can foresee the time when walls will cease to be of any practical use. But everything changes, and I suppose it is only old men, like myself, who regret the past.
From Lewin's Mead I made my way through Silver Street to Magdalen Lane, past the nunnery, which made me think at once of Cicely Ford. My heart lurched a little at the memory of her hand tucked into the crook of my arm and her sweet, gentle face turned confidingly up to mine. But I had seen God at work there; she was not for me nor for any man. I turned into Stony Hill, the path the mysterious horseman had travelled that March morning of last year, and, with St Michael's Church on my left, I climbed steadily in the direction of the windmill, perched on the high ground above the city. Its sails were mining in a freshening breeze, for there is always a wind blowing on the heights surrounding Bristol. I paused for a moment, looking back at the town, at the houses clustering, as they had for centuries, around the confluence of the Frome and the Avon. Then I set my face resolutely nor-nor-east, towards Gloucester.
By nightfall, I had reached only as far as the old Cheap town of Sodbury, where I was able to sell some of my wares in the market-place, and so buy myself a night's lodging at a respectable inn. The next day being Sunday, I attended both the services of Tierce-Sext and None before deciding to wait until the morrow before resuming my journey. I also attended Vespers at the parish church, much to the amusement of the landlord and his wife, who were well aware that my piety had much to do with their beautiful daughter, who was herself a model of religious devotion.
The next morning, however, early, I prised myself away, and with the family's good wishes ringing in my ears, as well as two of the landlady's chicken pasties nestling in my pocket, I took once more to the road. My boots were soon mired with filth from the uneven track, and a sudden flurry of sleet caused me to pull up my hood and wrap my cloak more securely about me. Everything was dank, gloomy and miserable; a passing horseman in a scarlet cloak was the only splash of colour in the landscape.
There were far fewer people travelling in the depth of winter, all those who had no need to sensibly remaining mewed up at home by the fireside. And, as a carelessly driven cart splashed me to the thighs, discomforts I had borne for the past three winters without complaining suddenly seemed an unnecessary penance. Well, Margaret and Lillis Walker were waiting for me…