WE ENTERED INTO A LARGE room in which a few small tallow candles had been stuck into crannies in the walls. Despite the sputtering light, it was a dim and smoky place that reeked of bad ale, stale bread, and sour wine. Trestle tables and benches, more than I had ever seen in one place, stood beneath a low beamed ceiling. The floor was made of thick wood slabs, strewn with dirty rushes. To one side stood a kind of counter, upon which sat rows of wooden tankards.
Behind this counter stood a large, buxom woman. Dressed in a brown, grease-spotted kirtle, she had a lopsided white linen cap upon her dark and gray-streaked tresses. Around her waist was a belt of glassy rosary beads, from which dangled a leather purse. Wooden pattens were on her feet. As for her face, it was a flushed and rosy red. Her nose was flat, as if it had once been broken. Her cheeks were sunken, too. Withal, she cast off a brimming, bustling force.
When we came forward, she squinted to see who was there. As Bear loomed large before her, a grand grin spread upon her face, revealing not just joy, but a complete lack of teeth.
“God’s wounds,” she cried with lisping, spittle-spraying laughter, “it’s the Bear set loose among us again.”
“And on my honor,” Bear said, his voice booming, his arms spread wide, “it’s the Widow Daventry.”
The two embraced in the middle of the room.
“Welcome back to Great Wexly,” the woman said, pushing Bear away even as she looked him up and down. “I was wondering if you’d come. But you’ve been true.”
“Fair lady.” Bear laughed, making a mock bow. “I always keep my word.”
“But once again, sir, I fear you’ve not come to court me,” she said.
“Alas, it’s my other business,” said he.
Then, to my astonishment, the woman smote him hard in the chest with a tight fist, a blow which only made him laugh even more. Not content with that assault, she pulled his beard and tweaked his cheek. “And what escapades have befallen you since you were here last?” she asked, laughing with such delight I could not keep from grinning too.
“Many an adventure, you can be sure,” he said. “And there stands one of them.” Bear pointed at me.
The woman turned and considered me with squinty eyes. “Is he yours, or did you find him in some swamp?”
Before he answered, Bear looked around. What he might have been searching for I don’t know, for only the three of us were there.
“It was God’s sweet grace that let him find me.”
“How did that happen?”
“We met in an abandoned village. He had fled his village.”
“Did he?” the woman said and looked at me with new interest. “For what reason?”
“In search of a grander world,” said Bear.
“And what of his father? His mother?”
“Both gone to a better world.”
“An orphan then. And not pursued?” she asked, clearly relishing the tale.
“That’s another matter,” Bear said with a frown. “But by the laws of this realm,” he said, “he’s fully bound to me now. My apprentice. And a likely lad.”
It felt good to hear his praise.
“What’s your name?” she asked me.
I made myself look up. “It’s … Crispin.”
“Now there’s a highborn name for a lowly lad,” the woman said. “But, Crispin, pay no heed to my bantering. Bear’s friends are mine. Welcome to the Green Man’s Inn. Where do you come from?”
When I hesitated, Bear said, “Crispin, name your village.”
“Stromford,” I said.
“Never heard of it,” the woman said with a shrug.
“One of Lord Furnival’s holdings,” Bear said.
“Lord Furnival,” the woman said, turning from me back to Bear. “Have you not heard the news?”
“That Lord Furnival died?” he said.
“Aye. Two weeks ago,” the woman said.
As Bear made the sign of the cross over his heart, I said, “How did you know?” not sure which surprised me more, that he had known or that he hadn’t told me.
“The black cloth draped around town,” he replied. “And the extra soldiers at the gates.”
“To be sure,” the woman said. “When great men die there’s always unrest. He died in his bed,” she added. “From the wounds he earned at the French wars. I suppose it will only encourage your enterprise,” she said with some unease.
“Widow,” he said, “it’s not my enterprise.”
As I watched and listened to the two of them, it was clear she had more knowledge of Bear and his business than I. It gave me a jealous pang.
“Who will succeed the lord?” Bear said.
“He has no legal heirs,” the woman said. “Though it’s been rumored there are some illegitimate ones.”
“And all his property?”
“It now belongs to his widow, the Lady Furnival. Unless some bastard son—with an army at his back—makes a claim. Or until she marries. If she marries. But they say that’s unlikely. She’s not the type to relinquish her new powers. She never traveled with Lord Furnival, but preferred to stay in her court. You know what women say,” she added with a grin: “’If the first marriage is a gift from God, the second comes straight from Hell.'”
That said, there was an awkward moment of silence. Bear was tense. I did not know exactly what had occurred, but it made me recall something Father Quinel had told me once at confession: a moment of silence in the midst of talk means Death’s Angel is close at hand. I shuddered.