HURRIEDLY, I PULLED BACK INTO the narrow passageway, but peeked out, watching as the soldiers paused. The one-eyed man pointed to the sign of the boot that hung from the building into which Bear and John Ball had gone.
The moment the building was singled out, I had no doubt as to what John Aycliffe was intending.
Wasting no time, I plunged down the narrow passage between the buildings, clambered up the wall, and slipped down into the garden a second time. This time, however, I didn’t pause at the rear door, but yanked it open.
I looked in upon a small room filled with benches upon which sat some seven men, Bear among them. Standing before them was John Ball.
“Bear,” I shouted, “soldiers are coming!”
At the sound of my voice, he leaped up and spun about to face me. “Where?”
“On the street.”
Even as I spoke, there was a great crash from the front of the house: the door being broken in.
“We are betrayed,” John Ball thundered. “Save yourselves!”
There was a wild scramble for the rear door, as the men, Bear among them, raced to get out. I had to leap aside so as not to be trampled.
Once the men were in the garden, Bear took command. Using his great height and strength, he fairly lifted the men onto the back wall one by one. Once there, they swung their legs over, dropped down, and disappeared.
The last to go was John Ball.
At the top, the priest hesitated, and called: “Bear, don’t lose heart. Put your faith in mighty God and me. We’ll meet again tonight at the White Stag.” Then he too vanished.
Bear swung about. “Crispin,” he said, holding out his arms.
I ran to him. He picked me up and all but flung me to the top of the wall. From there I looked into a narrow alley in which people were passing, one or two who looked up at me with nothing more than idle curiosity. Farther down the way—turning a corner—I could just see John Ball scurrying off.
I looked back toward Bear. He had just begun to climb the wall when the soldiers burst out of the house and into the garden.
“Go, Crispin,” Bear cried. “Get out of the city. It’s you they want, not me.”
I dropped into the alley. But instead of running off I stood in place. Heart pounding, I strained to listening, trying to guess what was happening on the other side of the wall. What I heard were shouts: “Hold him. Secure him.” Then came the sound of blows. Finally—as though from a greater distance—I heard cries, a scream, more shouts. Then, no more.
Frantic, but hardly knowing what to do—go to the aid of Bear or take care of myself—I hesitated. Guilt and fear engulfed me equally. Unable to abide not knowing what had happened, I climbed back upon the wall and looked into the garden.
It was empty.
I swung over it, dropped back down, ran toward the door and stepped inside.
The room where the meeting had taken place was a shambles. Nor was anyone there.
Opposite the door by which I’d entered was another open door. I ran through it only to find greater disorder. Several low worktables had been overturned. Shoes, slippers, and boots—in various stages of manufacture—lay scattered.
I went through another door that led me into the front room of the house. On two trestle tables, shoes and boots were displayed. And here a soldier was standing looking out the broken front door.
He turned and saw me. “Halt!” he cried.
I spun about and tore back through the rooms I’d entered, into the garden. Scrambling over the wall, I made my way along the narrow passageway by the side of the house.
Once I reached the street, I hastily looked up and down, saw that it was clear, and ran.
Whether or not the soldier came after me, I never knew. All I knew was that Bear had been taken by John Aycliffe. It was as I had feared. We’d been trapped.