DESPERATE TO FIND WHERE BEAR was being taken, I raced wildly through the town, more than once taking the chance to stop and speak to strangers.
“Did some soldiers holding a large red-bearded man go by?” I asked.
Twice, I was told that such a one had just been dragged along. What’s more, they were able to point in the direction the soldiers took. I rushed on.
Then, as before, I unexpectedly burst into the great square. Though very crowded, I could see a group of soldiers crossing the far side. People were hastily making way for them.
Scrambling forward, I wove and dodged through the crowd, tables and stalls, just in time to see the soldiers—with Aycliffe—drag Bear through the open doors of a large building. It was the building I’d noticed before, the one that stood directly opposite the great church.
As soon as the soldiers entered with Bear, the doors swung shut. Armed guards, helmets and weapons bright, their livery blue and gold, took up positions before them.
Standing there, I was engulfed by alternating waves of rage and helplessness. That it should come to this! In agony, I made the sign of the cross over my heart, and made a prayer for Bear’s safety. Yet I had little hope that it would bring either comfort or release for my one true friend. If only he had listened to my warning.
Then, afraid of being noticed, I stood behind a large man and peeked around him while trying to take measure of where Bear had been brought.
“What building is that?” I asked.
“The Furnivals’palace,” the man replied. “And may God give grace to her Ladyship.”
I continued to stare at the building as if I might see through the stone walls and discover what was happening inside. But while that, of course, proved useless, I did see a man appear on the second-level balcony, the one underneath which stone lions’ heads protruded. It was John Aycliffe.
He stood looking out over the square as if in search of someone. As I gazed at him I had little doubt it was me he was seeking. I watched him—my heart full of loathing—until he turned and went back inside.
He had taken Bear to get at me.
Not knowing what to do, I made my way back to the Green Man. Though disconsolate, I kept my eyes alert for soldiers. I saw a few, but did not think they saw me.
Fortunately, by then I had come to know the town well enough that I reached the inn in good time. But remembering the one-eyed man, I entered through the rear.
The house was very quiet. Though I knew I should go and find Widow Daventry and tell her what had happened, I was in too much torment. I felt a need for time alone to compose myself and think what next to do. Quietly then, I crept up to the second-story solar.
As I had expected, our room was empty. But just to see Bear’s sack and hat in one corner moved me greatly.
Exhausted, I lay down upon the pallet, my mind churning through a clutter of images, things, and words. Again and again the main questions returned: What would they do to Bear? What should I do? The truth was, I felt paralyzed.
In a spate of loneliness, I felt about inside Bear’s sack, found his recorder, and played a melody. It was the first one he had taught me. But to hear it brought such sadness, I put it away. Silence was the only voice that could speak to me.
But as I lay there—I don’t know for how long—I became aware of commotion. At first it appeared to come from the street. Before I could determine what it was, I heard a crash that shook the entire house.
I sat up, listening intently.
Now the tumult—shouts and cries—came from within the building itself. I heard a scream, followed by sounds of crashing, wood splintering, and I knew not what other violence.
Leaping up, I didn’t know what to do until I remembered the hiding place that Bear had told me about. It took but moments for me to slip the wall board out as he had instructed. Then I crept inside the opening, taking Bear’s sack and hat with me. As soon as I pulled the board back, darkness closed about me. I dared not move.
It wasn’t long before I heard heavy footfalls burst into the room right beyond my hiding place.
“He’s not here either,” I heard a voice say, followed by the sounds of breakage, and finally footsteps receding.
I pressed my ear against the wall. When I was certain no one was there, I eased my way out. The room had been completely tossed and turned. The little table had been crushed. Straw from the pallet lay strewn about.
With extreme caution, I went out into the hall. It was deserted. At the top of the steps I listened anew. From below came the sound of weeping.