I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME passed before I heard a tapping on the board that kept me hidden.
“Open up,” came Widow Daventry’s whisper.
I pushed the board out. In her hands was a bowl of soup and bread.
Grateful, I took the food and began to eat, though I was almost ashamed to be so hungry.
“What have you been doing?” she asked after setting down the small candle she’d brought.
“Thinking about Bear.”
“Ah,” she said with a sigh. “Well you might. Crispin, forgive me being so angry with you. God knows, it’s not your fault.” She lapsed into silence for a while.
“Did Bear ever tell you about me?” she asked abruptly.
“No,” I said.
“Two husbands. Seven children. None alive. And yet … I live.” She reached out and rested a heavy hand on me. “Crispin,” she whispered, “does God … have reasons?”
“I… don’t know.”
Head bowed, she began to weep again. I took her rough hand and squeezed it.
It was some time before she could compose herself.
Cautiously, I said, “Good Widow, can you read?”
She looked at me with vacant eyes. “A little. Why do you ask?”
“Can you tell me what it says … here?” I held out my cross.
She took it and turned it over in her hands. “It’s from the Great Sickness,” she said. “I don’t have to read it. Bear told me what it says.”
“He did?”
She nodded. “It says, ‘Crispin—son of Furnival.'”
I stared at her.
“You’re Lord Furnival’s son.”
“How can that be?”
“Who did you think your father was?”
“My mother only said my father died before I was born. In the Great Sickness.”
She shook her head. “Crispin, for these lords to have sons out of wedlock is common.”
“And Bear knew about me?” I managed to say.
“Yes.”
“And he told you.”
She nodded. “He guessed it from this cross, and because of what happened to you.” She offered the cross back to me.
I took it. “What else did Bear say?”
She sighed. “He supposed that your mother was attached to Lord Furnival’s court. That she must have been some young, gentle lady who knew how to write and read. Bear imagined her some beauty, enough to catch the eye of Lord Furnival. Furnival must have brought her—no doubt against her will—to your village.
“But when she quickened with child—you—he abandoned her, leaving orders that she be held in that place. Not killed, but never allowed to leave.”
“Because of … me?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t Bear tell me?”
“He wanted to protect you.”
“From what?”
“Crispin,” she said, “what ever noble blood there is in you, is only … poison. Lady Furnival, who’s the power here, will never let you have the name. She’ll look on you as her enemy, knowing that anyone who chooses to oppose her will use you and what you are.”
“Does she even know of me?” I said, amazed.
When the woman said nothing, I repeated the question.
“If she knows as much as I, she may,” said the widow.
“What do you mean?” I cried.
“Crispin, I can not be certain, but if the rumor of the time—thirteen years ago—was true, I believe I know who your mother was. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Douglas. Lord Furnival became infatuated with her. It was the talk of the town. Then word was given out that this young woman died. Apparently not.”
“What difference does that make?” I asked bitterly. “She’s dead now.”
“But if Lord Douglas knew his daughter had a son by Lord Furnival, he might make a claim to the Furnival wealth through you. And if Lady Furnival knew of you as well, she would do anything to protect her power here.
“Your connection gives no honor. No position. What someone fears is not you, but that you will be used. Can’t you see it? Your noble blood is the warrant for your death. It will remain so till it flows no more.”
I stared at her. “Did Bear know this about my mother?”
“I did not tell him.”
“Why?”
“He thought of you as his son. Why put a greater distance between you?
“Crispin, if it’s any comfort, you’re probably not the only possible claimant. Considering Furnival’s reputation, you’re probably only one of many. The House of Furnival will want you all dead.”
“But… I make no claim.”
“Those who know of your existence fear you will. Which is why you must get away as fast as possible and never—ever—return to these parts.”
She reached out and touched me softly on the face with her rough hands. “May sweet Jesus protect you,” she said before she took her leave.