Part 69 (2/2)

Matthew and Suleiman brought out their maps, planning the year's trade and seeking a faster route to the spices of the East. I studied the maps too, fascinated by the lands and seas they portrayed, so far from everything I knew. At one stage Suleiman mentioned the difficulties of coinage barter and exchange between the different countries and I bethought myself of my father's dowry gift, bringing the coins to show him.

To my amazement and delight he recognized them all and spread out the largest map in the house, weighing it down at the four corners with candlesticks.

”See, these coins all belong to different countries: Sicilia, Italia and across the seas to Graecia. Then Persia, Armenia . . .” and he placed the coins one by one across the map so they looked like a silver and gold snake. South by east, east, east by north, northeast; all tending the same way. ”Your father must almost have reached Cathay. . . . He did: look!” And he held out the last and tiniest coin of all, no bigger than a baby's fingernail and dull gold. ”Either that, or he was friendly with the traders who went there. These coins follow our trade routes almost exactly. . . . Don't lose them: they might come in useful some day.”

I offered the coins, my precious dowry, to dear, kind Matthew when he tentatively proposed marriage to me just before Easter, but he closed my hand over them. ”No, I have no need of them; you are enough gift for any man. Keep them in memory of your father.”

It was agreed we would be wed when he returned from a two-week journey to barter for the new season's wool in advance. He and Suleiman set off together one fine April morning and I waved them out of sight, clutching Matthew's parting gift, a purseful of coins, to buy ”whatever fripperies you desire.”

He had kissed me a fond good-bye, and as his lips pressed mine I remembered Gill's urgent mouth on mine. And another's . . .

”Well, then: that's settled,” said Growch by my side, tail wagging furiously.

”Home at last, for both of us. When's lunch?”

Part 3: A Beginning

Chapter Thirty.Three.

”Gotcha!”

I awoke with a start to find Growch trampling all over me, tail wagging furiously. Night had fallen early with lowering cloud, but I was snug in the last of the hay at the far end of the barn, wrapped in my father's old cloak, and had been sleeping dreamlessly.

”D'you know how long I been lookin' for you? Four days! Four bleedin' days . .

. Fair ran me legs orf I did. You musta got a lift. . . .”

”I did. Yesterday.” I sat up. ”How did you know which way I'd gone?”

”Easy! Only way we ain't been. 'Sides, I gotta nose, and that there ring of yours got a pull, too.”

I glanced down at it. Warm, but pulsing softly.

”Got anythin' to eat? Fair starvin' I am,” and he pulled in his stomach and tried to look pathetic.

I gave him half the loaf I had been saving for breakfast. ”And when you've finished that you can turn right round again and head back where you came from!”

He choked. ”You're jokin'!”

”No, I am not. I left you behind deliberately. I even asked Matthew in my note to take care of you while I was away. . . .”

A note he wouldn't find yet, not for a couple of days at least, and by that time I should be aboard a s.h.i.+p for Italia, cross-country to Venezia and s.h.i.+p again for points east. And then to find Master Scipio and present myself to the caravan- master as Matthew's newest apprentice . . .

Once the merchant and Suleiman had disappeared I had had plenty of time to think.

Before, there had always been someone hovering, in the kindest possible way of course, making sure I wasn't hungry/cold/thirsty/tired/bored. I hadn't realized how constricted I had felt until they were both gone: the first action of mine had been to run from room to room, down the stairs, round the yard and then back again, flinging cus.h.i.+ons in the air and the shutters wide open.

Free, free, free! I sang, I danced, I felt pounds lighter, almost as if I could fly.

Growch thought I was mad, so did the cat and surely the servants.

Once I had calmed down I asked myself why I had acted like that, and I didn't particularly like the answers I came up with. One of them was obviously that a year or more traveling the freedom of the roads had left me with a taste for elbow room; another that I was obviously not ready to settle down yet. The third answer was, in a way, the most hurtful: I obviously didn't care enough for Matthew to marry him-at least I didn't return his affection the way he would have wished.

And why should you expect to love him? I could hear my mother's voice like a dim echo. Marriage is a contract, nothing more. You are lucky in that you don't actively dislike him. Just look around you, see what you will have! A rich husband who will grant your every wish, a comfortable home, security at last .

. . A little pretense on your part every now and again: is that so much to ask?

Yes, Mama, I answered her in my mind. You had my father, don't forget, you knew what real love felt like. You, too, had a choice. Didn't you ever regret not flinging everything aside and following him to the ends of the earth and beyond? A cruel and unjust death took him away from you, but at least you had your memories. And what have I got? A taste, just the tiniest taste, of what life could really be like, what love meant.

If I married Matthew now, feeling the way I did, I should be doing him a grave injustice and he was too nice, too kind a man for that. He would know I was pretending. Whereas if I tried to find what I was seeking and failed, then I could return and truly make the best of things. If he would still have me, of course. And if I succeeded . . . But I wouldn't even think of that, not yet.

Besides, the odds were so great, maybe ten thousand to one, probably more.

But I was d.a.m.n well going to try!

That letter to dear Matthew had been difficult to write, for I knew how it would hurt him.

I know you will be upset to find me gone, but I find I cannot yet settle down, much as I am fond of you and am grateful for your many kindnesses. I hope you can forgive me. I am not sure where I shall go, but I hope to return within a year and a day, all being well. By then, of course, you may well have changed your mind about me, but if not I hope I shall be ready to settle down with you.

I have taken the bag of coins you gave me so I shall not be without funds, although I know you intended them for more frivolous purposes. Thank you again for everything. Please, of your goodness, take care of my dog till I return. . . .

There were two things-three-that I didn't tell him. I had spent a few coins in kitting myself out in boy's clothes: braies and tunic, stockings and boots. Also, I had cut my hair short. At first I had been horrified at the result, for now my hair sprang up round my head in a riot of curls, but I soon became used to the extra lightness, and it would be much more convenient. I had taken the discarded tresses with me, for there was always a call for hair to make false pieces and they might be worth a meal or two.

Another thing he wouldn't know was that I had copied his maps showing the trade routes, and the last way I had taken advantage was to use his seal and forge his signature to a letter of introduction to one of his caravan masters, the same one who had engaged young d.i.c.kon. Having memorized, unconsciously at the time, the schedules of the routes, I now knew I had a couple of days more to make the twenty miles or so to the first rendezvous.

And now here came trouble on four legs just to complicate matters. . . .

”I locked you in deliberately to stop you following! You can't come with me!

I'm not even sure where I'm going. . . .”

”Why can't I come? S'all very well tellin' the servants as you're goin' visitin', but I ain't stupid! They tried to keep me in, as you ordered, but I jumped out a window, I did. You ain't goin' nowheres without me. You knows you ain't fit to be let out on your own. Din' I get us to that fellow's house?”

I admitted he had.

”Well, then! There's grat.i.tude for you. . . . I don' care where you're goin', I'm comin' too. Try an' stop me.”

”I thought all you wanted was a comfortable home. Matthew would take good care of you. And all that lovely food . . .”

”I can change me mind, can't I? You have. Don' know what you wants do you?

<script>