When Christ and His Saints Slept Read Free

sail on her, too, but I do not see him yet…he’s one who’d be late for his own wake, doubtless snug in some wanton’s bed—”
    “I’ve seen the Lord Stephen, almost as near to me as you are now,” Berold interrupted, for he did not want the sailor to think he was an ignorant country churl. “I’ve dwelled in Rouen for nigh on six months, for my uncle has a butcher’s shop and is teaching me his trade. Twice did I see the king ride through the city streets, with Lord Stephen at his side. The people liked Stephen well, for he always had an eye for a pretty lass and he was open-handed with his alms-giving.”
    “All the way from Rouen, eh? You are the well-traveled one,” the sailor murmured, and was amused to see that the boy took his good-natured gibe as gospel truth.
    “Indeed, it was not a trek for the faint of heart,” Berold agreed proudly. “I wore out two pairs of shoes on the road, got lost in the fog, and was nearly run down by a cart in Bayeux! But I had to get to Barfleur, for I must book passage to England. I have a…a quest to fulfill.”
    That caught the sailor’s interest; butchers’ lads were not likely candidates for pilgrimages or perilous sea voyages. “A quest? Did you swear a holy oath, then?”
    Berold nodded solemnly. “My family has long been split asunder, ever since my brother Gerard quarreled with our father, who cursed him for his willfulness and cast him out like Cain. For five winters, we knew not whether he still lived, but then a neighbor’s seafaring son came to us at Michaelmas, said he’d seen Gerard in an English town called London. It was the answer to our heartfelt prayers, for my father has been ailing since the summer, suffering from a gnawing pain in his vitals, and he yearns to make peace with his firstborn ere he dies. I swore to my father and to the Father of All that I’d seek out Gerard, fetch him home.”
    The sailor could not help admiring the boy’s pluck, but he suspected that Berold’s mission was one doomed to failure. “I wish you well, lad. To tell you true, though, you’re not likely to find passage this day. The king’s ships are already crowded with his lords, his soldiers, and servants. They’ll be taking aboard none but their own.”
    “I know,” Berold admitted. “But God directed me to a tavern where I met Ivo—that’s him over there, the one with the eyepatch. We got to talking, and when he learned of my plight, he offered to help. He is cousin to a helmsman on one of the king’s ships, and his cousin will get me aboard if I make it worth his while. That must be him coming now, so I’d best be off.” With a cheerful wave, he started across the street toward his newfound friends, followed by the sailor’s hearty “Go with God, lad!”
    “Are you Mauger?” Ivo’s cousin ignored Berold’s smile, merely grunted as Ivo made the introductions. He was a big-boned man, pockmarked and dour, and Berold was grateful that he had the amiable Ivo to act as go-between.
    But Ivo did not seem as affable as he had been in the tavern. “Come on,” he said brusquely. Berold had to hasten to keep pace, dodging passersby and mangy, scavenging dogs. A young prostitute plucked at his sleeve, but he kept on going, for she was dirty and very drunk. Although Barfleur was exciting, it was unsettling, too, for it seemed that all he’d heard about the sinfulness of seaports was true. The streets were crowded with quarrelsome, swaggering youths, the taverns were full, and even to Berold’s innocent eye, there was a surfeit of whores, beggars, peddlers, and pickpockets. He was indeed fortunate to have found Ivo in this den of thieves and wantons.
    They were heading away from the harbor. Berold took one last lingering look at the White Ship, then followed Ivo into the shadows of a narrow, garbage-strewn alley. He’d assumed they were taking a shortcut, but the alley was a dead end. In such close quarters, the stench of urine was overwhelming, and he