I was still unable to move, and everything seemed to slow down around me. Even the crowd had become quieter as if its noise was coming through a closed door. At the same time, I was acutely aware that if the prior, now standing on the other side of the piller, shifted his gaze only slightly, he would see and, without a doubt, recognize me.
Fortunately, his entire attention was fixed on the hawker, and those precious moments allowed me to gather my wits. Careful to avoid any abrupt moves, I pulled the hood deeper over my face, turned, and walked away at a measured pace until there were enough people between me and the prior. Then I broke into a run.
Maybe this is a bad idea, I thought as I ran, a little panicky, weaving among the crowd until I realized I had veered into a side alley and become lost. I could have asked for directions, of course, but after the near-encounter with Helenger, I felt that all eyes were on me and dared not raise my hood. As long as it was still light, I would try to find the way on my own. To that end, I took the first turn to the left, hoping it might lead back to the square.
But it was just another alley, narrow and cluttered with barrels, wooden crates full of vegetable peelings, and other refuse that filled the air with an unwholesome smell. I made two more turns, always coming to an alley with a tavern, a cobbler’s workshop, or a cheese shop, all empty now that everyone was at the market, but none of them looked familiar or took me any closer to the town gate. When I decided to retrace my steps, I swiftly realized that I had lost my way back even to that first alley, and tears of frustration welled in my eyes. I fought them and pushed the hood back because there was nobody around.
I took a few aimless steps and heard subdued voices from around the nearest corner. A burst of female laugher rose suddenly above these murmurings but was quickly hushed by another—lower, more masculine. Relieved, I ran up the street toward what I expected to be a group of tradesmen—and tradeswomen, clearly—discussing the day’s business. I abruptly stopped at the sight of a young couple in tight embrace.
The woman stood with her back against the wall of a shack, her companion pressing his chest against hers. His hand had found its way under her skirts and was caressing her leg. The woman’s demeanor belied what I imagined should have been a terrible discomfort or even peril of this arrangement because she was whispering in the man’s ear in cooing tones. While she was trying to arrest the hand’s progress up her thigh, her effort seemed rather half-hearted. This scene played out in front of me for only a few moments because the pair sensed my presence. They turned toward me without relaxing their embrace.
I stared at them, unable to produce a voice to ask for directions. The man must have seen my confusion, for he asked in a hoarse voice full of impatience and urgency, “What do you want here, boy?”
“I . . . I was looking for the town gate and became lost,” I finally managed.
“Well, it’s not this way. You have to go back.” He pointed over my head with the hand he’d had to take off the girl’s leg, which seemed only to increase his annoyance. “See the church spire? Walk down that alley”—he pointed to a narrow street nearby—“then turn left and follow it until you reach the market. You’ll see the gate from there. Now run along,” he growled.
The parish church spire! Of course. I turned and walked away with a sense of relief, but I could not get the picture of the couple out of my head. I had an idea, albeit a vague one, of what the two had been up to, but I was surprised at my own reaction. It was as if all my nerves, especially those around my throat and in my fingertips, had been plucked by an invisible hand and were vibrating like a string, exquisitely and painfully at the same time.
To make matters worse, I inexplicably thought about Volmar, and, for one mortifying moment, I imagined him pressing like that against me. I reached for the hood and pulled it over my eyes as if I could shield myself from those images that way.
Back in the square, I was about to cut diagonally across the market when I felt a tug at my sleeve. I turned, my eyes instinctively going to the sleeve first, then heat rose to my face as I lifted them to find Volmar. He was standing at the bowyer’s stall, weighing up a fine-looking weapon, too large for him even though he was nearly as tall as I was.
“It is you!” he exclaimed with his usual roguish smile. “I thought I recognized you even with the hood up. Clever,” he acknowledged respectfully. “But—What’s wrong?” He frowned as he noticed my distress.
“I saw Prior Helenger and he may have recognized me . . . I don’t know.” I was close to tears now. “Then I got lost in the back alleys, and there was a man and a woman, and he was pushing her against the wall . . .” I hardly knew what I was saying anymore, and I covered my mouth with my hand before I blurted out more. “I just want to go back.”
Volmar returned the bow, took me by the elbow, and guided me toward the gate. “I should have guessed you would find a way to come here.” He laughed softly. “Let’s sit down somewhere.”
We went out through the gate, so thronged nobody paid any attention to us, and walked along the town wall toward the forest. We sat at the edge
