Child of the May Read Online Free Page B

looked about for Robert, but she could see no sign of him. There were just two pottery stalls and a loud-mouthed fellow in a straw hat, grabbing all the customers with his shouting of wares and low prices. Then all at once she saw Brother James, handing out benedictions to the castle guards, and collecting pennies in a bowl, a saintly look upon his face. John went to him and knelt down.
    Brother James made the sign of the cross and whispered in his ear. John answered and Brother James looked piously up to heaven and spoke again as though chanting.
    “A long blessing this is going to be!” Philippa folded her arms and tapped her foot.
    When at last John returned, they clustered about him.
    “Well?”
    “What’s up?”
    John sighed and wouldn’t be rushed. “Robert’s worried about Isabel. King John has told Matilda that she must pay him four hundred pounds or marry her daughter to some murderous soldier captain. Robert and James want us to find a horse and have it ready up by the northern gate. They’ve seen that the wolfpack has arrived. Brother James has his eye on their steeds – trust him.”
    “Nay!” Philippa swore quietly. “Does he think we’re tired of living?”
    “Just one,” said John. “One good fast horse to hitch to the wagon. Lady Matilda cannot ride.”
    “We could maybe manage to steal just one of their mounts,” said Tom. “There’s plenty of us to distract them while it’s taken.”
    “Not Magda,” said John. “I’ll not have my lass at risk. This is what I feared.”
    “Leave her with Robert,” said Philippa. “He’s only watching, isn’t he?”
    John looked anxious. “When did he ever just watch?”
    Magda stared about her, puzzled. “Robert? He’s not even here.”
    Her friends laughed quietly and John relented. He put his arm round his daughter’s shoulder and gently turned her towards the noisy potter’s stall. “Our Robert is here all right, my darling. Go up to yon fellow with the plates. Stand behind the trestle as though you were the potter’s lad and do not move from the man’s side.”
    Magda took a few hesitant steps towards the busy stall and then stopped. There, chalked at the top of the wooden frame for all to see was a circle, with one white shape in the middle.
    “Ahh!” She caught her breath. “Robert’s sign!” She turned quickly then to look at the man who stood shouting and bawling in the centre of the crowd. His face was turned away from her and she could not see him clearly as the crowds pressed so close.
    “Best Mansfield earthenware!” he sang out. “Goodwives, you’ll never find better! Plates and bowls, fine enough for the Sheriff’s own table!”
    Magda stared at the back of the potter’s neck. How could it be him? This was not Robert’s quiet, angry way of speaking. The hat he wore was covered with fine spatters of dried clay. Magda moved closer. Even the hair at the back of his neck was clay-streaked. Then he turned and she saw at once the ugly scar that marred his cheek. It was Robert. Ever since she’d been tiny she’d shuddered at the sight of that scar. But where had all these pots come from? All at once she understood; she remembered the angry face of the man who sheltered in Langden forge. An unwilling guest from Mansfield, Philippa had said.
    Suddenly Magda’s stomach lurched, for Robert had seen her. He looked directly at her through the shoving crowd. Would he know her, looking like this? Just for one brief moment he frowned and hesitated, but then quickly he shouted at her.
    “So there you are, you rascal! Where have you been? Pass me those platters! I can’t keep pace, they’re so greedy for pots in Nottingham today!”
    Magda blinked and swallowed hard, then dived behind the stall to do as he asked. As soon as she had time to pause, she glanced back at her father. Tom and Philippa strode off towards the castle stables. John followed them slowly.
    The potter of Mansfield and his lad worked hard. Never at any