“I have no earthly idea where the road is, but I don’t think it’s close.” Her voice faded in and out as she seemedto move away and then near again. “I think we’ve gone somewhat off course.”
He realized his eyes were closed, and tried to open them. It was not safe to sleep with Bevan skulking about. Little Alys bloomed into vision, her sweet brow crinkled, her pink lips in a thin line as she clumsily piled twigs atop each other. She dug in his bag rudely, eventually pulling out his flint and steel and a bit of tinder, dropping everything twice as she tried to work the tools.
“You’ll burn yourself,” Piers slurred, marveling at the softness beneath his head now. He was enjoying watching her move, and the pain in his head was only a dumb, numb memory.
“Shh,” she chastised.
Piers chuckled. So stubborn. His eyes closed. He struggled to open them again, and when he succeeded he saw dancing flames. How long had he slept? It seemed only an instant. He was confused. And cold, now. So cold.
He looked down and saw that his legs had been covered by the bulk of Alys’s blue perse gown. The dusting of snow across his lap shifted, and the monkey poked her head from beneath the cloth near his chest.
“W-whaddo you w-want?” Piers challenged through his chattering teeth. “G-geddoff.”
“You’re keeping each other warm.” Alys’s face was before his again as she crouched before him. Her cheeks were cream and poppies, her breath little white clouds in the night with the fire behind her.
When had night fallen?
“Here, have a drink.” She pushed the lip of the jug against his teeth and turned it up. The water was wet and delicious as it flooded down his hot and tight throat.
She set the jug on her knee. “Piers, I can’t find the road,” Alys said. “Do you know where we are?”
Piers frowned. He concentrated on her face, hoping it would remind him. “G-gillwick?”
Her lips grew thinner. He didn’t like the look of Alys distressed. She was always so carefree.
“Try to remember,” she said. “You’re very ill, Piers, and I must try to find a village or travelers on the road or something. You must try to help me decide in which direction to go.”
“No. C-can’t leave,” Piers insisted. “B-Bevan find you. Or the wolves.”
“There are no wolves, Piers. I have to find someone to help us. Can you think at all where we might be?”
His memories all boiled together place and time. Gillwick, the abbey where the monk had taken him, the Foxe Ring, the river, the road to London. He couldn’t put them in correct order. He thought and thought, so hard that his head almost started to hurt and so he stopped. “We’re not to London yet, are we?”
“No. No, we’re not.” She drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly through her lips. “Alright. Listen to me: I’m going in a straight line the direction I think is south. If I find nothing in an hour, I’ll come straight back. I’ve built the fire so that your location is quite visible.”
“No,” Piers argued.
“Yes. I need all the help I can get in the dark. And perhaps God will hear my prayers and someone will find you before I return.”
“If Bevan … he’ll kill me,” Piers croaked.
“If no one finds us, I’m afraid you’ll die any matter,” she said levelly.
He stared at her, realizing a moment of clarity as her face blurred in and out of his vision. It was too dangerous for her to go, but he knew he could not stop her. And he knew that he was quite ill.
He tried to smile. “Sorry … terrible husband.”
She peered at him for a moment and then her lips curved upward softly. “You are a fine husband. You have taken such care of me, now it is my turn to try to do the same for you. You need me, Piers, and I will not fail you.”
Her words struck him somewhere deep within his feverish body, and he tried to swallow. She was planning to walk south …
“Don’t go,” he whispered. He could barely find the strength to move his lips now.
“It will be fine,” she insisted. “You’ll get well and we’ll gain London just in time. You’ll see.” She leaned forward and pressed her warm lips to his cheek for a long moment. When she leaned back, there were tears in her eyes.
“Don’t,” he said again, his words little more than formed breath.
“Take care of him, Layla. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Two hours at most.”
