These last he hesitated over, imagining Nathaniel lying beside his best basin. That one he could not bring himself to use again, no matter its value. Let Helena sell it off.
Lastly, he dropped in his two other tunics, woolen hose with only a few holes—he meant to buy another pair once he had the money to spare—a good belt and leather apron, and draped his wet britches over the top to dry out. By candlelight, his boots didn’t appear too blood-soaked, and traveling mud would conceal that soon enough. This pair had lasted a good five yearsso far, with only a few repairs, and he hoped to get good use out of them for some time longer. The cloak he would wear, and the thick farmer’s hat his mother had made years ago.
Staring at his one small chest, Elisha wondered how many Lucius would bring, and how large. Any man who could afford the cloth of that one robe would likely have several spares besides. This triggered a thought, and Elisha brought out a long wooden box left over from childhood.
On top he found what he had recalled—his own hidden wealth, an unworn shirt procured for his brother’s wedding two years back. After Elisha’s foolish attempt to prove Helena’s treachery, Nathaniel had threatened his life if he dared come to the church that day.
Elisha lifted out the good shirt, woven of linen with no decoration. Feeling the heavy cloth between his fingers, he sighed again at his folly. He considered himself a practical man, and yet he afforded himself the luxury of a shirt he’d never wear. As if he should save it for some special day undreamed of. Now, with today’s tunic hopelessly stained, and torn besides from long use, he had need of this symbol of his betrayal. Tomorrow, he would wear it on the start of a journey far from the home that would not be his when he returned. If he returned.
Below the shirt hid his few treasures: a copper coin minted in a foreign land, a handful of embroidered tokens given him by the whores at the brothels he tended, knotted charms to ward off illness and accident, kept more for sentiment than superstition, a small tin crucifix made by his brother’s hand, and, at the bottom, a rumpled cut of cloth painted like a hawk—the pennant he had begged for, which had led him to the angel of his memory. If he ever did reach Heaven, perhaps this hawk would lead him once again.
Chapter 6
W hen the east finally began to pale toward morning, Elisha arose, dressed in the clothes he’d laid out, and combed out his hair, thick and dark. A truly practical man would have trimmed the mane of dark waves to an easier length, but it was his sole vanity, and he couldn’t bring himself to cut it. He bound it back with a length of cord, slipping the comb into the pouch containing a few coppers, Martin’s strip of cloth, and emergency supplies: needles, suture, a pair of small, sharp knives and the stone to whet them by, as well as a small vial of opium to dull pain. The stuff was banned, and he ought to dispose of it, but it was costly, and it let him work in peace on a relaxed patient when the wound was especially terrible. He would have liked to offer some to Helena during her ordeal, but to do so was forbidden by church law. Did not the Bible say that women must in sorrow bring forth children?
Elisha shook his head at this absurdity. Only a man who had never been there could enforce such a law. Now, knowing the midwife’s deceit, he was relieved he had not used the drug, for it could have been his undoing. From behind a loose stone at the base of the wall, he removed his hoarded wealth: four silver coins, one so old it bore the worn but still proud likeness of King Edward.
He took a few minutes to stitch the coins into the hood of his cloak for safe keeping. Rolling up his blankets, he secured them with a rope fashioned into a strap to go over his shoulder. Flinging on his cloak, Elisha hefted the blankets and the chest and let himself out into a chilly dawn. He glared at the rising
Lastly, he dropped in his two other tunics, woolen hose with only a few holes—he meant to buy another pair once he had the money to spare—a good belt and leather apron, and draped his wet britches over the top to dry out. By candlelight, his boots didn’t appear too blood-soaked, and traveling mud would conceal that soon enough. This pair had lasted a good five yearsso far, with only a few repairs, and he hoped to get good use out of them for some time longer. The cloak he would wear, and the thick farmer’s hat his mother had made years ago.
Staring at his one small chest, Elisha wondered how many Lucius would bring, and how large. Any man who could afford the cloth of that one robe would likely have several spares besides. This triggered a thought, and Elisha brought out a long wooden box left over from childhood.
On top he found what he had recalled—his own hidden wealth, an unworn shirt procured for his brother’s wedding two years back. After Elisha’s foolish attempt to prove Helena’s treachery, Nathaniel had threatened his life if he dared come to the church that day.
Elisha lifted out the good shirt, woven of linen with no decoration. Feeling the heavy cloth between his fingers, he sighed again at his folly. He considered himself a practical man, and yet he afforded himself the luxury of a shirt he’d never wear. As if he should save it for some special day undreamed of. Now, with today’s tunic hopelessly stained, and torn besides from long use, he had need of this symbol of his betrayal. Tomorrow, he would wear it on the start of a journey far from the home that would not be his when he returned. If he returned.
Below the shirt hid his few treasures: a copper coin minted in a foreign land, a handful of embroidered tokens given him by the whores at the brothels he tended, knotted charms to ward off illness and accident, kept more for sentiment than superstition, a small tin crucifix made by his brother’s hand, and, at the bottom, a rumpled cut of cloth painted like a hawk—the pennant he had begged for, which had led him to the angel of his memory. If he ever did reach Heaven, perhaps this hawk would lead him once again.
Chapter 6
W hen the east finally began to pale toward morning, Elisha arose, dressed in the clothes he’d laid out, and combed out his hair, thick and dark. A truly practical man would have trimmed the mane of dark waves to an easier length, but it was his sole vanity, and he couldn’t bring himself to cut it. He bound it back with a length of cord, slipping the comb into the pouch containing a few coppers, Martin’s strip of cloth, and emergency supplies: needles, suture, a pair of small, sharp knives and the stone to whet them by, as well as a small vial of opium to dull pain. The stuff was banned, and he ought to dispose of it, but it was costly, and it let him work in peace on a relaxed patient when the wound was especially terrible. He would have liked to offer some to Helena during her ordeal, but to do so was forbidden by church law. Did not the Bible say that women must in sorrow bring forth children?
Elisha shook his head at this absurdity. Only a man who had never been there could enforce such a law. Now, knowing the midwife’s deceit, he was relieved he had not used the drug, for it could have been his undoing. From behind a loose stone at the base of the wall, he removed his hoarded wealth: four silver coins, one so old it bore the worn but still proud likeness of King Edward.
He took a few minutes to stitch the coins into the hood of his cloak for safe keeping. Rolling up his blankets, he secured them with a rope fashioned into a strap to go over his shoulder. Flinging on his cloak, Elisha hefted the blankets and the chest and let himself out into a chilly dawn. He glared at the rising
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