The Door in the Wall

by Marguerite de Angeli

R OBIN

drew the coverlet close about his head and turned his face to the wall.

vexation

Like other sons of noble family, he would be sent away from his mother and father to live in the household of another knight, where he would learn all the ways of knighthood. He would learn how to be of service to his liege lord, how to be courteous and gentle, and, at the same time, strong of heart.

“but you are ten and no longer a child to be looked after by womenfolk. It is time now for you to leave me.

Sir Peter de Lindsay,

Jon-the-Cook,

Gregory,

Dame ...

John-the-F...

William

John,

T...

R...

How he wished he were with them. Even the tiresome lessons of singing and reading would be worth doing if only he could run down the street with the other boys. But he could not run. He couldn’t even get out of bed.

Because he was unable to see out of the wind hole (window) Robin had learned to guess at what was going on down in the street. He knew the sound of armor and knightly equipment, for the King’s men passed that way going to and from the Tower or Westminster, to joust or tournament, to parade, or on business for the King.

Robin could hear the grating of runners on a kind of sled the horse was dragging.

He knew that soon Wat would be standing in the stocks near the fish market with his evil-smelling goods hanging from his neck. Now Robin heard the sound of Dame Ellen’s feet shuffling along the passage to his wall chamber. He turned his head to see what kind of dish she carried, but quickly looked away again when he saw that it was a bowl with steam rising from it.

Ellen’s skirt brushed the bed as she leaned toward Robin. She was near enough so he could hear the creak of her starched linen coif as she peered at him to see whether he was asleep. He shut his eyes so as not to see the great whiskered wart on her chin, and tried to close his ears to the sound of her Cockney speech. She saw by the squinching of his eyes that he was awake.

If only his lady mother were here. She would have seen to it that the porridge had been smoothly cooked and salted. She would speak in her gentle way with the pleasant mixture of Norman French and good English words that were becoming the fashion. If only she were here, all would be well.

They were like two long pieces of uncooked dough, he thought, such as Jon-the-Cook

rolled out on his molding board.

Robin would neither turn nor answer. Let her take the sickening stuff away. Let her throw it into the street on top of that fishmonger who had just gone past.

“Come, my pretty—” But Ellen got no further with her wheedling. Robin gathered all his strength and flung his arm toward the bowl of porridge, sending it flying out of Ellen’s hands and spreading its contents all over her. He was ashamed as soon as he had done it, but Ellen did look funny with the mess hanging from her chin.

I been this day, yet have I been faithful. But I am a free woman and can go my way. Just wait and see when more victuals are brought thee! Ungrateful wretch!” She burst into loud weeping and left the room, wiping the porridge off with her apron. Robin turned again to the wall. “She will come back,” he thought, “as she has done before, and she had better bring something I like if she wants me to eat it.” But she didn’t come back. An hour went by. Then another hour. It grew colder and colder.

Robin examined for the hundredth time the carvings on the hammer beams supporting the roof of the hall.

He studied one by one the grotesque carvings of dwarfs that decorated the roof bosses, and the co...

Robin’s room was somewhat chapel-like,

Afternoon sounds came into the room: people passing along the street to and from the shops in Cheapside or Poultry Lane; carters carrying goods to the wharves on the Thames, Belinsgate, or Queen Hythe.

Robin tried very hard to get out of bed so he might look out of the window, but he only fell back again onto the pillow exhausted from the effort. Hunger bit at his empty stomach. He was hungry enough now to have eaten the porridge Ellen had brought him.

He listened, hoping to hear her footsteps in the passage, but the house was strangely silent.

Robin called for Ellen, and when he had no answer, called for Jon-the-Cook, then for old Gregory, the gardener.

He listened again, holding his breath, but he heard no one, and saw not a soul from Nones to Vespers, when the bells began to ring again. He was alone. Just as the bells stopped ringing Robin heard a noise as of a door opening. Then someone mounted the stair and came along the passage.

The footsteps turned toward the chamber. In the door-way stood a monk with a basket. He came toward the bed where Robin lay.

“Good eve, my son,” he said. “I am

Brother...

a wandering friar, newly come to St. Mark’s. I have brought thee food, and, c...

“A poor widow, who twice a week is fed from our hospice, told me of thy need. She said that Dame Ellen, who lately served thee, has this very day been taken of the plague. She it was who told us that all thy servants, too, are fled, because of the plague, and some are dead of it. Dame Ellen told thee not, pitying thee.

He obediently ate what the friar fed

him.

When he was fed, Brother Luke, who had talked quietly the while, fetched water in a basin, washed him, and in other ways made him comfortable. He took the rumpled sheets off the bed, then sat down to...

So to St. Mark’s I’ll take thee, and will care for thee in mine own quarters, because all other beds and places are already taken by those in the parish who have great need.

“But I cannot walk,” said Robin woefully. “See you, my two legs are as useless as if they were logs of wood.

Sir Peter de Lindsay

at his castle in the north. John-the-Fletcher was to have come for me in March, before the Feast of St. Gregory.

He came later to fetch me, but found me thus, unable to walk or ride. He brought a surgeon who said I had not the plague but some other malady.

As for John-the-Fletcher, he may have gone out the city gate and not been allowed to re-enter, for they are keeping strangers out now. Fear not for the manner of our going to St. Mark’s. Tethered in the courtyard is a jennet ready saddled with blankets whereon thou’lt ride softly. Walking beside thee, I shall support thee, and so we shall go through Knightrider Street and Giltspur to Ludgate and then toward Smoothfield where stands St. Mark’s.

“Thou hast only to follow the wall far enough and there will be a door in it.” “I will remember,” Robin promised, but he wasn’t sure that he knew what Brother Luke meant to say.

Then Brother Luke put his strong arms under Robin, hoisted him onto his back, carrying the bundle of Robin’s clothes and the basket in one hand and steadying Robin with the other.

Brother Luke set Robin on the jennet, the robe and blankets around him making him comfortable. Brother Luke put a strap around Robin’s waist, then ran it under the jennet’s belly to keep him from falling. He tied the bundle on at the back, and they set forth. Out through the door in the wall of the courtyard they went, into the street, Robin leaning against Brother Luke, and the jennet picking her way sedately over the cobbles.