“I will,” Arne promised solemnly. “Is there anything else I can do?”
Morgan glanced again toward Richard. “He’s more stubborn than any mule, and not only will he not admit he’s ill, he’ll insist upon getting on his horse tomorrow if we let him. But we cannot continue on until he is stronger, for another bout of the quartan fever could well-nigh kill him. So yes, there is something else you can do, Arne. When you go into Vienna, find a church and offer up a prayer for his quick recovery.”
ARNE WAS GRATEFUL TO Morgan for keeping the secret of his real age. But he had another secret that he did not share with his companions, for he felt vaguely guilty about it. How could he be enjoying himself so much when he knew they were suffering? Oh, there had been some scary moments—especially on shipboard and when they had to fight their way out of Udine—but most of the time, his excitement was stronger than his discomfort or anxiety. He felt very honored to be trusted by the English king, to be treated like an ally by these renowned knights, and he sensed that he was taking part in history, for surely men would be talking of King Richard’s bold escape for many years to come.
He was in high spirits as he rode into Vienna, feeling like a knight on a confidential mission for his king. He’d never had so much money before and it was easy to pretend he was a wealthy lord. He stopped to flip a coin to a ragged beggar and grinned when the elderly man cried, “Bless you, young sir!”
His first task was to find a moneychanger, for they’d spent most of the coins they’d changed in G?rz. Fortunately, Vienna was a crossroads for men traveling to the Holy Land, for Russian traders and Italian merchants, and so there was a need for such services. He found a moneychanger’s stall by St Stephen’s Church, and smiled at the man’s sudden interest at sight of the gold bezants he slid across the table. “I want to change these for pfennigs,” he announced grandly, “and do not try to cheat me, for I am no ignorant foreigner, was born near Hainberg.”
In truth, he had no idea what a bezant was worth, but he watched closely as the man counted out the coins, and tried to look as if he were accustomed to such dealings. He felt an unexpected tug of sentiment as he scooped up the pfennigs, for he’d not seen the small silver coins for several years, and they reminded him of the life that had once been his, back when he’d never imagined he’d see so much of the world or serve a king.
He went next to the apothecary’s shop, where the apothecary noted his scruffy appearance and said curtly that aqua vitae was too costly for a lad like him. He changed his tune when Arne jingled his bulging money pouch, and after putting the aqua vitae phial in a sack, he brought out cinquefoil and wood sorrel, saying they were also very good for fevers. Unable to decide between them, Arne bought both.
It was not a market day, but he had no trouble finding a peddler’s cart. Arne bought the peddler’s best blankets, candles, and the lone pillow, pleased to find one for the king. He then bought soap and a wooden comb, thinking they’d want to tidy themselves up once they reached Moravia, a brass mirror and a pig’s-bladder ball as farewell gifts for the alewife and her sons, a set of bone dice for Morgan and Guillain, a jar of honey for Richard, and some candied quince for himself.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun, for never had he been able to spend without counting the cost. He got eggs from another peddler, two round loaves of bread from a baker, and then his eye was caught by a cook-shop sign across the street from the Judenstadt, where the town’s Jews dwelled. Here, as at the apothecary’s shop, he was eyed askance until he showed he had money, and then they were happy to sell him fish tarts, hot peas, and wafers drizzled with honey. Looking around the shop for delicacies to tempt the king’s poor appetite, he remembered a tale Warin had told him about a wondrous creature called a barnacle goose; because it was hatched in the sea, men said it could be eaten on fast days when meat was forbidden.
“What a pity you do not have a barnacle goose,” he said regretfully, eager to impress the cook-shop hirelings with the story of this legendary fowl. To his surprise, they were familiar with it, and told him that whilst they had no barnacle geese on hand, they did have a roasted beaver’s tail for sale; since it was covered with scales like a fish, it could be eaten during Advent with a clear conscience.
Arne bought it at once, not even flinching at the price, delighted to be able to bring meat back to the king. As he emerged from the cook-shop, burdened with all his purchases, he was going to retrieve his horse when he remembered he’d not said a prayer for Richard yet. He paused, looking around for the nearest church. It was then that a hand clamped down upon his shoulder, spinning him around, and a gruff voice demanded, “Not so fast, boy. We have some questions for you.”