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numb, that sharp painlessness that sickens the heart.
    â€œIt’s not so bad,” I said aloud.
    I lumbered across the muddy track, into the hazel-wood saplings along the road. Soon, I promised myself, I’ll be on my way again. I just need to rest for a moment.
    Wind gusted, and the rain weakened, stopped entirely.
    A fox barked, a quick snick-snick.

chapter SIX
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    I woke behind a wall of stone and thorn.
    A mist rose off the meadow, sunlight strong above, birds loud. A herd of cows somewhere far off bawled and lowed, and the air was earthy with the smell of wood smoke and manure.
    The sun was beautiful. My foot throbbed. I was weak with hunger, my throat dry. Birds took sight of my blue squire-cloth and scolded each other, fluttering. I peered through the leafless shrubs. When I stood on my swollen foot I could hobble like the cripple who performed on market day, a sleight-of-hand artist, making hen’s eggs vanish at a touch.
    The roof of a peasant’s cottage thrust above the thorn shrubs, a low thatch and cob-clay building, greenwood spewing smoke through a gap in the roof. Walking took a long time, my shadow lurching ahead of me like a hunchback.
    The sight of a small flock of geese marching from the interior of the dwelling awakened memories of fat sizzling in a fire, steaming slices of meat on a wooden platter.
    A well-fleshed young woman was driving the birds, dressed in hairy gray wool, a kerchief tied over her hair. At the sight of me she stopped.
    â€œGood morning to you,” I said.
    She made no reply.
    Then she lifted one corner of her mouth in a cautious smile. Travelers were common on the road, and even peasant’s sons were known to take to the King’s High Way toward distant regions. A peasant who remained at large for a year and a day was no longer bound to the land; the towns were crowded with freedmen begging for their bread.
    The geese stretched out their long necks and bore down upon me, braying as they came.
    â€œAway,” I cried, in my most commanding voice. “Stand away from me!”
    I scrambled onto the wall, balancing on my good leg, and the lord gander extended his neck and gave my new shoes a pinch. “Call off your geese, if you will,” I said.
    The goose girl was pretty enough, and she seemed to enjoy the sight of a townsman in well-made clothes kicking at a large, hissing gander. The other geese were honking, trumpeting, blaring. The cottage door lurched open and a short, smoke-grimed man stepped forth into the sunlight, carrying an ax. He was gray-haired and thick-necked, and had not taken the time to put on his cap.
    The young woman approached me without a further smile or a single word, stooping to pick up a slender stick. The gander nipped at my legging, and then seized the skirt of my tunic and would not let go, even when I kicked hard and accurately despite my injury, feathers, goose down, and goose dust drifting up into the air.
    The peasant with the ax brandished it in my direction, bawling some imprecation, but by now I was ready to battle. I jumped from the wall, and gave the gander another solid kick. The bird spread his wings and ran around me in a crazy circle, sounding his alarm, the other geese honking, too, giving their champion and myself fighting room even as they seemed to grow greater in number, geese and goslings everywhere.
    The axman parted them easily, and in his wake the geese settled, rearranged their feathers, suddenly matronly and gossipy. The axman seized the gander by the neck and examined its wing, stretching it out while the gander scolded and hissed. He examined the stem and stern of the gander without uttering a sound or releasing his ax.
    Then the peasant let the bird go, and the gander sprinted with his wings half-cocked to the head of his retreating army. The geese swept along in the direction the young woman indicated with her long yellow switch, a tide of white and brown motley birds,