Very soon, they left the king’s highway and took a shortcut across the fields. They walked through tall grass and carpets of big red wildflowers.
Peter walked as if he were in a dream. Everything had happened so quickly and so strangely that every now and then he was certain he must be dreaming.
“I really shouldn’t be going with these strange people,” he argued with himself. “I should stay on the king’s highway. If I leave the road, I might get lost forever. Then I’ll never see Grams again. I’ll never see Janet Jane, Johnathan, or the dwagon. I ought to stay on the road.”
But he kept walking with the mountebank.
“Still,” he argued with himself, “what else can I do? The mountebank says it would take twenty years to walk to Ireland. Let’s see. Twenty years and six? That would make me twenty-six when I finally got there. They wouldn’t even recognize me. I’d be so old! No, I guess I’d better stay with these people and see what happens.”
They climbed a small hill, and when Peter reached the top, he stopped in surprise.
Below him was a tiny village. There was a gray church and a group of little houses with bright red tile roofs. In the middle of the village was a green square.
Tall, colorful Maypoles stood there, along with tents covered by bright awnings. Cheerful music floated up the hill on the fresh spring air, and the square was packed with people dressed in gay costumes.
“We’re very late!” cried the girl. “Come on! Let’s run down the hill!”
She grabbed the bear’s paw and started down the slope.
The mountebank tightened his grip on Peter’s arm and ran after them.
Poor Peter!
The clown seemed to have wings on his feet instead of little bells. He flew down the hill, while Peter struggled desperately to keep up in his stiff suit of armor.
Every few steps, one of Peter’s joints would lock.
Crash!
Down he would fall, making a noise like ten dishpans being thrown down a staircase.
The mountebank would pull him back onto his feet, and off they would go again.
Crash!
Up again.
Crash!
Up again.
At last they reached the edge of the village square. Peter was exhausted.
His armor was covered with dents, and his helmet had twisted sideways so badly that he could see out of only one eye.
The mountebank helped straighten his helmet.
They had just started forward when suddenly there was a great burst of shouting, laughing, and high-pitched giggling.
Children came running from every direction.
They wore ribbons and flowers in their hair, and their bright hair flew behind them as they rushed toward the performers. Soon they were packed around the clown and the bear as thickly as honeybees around a hive.
“Dear old Beppo!” they cried, kissing the clown.
“And dear, dear Chuckles!” they shouted, hugging and kissing the bear.
“We’re so happy to see you again!”
“We were afraid you weren’t coming!”
“We’re a little late, I admit,” said the clown, shaking children off his shoulders. “But we couldn’t help it. It’s a long walk from Rome, you know.”
“Of course!” the children cried.
“Come on!”
“We want to see you swallow your sword again!”
They pulled Beppo toward the center of the square.
Peter was dragged along with them.
There were so many children that it was like being caught in a crowded street. Once the crowd started moving, you simply went wherever everyone else was going.
As they pulled Peter along, the children fired questions at him from every direction.
“Who are you going to fight?”
“Have you ever killed a dragon?”
“Where’s your horse?”
“Is that sword sharp?”
“Where did you come from?”
Peter could hardly answer any of them. He certainly didn’t want them to discover that he was only a little boy pretending to be a knight.
Before long, they were right in the middle of the fair.
In its own way, the fair was almost as noisy as Allan the armorer’s shop. But here, every sound was cheerful and playful.
It was the happy noise of spring, when the flowers bloom again, the grass turns thick and green, and the birds return from their winter homes.
The mountebank and the bear were extremely popular.
The gypsy girl was just as popular when she began to dance.
She danced lightly and gracefully while shaking a tambourine, and silver coins came raining down around her.
The bear gathered up the coins and put them into a pouch hanging from the belt around his middle.
Then the bear danced by himself.
He took the silver chain around his body and used it as a skipping rope.
The crowd roared with laughter.
Then Beppo turned to Peter.
“Give me your sword.”
Peter handed it over.
Beppo balanced the sword on the tip of his chin.
Then, to Peter’s horror, he put the sharp point of the sword into his mouth.
Slowly, slowly, he began to swallow it.
Peter stared in disbelief.
When he saw that half the sword had disappeared, he became frightened.
“Don’t swallow all of it, Beppo!” he cried.
He certainly didn’t want to be left alone in the Dark Ages without a sword.
But Beppo only grinned.
He kept swallowing.
The sword disappeared farther and farther into his mouth until only the hilt remained.
Then Beppo suddenly pulled the whole sword back out and handed it to Peter.
The crowd exploded with cheers.
More silver coins flew through the air, along with several gold coins.
The bear hurried around collecting them.
After that, Beppo performed one astonishing trick after another.
He turned several amazing handsprings.
He twisted himself into knots like a snake.
His body seemed to have no bones at all. It was as if his skeleton were made of jelly.
Then the three performers danced together, with the bear in the middle.
They finished by standing on their heads, upside down, grinning at the crowd.
The audience went wild.
People shouted.
Children screamed with delight.
Everyone clapped and cheered.
All the other booths and attractions were practically deserted because everyone wanted to watch the performers.
The crowd grew so thick that Peter was slowly pushed farther and farther away.
Before he knew what had happened, he had been separated from the others.
He found himself alone on a little street lined with colorful tents. Their bright colors flashed in the sunlight like a field full of wildflowers.
Peter looked around.
One tent had a sign that read:
SPIDER MONKEYS
Another announced:
SNAKE CHARMERS
And another advertised:
FRESH PEACOCK SANDWICHES
Peter desperately wanted to see the spider monkeys.
He was also hungry enough to try a peacock sandwich.
Unfortunately, he had no money.
So he kept walking.
He had no idea where he was going or what would happen next.
Then he came upon a bright scarlet tent.
Outside it sat a strange old man.
The man had a long white beard and the sharpest pair of little beady eyes Peter had ever seen.
He wore a moldy green cloak and red pointed shoes that curled up at the ends.
On his head was a tiny green hat shaped like a saucepan, with an owl feather stuck into it.
His nose looked exactly like a fishhook.
The old man rubbed his long, twisted hands together.
Scrape, scrape, scrape.
They made a sound like sandpaper.
As he rubbed them, he muttered the same strange rhyme over and over.
“Bubble, trouble… trouble, bubble…”
It sounded almost like a teapot getting ready to boil.
Then he noticed Peter.
He stopped mumbling.
“How would you like to see a princess with silver toes?” he asked quickly.
Peter was so startled that he simply stood there with his mouth open.
Had he really heard that?
Had this strange old man actually said that?
“Well?” the little man demanded.
“I asked you a question. Why don’t you answer me? Have you no tongue? Or are you deaf?”
“N-no,” Peter stammered.
“I—I don’t think I quite heard what you said. I was thinking about something else.”
The old man fixed him with those sharp little eyes.
Then he repeated the question in a strange sing-song voice.
“How would you like to see a princess with silver toes?”
Peter swallowed.
His heart seemed to leap inside his chest.
“Really?” he asked. “Really silver?”
The stranger winked slyly.
“As silver as the throne of the Silver King,” he said, “and much more polished.”
“Is—is she in there?”
Peter pointed at the scarlet tent.
“She certainly is,” said the old man.
“And you may see her for one gold ducat.”
Once again, he rubbed his hands together.
Scrape, scrape, scrape.
“But—but I have nothing,” Peter said. “Not even a penny.”
“What’s a penny?” asked the stranger.
“It’s a—it’s a—well, it’s a penny. You can buy lemon sticks with one. But—but since I don’t have one…”
The little man frowned.
“What sort of knight are you, wandering around without any money?”
He shook his head.
“If I were you, I’d borrow some ducats at once. Then you could see the only princess in captivity with silver toes.”
Suddenly, Peter had an idea.
“Will you still be here when I get back?”
His eyes were shining with excitement.
“Yes,” the little man snapped, “even if you don’t return until next Easter.”
He began braiding his long whiskers, two braids at a time.
“Oh, no!” Peter said quickly. “I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
He ran around the tent and found himself back in the village square.
He had no trouble finding the clown and the others.
They were still at the center of a huge crowd.
Peter pushed his way through.
As he struggled forward, he heard an old woman with one front tooth speaking to another old woman who had two front teeth.
“Beppo’s goin’ to swaller a sword agin!”
The second old woman chuckled.
“Yep. An’ the bear’s goin’ to dance agin, an’ the pretty girl’s goin’ to sing.”
Then she sighed.
“Makes me disgusted, since I can’t hear.”
Peter had a terrible time getting through the crowd.
Strong townsmen kept knocking him backward—farmers, butchers, bakers, and even candlestick makers.
At last he reached the edge of the open space.
Beppo was standing in the middle of it with a butcher’s knife halfway down his throat.
Everyone was completely silent.
They watched in amazement until Beppo finished the trick.
Then the crowd burst into applause.
People threw coins, ribbons, and tiny bouquets of red poppies and bright blue cornflowers.
A moment later, the gypsy girl sprang into the open space.
She began to dance, light as a feather, shaking her tambourine.
Then the bear came lumbering after her.
Lump.
Lump.
Lump.
His chain clanked as he danced.
And before Peter had time to think, he suddenly ran out and joined them.
He danced in his dented armor.
His joints squeaked like baby mice.
His sword clanked against his armor.
He had one thought driving him forward.
He had to earn enough money to see the princess.
Because of that, Peter did things he had never done before.
He stood on one foot and spun around like a top.
He performed three beautiful cartwheels.
He stood on his head.
He walked on his hands.
Then he did more cartwheels.
The crowd stared in amazement.
They had never seen a knight dance like this.
The heavy armor should have made him clumsy, but Peter moved with surprising grace.
Everyone focused on him.
When he finally stopped, the crowd erupted in cheers.
Flowers and coins came flying through the air.
They landed at Peter’s feet.
Peter stood there, breathless, while coins bounced off his armor.
Beppo grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a little shake.
“Wake up, boy! Those coins are yours. Pick them up before some thief gets them.”
Then he grinned.
“And next time, don’t tell us you can’t dance!”
“But—but I really can’t,” poor Peter protested as he bent down to gather the coins.
He didn’t waste any more time.
As soon as he spotted several gold coins among the silver, he grabbed them and ran toward the street of tents as fast as he could.
Time was behaving so strangely in this world that Easter might already be just around the corner.