Even if she could find someone with a lute or mandolin to sell, she could never afford it. She could never afford the lessons to learn to play it, either-and that was assuming she could find a teacher. And if she waited for minstrels to come along to teach her, the way she'd learned fiddle, she'd be an old woman of eighteen or twenty by the time she was ready to go to the Midsummer Faire and the trials.
Well, she
could
play the shepherd's flute, and even she could make one of those-
No. That was no kind of instrument for the trials before the Guild. These were people who played before princes and kings; they'd hardly be impressed by someone tootling simple shepherd's jigs on a two-octave pipe.
Then the mayor put the crowning touch on her ambitions, placing it out of the realm of "want" and into "need." For what he told the rest, told
her
that this was the way out of all her problems. Apprenticeship to the Guild would not only get her out of this village, out of danger, but it would place her in a position where no one would ever threaten her again.
"I heard that no one touches a Guild Bard or a Guild Minstrel, am I right, Master Heron?" he asked.
The minstrel nodded, though his face was in shadow now, and Rune couldn't read his expression. His voice held no inflection at all. "That's the truth, sir," he replied. "Only the Church has a right to bring them to trial, and if anyone harms a Guild musician, the Church will see to it that they're found and punished. I'm told that's because a good half of the Guild apprentices go into the Church eventually-and because musicians go everywhere, sometimes into dangerous situations."
No one could ever harm her again.
She was so involved in her own thoughts that she hardly noticed when Master Heron resumed playing, and had to forcibly drag her attention back to the music.
There had to be a way to get that second instrument, to get to the trials. There
had
to be!
The customers stayed later than usual, and only left when Master Heron began pointedly to put his instrument away for travel. By the time the evening was over, Rune was exhausted, too tired to think very clearly, arms aching from all the heavy trays and pitchers she had carried all night, legs aching from the miles she'd traveled between kitchen and tables, bar and tables, and back again. From the look of him, Master Heron wasn't in much better shape. There were hundreds of things she wanted to ask him about getting into the Bardic Guild, but she knew from experience how
his
arms must feel after a night of non-stop playing, and how his tongue was tripping over the simplest of words if they weren't in a song.
So she left him alone as she carried the heaps of dirty plates and mugs into the kitchen again-and predictably, was recruited as dish-dryer and stacker, for Granny couldn't cope with putting the plates away. So she walked several more miles returning mugs to the bar and dishes to the cupboard. By the time she was able to leave the kitchen, he'd gone up to his room and his well-earned rest.
The common room was empty at last, fire dying, benches stacked atop tables, and both pushed against the walls, shutters closed and latched against the night. She didn't see her mother anywhere about, which in itself was predictable enough. Stara did not much care for kitchen and clean-up work, and never performed either if she had a way out of doing so. Rune expected to find Stara up in her own attic cubicle next to her daughter's.
But when Rune reached the top of the attic stairs, the moonlight shining through the attic window betrayed the fact that Stara's bed was empty.
Odd. But she'd probably gone to visit the privy before turning in. Rune stripped off her shirt and breeches, and slipped into an old, outworn shift of Rose's, cut down to make a night-shift just before Rose had taken sick, expecting to hear her mother coming up the stairs at any moment, and hoping this wasn't going to be another night of complaint.
But as Rune crawled under the coarse sheet of her pallet, she froze at the sound of murmuring voices in the hall outside Jeoff's rooms below.
One was certainly Jeoff. And the other, just as certainly, was her mother.
Suddenly Rune was wide-eyed; no longer the least bit sleepy.
She had only time to register shock before the closing door below cut off the last sound of whispers.
Stara-and Jeoff. There was no doubt in Rune's mind what was going on. Stara had been unable to get Jeoff to marry her by simply tempting him, but remaining just out of reach. So for some reason, tonight she had decided to give the man what he wanted to see if that would bring him before the altar.
She must be desperate, Rune thought, numbly. She'd never have gone to him otherwise. She must think that if she lets him sleep with her, guilt will make him want to make an honest wife of her in the morning. Or else she thinks she can seduce him into marrying her, because she's such a fabulous lover. Or both.
Whatever was going on in Stara's mind, there were a number of possible outcomes for this encounter, and they didn't auger well for Rune.
The worst threat was that her mother would slip and become pregnant. In all the time Rune had been paying any attention, Stara had never once calculated anything correctly if it involved numbers greater than three. That made a pregnancy horribly likely-if not this time, then the next.
Rune stared up blankly at the darkness of the roof above her. If Stara became pregnant, married or not, it would mean the end of Rune's free time. She'd have to take all of Stara's work as well as her own for months before the birth, and after-
And doubtless the added expense of a non-productive mouth to feed would convince Jeoff there was no money to hire any more help.
And Rune would have to help with the baby, when it came. As if she hadn't already more than enough to do! There would be no time for anything but work, dawn to dusk and past it. There would be no time to even practice her fiddling, much less learn new music, or work out songs of her own.
No time for herself at all . . . things were bad enough now, but with Stara pregnant, or caring for another child, they'd be infinitely worse.
Her eyes stung and she swallowed a lump in her throat as big as an egg. It wasn't fair! Stara had a perfectly good situation here, she didn't need to do this! She wasn't thinking-or rather, she wasn't thinking of anyone except herself. . . .
Rune turned on her side as despair threatened to smother her, choking her breath in her throat, like a hand about it.
At least I'll have a roof over my head,
she thought bleakly.
There's plenty that can't even say that. And food; I never go hungry around here.
But that wasn't the worst possible situation. Supposing Stara's ploy didn't work? Suppose she couldn't get Jeoff to marry her-and got with child anyway? Jeoff probably wouldn't throw them out of his own accord, but there were plenty of people in the village who'd pressure him to do so, especially those with unmarried daughters. He was a member of the Church, a deacon, he had a reputation of his own to maintain; he could decide to lie, and say that Stara had been sleeping with the customers behind his back, so as to save that reputation. Then, out she'd go, told to leave the village and not return. Just like the last time she'd gotten herself with child.
Oh yes, and what would happen to Rune
then?
She might well be tossed out with her mother-but likelier, far likelier, was that Jeoff would get rid of Stara, but keep her daughter. After all, the daughter was a proven hard worker, with nothing against her save that she was a light-skirt's daughter, and possibly a bastard herself.
That wasn't her fault, but it should give Rune all the more reason that she should be grateful for a place and someone willing to employ her.
And what would that mean, but the same result as if he married Stara?
Rune could predict the outcome of that, easily enough. She'd wind up doing all her work and Stara's too.
Eventually Jeoff would marry some girl from the village, like Amanda, who'd lord it over Rune and pile more work on her, and probably verbal abuse as well, if not physical abuse. It would depend on just how much Jeoff would be willing to indulge his wife, how much he'd support her against the "hired help."
And when the new wife got pregnant, there'd be all the work tending to
her
precious brat. Or rather, brats; there'd be one a year, sure as the spring coming, for that was the way the village girls conducted their lives. It was proper for a wife to do her duty by her husband, and make as many babies as possible.
No time for fiddling, then, for certain sure. No time for anything. At least Stara was old enough that there likely wouldn't be another child after the first. With a new, young wife, there'd be as many as she could spawn, with Rune playing nursemaid to all of them.
Unless Rune told them all that she wasn't having any of that, and went off on her own, to try her hand at making a living with her fiddle.
And for a moment, that seemed a tempting prospect, until cold reality intruded.
Oh, surely, she told herself cynically. A fine living I'd make at it, too. I'm not as good as the worst of the minstrels who've been here-and surely they aren't as good as the Guild Musicians, or the folk who make the circuits of the great Faires. Which means, what? That I'd starve, most like.
What would be better-or worse? Starvation, or the loss of music, of a life of her own? A dangerous life alone on the open road, living hand-to-mouth, or a life of endless drudgery?
She sniffed, and stifled a sob. There didn't seem to be much of a choice, no matter which way she turned-both lives were equally bleak.
And what about Stara herself? Stara was her mother; how much did Rune owe her?
If she did get with child, and Jeoff did throw her out, Stara would be in an even worse plight than Rune faced. She would be pregnant, out of work, nowhere to go, and no longer young enough to charm her way, however briefly, into someone's household.
For a moment, Rune suffered a pang of guilt and worry. But no one forced her into Jeoff's bed, she told herself after a moment. No one told her to go chasing after her master, hoping for a wedding ring. She's the one that made the decision, to risk her future without even a thought for what might happen to me as well as her!
That killed any feelings of guilt. If Stara got herself into trouble, it was
her
problem, and she could get herself right back out again.
Why should I suffer because my mother's a damn fool? She doesn't even want me to call her "Mother" any more.
But that brought up still another possibility.
There was no doubt of it that Stara didn't like having a fourteen-year-old daughter; that she thought it made her look old. If she decided that Rune was a liability in her plan to capture Jeoff and become his wife, she might well do something to drive Rune away herself.
It wouldn't even be hard to find an excuse. All Stara would have to do would be to tell him that Rune was sleeping with Jib or any of the boys from the village-or, most likely of all, with the musicians that had been passing through. The villagers would be glad to believe such tales, and might even make up a few of their own.
And Jeoff was like any other man; he was fallible and flawed, and subject to making some irrational decisions. Even though he was enjoying himself with Stara-or perhaps, because he was enjoying himself with Stara-he would never tolerate openly loose morals on his premises on the part of anyone else.
While the large inns-so Rune had heard, from the female musicians-were tolerant of such things, Jeoff never had been. He could get away with forbidding prostitutes to use his inn because most of his custom was local. Larger inns couldn't afford such niceties, and in fact, larger inns often kept whores to supply their clients. But the folk needing rooms out here, off the main roads, most often traveled alone, or with a long-time partner. In a case like that, if the partner was a female, and the male of the pair said they were married, then they might as well have posted the banns, so Jeoff didn't enforce his rule. There was no inn nearer than Beeford, and that gave him something of a monopoly on trade. Those who needed Jeoff's rooms had no choice-and the locals would come to drink his beer whether or not he allowed loose women about.
In fact, Jeoff and Rose had been considered pillars of the community for their godly ways. That was part of what made Jeoff such a good marital prospect now.
And that was precisely what made it likely that he'd dismiss her at the first complaint of looseness, particularly if it came from her mother.
Maybe I just ought to turn whore, she thought with another stifled sob. At least then I'd have something in the way of a trade. . . .
Despite Jeoff's strictness, she wasn't entirely innocent of the ways of light-skirts. Some few of the travelers, men with gold and silver in their purses rather than copper and silver, had brought with them their own, brazen, hard-eyed women. And once or twice, other travelers in Faire season had met such a woman here, each departing in another direction after a single shared night. Jeoff had never turned these men away; they paid well, they often carried weapons or acted haughtily, and as if they were either dangerous or important. But he had served them himself, not permitting either Stara or Rune anywhere near them, and Rose had always worn a frown the entire time such women were under her roof.
Then there was the fellow who came through at Faire-time with his own tents and wagons, and a collection of freaks and "dancing maidens." His "maidens" were nothing of the sort, whatever his freaks were. There were always a lot of male visitors from the village to his tents after dark when the Faire closed. . . .
She turned on her back again, biting her lip in remembrance. That man-he'd made her feel so filthy, just by the way he acted, that she'd wanted to bathe every time she had to be anywhere near him. . . .
He'd hired Rune once, when his own musician took sick, having her play for the performances given during the day. Rose, innocent of what those performances were like, had judged she was unlikely to come to any harm during the daylight hours and had given her leave.