The Rope Dancer (15 page)

After that, Telor was free, except that he could not leave the tourney grounds in case he was required to sing an elegy over some knight who was killed. Killing was not intended, of course; the melee was supposed to be a friendly practice of warlike skills, and since the conquered paid a ransom to the victors, which dead men did not pay, fatal blows were only delivered by accident. Still, the men used the same weapons they would use in a war, so it was not unusual for a mace to strike too hard or a sword to cut too deep. Telor shrugged mentally. It seemed mad to him, as if he were to use his ironshod quarterstaff instead of a light pine pole when playing at single-stick with a friend or brother.

But he thought much of what the lords did mad, so he dismissed the subject from his mind, signaled to Deri to join him, and drew well away from the field to where the noise of the battle was less earsplitting. He was not interested in watching and knew he would not be summoned until much later.

“We must decide what next to do,” Telor said.

“About what?” Deri asked. “Carys?”

Telor looked sharply at his friend. The rope dancer had been much on his mind, although he had not seen her or spoken to her at all since they parted in the stable. Her small, large-eyed face, framed by wildly curling hair, had continued to come between him and the proud, jeweled perfection of the ladies he entertained. That image made his rendition of the love songs he sang more meltingly sweet, and now and again, more hotly passionate, but it also drove him to avoid the eyes of his audience. Telor found himself gazing into the distance when sunset colored the far-off smoky plumage of the trees, the same dusky red as Carys’s hair, or into the fire, burning low in the mild weather, where little yellow-brown flames leapt and reminded him of her eyes in sunlight. He was thoroughly annoyed with himself, telling himself that Carys must already have made arrangements with one of the groups playing in the keep. And even if she had not, even if they traveled on together and she eventually showed herself willing to share some easy pleasure—what had that to do with loving a tender morsel here and now?

It was almost a relief to remind himself of the danger he had run with Lady Marguerite, but deep inside he knew that was only an excuse to curtail these meaningless couplings. Telor had been in danger from playing with noblewomen before; each time he had sworn he would do so no more, and each time he had dismissed the danger as soon as the immediate shock had passed.

He found he simply could not flick meaningful glances at those women who were likely to enjoy and respond to a little amorous invitation. He worried about the cost. Even the ladies who would never have considered lying with him often responded to his appearance of admiration with generous gifts. What was worse than the actual loss, though, was his uneasy feeling that in the past he might have been selling
himself
rather than his art—like any female whore. Fortunately, few of the great dames were in any mood for dalliance, and his reserve ensured that he got no further bids for his favors.

Because Carys was disturbing him so deeply, Telor never mentioned her to Deri. He was not trying to conceal his interest in her, but foolish as it might be, he wanted to avoid hearing that she was already linked to a troupe and ready to leave them. But when Deri assumed his general question, which concerned their own future had pertained to Carys, Telor was startled and worried. He recalled that once before, when he had expected Deri to be thrown into a black mood, something to do with Carys had kept the trouble at bay.

Before he thought, Telor burst out, “What do you mean ‘about Carys’? Do you want her?”

“Good God, no,” Deri replied. “Carys is more boy than girl, and she’s hard, not like my Mary.” His voice broke on the last two words, but to Telor’s surprise, he did not fall silent or get up and run off. He cleared his throat harshly and went on, “But I like her. She is not greedy or afraid of hard work. She has been cruelly used, too, but has not lost what seems to be a sweet nature. I think she has come down a long way from what she once was.”

“Come down?” Telor got out.

Simple relief at the obvious sincerity of Deri’s indifference to Carys as a woman was drowned in a combination of amazement and pleasure. On and off, while trying to curb what he knew was an unwise attraction, Telor had recalled to mind the filth and stench of Carys when they picked her up. She would soon come back to that, he had told himself; she knew no better and it was his idiotic desire that had made her seem to speak well and behave modestly. Now here was Deri, who did not appear to be blinded by lust, saying that Carys was better than she seemed at first.

Deri shrugged. “She is used to being clean, not as we found her,” he began, and told Telor about Carys’s desire to wash herself and her clothes. “And she is so different from the other players,” he went on. “I did not realize it until I brought her to the better troupe and heard her talk with their leader.”

“But I do not think we have the right to interfere if she wishes to go with them,” Telor said, playing devil’s advocate against a course he wanted to take but knew to be unwise. “Did she say anything about joining a troupe to you?”

“Nothing,” Deri admitted.

“And what the devil are we to do with her if she does not go with one of the troupes?” Telor asked irritably, annoyed with Deri for tantalizing him with the idea that Carys did not wish to join the other players and then admitting he did not know what she had decided.

“We?” Deri asked, glancing at Telor sidelong, “
I
will do nothing with her—except play the fool to draw a crowd to her rope dancing if she performs. What
you
will do with her, I do not know, but I hope no more than play for her. I said she had been harshly used. It would be ill done to bind her affection and then give the same gift to every other woman who smiles at you.”

Telor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was violently indignant at Deri’s accusation. It was Carys who was interfering with
his
life, not he with hers. Damn her! He had given no “gift” to any woman after Lady Marguerite because of Carys, and was not likely to be rewarded for it by any favor from Carys either. On the other hand, he did not want to admit to Deri that his “infallible” charm had failed with this girl, who had offered herself only out of terror and a sense of obligation. But that thought made Deri’s words more poignant. Carys had indeed been harshly used and made to believe there was no kindness in the world and that she must pay for everything.

And then, because his heart ached for her and he wanted to set a repentant world at her feet to make up for its earlier cruelty to her, he snarled, “Play for her? Are we going to set up a rope in a village where the highest fee is likely to be paid in turnip soup? Anywhere else would be too dangerous for me.”

“Then we must find a better troupe for her,” Deri said mildly. “One in which she will be content.”

Deri felt no need to pursue either the subject of Telor’s taking Carys as a lover or the subject of using her talent and his own in places where Telor’s art would be inappropriate. He had already warned Telor that Carys was inclined toward him, and he was sure his friend’s natural kindness would make him reject her kindly—after all, the girl was scarcely an irresistible beauty. If she would not take no for an answer and persisted in pursuing Telor, Deri could do no more for her.

As to the question of Carys’s performing, Deri felt he had set the first wedge, and that was enough for now. He rubbed his mouth and chin to hide a grin he could not altogether control. Telor was a good man. Because he loved his work, he would soon feel guilty about depriving Carys of hers.

“It is easy enough to say find a troupe with which she will be content,” Telor remarked sourly, as much to conceal from himself his elation at the prospect of keeping Carys with them as to conceal it from Deri. “It will not be so easy to do.” He went on to repeat to Deri what he had heard about the likelihood of a war raging all over the south. “And they will surely besiege Bristol if not assault it,” he pointed out, “because, being the earl of Gloucester’s greatest stronghold and a good port, Matilda and Henry will be expected to land there.”

Deri nodded. “I think you may be right about that. Why not go to Oxford? Can you think of a better place for players?”

Telor could not. Oxford was a city of churches and monasteries, centers of learning filled with masters and scholars mostly more interested in books and argument than in fanatical faith. But it was also a rich market town and held one of the great royal castles. The three aspects made Oxford triply attractive to players of all types: folk who brought produce to the market and the common soldiers of the royal garrison welcomed the jugglers and acrobats and dancing girls; the scholars and their masters and the lords holding the keep for the king rejoiced in a skilled minstrel; and the rich merchants might patronize both on different occasions.

Oxford was particularly attractive to Telor, who could sell any instrument he had made and also learn very cheaply—most often at no higher cost than being willing to listen—all sorts of heroic tales from ancient times and even Saxon legends, which were cherished, mostly in secret, by a few English scholars. Telor took them into his capacious memory as eagerly as any other fodder that would satisfy the endless hunger for subjects for his art.

“No,” Telor said, smiling, although he felt uneasy without quite knowing why. “I cannot think of a better place. And we will pass by Marston, so we can warn Sir Richard of the trouble brewing. I should think Marston is too far north to be caught in it, but it cannot hurt for Sir Richard to know.”

“God willing the trouble will not strike Marston,” Deri said, looking worried. “Marston is not strong, and Sir Richard has neglected what defenses there were.”

“That is true enough,” Telor agreed, “but there is little to tempt an attack. Every neighboring lord knows that there are no jewels or fine clothes, not a silver platter nor a gold ring in the place, nothing but scrolls and books. That is not the kind of loot most men desire. Sir Richard has no child for whom to store up wealth, so he spends every silver penny on his own pleasure-scribes and their writings.” Telor hesitated and then shrugged. “Still, mayhap it would be better to take Eurion with us to Oxford.”

“If he will go.” Deri laughed. “He has a mind of his own, your master.”

Telor also laughed. “It does not matter. I do not think Marston will be threatened, but even if it be taken, there would be little danger for Eurion. Why should any man harm a minstrel?”

“Good enough,” Deri said. “I suppose we will leave early in the morning? Will you sleep at the keep or with us tonight?”

“Not early, and I will sleep at the keep. Tonight they will talk of nothing but the tourney, restriking every blow, and demanding songs and tales of every great battle they can remember. Tomorrow most will be returned to everyday life, thinking of their own affairs again, and I believe several wish to claim me for their own celebrations, and more will give me a general invitation to come and sing for them. It is worth another day in Combe keep.”

“It would be better if we could ride some distance with one of the parties,” Deri suggested. “A gathering like this always attracts outlaws, who hope to catch some stragglers departing.”

Telor nodded. “It would be better, but I doubt any are going northeast. Most seem to come from close by or from the south and west. But I will ask, and I will risk the loss of a few invitations if I can find a party we can ride with.”

“Carys and I will be ready at any time. I will make up the packs—” Deri stopped speaking abruptly and struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Speaking of Carys and the packs, I almost forgot the poor girl. I promised myself to buy her a comb and perhaps something to bind her hair. When I took her to see the fairings, her eyes almost fell out of her head with desire looking at such things.”

Telor made a disgusted sound. “I almost forgot her need too. I will pay for the comb. She asked if she could have one, and I promised she should. And she must have an undergarment of her own, and a dress—”

“No dress,” Deri interrupted firmly. “No woman can resist wearing a new dress, and you are right that she is safer as a boy. A tunic that will fit her makes more sense. She can wear it over an undergown when she goes back to women’s clothes.”

“Very well,” Telor agreed quickly. He had been sorry the moment after he suggested a dress. That was something he wanted to choose and give to Carys himself. “And you might as well see if you can find a pair of braies that will fit her so I can have mine back,” Telor went on, “and stockings and shoes—boy’s shoes—”

“Why shoes and stockings?” Deri asked. “The weather is warm now, and I doubt she has gone hosed and shod in summer for many years. We will find a better selection in Malmsbury.”

“Better, perhaps,” Telor replied, “but not so cheap. The merchants will sell at bottom prices today. They know that most of the common folk have already spent what little they had, the great folk are making ready to leave. If I call her ‘apprentice,’ she must not go barefoot, but on the other hand, she will not wear boy’s clothes forever, so I wish to get the shoes as cheap as I can.”

“Good enough,” Deri agreed. “Will you need me, or shall I go now?”

“Go now,” Telor said. “I hope there will be no work for me here. In any case, no one will be throwing coins and trinkets about. You can come up to the keep when you see any large party returning. I will meet you in the gallery, or you will hear me below.”

Deri not only bought for bottom price but obtained items of far better quality than he had expected. The mercer had worn clothing behind the bolts of cloth and piles of lengths and veils. Most of the hardier and least expensive garments for boys of Carys’s size had been sold, but poor yeomen and serfs do not often buy fine clothing for boys who will outgrow it or tear it before they have a chance to wear it out. For such families one good colored tunic and pair of braies, to be handed down from boy to boy, is enough, and the sturdier the cloth the better. Richer folk, who can afford and find use for clothing of finer cloth, usually buy lengths and have new garments made exactly as they want them.

Thus, Deri was able to buy Carys a short-sleeved overtunic of a mossy green, an undertunic with long sleeves in bright blue, and vivid red braies, all of fine woolen cloth, for as little as he had to pay for a new unbleached linen shirt and a pair of stockings. After some rummaging, the mercer found a second pair of braies in homespun, worn threadbare but not actually torn, which he threw in to make the sale when Deri seemed about to give it all back over the price of the shirt and stockings. But Deri, who had snatched the garments away with a snarl and a curse, thought himself so well ahead that he also bought a soft dark-orange leather jerkin and a leather band, with a scroll design burnt into it, to bind Carys’s wild hair. The shoes might be too big, Deri thought, but that was better than too small, and there was a leather thong that passed through the sides and back, and a tongue at the front of the shoe, so they could be tied on if necessary.

Deri now packed everything into the long-sleeved tunic and, using the sleeves to tie the bundle, hoisted it to his shoulder and made his way to the carver’s booths. Here only the poorer and very expensive articles remained. Deri could probably have bought an ivory comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl at a good price, but there was no sense to it. He had decided to say everything came from Telor and was to be repaid out of Carys’s earnings because he could think of no other way to avoid increasing her admiration for Telor and eliminating any fear that he might place demands on her. But he did not purchase the very cheapest wooden comb, which had wide-spaced teeth rough with splinters. He chose one of a fine-grained wood, with sturdy teeth, well polished and rubbed with oil so that even a silk ribbon slid easily back and forth through them without catching.

Then he stood staring at the ground for a moment before a smile lit his face and he made his way to the booth of the mercer who specialized in embroidery thread, ribbons and laces, and items made from delicate knotted cords. It was there Carys had seen the gold silk net that her eyes had followed with such longing. Deri asked for that item and hardly bargained before taking it and stowing it carefully away in his purse.

Yes, Carys should have it and know it came from him, Deri thought, fondly patting the purse under his clothes after he had put it in its usual place. Since Carys could not wear a woman’s net over her hair until it grew longer anyway, there would be time for her to come to know him and understand the gift was from friend to friend. He shouldered the bundle and set off for the place where he had tied Surefoot, grinning as he imagined the look on the girl’s face. He knew the garments were handsome and that she would be filled with joy—and knew he would have time to explain the terms of the giving so that no terror or horror would cloud that joy.

The fallow field to which the market had moved was just south of the village, so it took Deri only a few minutes to reach the strangely silent lower bailey. As Surefoot stepped onto the drawbridge to the upper bailey, a faint echo of voices made Deri look up at the wall above him, but no guard was there, and the dwarf could not think of why any guard should hail him from the wall anyway. Then he thought he heard a shout. A servant or two who had not walked down to the tourney; nonetheless, sling and pebble were concealed in his right hand before the pony emerged from under the inner portcullis.

The mingled yells of three men drew Deri’s head left, toward the well, just in time for the corner of his eye to catch a figure streaking across the bailey in the other direction. Curiously, the runner was trailing something pale, not trying to escape the bailey but making a desperate leap to grab the edge of the roof of an outbuilding. Deri did not recognize the speeding figure nor see whether the leap was successful, because his eyes had already gone back to the shouters. He did see them, now charging after their prey, at least clearly enough to know they were not men-at-arms. The pebble flew from Deri’s sling, and one man was down, howling and clutching his thigh. That stopped both other men in their tracks. They would have run instinctively if he had not been blocking the exit, Deri thought half ruefully, half joyfully.

Deri did not pick quarrels—he had been taught not to be cruel, even though there was always a kind of rage inside him for what he had been born—but if someone else attacked him, an unholy joy woke in him at being able to strike out under the excuse of self-defense.

“It’s the dwarf who was with the boy,” Joris snarled. “We can quiet them both now.”

They rushed toward him, trying to duck and weave so that he would miss if he tried to use the sling again, but Deri had already put it away, grinning hugely at what Joris had said. He slipped his feet from Surefoot’s stirrups, put one hand on the cantle of his saddle, the other on the pommel, stood upright, and launched himself on Joris just as he reached for the pony’s head. The juggler fell back with Deri atop him, but the dwarf did not land flat. Holding tight to the juggler’s shoulders, he drew up his short legs and thrust with them so that his feet stabbed viciously into Joris’s belly as they landed. That thrust gave Deri the impetus to flip right over his victim’s head in a handstand and come up on his feet again. Ignoring the other man, who had to come around Surefoot—the pony was leisurely continuing toward the stable, indifferent to activities he could not distinguish from normal tumbling and other human idiocies—Deri picked up Joris and threw him headfirst into the wall.

The dwarf’s long arms were already reaching up and back to seize the man whom he expected to grab him from behind, but an agonized screech made him whirl around. A silent, wild-haired fury had attached itself to the man’s back, steel-muscled legs locked around his chest, equally powerful fingers gouging at his eyes.

“Don’t blind him, Carys!” Deri yelled.

“He was going to jump you from behind,” she spat, but her forefingers ceased digging into the man’s eye sockets.

“I know,” the dwarf said, laughing. “Get off him. Don’t spoil my fun.”

“Let me go!” the acrobat screamed.

His flailing hands had found Carys’s, and she let him drag them down, but no lower than his shoulders. These she gripped, simultaneously letting go with her legs, which she drew up, while pressing down hard with her arms. Her whole body lifted above his head, and she set her feet flat on his back. At that moment, she let go of his shoulders and straightened her legs forcefully, propelling him violently forward toward Deri and herself backward. Her body curved, and her hands came out to touch the ground and flip her neatly the rest of the way over to stand erect.

In flipping, Carys missed Deri’s part of the action, but what he had done was clear enough when she saw the acrobat lying some yards away, to the left of Joris, but not against the wall. The man, making no attempt to rise, whimpered in the expectation of a beating, with his arms over his head and his legs pulled up to best protect his most vulnerable parts.

“You should have aimed him more to the right,” Deri said critically. “There was no way to turn him enough so he would hit the wall when I passed him along.”

Carys stared for a moment, wide-eyed still with fear and shock, and then burst out into laughter tinged with hysteria. “I did not do it apurpose,” she gasped. “I only wanted to get away so he could not grab me.”

Deri grinned broadly. “I know that, silly. It was only a jest to make you laugh.”

“Thank you,” Carys said, smiling more calmly if still tremulously. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gestured toward Joris with her head. “Is he dead?”

“I hope not,” the dwarf replied, but without anxiety. After all, it was only a player he had killed, if Joris
was
dead, Deri thought; and then his smile turned wry. He was only a player himself. “I don’t think he hit the wall hard enough to break his neck or crush his skull.” He walked to Joris and flipped him over onto his back. “No harm done. His eyes are starting to move.” Then he went to the acrobat, who tensed in terror, and prodded him gently enough with his foot. “Get up and get your friend with the sore leg up, and drag this limp prick out of here. And remind him that Deri Longarms is not easy to quiet, even though he is a dwarf.”

The man he had hit with the pebble had been trying to crawl out of sight, but he stopped when he heard himself mentioned and got hesitantly to his feet. He was limping badly but able to walk. Carys backed away warily in case the limp was a ruse and he intended to rush at her, but he made as straight for his companions as he could while also detouring widely around Deri. Between them they helped Joris to his feet and, with him stumbling but no longer limp, sidled along the wall to keep clear of the dwarf. Deri had not moved but grinned wolfishly at them until they disappeared under the inner portcullis.

Deri watched the mouth of the passage thoughtfully until Carys came and touched his arm. “Are you angry?” she asked. “I did not provoke them, I swear it. I was practicing on the fence there when I first saw them, and Joris asked about my work—but I saw the one you hit with the pebble slipping toward the tents, and I knew they had come to steal.”

“You tried to stop three men from stealing?” Deri asked, shaking his head. “Stupid! Why did you not run down and call the guards from the lower gate?”

“Because I did not want to see them maimed or hanged,” she said. “Not that I knew the guards were at the lower gate. I thought I was alone in the keep. But I stopped them from stealing quick enough. I told them I would tell you, and you would tell Telor, and he would tell the lord, who would pursue them to the ends of the earth.”

Deri’s expression softened at her first words, and he smiled understandingly, but he shook his finger at her. “You should have run
before
you threatened them, not after. Not that I mind. I enjoyed the exercise, but I might not have come in time, and
you
would not have enjoyed that.” He beckoned her to come with him and started toward the stable.

“No, no,” Carys protested, folding her dress as she walked beside him. “I am no fool. I was up in the rafters of the stable when I said I would accuse them. And I knew they would lie in wait in the hope I would come down after a little while so they could be rid of me and take what they wanted. But I had left Telor’s shirt near the pump to dry, and I was afraid they would take that.”

“You are ten times a fool,” Deri said, stopping and turning toward her, his voice harsh and angry for the first time. “A shirt is not that precious, even if it is Telor’s. Do not look too fondly at him, Carys. He is good and kind—but he is good and kind to
every
woman who smiles at him.”

“But it was not
mine
,” Carys cried.

Deri’s bourgeois assumption that Carys would expect fidelity from Telor if they became lovers was totally incomprehensible to her. Thus, she was too surprised by what Deri had said to make any reply other than what had been in her mind all along. As she spoke, she wondered what it could possibly matter to her if Telor slept with every woman who smiled at him. Even if she should be crazy enough to lie with him herself and find pleasure in it, what he did at other times with other women was no business of hers.

“Child—” Deri spoke very gently now. “Can you believe that Telor or I would prefer you beaten or dead to the loss of a shirt?”

Carys stared at him blankly for a moment, bringing her mind back from Deri’s previous, puzzling remark, and then sighed. “It was stupid,” she said slowly. “I do not know why I…I suppose it was because Ulric was so stupid. He would not have wanted me hurt either, but he could not think so far ahead as to see what would have happened, so he would have beaten me for losing the shirt and…and I was growing as empty-headed as he.” She shuddered sharply and then laughed and added merrily, “Oh, well, since I risked my neck for it, I guess I had better fetch it down from the roof.”

Deri had not interrupted her slow thinking out of why she had acted so senselessly because the lump in his throat made it impossible for him to speak without weeping. Now he watched her run lightly across the bailey and leap for the roof, hang for a moment from one hand to snatch the shirt with the other, and jump lightly down again. The lithe, easy motions recalled to him her assault on Joris’s companion, and his sympathy was swallowed up in admiration. He was a fine acrobat himself—a necessity for a dwarf who wished to deal with normal-sized men on terms of equality—but there could be no doubt that Carys was a better one. Apparently she had not been boasting when she claimed to be an expert rope dancer.

“I am sorry I missed your practice,” he said. “I am looking forward to seeing your work.”

“I will show you as soon as I have unsaddled Surefoot,” she called over her shoulder as she trotted back to the pump to pick up her dress.

“I will take care of Surefoot myself,” Deri said, his voice grating a little with pity at the way the girl seemed ready to accept all the menial duties. “There is something else I want you to do.”

“I like to tend the horses,” Carys protested, afraid she would be set to some woman’s task that, though physically easier, would be far more time-consuming.

Deri laughed. “You will like this, and anyway, I think I will not unsaddle. I had better ride down to the field again and tell Telor what happened. He should know in case Joris decides to complain to de Dunstanville about being beaten—”

Carys giggled. “By a boy and a dwarf? Do you think he will complain or that the lord will believe him?”