The Rope Dancer (37 page)

The packs Carys had made up went on one horse. The one Telor had used was loaded with what was left of a new truss of hay over the saddle to conceal it and sacks of grain hung about the sides. Carys hung her rope over the saddle pommel of her horse, then folded the third blanket to make a pad, laid this over the horse’s croup, and fastened it to the saddle. With the help of a stool from the kitchen, she got Ann up, tied her there with soft strips of cloth, and left her clinging to the saddle, shaking with fright but silent. Finally, Carys fastened one packhorse’s rein to the other’s saddle, took the loose rein in hand, and mounted.

Carys was almost as frightened as Ann. She was scarcely an expert rider, and she had to make sure Ann did not slip, control the two packhorses, and manage her own mount. Fortunately, the animals were not young, and even several days without exercise did not produce too much liveliness. Also, there was nothing in the quiet streets of the town to startle them, and the slow progress toward the gate permitted Ann to become a little accustomed to her position and the motion of the animal under her.

The gates were open, as if more traffic was expected, and the two hooded figures passed by the guards with hardly a glance in their direction. For a long time after they were safe on the road, both were silent, Carys afraid that their female voices would somehow carry back to the guards and Ann not daring to open her mouth at all lest what came out would be a shriek of terror. Carys’s fear was the first to pass, and since she was aware of how Ann was shaking with fright, she decided she would take Ann’s mind off riding.

“Now never mind falling off, Ann. You cannot fall off no matter how strange you feel. Listen to me instead of holding yourself all stiff, and you will soon match with the rhythm of the horse and grow more comfortable.”

“Nothing will make me comfortable,” Ann sighed. “I feel like a pea perched on an egg—but I will listen.”

“Very well. I had told you how Orin murdered the lord of Marston and Telor’s teacher, Eurion, and how Telor determined that Orin must be punished. So, Telor, to make Lord William more eager to wrest Marston from Orin, promised to creep into Marston and weaken the gate bars so that the gate would fly open at the first blow of the ram.”

“I think your Telor has maggots in his brain,” Ann remarked in a much more natural voice.

“You will discover when you know more of them that
all
men have maggots in their brains,” Carys responded. “If they did not, would not Deri have tried to persuade Telor to give up so mad a notion? And did he? Not at all! He only grieved because, being a dwarf, he would be recognized and could not go with Telor. I know you are about to ask why
I
did not try to divert them from these notions, and the answer is that men think
women
have maggots in their brains and will not listen to anything a woman says.”

Ann uttered a little choke of laughter, and her grip on Carys grew somewhat less desperate.

“Besides,” Carys went on, “in this case Telor did have reasons for what he did. It would take too long to explain to you because it is all wound in with the kind of life players live—”

“Tell me,” Ann begged. “Not so much about other players but about how you and Deri and Telor live.”

“I will,” Carys said sincerely, thinking that after she had risked so much for him, surely Deri would look on Ann with more interest. Ann must know that, Carys told herself, so it must be that she is cleverer than I thought. Perhaps she is seeking adventure, but perhaps she believes that she can force Deri to take her with us out of obligation for her sacrifice. That way she would certainly escape her father’s punishment, but worse may befall her than a few beatings. Ann had better understand how hard a life she would have.

“But I cannot tell you now,” Carys continued. “First you must understand what I would like you to do and tell me truly whether you think you can do it and whether there is anything I do not know about what you can do. Telor, I think, will enter Marston tomorrow; Deri will join Lord William’s troops, trying to be first into the manor to help Telor once the attack begins. I would like to be inside the manor then also. Two are better than one, but three are better than two. I do not like to fight, but I know how. I have knives, and I can use them. I am very strong for my size and a good tumbler. There are many ways I could help Deri and Telor.”

“And I can poison the whole manor folk so that they cannot fight!” Ann’s voice was gleeful, but then calmed as she added, “If there is time. Even after they are eaten, most evil herbs take time to act. And also, we must get into Marston. Do you think we can just ride in or walk in?”

“I am sure we cannot,” Carys replied, again a little shaken by Ann’s enjoyment of the idea of poisoning sixty or eighty people she did not even know. “And I do not think there will be time to gather the herbs—”

“No need. I have those with me.”

For a moment Carys was silenced, but she decided to put that matter out of her mind. First, as Ann had said, they had to get into Marston. “No, we cannot walk in. Orin is very suspicious. Telor thinks that he fears an attack from Creklade. But players are never suspect of taking part in wars, so if we can pretend to be a troupe—”

“Just you and I?” Ann interrupted, sounding nervous. “I cannot do what Deri does—turn handsprings and make jests or—”

“No, no,” Carys interrupted in turn. “That is why we are going to Creklade.” She explained Deri’s errand to the bailiff of that town and his excuse for bringing the news that Orin, who had attacked Creklade and been driven off, had taken Marston. “I am sure the bailiff would be glad to get men inside the manor before the attack. There must be some fighting men who can make a pretense of being players.”

“I think so too,” Ann said. “In Lechlade we have a neighbor who can play a pipe, and I can sing a little.”

“It will be enough, I am sure. To have a dwarf and a real rope dancer will make the others seem genuine. And once we are in, Ann, you must become a little girl and go about looking in all the corners to find a safe place to hide once the fighting starts. Telor and Deri will be angry enough when they see me in Marston, and both will have fits when they hear I have dragged you into this. But if you should be hurt, even so little as a scratch, they will
kill
me.”

Ann agreed reluctantly but admitted that she did not see what she could do to help once fighting began. They talked about what Carys would tell the bailiff, which resulted in a decision that Ann had better change back into her fine dress before they entered town, and refined the story so that questioning them separately would produce the same answers from each.

They rode into Creklade not long after sunrise, having stopped before they reached Marston village and gone off the road to sleep for a few hours. They were stopped at the gate, but Carys said at once that she was Deri the dwarf’s boy and needed to speak to the bailiff. They were passed from one to another, but eventually reached the bailiff, who remembered Deri very well.

“They cast me out,” Carys replied to his question about how she had escaped Marston. “Not one had courage enough to climb high to fasten my rope, so my dancing lost its savor. Then they discovered that I would not willingly satisfy their unnatural lusts, and day and night I wept for Deri—so they cast me out.”

“He is not here,” the bailiff said. “He came to warn us that Orin was laired in Marston and meant us ill, but I do not know where he went thereafter.” Then he frowned. “How does it come about that you are so well furnished? You did not have three horses loaded with goods when you were last in Creklade, and the dwarf was in rags when he walked into town.”

“They are all Ann’s,” Carys replied. “She is Deri’s friend, and whenever we are separated we always meet at Ann’s house.”

The bailiff nodded. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him that a dwarf woman would set a higher value on a male dwarf than another woman would.

“Deri has been my friend since we were children,” Ann said. “He has lightened my life, and I am ready to do anything I can for him.”

“So I went to Ann’s house as soon as I was free.” Carys picked up the tale. “But Deri did not come. Now I am afraid that he tried to get back into Marston to save me or was waiting for me somewhere near the manor and was caught and killed. Sir, players hear many things, and I have heard that Lord William Gloucester is gathering men to take Marston from Orin. If this is true, for what they did to me and to help or avenge Deri—I think I can get men inside Marston.”

And quickly, before he could object, Carys described her plan, ending with, “They will not recognize me at Marston, because I am a woman, not a boy, and I will wear a dancing dress. Ann will be our dwarf—no one could mistake her for Deri. And because I am a real rope dancer and Ann is a real dwarf, they will take the men with us to be real players.”

The bailiff stared at her, but not for long. “How many men?” he asked.

“Not more than eight or ten; with Ann and me that will make ten or twelve. It is rare for a troupe to be larger. Two more might come with us if they could play the part of crones to pull the cart of properties, fetch wood and water, and cook.”

The bailiff’s eyes looked past Carys and he muttered to himself, “I have four who can play and, yes, Dick and Will can be the old women…hmmm.” Then he looked at her and nodded. “Lord William will be here very soon. If he thinks well of this, it will be done. Be where I can find you.”

Carys was accustomed enough to surprises while she was playing a role that she merely nodded and drew Ann out. Although she said nothing to Ann while they broke their fast and tended the horses, she was much alarmed. If Deri had already joined Lord William and heard of her scheme to get into Marston, that would be the end of it. Still, to run away and try to hire men was stupid; the kind of men who could be hired for such purposes were not to be trusted. Her heart sank right to the bottom of her belly when a messenger came to summon her before Lord William, but once there she found nothing to fear. The black eyes, when they looked at her, were snapping with amusement.

“
Alors, tu es
…ah…you are the rope dancer the dwarf of Telor was to protect?”

“Yes, my lord,” Carys whispered, kneeling down on one knee while Ann, beside her, curtsied to the ground.

“And you, little woman?”

“I am Ann, Deri’s friend, my lord,” Ann quavered, her voice thin and high with fear.

“Is it that the minstrel or the dwarf know of this venture?” Lord William asked next.

“No, my lord,” Carys whispered, and Ann just barely shook her head.

He uttered a high nicker of laughter and nodded. “For me it is a convenience to have more men inside the gate, so I tell the bailiff to let you go. But if it is that your men are very angry and they beat you soundly, not to say to them that
I
bade you to do this. Remember, it is your doing. Your bruises mayhap teach you both to be more like sweet maidens come another day.”

Deri need not have worried so much about Telor being recognized. Telor’s face was unremarkable; before he attacked Orin and his henchmen, no one had any cause to study it, and after the attack there had been a great deal of excitement and little time before he was dragged away and imprisoned. Only his height could have marked him, and there was little resemblance between the quick, strong stride of the clean-shaven, brown-haired minstrel Telor and the bowed, shuffling woodcarver with his dirty, matted hair and streaked beard, who needed to lean on his staff for support.

No one gave him a second glance, and it was easy enough for Telor to separate himself from Lord William’s men when the group was told to go down to the village and make themselves useful there until Lord Orin decided what he wanted to do with them. That was a disappointment, since they had hoped to be inside to cause disruption when the attack started, but they dared not argue. Telor had come in behind them, just far enough apart to say either that he could not keep up or that he had simply followed them. But while they were explaining who had sent them, he cringed his way to the cook shed and begged for something to eat, pointing eagerly to a cracked bowl and promising to carve a new one for a crust of bread. One of the cooks nodded and gave him that together with a chunk of slightly rancid pork, and Telor tumbled those into the cracked bowl and hurried away, clutching the food to him as though he expected to be pursued and deprived of it.

His first move was to slink behind the cook shed, then all the way to the woodworker’s shed. The place was empty, half-done work and some tools strewn about, and Telor wondered what had happened to the old man with whom he had often talked in Sir Richard’s day. But the old woodworker’s absence confirmed Orin’s ruthless removal of even the most harmless and necessary of the manor’s servants lest one of them escape and spread the news that Marston had been taken.

Telor was relieved to find the tools; he had brought with him only a thin saw for the gate bars. He gathered what he needed, disturbing the litter in the shop as little as possible, and settled in a corner, out of sight, to work on the bowl. The spot he had chosen was dim, since he had selected it for concealment, but Telor needed little light for the crude shaping he was doing. He remained tense and hidden until he saw Lord William’s men leave, fearing that the gate guard or one of the other men who had spoken to them would call out for him—but no one did.

Soon Telor grew bored enough to move closer to the open end of the shed and let his eyes wander. What Deri and Carys had heard was true. All the menservants were being trained in arms. That indicated great fear and an urgent need for defense, but Telor saw no signs of fear other than the training.

Something did not fit together, and Telor puzzled at it while the afternoon turned to evening. At dusk, the great gates were closed. Telor watched idly as one guard slid the light locking bar into place while another leaned his back against the closure to flatten the gates together. He considered the four large iron arms that held each great bar and secured the gate from being burst open under attack, wondering if he could more safely loosen those arms during the night than devise a method to damage the bars during the day. Then he blinked and stared. The men were gone. The two great bars lay in their cradles, where they had always lain in the years Sir Richard was master of Marston—but Sir Richard had never feared any surprise attack. Then neither did Orin!

Then what was the purpose of the secrecy, and why had Orin thought he was a spy from Creklade? Suddenly some of the things Lord William had said to which Telor had paid little attention began to make sense. Orin was an experienced captain and no renegade. Despite his defeat, he did not fear the burghers of Creklade. Telor recalled how often he had heard men of war speak contemptuously of townsfolk. Orin was not training men to defend Marston but to attack Creklade again, and he was keeping his taking of Marston secret so there would be no warning to the town.

The activity within the manor had died down with the light. Men were dispersing this way and that, one small group walking toward the manor house, and from that group Orin’s voice called. Telor stiffened, his hand reaching out to his quarterstaff. Not yet, he told himself, and bent his head above the round of wood, which had already taken on the crude shape of a bowl. There were too many men still about. Telor’s eyes shifted toward the great bars in their cradles, although it was growing so dark that he could barely see them. That work must come first, before his vengeance. Then if he failed to kill Orin, Lord William would at least take Marston.

The moment he thought how relatively easy it would now be to cut partly through each gate bar, an image of lying safe in Carys’s arms rose in Telor, and he asked himself if he really need be the man to strike down Orin. Could he not leave the man’s punishment to Lord William, who had a deserved reputation for ferocity? But Lord William would not consider what Orin had done merited punishment, particularly if the captain could offer any reasonable excuse for Sir Richard’s death. Lord William could conceivably even admire Orin for having tried to obey his orders against odds too high. Although he might be enraged at Orin’s master for trying to destroy the earl of Gloucester’s hold on the towns near Faringdon, that anger would not carry over onto the mercenary obeying his orders. Only if Orin had destroyed the library would Lord William punish, but Telor could not wish for that, and he resolved once more to kill the man with his own hands if he could.

Telor touched his quarterstaff again and glanced toward the open entrance to the hall, where yellow light spilled out into the dark blue-grey dusk, and then he shook his head. Bars first, and even then he must not be a fool and seek the first opportunity regardless of his chances of success. To throw his life away without accomplishing his purpose would merely give Orin another victory. But even if he could be sure of killing, he would himself die. As soon as he struck Orin down, there would be an alarm and he would be taken

An alarm! Telor suddenly sat up straighter, dropping the gouge he had been using into his lap. If he killed Orin during the assault on Marston, most of Orin’s men would be far too busy to worry about their master. The disadvantage was that Orin would be armed, but Telor’s quarterstaff had felled armed men in the past. He was thinking about what position would give him the best opportunity of getting to Orin during the fighting, when renewed activity indicated that the evening meal was about to be served. Telor considered the crust and the rancid pork with resignation. Tonight he had better eat that or do without so that no one would remember he existed. If he finished with the bars tonight, he could risk eating with the servants the next day.

It was simple to find a place of concealment in the disordered shed. Telor moved some lumber a little distance from a side wall and slipped down behind it. The sawdust and wood flakes that had drifted or been pushed there were not packed down and made a soft and comfortable bed. Until he lay down, Telor had not realized how exhausted he was. The nights he had spent with Carys had been pure joy and pleasure, but not restful.

Then Telor sighed and levered himself upright again. He did not dare sleep until he had finished his night’s work. Yet it seemed that no matter what he did, his eyes would close and his head begin to nod. It was a kind of torture that Telor had never suffered before. At last, he fumbled around until he found a long splinter of wood, which he propped against his chest and under his chin. As long as he held his head upright, it was no more than a minor annoyance; when his chin began to sink as he nodded off to sleep, the splinter stabbed him sharply. That done, he could let himself doze without fear that he would sleep too deeply to wake before morning.

Three times pain prodded Telor awake, the third time not until a trickle of blood ran down his throat. He struggled to his feet then, knowing nothing but activity would keep him awake, and edged to the open end of the shed. The manor was still, and there were no torches alight in the bailey. Telor hoped that meant everyone was safe in bed—except the guards on the walls, of course—but he could not be sure because the moonlight was so brilliant that it would seem to make torches unnecessary.

From the shelter of the shed wall, Telor glanced up at the silver orb with its odd markings. Another time, he would have cursed it, but he remembered how much Carys loved the moon. Then he glanced toward the wall where the bars lay in their cradles and realized he could not see them at all. That brought to his notice how very black all the shadows were, and before he realized what he was doing, he cast an apologetic glance upward. Then, grinning wryly and thinking he would soon be talking about the Lady himself, he began to pick out a path from shed to wall. It was best to be safe, even though the guards’ attention was directed outward.

Just as he was about to step out, his stomach growled and he hesitated and then felt about with the end of his quarterstaff near the opening of the shed for the cracked bowl and its crust and piece of pork. He first hit something soft that squealed, and he struck twice quickly but the rat had taken the hint. Muttering curses for his carelessness, Telor followed his staff to the bowl. Most of the crust was gone, and the pork seemed to be a different shape, but it was still there. He was not very happy about eating rats’ leavings, but he would have to if his stomach threatened to produce growls loud enough for anyone to hear.

It was not his stomach that threatened to betray him, but his saw. Having reached the wall and squeezed himself between the cradles and the wall, Telor loosened his belt, lifted his tunic, and unwrapped from his body a layer of dark-dyed cloth. From the folds, he removed his thin saw, the dowels that fit in the end holes, and several packets of grease-softened wax stained with dye to a color, Telor hoped, close to that of the wood. Above him, he heard the footsteps of a guard coming closer, and he froze into stillness, clutching the cloth and its contents to his chest. His heart pounded, and he did not feel in the least sleepy, even when the footsteps, which had not come close, began to retreat.

As Telor laid the cloth under the nearer bar to collect the sawdust, something about those footsteps troubled him. He dismissed the concern, however, and drew the saw across the wood. A quarter of an hour later, the saw was no more than its own width into the hard wood of the beam, and as Telor drew it forcibly toward him, it squeaked and stuck. Directly above him he heard a guard move and call softly to a fellow farther along the wall. Telor stood still as dead, not daring to breathe, not daring to let go of the saw nor draw it out of the wood.

The second guard joined the first, and Telor heard them talking softly; then they were very still, listening, he supposed; then another few soft words were exchanged and the beat of one pair of footsteps retreating. But the other was still directly above him. That was why the footsteps had sounded “wrong” to him; they had not come close enough, and he should have guessed there was one guard who never moved away from the gate so he could watch the road, which came directly toward it.

Telor stared out into the moonlit bailey, wondering what to do. He could probably pull the saw out silently, but what then? He could widen the cut, but that would not only increase the danger of the damage to the bar being noticed but take twice as long—and Telor already knew it would take him all night both nights, and even so he might not complete the work. An involuntary spasm of rage and frustration made his foot twitch, and his toe came in contact with the cracked bowl and its rat-gnawed contents. Telor bit his lip until it bled to stop himself from screaming and kicking the bowl right across the bailey—and then the eyes he had squeezed shut over tears opened wide to stare up at the moon.

He wiggled the saw out of the beam, squatted slowly, careful not to touch the wall, and reached into the bowl for the fat pork. After he rubbed the fat liberally onto the saw blade, he stood again and slid the blade into the cut; the saw bit, smoothly and silently, and he glanced up at the moon again. If the other men had not been sent down to the village, he would not have begged for food; if the food had been good, he would have eaten it at the evening meal; if the rat had not gnawed it, he would have eaten it before he set out to saw the bars. Under his breath Telor muttered, “Thank you, Lady.”

***

Unlike Telor, Deri had little trouble keeping awake that night. He had been somewhat troubled by dreams when he slept in the kitchen, but he was accustomed to dreams of that kind—in which he was a normal man and coupled with a normal woman—and he seemed to rest well despite the violent dream activity. There was only one difference about his dreams the previous night; he had not dreamt of Mary. Oddly, he had not dreamt of Carys either. The woman was strange to him, dark-haired and voluptuous and very eager, playing tricks that Deri knew no waking body could perform. The difference had puzzled him mildly when he woke, but he had completely forgotten the dream in the stresses of the day that followed, and it did not recur to his mind.

Marston was quiet all night, the dark unbroken by any torchlight, and the only sounds were dim ones that Deri associated with the animals penned in the bailey. Toward dawn, certain that Telor would take shelter before the folk of the manor began to stir, Deri climbed down from the tree to relieve his bladder and bowels, to hurry across the little wood to the deserted farm where he drank from the small stream behind the house, watered his horse and pulled down hay for it from the loft, and searched the ruined house and storerooms. He found some cheese and old bread, dried hard, not moldy, and he took that with him when he recrossed the wood and climbed back to his perch.

The sky was light although the sun had not yet come up by the time Deri satisfied his hunger, but he allowed himself to doze for a while. There was no way at this hour, he believed, for Telor to make an attempt on Orin, who would just be waking and be surrounded by his people inside the hall until after breaking his fast. Deri was not afraid of sleeping too long; no one can sleep deeply while sitting upright perched on a branch, and he started awake several times before, suddenly, he was almost galvanized into action by hearing shouts and the clang of metal against metal. Deri was halfway down the tree, still hearing the sounds, when he remembered that Telor had no sword. He paused. The noise went on and on, only a single voice shouting, never growing much louder or softer. Hanging there, Deri pressed his head against the tree and let out a sob of relief. As fear diminished, the sound became familiar from visits to many keeps. It was a master-at-arms drilling his men.