Authors: Roberta Gellis
When her voice drifted into silence, neither Telor nor Deri asked another question. There was already evidence on the breeze that she had told the truth about the village. A scent of burning was in the air, mingled with a fainter, sickly odor. Deri made a wordless sound, and Telor grimaced into the darkness. He thought briefly of leaving the road altogether but dismissed the idea. It would only slow them down, and if they diverted far enough around the village to avoid all evidence of its fate, they could easily be lost. Instead, he told Carys to sit astride and hold tight to the ropes, and as soon as she was set, warned Deri and kicked his horse into a fast trot. He heard the girl behind him whimper with fear and pain and was sorry, but it was more important to him to shield Deri as much as possible.
Mercifully, the dark hid most of the destruction. Here and there a narrow form, blacker than the surrounding shadows, told of a piece of wall standing gauntly alone and testified to a house burnt to the ground or fallen in, but mostly the huts seemed intact. It had been a very small village, either not worth a total burning or spared because the attacking baron intended to hold the land and use the place. Nor did the odor of death grow stronger. Perhaps those who had escaped or been spared had buried their dead.
They were through the place very quickly, but above the sound of the horses’ hooves Telor could hear Deri sobbing, and under his breath he cursed those who destroyed the defenseless. Eventually the road they were on ended in a crossroad going east and west. Telor pulled his horse to a halt. Deri’s pony passed him, but it was already slowing and stopped of itself a few yards ahead. Deri did not move. He was no longer crying, but he did not seem aware of where he was. Behind him Telor could hear Carys breathing in little gasps. One of the ropes tied to the saddle passed along his hip, and he could feel it trembling against him with the shaking of her hands, but she had not made a sound other than her breathing after that first whimper. She had courage, he thought, and endurance, for being jostled about must have been torture to her bruised body.
The moon was up now, over the treetops. Telor turned and looked at the girl. Her eyes were very large, glittering with tears, and there were shining streaks on her cheeks; but before she felt him turn, he saw that she was looking at Deri and there was a kind of pity on her sharp-featured face. The expression sat oddly on her, for the outlines of her face reminded Telor of a fox—the large eyes set above broad cheekbones and tapering sharply to a little pointed chin.
“There is—or was—a village very close to the east, just beyond a little river,” Telor said. “There was an alehouse there that would give us shelter, but I do not wish to ride in and find more ruins and more dead—”
Carys’s eyes moved to Deri and she nodded.
“Nor do I want to leave him alone,” Telor went on. “If I move the horses into the trees and tie them, will you stay with him while I go on to the village?”
“Will he stay with me is more the question,” Carys said. “What could I do to stop him if he wished to go? I cannot even walk. And…and what if he chooses to hate me because I am alive and…and others are dead…”
“Deri is not that kind,” Telor replied. “He will not hurt you, nor will he go—he has nowhere to go. Only if he comes to himself, it is important that someone be near. Talk to him. It does not matter what you say.”
“I will try,” Carys said, but her voice shook with fear.
Neither Telor’s nor Carys’s fears were realized. To his surprise, Telor found the village untouched. Emboldened by its peacefulness, he took the chance of waking the keeper of the alehouse and learned that, as in Goatacre, the lord of Tyther had sent men-at-arms to protect the place. Thus, the people were somewhat thinner of supplies than they had been, and a few girls might bear children whose hair and eye color did not match either their mothers’ or that of the men they claimed as fathers, but at least they had not been burnt out or slain. All the more, Telor knew, would the alehouse keeper welcome a few coins, so he did not hesitate to tell the man to stay wakeful until he could return with the rest of his party.
Carys, lifted down from Telor’s horse and seated against the bole of a tree next to where the animals were tied, watched Deri fearfully, but for a long time he did not speak or move. Weariness began to overpower fear, and Carys’s head had begun to nod when Deri suddenly slid down from his mount. She jerked awake and tried to tell him in a soothing, confident voice that Telor had said to wait for him at that spot, but the words came out in a thin, frightened squeak. The dwarf’s head turned toward her slowly, as if it were a dreadful effort to move, then his body followed, with that same painful effort. By the time he began to walk in her direction, it took all Carys’s will to keep from screaming—but Deri only dropped down beside her, drew up his short legs so he could cross his arms over them, and bent forward to rest his head on his arms.
Talk, Telor had said, but Carys could not. She did not understand why a burnt-out village should affect Deri so badly; she had never had a fixed home, and it did not occur to her that Deri had really had one either. She assumed a dwarf who was a player had been sold to a troupe as soon as his deformity was recognized. Nonetheless, the sensitivity that had given Carys such pleasure in acting and made her so successful at playing parts responded to the depth of Deri’s grief. She knew that at this moment talk would be an unwanted intrusion, and despite Telor’s assurance that Deri would not hurt her, she was less than eager to draw his attention. The question was soon moot in any case; while considering whether she was more afraid Deri would turn on her or Telor would be angry and desert her because she had not followed his order, Carys fell asleep.
She woke to a loud, one-sided argument as Telor pulled and prodded at Deri to get him to remount. During this, she had a chance to rehearse her apology for not doing as Telor had asked, but he waved it irritably aside as he lifted her to his horse; and he did not speak to her at all, even when he lifted her down again, carried her into the alehouse, and deposited her gently on a pile of three pallets. Carys had been frightened by Telor’s silence and thus was so stunned by the kindness of giving her all three of the thin pads provided by the alehouse for its guests to sleep on that she could not utter a sound. Nor did she have any other opportunity to thank Telor because he only pushed Deri into the alehouse and went away again. She could hear him talking to the animals as he led them around to the shed at the back, then another man’s voice and sounds that she guessed were made by unsaddling and caring for the horse, pony, and mule.
Slowly and wearily, Carys untied the rope that held Telor’s blanket around her, eased it out from under her behind, lay down, and pulled it over her. Thanks could wait, Carys thought, but as her eyes closed she wondered if she was being wise to let herself sleep. Tears welled up under her lids as she thought of how stiff and sore she would be and how it would hurt when Telor demanded the use of her. But she was beyond fighting her exhaustion and was unconscious before the tears could gather and fall. And she did not have bad dreams or wake shivering and wet with sweat as she had when she expected Morgan and Ulric to take her. There was something…something she knew but had forgotten that soothed her and let her sink deep, deep into the restful dark.
A dim sense of movement beyond her woke her, but to no sense of fear, for she had remembered the thing that had soothed her all through the night. So she woke laughing at her own foolishness, until the movement of her body—just as stiff and sore as she had expected it to be—made her gasp with pain. Still, remembering that she had been too tired to catch the significance of Telor’s piling the three pallets atop each other and making no place for himself to lie down beside her kept her smiling. There was now light beyond her still-closed eyelids, but she lay quietly, savoring her relative freedom from pain while she could. When she was wanted, she would be called. No one would care whether she hurt or was sleeping.
Carys’s peace was short-lived. A bump and scrape and a man’s hearty oath from beyond the thin, withy-woven wall that separated the back shed from the living space of the alehouse brought her up on her knees, regardless of pain. Her eyes darted wildly, first to either side of her and then all around, for some evidence that Telor and Deri were not taking their animals from the shed and leaving her to whatever fate would befall her.
Had she not been seized by panic, she would have found the evidence instantly—Deri, sleeping soddenly with his head on one of the two tables on either side of the hearth in the center of the room, which was well lit by light from the open door. She did not notice that the sleeper’s legs came nowhere near the floor, and she could not see his face. All she noticed was the remains of a morning meal on the other table. Then, desperately and almost hopelessly, she looked across the room for some signs of her companions, peering into the shadowy spaces between the posts supporting the crossbeams that helped the crucks resist the downward thrust of the turf roof. She had slept in one of those spaces herself, and knew it was the custom to bed guests there.
She could see no sign of them, and despair kept her frozen for another few moments, until the light from the doorway was blocked out and a new blistering oath, in Telor’s voice, brought her head around. Her lips parted to call out to him, but surprise kept her silent as she watched him back into the room, helping the alehouse keeper support a large tub. They maneuvered it around the table with some difficulty and set it down with a thump in the sleeping space next to her. Then the alewife came in, wearing a yoke that carried two steaming buckets. Carys stared. She knew nothing at all about brewing ale, but it had never occurred to her that it would be done in the main room of an alehouse. It did not seem practical; also early summer, before the grain was ripe, seemed like a strange time of year to begin a brewing. On the other hand, she could think of no other reason for the alewife to be pouring hot water into a tub, and in any case, it was not her affair to criticize. She eased herself forward eagerly, pleased by the opportunity to see something new and different and perhaps learn something useful.
Telor had turned toward her after the tub was on the floor, but he did not speak. Her wide eyes and lively interest gave her an expression of childlike wonder that made Telor think that she was eager to bathe. He had not been able to talk to Deri about what to do with the girl because the dwarf had been drinking himself insensible the previous night. But perhaps he had been wrong in thinking Carys hopeless. During the night he had come to one decision about her; early this morning he had reversed that decision. And he still could not talk to Deri about the problem. Telor glanced toward the table where Deri was sleeping and shrugged. There would be time enough for what he intended to do while Deri slept off a little more of his potations.
Telor had not slept as well as Carys. Although one part of him knew it would not have been possible to leave the girl lying beside the road, another part was furious at the embarrassment and inconvenience she would cause. Deri fitted no matter where they went. In villages and small manors, he played the fool and was the main entertainer; among the nobility, he acted the part of a clean, well-mannered servant, adding to Telor’s consequence. Contrariwise, Carys would be a disaster in village and keep alike. Filthy and coarse as she was, village wives would try to have them driven away, assuming that Telor had brought along a whore to tempt out of their men’s purses the few pennies they had. In the castles, a dwarf dressed as a servant might be accepted, but if Telor brought a dancer with him too, many lords would take him for a mere jongleur and not ask him to sing in the great hall.
The lord of Combe was just the kind to sneer publicly at Telor for claiming he wished to uphold the minstrel’s ancient traditions and then degrading himself by associating with a common dancing girl for the extra farthings she could earn. And there was no way he could defend himself. Let him say one word too many and he would be dead, or maimed, or imprisoned with no recourse. An artisan has his guild and city to protect him; a common serf has a lord who will defend him against strangers for his own honor’s sake, even if that lord himself oppresses the serf. Only minstrels, as if they were outlaws, had no one who would stretch out a hand to shield them, he thought resentfully—and then remembered that Carys was a player too.
Pity vied with self-interest and finally found a compromise. Telor had some money; his next place to entertain was assured and, because it was a wedding in a large keep, he could expect not only to be paid by de Dunstanville but to receive largesse from many of the guests as well. Thus, he decided that he could give most of the coins he had to Carys. That would be enough to supply her with food and lodging, without whoring, until she could find another troupe that needed her skills.
The decision had allowed Telor to sleep, but when he woke in the morning and went to tell Carys of it, his resolution failed. The face he saw was so young, the eyes still sunken with pain, the cheeks hollow, the small mouth drawn tight defensively, even in sleep. What good would money be to a child who probably had never been allowed to touch so much as a farthing? The men would have seized whatever she earned. And even if she did understand the value of coin, the moment she paid for anything, someone would wrest whatever else she had from her by force. A memory of her weight and the strength of her grip cast a faint doubt on Telor’s notion of her helplessness, but under the blanket her body seemed so thin and frail. She must be very young, he thought; she was as shapeless as a boy.
A boy. The words repeated in his mind. No one would think twice about his having another servant—or an apprentice. He looked at Carys again and grimaced. If only she were not so filthy. Her face was smeared and streaked with dirt and her hair so matted that it looked like a cow pat. No minstrel in his right mind would permit his apprentice…Telor’s mind backed up to the word
permit
and started a chain of thought that left him still frowning but much relieved. It would be easy to get rid of the dirt. Whether the girl would be able to keep her mouth shut and play the role designed for her was another matter.
Jump one ditch at a time, he reminded himself. The first step would be to get the dirt off her. There was no bathhouse in the village, and he did not trust the girl to wash thoroughly. Also, she might not be able to stand yet, so he could not take her outside and pour water from the well over her. Telor’s frown deepened and he went out to consult the alewife, whom he had seen that morning collecting the night soil from the privy to spread on her garden, and that consultation had resulted in the tub, usually used for mixing the mash, and the hot water.
Of course he had had to tell the alewife a tale about how the girl had got so dirty. At least Carys’s eager look had fitted perfectly with his lie, Telor thought, as the woman finished emptying the second bucket and went out to get cold water to add to the tub. She had shooed her husband out ahead of her. Telor grinned. She had a fast hold on her man and seemingly did not intend to allow anything to endanger it—not even so unappetizing a morsel as Carys. But just in case he had misinterpreted the girl’s expression and it did not indicate eagerness to bathe…
“Yes, the bath is for you,” Telor said softly as soon as he was sure the woman and her husband were far enough away. “I told the alewife that you had fallen off my horse and down a hillside and that was how you got so dirty. Come, take off your clothes. The woman is bringing cold water, and you should be ready to get into the tub at once, for it will take a long time and the water will cool fast.”
As he spoke, Carys’s eager interest had changed to grateful approval and then to openmouthed bewilderment. She had not understood the first sentence because, as she watched the alewife and her husband leave, her eyes had swept over the table again and she had recognized Deri. She had been about to laugh at herself for so quickly thinking the worst when Telor’s voice startled her. His second sentence made perfect sense. It would have been dangerous to admit to the alewife that she was a fugitive who might bring down on them a neighboring lord’s vengeance. The third sentence seemed logical, too, at first—she had been expecting Telor’s sexual demand—but all the rest made no sense at all.
Because Carys was accustomed to a woman’s paying for favors with her body—less from personal experience than from observation—she connected taking her clothes off and the tub easily enough, but connected them along the path she had been thinking. “In the tub?” she asked in a stunned voice. “How can it possibly be done in the tub?”
“It will be a tight fit,” Telor admitted, “but you are small and thin. We will manage.”
“Must it be in the tub?” she protested. “I am sore all over.”
Carys knew she would be in a perilous situation if she were abandoned, but if Telor only liked to couple under such strange circumstances, perhaps her fate would be worse in his company than alone.
“I cannot see any other way to do it,” Telor insisted somewhat impatiently. “I do not think you can stand up the whole time—your ankle is not strong enough. Now do not argue anymore. Here comes the woman with the water. Come, take off your clothes.”
Slowly Carys reached up to the tie of her gown. To her relief, the bow had knotted and then pulled tight during the experiences of the previous afternoon and night. Her hands were clumsy too, the palms scabbed and swollen, and she was able to work at the knot until the alewife had emptied one bucket and a little from the second into the tub, stirring and testing with her hand. When the woman was gone, Carys dropped her hands.