The Rope Dancer

by Roberta Gellis

  Telor had no time for such amusing conjectures the day of the tourney, though. He was busy during the jousts, declaiming the ancient and glorious lineage, the brilliant courage, the unmatched prowess (quite regardless of the truth in some cases, but rigidly according to custom) of those knights who paid him to be their pursuivant. He was flattered—but not pleased—by being asked by both in all but one case, not pleased because sometimes a refusal meant that a grudge would be held against him. In each case, he spoke for that knight who had asked him first rather than accept the highest bid, as many minstrels did. But he was very glad when, the jousts over, de Dunstanville called on him to sing a rousing battle song while the men gathered their parties for the melee.

  Sourly, Telor felt like singing them “The Battle of Maldon,” in which every fighter died for his honor where he stood. Telor himself thought it was actually out of a mixture of pure stubbornness and utter stupidity. It was only a passing cynical thought, however. Even if de Dunstanville had not murdered him for choosing to sing of such a discouraging catastrophe, “The Battle of Maldon” was a Saxon piece, and he declaimed it only in a very few, rather sad households, where the last of the English nobility clung to some shards of past wealth and glory. Instead he sang a vivid and stirring account of the battle of Hastings in which these Normans’ forefathers had conquered the land they now ruled.

  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 dangero
us 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.”

  Chapter 8

  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 leathe
r 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.