By the fifth day, Telor was suggesting he was healed and ready to move on, but Deri and Carys refused to go. It was true that the scab over the cut was hard and dry and beginning to flake off, but it was equally true that Telor’s ribs were still painful. More important, there was no special reason to leave. They had found grazing for the animals, and the weather had been unusually fair. The tent had been sufficient protection from the two light rains that had fallen. They had been able to add thin boughs and piles of bracken to the thick layer of dead needles on which Telor had first been laid, so they slept dry, raised above the worst of the wet.
Carys had more reasons to remain than Telor had to urge them to depart. For one thing, she was working in her new rope, having had Deri tie it from one tree to another across a small clearing. While she practiced on it to make it stretch to its limit, Deri tightening the knots each time it gave, she also tried out some daring new additions to her act. Carys’s devotion to her art made her unaware of how closely Telor watched her, and his shouts when she tumbled off, when trying the impossible, only annoyed her, but his praise and the warmth of his admiration woke a dangerous warmth of response.
That made her all the more eager to stay in the camp. As long as there was no chance at all of privacy, she did not need to consider what to do about her desire for Telor. Whatever urges she felt were easy to control where there was no opportunity to satisfy them. She had cursed bitterly under her breath the first time it began to rain, realizing suddenly that she had to choose to sleep beside one man or the other. In the end she chose to lie next to Telor, not because she feared him less—in fact, she did not fear Deri at all, but she feared to cause the dwarf pain. By now she loved Deri sincerely—but not the way he would wish her to love him if lying beside him woke his desire. So she chose Telor’s side, pushing boughs and bracken up into a ridge between them and lying as far from Telor as she could.
That first night, her precautions were a waste of time. Telor was still too much aware of his hurts to think of making advances, and with Deri so close, there was little likelihood of obtaining any response. The second time it rained Carys did not bother with an elaborate ritual to mark separation. She felt she had made her attitude clear the first time, and the presence of a third party held Telor back. But that night he did not sleep well, all too aware, despite his aching ribs and itching hip, of Carys sleeping beside him.
Simple lust, Telor told himself, but he no longer believed it. His admiration for what Carys was doing—and trying to do—on the rope was killing the sense of difference he had felt between them. He had not changed his opinion that players were a lower form of humanity than he was, but Carys was an artist—a great artist—in her craft. Telor had seen rope dancers, but none of them had been anything like Carys. The beauty of her body in motion, the fluid grace that balanced on a thin line, was driving his physical desire for her to a painful intensity, and that desire could not be satisfied until they found some privacy.
Deri supported Carys’s opinion that they should remain camped where they were. Of course, he wished to be sure that Telor was fully healed, but also it was so pleasant, so easy, to be here with two people who saw him only as Deri. Wherever else they went he was either Deri the dwarf, among those who knew him, or just “a dwarf,” among those who did not. He was accustomed to that, but every man needs a time to be utterly himself, apart from what life has made him, and this was the first time since he had been deprived of his family that Deri had been completely free of sidelong glances.
Deri knew eventually he would tire of it. Like Telor and Carys, he had developed a taste for displaying himself. Indeed, by the fifth day he was already slightly bored, for his act was in large part improvisation and the tumbling did not require the dedicated practice that Carys’s rope dancing did. Still, he sided with Carys and agreed Telor was not well enough healed to leave, even though Marston was little more than three leagues away. Deri saw what was growing between Carys and Telor—a blind man could have seen—and he knew it must culminate at Marston, where he was given a pallet by the fireside and Telor was honored with a chamber of his own. Nothing could be more natural than that the minstrel invite his apprentice to his chamber—and the moment they were alone they would become lovers. Deri did not want that to happen—and did not know why, because he still felt no desire for Carys himself.
On the ninth day the weather broke. They were wakened near dawn by a high wind, and soon it was pouring rain. They huddled in the shelter of the tent, but the wind lashed the branches of the tree so that the tent cloths tore free of the stones that held them on the ground, and even when they held down the cloths the rain was driven in on them. The rain ran down the trunk of the tree too, soaking the ground so thoroughly that their primitive bedding could not keep them dry. The ground all around them would be sodden for days, and the whole area would turn into a mud pit if they tried to walk and work in it.
By the time the rain eased off, all were soaked to the skin. Telor said it was ridiculous for them to sit there cold and wet when in two hours’ time they could be warm and dry in Marston and sooner than that in Creklade. No one argued with him. It was a misery to pack up their soaked belongings; the tent cloths weighed ten times what they did dry and Carys’s rope was hell to untie, but the effort kept one warm. Although Telor was slower and careful in moving, it was clear that his ribs were mending.
When they were near Creklade, it seemed the rain would stop altogether, so Telor insisted they go on. They would be lodged in clean comfort in Marston, whereas who knew what would be the state of any inn or alehouse willing to take them in. That was what he said, but what he felt was that he could not endure another night with Carys only a few feet from him and the image of her lithe body—as good as naked with the thin, sweat-soaked shift clinging to it—hanging before his eyes. Again Deri and Carys did not argue; Deri was afraid he and Carys would be recognized and thus condemned to filthy rooms and beds. Carys knew nothing of Eurion’s place in the lord of Marston’s esteem and assumed that she and Telor would be separated as they had been at Castle Combe, which would again put off her need to remain safe or satisfy her passion.
All of them regretted the decision when, just too far from Creklade to make it worthwhile to return, the storm struck them with renewed fury. Deri and Telor could hardly see through the curtains of wind-driven water, and Carys dared not lift her head, which was bowed down against Telor’s back. Under the circumstances, Telor was not much surprised to find that they had passed the little village below the rise on which the manor stood without seeing it. He was more surprised that he noticed the track that led to the place and that his shout of warning pierced the howling gale so that Deri did not run right into the gates when they arrived. There was nothing surprising in finding the gates in the wooden palisade shut. Telor knew Sir Richard did not fear his neighbors, but news of the attack on Creklade would certainly induce him to close his gate against a like surprise. Even the reluctance of the men to open the gate and let them in seemed natural enough. No one would want to come out in that wet to answer a hail, and who could hear through the fury of the storm, although Telor cried his name half a dozen times, adding “the minstrel” in case the sound of the name was garbled.
At last, long enough for someone to have told Sir Richard who was outside his gate and have him give a special order, one side of the gate was opened and they were let in. The face thrust forward into Telor’s was a hard, unfamiliar countenance, but he thought nothing of that, simply shouting that they would take shelter in the stable, which was close by, until the worst of the storm abated.
Telor and Deri first realized something was wrong when the grooms did not hurry forward to greet them. There were several new horses in the stable too, and as the men dismounted, they exchanged worried glances.
“There is trouble here, I think,” Telor said softly to Carys as she slid down from Teithiwr. “I fear we are too late with our warning and Marston is in new hands.”
Chapt
er 12
Carys stiffened with panic, remembering all too clearly what had happened when she and Ulric went into a newly taken keep. But while Telor was speaking to her, Deri had called out in a perfectly calm voice to one of the grooms, “Can we take our horses to the back?”
“Wherever there is space,” the man replied, shortly but not uncivilly, as he walked away, and even Carys realized his manner held no threat.
Fear remained, but it slipped well below the surface of her thoughts, through which flickered a kind of amused gratitude for the general laziness of all those who served others. Help was the last thing any of them wanted, since they needed privacy to decide what to do.
“I think we must at least seem to unpack,” Deri murmured as they led the beasts away from the cluster of men gambling in the stable entry. “Everything seems peaceful enough here, but to try to leave again in this weather will arouse suspicion against us.”
“You might as well unpack in earnest,” Telor said, his face rigid. “I am deeply sorry if Sir Richard has lost Marston, but there is no way we can help him now, and we must get dry. I think it will be safe. The new master cannot wish us harm, and the men-at-arms look to be well controlled.” He turned Teithiwr toward a space between two of the barn posts to give himself a chance to look back at the men. “But, Deri”—his voice dropped even lower so that Carys, only a few steps away, could hardly hear him—“I do not see one familiar face among those men. I do not like that.”
“That space is too small,” Deri said loudly and with a touch of sullenness. He knew Telor wanted to be farther away, near the far wall, and he wanted to speak about something the men could hear. “We will never squeeze all three in there.”
“Why do they all need to be together?” Telor asked sharply, picking up Deri’s intention at once. “Just to save you a few steps?”
“Yes, because your few steps are a great many more for me,” Deri replied with a laugh.
“So they are,” Telor agreed, laughing too, as if a minor quarrel had been patched up, and then went on in a lower voice. “I must find out what has happened to Eurion. I could not see much sign of destruction in the keep. Sir Richard was old. Mayhap he just died.”
Deri shook his head. They were now in the space between the last post and the side wall of the stable and knew they could not be seen or heard if they kept their voices low. “I wish it was so, for your sake, but why would the new man send away the old servants?”
“You must be right,” Telor admitted. “It is more likely that Sir Richard would have yielded and been driven out. The servants might have gone with him, I think. He was greatly beloved. Eurion would certainly have gone with him, but I must make sure. If Sir Richard tried to defend the place and was killed…”
“Would Eurion have stayed with his patron’s slayer?” Deri asked.
Telor sighed. “I wish I knew. I cannot tell you how often he pounded it into my head that a traveling minstrel must take no sides. If Sir Richard had been killed in the battle but not by the hand of the new lord, there is a chance Eurion would have remained here, knowing that I would soon come.”
“But then what happened to the manor servants?” Deri persisted, feeling that all was not well and trying to warn Telor not to delude himself.
Telor went to Teithiwr’s head and began to remove the bit. Dim light came through the open space under the eaves and to Carys it looked as if Telor’s face had turned to stone, it was so grey and hard. There was a short silence during which she began to unstrap the bundles on Doralys. She did not care what had happened to Eurion, but she was sensitive enough to the men’s attitude to know that it would do no good at all to protest that they should leave as soon as the storm abated.
“I imagine they have all been sold, possibly Eurion too,” Telor said. “When this new lord discovered, as no doubt he soon did, that there is no loot in this place, only scrolls and books, he might have taken what profit he could and at the same time rid himself of people who would hate him.”
“No,” Deri said, coming around and laying his hand on Telor’s arm. “I cannot believe that Eurion would have been sold. The servants, yes. But who would buy a minstrel? And Eurion was too old for any buyer to believe he could get much work out of him. Whoever this man is, he can have done no worse than put Eurion out.”
Although Telor made no direct reply to that, the fixity of his expression relaxed a little as he said, “I hope so. I do not believe a local man can have done this. Everyone in this neighborhood knew there was nothing here worth fighting over, and I cannot think of one person who was on bad terms with Sir Richard or who was so desperate for land as to seize Marston. An outlander would not know of Eurion’s loyalty to Sir Richard and would, as you said, merely put him out, and any of the lords hereabout would give him shelter.”
“In that case,” Carys put in, looking up from where she was squatting on the ground near the wall, unrolling her blanket to see if any of the garments inside were dry, “should we not leave here as soon as the storm eases and start seeking Eurion at the nearest neighboring manor? Although all seems quiet here, I do not feel easy.”
“Nor do I,” Deri muttered. “I cannot say why. The men back there are content enough. Perhaps it is because the bailiff in Creklade told us of a captain of mercenaries who had attacked the town and been thrown back. Might he not have stumbled over Marston in his retreat and taken it before Sir Richard could get help? It is not unlikely. Marston is next along the river going east, and the bailiff said this Orin styled himself lord.”
The first shock of finding Marston in new hands being over, Telor paused to consider what Carys and Deri had said as he removed Teithiwr’s saddle. Then, with a gesture that bade them wait, he went to get straw with which to rub down all the animals. They heard him asking what to take, receiving a reply, and then going on to ask casually whether there had been a minstrel in the keep when it was taken. Carys, who had got to her feet with her good tunic and braies, which were dry, in her hand, dropped them when she saw how grim Deri’s face had become and that his hand had pulled the sling from his belt and picked a pebble from the pouch. She held her breath, her own hand poised near the hilt of her hidden right-hand knife. But no angry or suspicious counterquestions challenged Telor.
One man said gruffly that they knew nothing of the taking of the place and had seen no minstrel. Another said they had been brought from Cockswell, near Faringdon, and had been glad to come, since the king’s army had driven them out of their homes and was grazing their horses on the half-grown crops. A third agreed that Marston had been as it now was when they arrived.
“You heard?” Telor asked Carys and Deri when he came back, his arms piled with straw. He dumped his load where the animals could reach it, and Deri quickly kicked it into three rough piles as he tucked away pebble and sling. Telor pulled a handful of straw from one pile and began to wipe down his horse.
“Yes, I did,” Deri replied sharply before he started work on Surefoot, “although it is a miracle I could hear anything with my heart banging so hard in my ears. I was sure they would all run off screeching you were a spy the minute you said the place had been taken. How were you supposed to know that?”
“The way I did know it,” Telor answered, frowning. “By being a minstrel who had been here before.”
“And would a new lord think of your noticing that? More likely he would think it safest to be rid of you,” Deri snapped.
“The barons are not so bad as that,” Telor protested.
“If they are noble born and are doing what is right, most are not,” Deri agreed. “But a renegade captain lifting himself up to landowner by a conquest not approved by his betters might not be so reasonable. It would cost him nothing to hang you.”
Telor shrugged. “You might be right. I had better not ask any questions of the men-at-arms. I hoped to avoid coming face to face with the man. I liked Sir Richard and would as soon not sing for his conqueror—but I must discover what has happened to Eurion.”
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“Eurion would not have stayed with a man like Orin—” Deri began.
“Not willingly,” Telor interrupted before Deri could go on to add that it would be more sensible to search for the old minstrel outside Marston. “But I cannot take the chance that he is being held here against his will to amuse the new lord or was just thrown into the pot with the other servants if they were sold.” He hesitated and then went on slowly, “You know, Deri, there might be an innocent reason for the new servants. Eurion might still be here. As soon as the rain eases, I will go to the great hall—“
“There is no need for that,” Deri put in hastily. “I can ask questions of anyone. All I need do is put on my motley and mumble and mouth and cut a few capers. No one will believe a fool to be a spy.”
“No one will answer the questions either,” Telor said, smiling his thanks. “No, Deri.” He held up a hand to forestall further argument. “Even if you found the answers, I do not think I could avoid meeting the new lord. The men-at-arms would not let us go without his leave. I am certain someone went to tell the lord that one who said he was ‘Telor the minstrel’ had craved shelter. Since he gave permission, it is likely that he wants entertainment. All I need do is sing a few songs.”
Carys, having finished squeezing as much of the wet from Doralys as she could, had moved over to do Surefoot’s head and back, which Deri could not reach without something to climb on. She was afraid. All she wanted was to get out of this place as soon as possible, but she remembered how quick and hot Telor’s temper could be and she connected that with Deri’s efforts to prevent a meeting between Telor and the new master of Marston. If they were all there, she dancing on her rope and Deri acting the fool, they might divert the lord from any hot words Telor might speak about what had happened to Eurion.
The Rope Dancer Page 21