The Rope Dancer

by Roberta Gellis

  “Come up into the tree with me. We can eat while we talk about it.”

  “I am frightened out of my wits too,” Deri said when they had climbed up and settled themselves into the crotch of the tree, making clear that he had been listening and probably watching them also. He helped them spread out Carys’s tunic and picked out a bulb, but he looked at Telor as he peeled it. “I thought you wanted to be safe until the search for us died down and then go. Telor, I know your grief for Eurion, but he was an old man. Only a few years were lost from his life—”

  “Will you listen to me?” Telor begged, his voice a trifle indistinct as he hungrily took alternate bites of mushroom and wild onion.

  “Every time I listen to you, I end up in trouble,” Deri grumbled, but he fell silent after that, looking bright-eyed and expectant. Deri enjoyed trouble; he had little to lose.

  “Leave aside for the moment the question of Orin’s fate,” Telor began. “You are both right in thinking we cannot accomplish that yet. Consider instead our present condition. We have lost everything.”

  “I have my rope,” Carys said. “You have a lute and a harp—I suppose you can play that one, even if it is old—and whatever of value is in the harp. Deri does not really need motley to play the fool, so we are well enough for a livelihood.”

  She had a purpose in trying to cheer Telor. Although it was true that their problems were all his fault, he was the kind rather to blame himself too much than to seek to escape blame. Thus, it was more important to try to divert him from this new insanity, which sounded worse than any before.

  Telor looked at her and smiled faintly. “You are the most cheerful and uncomplaining creature in adversity, Carys. In a way, you put me to shame, but I am afraid I am too fond of my creature comforts, and I do not think Deri would like going on foot.”

  “That’s true enough,” Carys admitted, and grinned at Deri. “Sorry, I always forget.”

  “I thank you for that,” Deri answered, glancing at her and then looking back at Telor.

  Carys’s casual indifference to his deformity brought a brief flash of memory: Mary had never seemed able to remember his short legs either. A pang of simultaneous pain and pleasure stabbed him—the pleasure of being able to think about Mary without feeling he must go mad or die, the pain of loss that still remained and he thought always would.

  “There is no way to get our horses out of Marston,” Deri said warningly. “That is not trouble, it is suicide.”

  “I know.” Telor nodded agreement. “And there is not enough in the harp to buy mounts and clothes and tent cloths—”

  Carys was sure Telor was planning no good, and Deri was looking more interested than apprehensive, so she swallowed a rose hip hastily, resolved to try to bring some reason into the discussion.

  “Is there enough to buy a suitable gown for your singing and a mount that could carry Deri and the baggage?” she asked pointedly. “If we had that, we could soon earn enough to buy the rest.”

  “There is and there is not enough.” Telor shook his head as Carys seemed to be about to interrupt again. “Do you not remember saying it would not be wise for Deri to pay for food without earning the money? We are back to the same problem. I do not fit the role I must play. Carys, if I walked into town dressed in these torn and bloody rags I am wearing and tried to sell a jeweled ring or a gold bracelet to a respectable goldsmith, what would happen?”

  “You would be hanged,” she answered, shuddering. “But in a large town, there are those who ask no questions about a pretty gewgaw—”

  “And pay a tenth the true value,” Deri put in. “I can see Telor’s point. None of us could get the value of what we have, and if we take less, we could not get enough to buy what we need. My clothes are almost as bad as Telor’s, and a dwarf not known to the townsfolk…You were the one to say I would be suspect, Carys, even in decent clothes.”

  “And boy or girl, decent clothes or not, I am not old enough to be entrusted with the selling of gold.” Carys sighed. “Very well, what deviltry is in your head?”

  Telor laughed and leaned forward and kissed her. “It is nothing to do with you.” He looked at Deri and said hastily, “What is wrong, Deri?”

  The dwarf looked back, blinking exaggeratedly to free his eyes of tears and sniffing. “The onion,” he explained. Then asked, “What is in your head?”

  “The four men-at-arms that went by,” Telor replied slowly, wondering whether the expression of pain that he had seen could possibly have been caused by the hot sting of a raw onion. If not, Deri had warned him off and the best thing was to provide something else to think about. “I think they came from Marston,” he said briskly, “even though they wore no man’s colors. It seems impossible to me that four likely-looking men would be going west when the king’s army is no more than twenty miles southeast of us, at Faringdon.”

  Deri gave his whole mind to what Telor was saying. “Most likely they are Orin’s men,” he agreed. “I do not understand why they did not wear his colors, but if they do come from Marston, they were not seeking us—”

  “I think those men are riding our horses,” Telor said softly, a most peculiar smile curving his lips.

  “No,” Carys protested, wondering how Telor could possibly confuse Surefoot and Doralys with any of the horses she had seen.

  “Hmm…” Deri mused as if Carys had not spoken. “We would have the advantage of surprise, but even if I brought one down with my sling—and I am not so sure my aim will be what it should be with this new sling—that still leaves three against two of us. And there is another problem, Telor. If I bring down the first man, the others will be warned. But perhaps I could bring down two from behind…”

  “I think I can knock one off his horse with a good push from my staff, if I leap out suddenly from the side,” Telor said. “With any luck, he will fall against the other or the other horse, and—”

  “You are mad, both of you,” Carys cried. “They have bows and swords. They are armored. They will kill you!”

  “No, that is not likely,” Deri replied soothingly. “I do not remember seeing bows, and anyway, in a surprise a bow is useless. It takes too long to string. I do not think they would even try to follow us. This is a bad kind of wood for horses. There are many young trees close together and too much underbrush. If we fail, it is more likely they will ride back to Marston and bring back a large party to scour the woods on foot.”

  “And then where will we be?” Carys asked bitterly.

  “Well away,” Telor said. “There is a tree down on the riverbank. It must have fallen in the storm yesterday. One good tug will free the roots, and we can push it into the river, hold to it, and float downstream.”

  “Well thought of,” Deri remarked, and went on to discuss details of where he and Telor should lie in wait for the men and how they could prevent the horses from bolting back to Marston.

  Carys kept quiet, far from convinced that either man would survive, but she knew from previous experience that nothing she could do or say would convince them to give up this insane enterprise. Carys looked from one absorbed face to the other and wondered whether all men were mad.

  “Now, Carys,” Telor said, placing his hand gently on her cheek, “I know you are frightened, but there is no need. What you will do is make the harp and the clothes and your rope into what will look like a respectable bundle and walk into Creklade. We will ride there and seek you when we have the horses.”

  “And if you do not come?” Carys asked. And before either could answer, she laughed. “Is there nothing I can do to turn you from this madness? No? I guessed not. You do not think it is mad to try to bring down four armed men? Very well. Three will do better than two. I might be able to take out a man with a thrown knife, but I could be more sure by dropping from an overhanging branch and cutting his throat. I think I could jump off the horses before—”

  “No!” The simultaneous roar silenced her. Carys looked from one indignant face to the other.

&nb
sp; “This is no work for you,” Telor said. “I do not wish you to be endangered.”

  Deri was somewhat startled by his own protest. He had, only a moment earlier, suggested to Telor that Carys draw a light tree and brush barricade across the road out of sight of their ambush to divert the horses into the woods where they would be easier to catch if they should bolt. But the image of the direct risk she would take by trying to kill one of the men on her own had made him an instant convert to Telor’s notion of sending her away.

  Carys shook her head. “I will not go and you cannot make me go. It would be better to tell me how I can be most useful to you.”

  “You have done enough for us,” Telor said, taking her hand and kissing it.

  “You are mistaken,” Carys spat. “I have done nothing for you. I know you think I saved you in Marston out of gratitude and loyalty. You are wrong! I risked my neck for my own sake, not for yours. I did it because I am more afraid to be alone than to die, and so I still feel.”

  Carys saw that they did not believe she had acted for her own good rather than theirs, that her outburst, which she had thought would free them of life debt—it certainly would have freed Morgan or any other man she had known—had only deepened their conviction that she was unselfishly loyal. She laughed again, as much at herself as at them, because their disbelief was binding her closer and closer. In the end, because Telor and Deri were what they were, they would make her into what they believed she was.

  “I will help you, will you nill you,” she said, half laughing, half exasperated, “so you had better tell me how, or I will plan a way myself that might spoil your plans.”

  Alarm sprang into both pairs of eyes, which had been fixed on her with besotted fondness.

  “Carys,” Telor protested, “have you forgotten how sick it made you to shed that guard’s blood in Marston? Are you so eager now to kill? Will it not content you to do as Deri suggested?”

  “I did not hear what Deri said,” Carys admitted. “I was too busy thinking of my misfortune in being so kindly treated by two lunatics that I have caught their malady. No, do not tell me again that you do not want me to take part. We are together in this as in all things, now and henceforward. What is it that you think I can best do, Deri?”

  So the dwarf repeated his suggestion about the brush barricade, and Carys agreed at once, seeing that it was not a make-work task to keep her busy and out of danger. By then they had finished their meal, and Telor and Deri thought that the men-at-arms they had seen must have reached Creklade. If the men were from Marston, Telor said, he thought that they were pretending to be unattached men-at-arms to get information for Orin. He believed that Orin was training new men and hoped to enlist other mercenary troops when the siege at Faringdon ended to make another attack on Creklade. In the meantime, Orin hoped to keep secret the fact that he had taken Marston. That was why he had to discover whether Telor and Deri had passed through the town or taken shelter in it and, if they had, whether they had informed the townsfolk that their enemy was now lodged in Marston. If the men-at-arms were Orin’s, they should return on the road within a few hours. If they were not from Marston, they would not return and would be safe.

  Telor was sure, however, that sooner or later Orin would send out men, so their preparations would not be wasted in any case. Final polish of the plan depended on the road itself, so they came down from the tree and began to walk toward Creklade, Deri stopping when they reached the little brook to seek out suitable small stones for his sling. They hoped it would still be some time before the men-at-arms returned, but Telor carried his quarterstaff and Carys her rope. Both men frowned when she said she would take it, and Deri asked why openly, to which she replied that she would not again be parted from it, for without it she was nothing. Telor kissed her and said she could never be nothing, that even without her craft she was a pearl beyond price, but he thought he understood what she felt and he said so.

  What Telor said and the way he said it silenced Deri, but the dwarf still frowned at Carys suspiciously. His mind, Deri thought, was not all muddled up with love songs about the perfection of women. He believed that Carys did not wish to be parted from her rope, but there was something about her reply that reminded him of his dear Mary when she was making plans she wanted to keep secret.

  The suspicion was soon buried when they came upon a stretch of road seemingly made for their purpose. A huge boulder thrust out into the straight path caused a short but sharp curve, and before and behind that curve the road was narrower than usual because most people instinctively formed a single file to go around the boulder. The brush that lined the road had overgrown the verge for a short stretch from the boulder to where the road widened again, which would permit Telor to hide much closer to the road and enhance his chance of surprising a rider. From there, the road ran quite straight for a distance, and that was all Deri needed. He could conceal himself anywhere, step out into the road silently, and let lose a stone.

  Their first business was to build the barricade. There was more than enough brushy undergrowth to be woven into the branches of a fallen beech sapling, which was long enough to bar the road at its narrowest point. Propped up, the barricade was nearly four feet high. It was extremely flimsy; any rider would see at once that his horse could push right through or jump it without danger—but a riderless horse would stop or turn aside, reason not being one of the strong points of a horse.

  The device was not heavy. Carys could grab it by the roots of the sapling, steady it so the brush would remain upright, and drag it across the road as soon as she heard any shouting; all of them had agreed that the barricade must be set up only when the men-at-arms were actually at hand. They did not wish to block the road to any other traveler to prevent damage to their device and also for fear the travelers would report what they had found at either Creklade or Marston. Once the sapling was put in place, Carys only had to stay hidden, and there would be no danger. If one of the men escaped Telor and Deri, Carys was ordered to let him go.

  Carys had other plans. She did not intend to allow any man to pass her. They were no more than a mile from Marston. If even one man escaped, a whole troop would be back in no time. She and her companions would be fleeing for their lives with Orin’s men virtually, or actually, on their heels. If, on the other hand, no one escaped, they would have some hours before Orin grew alarmed. Even then, he might well blame the townsfolk of Creklade for the loss of his men.

  In the shelter of the brush beside the road, Carys finished cutting away at the bottom roots of the sapling to stabilize it. When she pushed gently at the brush attached to it, there was still a tendency to tip, and she wove in a few more branches at the bottom to prop the structure upright. Then she peered around the roadside growth and listened. One small party, farmers with a creaking cart, had passed since they had come down from the tree, but the road seemed empty now.

  On one side of the road, Carys fastened the end of her rope to the sturdier oak upon which the uprooted sapling had been resting. Then she flitted across the road and found a tree opposite the oak. It was not as strong an anchor as she wanted, but it was in the right place and did not break when she pulled on it with all her strength. Then there was nothing to do but glance at the sun and pray more fervently with each movement she noticed that Telor had been wrong and the men-at-arms would not return.

  As the day wore on, that seemed more and more likely to her, and she was almost drowsing when a yell of rage almost simultaneous with a shriek of pain brought her out into the road in a single leap, with one hand lifting and pulling at the upturned roots of the sapling and the other paying out her rope. There were more shouts and cries, and Carys sobbed with fear as she gave the sapling one last desperate tug, for the burden was heavier and more unwieldy than she expected. Then it struck. There was a gap, but Carys was too frightened to struggle longer. She was sure she would be overrun by the enraged men, and she leapt for the shelter of the brush on the other side.

  In that illusion
of safety, the actions Carys had rehearsed over and over in her mind took hold of her. She pulled her rope as tight as she could and wound three turns of it around the little oak. Then, although she heard hooves, her eyes remained fixed on the rope, making a loop, pushing that through one of the turns, pushing another loop through the first, and tugging hard.

  She had no time for a more secure knot. The rope was torn from her hand as a terrific blow struck it, bending the tree out toward the road. She cried out with fear, but the compulsion of her fixed plan held, and when she heard a scream, abruptly cut off, she ran forward, her knife in her hand.

  A horse was down, floundering in the brush, and beyond the barrier a man lay in the road. Carys hesitated for one instant, sobbing again as she remembered the terrible feeling of blood pouring over her hand when she killed the guard. Passing the knife to her left hand, she stooped to pick up a stone and approached cautiously—but the man was not stirring, not even twitching, and then she saw that his head was bent at an impossible angle. Relieved, she backed away as the horse heaved itself to its feet, and she ran around the barrier to catch its rein. Her hand closed on the smooth leather, but when Carys tried to pull the frightened animal toward the wood, it whinnied and resisted. She swallowed hard, preparing herself to speak in a soothing voice, but she had no chance—another horse was coming.

  Chapter 16

  “Carys!”

  The bellow froze her in place, and then she screamed, “Stop! Telor, stop!” thinking he would hit the rope and be killed too.

  But Telor had not been coming toward her at as headlong a pace as her terror had made it seem. He was able to check his mount easily before he reached the rope. By then, he had taken in the trembling horse, pulling back on the rein Carys held, and beyond the animal the still body in the road. He flung himself off his mount and snatched the rein of the dead man’s horse away from Carys, interposing his own body between her and the frightened animal, which had tried to rear. Clucking and crooning to the beast, he stretched his other arm out for Carys, and she ran into the refuge offered, shuddering and laughing at the same time.