A Wizard In War

by Christopher Stasheff

  Dirk muttered to Gar, "Interesting to see what survived from the original colonists." Gar nodded, and Coll wondered what they were talking about.

  "That it will, that it will!" The landlord nodded and held out a hand. "I am Eotin. How much would you charge to let folk into the yard to see the play?"

  "Only a shilling, sir."

  "That's usual." The landlord nodded judiciously. "We share it shilling for shilling?"

  "Of every two, one for you and one for me," Androv clarified, "with two meals a day, and rooms while we stay." Eotin shook his head. "Rooms only for the leading players. The rest can sleep under the carts, as they do on the road."

  "Well, if it must be, it must," Androv sighed, overdoing it. "Shall we perform this afternoon, landlord?"

  Eotin looked startled. "Can you, so soon?"

  Androv grinned, and several of the players laughed. "Give us bread and ale and a few hours' time, and we shall have your play fitted. Where shall we set up our stage?"

  "There, of course, opposite the gate." The landlord pointed. "A few hours is scarcely time enough to spread the word and rent the courtyard rooms at the higher rate, but it should send rumor buzzing through the town to work harder than bees. Yes, by all means, a short play this afternoon("

  "We shall set to it," Androv promised. "If you could send the bread and ale of which you spoke . . ."

  "Yes, of course!" Eotin nodded and turned toward the kitchens.

  Androv turned back to the drivers. "Bartholomew! Chester( Back the carts up where he showed you!"

  A hostler appeared by Dirk's stirrup. "Shall I stable your horse, player?"

  "Huh? Oh, sure!" Dirk dismounted, yanked his saddlebags off, and let the hostler lead his horse away while he turned to help Mama down. Coll helped Dicea, to her annoyance, and stableboys led the ponies off. The two carts backed up tailgate to tailgate next to the inn wall. Androv held up a hand with a shout as the two bumped together. Other players set wedges under the wheels and drove them in tight with hammers, then climbed up and began to unload the carts, swinging the trunks down to other players on the ground. In minutes, the two carts were empty. Then the players on the carts pulled the sides, front, and tailgates out of the holes in the floor that held them and handed them down to the men on the ground, who passed timbers back up. The men on top fitted the timbers into the holes that had held the sides, fitted crosspieces between them, and started hanging curtains.

  "Have you ever heard of trade unions?" Dirk asked Gar.

  "Heard of them, yes," Gar answered. "These guys haven't."

  Coll wondered what a union was. He had only heard the priest use the term, and then only when he spoke of marriage--"holy union." Could Dirk and Gar mean these players were bonded in a sort of marriage? And if they were, could it be holy by any stretch of the imagination?

  The players were hanging a second curtain in front of the first now. When they were done, one of them pulled on a rope, and the curtains parted. Coll stared in surprise, and Dicea clapped her hands in delight. "How clever!"

  The player with the rope pulled it a second time; the curtains closed, and he nodded in satisfaction. "Our stage is set. How is the tiring house?"

  "Done and ready," Victor called from below. Dicea frowned. "What is a tiring house?"

  "The place where the players change costumes," Androv told them. "Would you like to see it?"

  "Oh, yes!" Dicea exclaimed, and Androv led them behind the carts. Victor was just finishing fitting a run of steps into the front of one of the carts; the one on the other side was already in place, and Alma stood at the top, hanging curtains on a set of pegs that stuck out from the top of a timber. Victor stepped aside, and Elaine climbed up to take the far side of the curtain and begin to hang it.

  "The players will climb up and down the steps to make their entrances and exits," Androv told them, "and pass through slits in the curtains at the bottom." He led them inside, and they found themselves in a space about twelve feet by eight. Against each wall, a crossbar hung from the uprights with pegs along its length. Elspeth and Drue were hanging up costumes.

  Dicea looked about her wide-eyed, but Mama clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Anyone in a room above can look down and see the women as they disrobe!"

  "They wouldn't see much," Drue told her with a laugh. "We never wear less than our shifts during a performance. We only change robes on the outside."

  Victor laughed, too, as he set aside his spade and reached up to catch a long, five-inch-thick pole Constantine was handing down to him. He set its base into the hole he had been digging. "We'll hang a roof from this, good woman, and make a proper pavilion of the whole thing. Don't worry-not even a bird will be able to see in from above."

  "It would spoil the illusion if they saw us changing," Androv explained.

  "What lovely dresses!" Eyes shining, Dicea reached out to touch a velvet gown.

  "Ah, please don't, lass." Androv reached out to intercept her hand. "That belongs to Catharine herself, not to the company."

  Catharine looked up at the sound of her name. She was middle-aged, like Mama. "Are your hands clean, lass?" Dicea glanced at her hands, then nodded. "They are, Mistress."

  "Then go ahead and touch it. It is lovely cloth, isn't it? That was given me by a duchess's maid, for her mistress had just cast it away, and the maid could not wear such rich stuffs, of course."

  "But actresses can?" Dicea asked, eyes wide. "Yes, but only when we're playing a part."

  "Then I must be an actress!" Dicea exclaimed.

  The players laughed, and she looked around wide-eyed and reddening-but Androv only nodded gravely. "I've heard of worse reasons for wanting to tread the boards of a stage. But there's a great deal of hard work in it, lass-and a great deal of learning to do, if you really want it"

  "I do!" Dicea cried. "And I've a lifetime of hard work before me no matter what I do!"

  "But you may not have the gift of mimicry," Androv cautioned her.

  "And you may tire of fending off the attentions of noblemen and their gentry," Duse told her with a dark glance at Magda, who glared back. "Some of them take actresses for strumpets, you know."

  Dicea shrugged angrily. "The lords and knights will take us for their strumpets no matter what we do."

  "Dicea!" Mama gasped.

  "Why not say it, Mama?" Dicea said scornfully. "It's only by Coll's fighting for me that I escaped, the one time that I was too late feigning' dowdiness and dullness."

  Ciare turned, staring. "You can make yourself appear to be so unattractive that the knights pass you by?"

  "Doesn't every serf girl learn the trick of it?" Dicea asked.

  "No-most only try." Claire turned to Androv. "Perhaps she does have the gift, after all."

  Dicea stared, then smiled in delight She whirled to Gar. "And what part will you play, sir knight?"

  "What part, indeed?" Duse gave him a sleepy, inviting look.

  Gar smiled, amused. "Defender of Innocence."

  They all laughed, but Androv only smiled, nodding shrewdly. "That might do, young sir, that just might do. Not of innocence, perhaps, but a defender? Oh, yes, you might do that quite well-if you were willing."

  Gar turned to him, still smiling. "Just what did you have in mind, Master Androv?"

  9

  The performance began early in the afternoon. The landlord, Eotin, had sent his stableboys to the market to spread the word, and the audience started filing in as the sun neared the zenith. Androv's youngest players-boys, really-stood at the gates to collect pennies from everyone who entered. One or two men tried to push past the boys without paying, but each time, Gar stepped out in front of the man, rumbling, "I think you forgot to pay the boy, goodman."

  "Wha . . . ? Oh, yes! So I have!" And the gate-crasher turned back to pay his score, grumbling under his breath. Androv stood by, nodding in admiration. "Well done, my friend, very well done indeed. Usually one of us stands by to back up the boys, but you're far more effective." Gar shrugged.
"Sometimes ugliness has its advantages."

  "You, ugly?" Androv glanced up at him keenly. "Some of our young women think otherwise. I'd take it as a favor if you ignored their charms, friend Gar."

  "To do otherwise would surely be no act of friendship." Gar smiled. "I assure you that, unlike the law, I am a respecter of persons."

  When the innyard was full, Androv slipped around behind the back of the crowd with the boys and Gar, to the tiring house.

  There, turmoil met them. "Master Androv!" Elspeth cried, "Jonathan is ill! "

  "Ill indeed." Mama stepped up, nodding. "His forehead is hot, and he's racked with stomach pains. Something bad in his food, I doubt not."

  "Will he be all right?" Androv asked in alarm.

  "I think so, but we'll have to keep watch over him. And it will be at least three days before he's well, perhaps a whole week."

  "Well, that's a relief." The chief player relaxed, then suddenly stiffened again. "Who will play the knight?"

  "Why, Axel can," Elspeth said.

  "The armor won't fit him! It won't fit anyone but Jonathan!" Master Androv tugged his beard in frustration. "Let me think! What can we do?"

  "Do you really need the knight?" Gar asked.

  "Of course we need the knight! Who else will lead the villagers against the giant?"

  "That much, Axel can do," Gar said.

  "How ridiculous! A mere peasant, lead others against a monster? No one would ever believe it! The audience would boo us off the stage!"

  "On the contrary, it's completely believable," Gar told him. "Try it. At the worst, the audience will be so surprised they won't say anything at all."

  "It would be new, it would be alive!" Axel's eyes glittered with anticipation. "Let me try it, Master Androv!"

  "We haven't much choice, have we?" Androv sighed. "Very well, lads-Axel shall lead the peasants against the giant. Now quickly, into costume and onto the stage, before the crowd tears us apart with impatience!"

  A few minutes later, the boys, resplendent in tarnished tabards that had once graced a duke's heralds, stepped out on the stage with trumpet and drum to beat a quick tattoo accompanied by a loud, if somewhat off key, fanfare. The crowd quieted a bit, and Androv stepped out on the stage to begin the prologue. "Hearken, good people! Attend and see! The tale of Gargantua on our stage shall be!"

  A murmur of anticipation ran through the audience. Coll was in an excellent place to hear it, for it was his task to work his way through the crowd, keeping a sharp eye for rotten fruit and overly enthusiastic admirers of actresses, not to mention those overly fond of ale. Unfortunately, there was plenty of fruit and ale both, for the landlord's serving maids were twisting their way among the spectators selling their wares-from one glance at a fruit tray, Coll could see Eotin was taking advantage of the opportunity to get rid of some of his outdated merchandise.

  But it was so difficult for Coll to keep his eyes on the people about him when Ciare and Duse were stepping so lightly about the stage in their finery, discussing the horrible giant who was nearing their village. Their movements were graceful, their gowns low-cut, so Coll was hard-put to restrict himself to quick glances at the pretty actresses and spend most of his time watching the customers. Still, he managed it, seeing Androv come out to try to shoo the girls away, for the giant was coming. They shooed, but as soon as Androv had hurried away, they came back, giggling at the fun of lying in wait to see the giant.

  Then he came, Gargantua himself, and the whole audience gasped with fright at the sight. So did Coll, stunned by the enormous size, the bulging naked muscles, and the horrifying mask. Then he remembered that "Gargantua" was only his master Gar, and relaxed-mostly; at the back of his mind was the nagging realization of something he had forgotten, that Gar really was that huge, that formidable.

  Well, not quite that huge. He wore three-inch soles on his boots, and the mask rose up a foot above the top of his head, making him look far taller than he really was.

  He shambled over to Ciare and reached out, caressing her hair. She stood trembling a moment, then screamed and ran-or tried to; Gargantua caught her arm, and she twisted against his pull, falling to the floor. Duse dropped to her knees, hands to her cheeks, and cried, "She's dead! You horrible monster, you've killed her!" and ran screaming from the stage. Alone, Gar knelt, almost breaking his ankle in those thick-soled shoes, and reached out to touch Ciare's hair again, then lifted her head, lifted her arm ... Coll realized the giant was trying to make the girl dance with him again. When he realized he couldn't, his shoulders sagged, and his whole body seemed one united expression of unutterable sorrow. The audience quieted, amazed at the monster's tenderness, and heard one muffled sob.

  Then Gargantua rose, fumbled in a pouch at his side, and brought out a mouse. Several women gave little screams, and several men gave exclamations of disgust, before they realized it was only a puppet. The little creature frisked to and fro on Gargantua's palm, and he reached out a finger to pet it gently. His huge frame straightened; his whole body seemed to lighten, to cheer up. Restored, he put the mouse back in his pouch and stumped off the stage again.

  Thus the story went-Gargantua always trying to be friendly, always seeking to touch in affection, but always destroying, never understanding his own strength. After each encounter, he sought solace by playing with the mouse again, even after three men banded together and came at him with flails. But at last he petted the mouse too hard, and it broke. Then Gargantua let out a howl of unutterable grief, sank to his knees-and rose with anger and hatred. It was then that Axel shouted to the other peasants, harangued them, telling them they must save themselves, and led a charge against Gargantua with swords, scythes, whatever weapons came to hand.

  The giant turned to strike out against the pack. He hurled them from him, one after another, until they all leaped upon him together, flailing and stabbing. The audience went wild, cheering and booing-some for the peasants, some for Gargantua. At last, the mound of churning bodies stilled, and the men rose to carry the inert body of the giant off the stage.

  Androv came back on, to thank the audience for their attention and admonish them to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt, then ending with a plea for applause. They gave him more than he asked for, and the company filed out to bow, Gar still in mask and buskins. Then, as the applause died, Androv called out, "Tomorrow, an hour after noon, the tale of the Imaginary Invalid] Good evening, friends]" He waved as the players left the stage, then followed them.

  The applause ended, and the spectators filed out of the innyard, chatting with excitement about tomorrow's play. Coll elbowed his way through them, hurrying to get back to the tiring house and see whether or not Gar had collapsed from the strain.

  He hadn't; he was grinning, the mask in his hands, as his fellow players heaped praise and acclaim on him.

  "You were excellent, Sir Gar!" Duse stepped up right against him, eyes shining. "I have never seen so moving a giant!"

  Gar laughed with pleasure. "Yes, but if you had seen my face, I'll warrant you wouldn't have been half so imressed! "

  "Oh, I'm sure we would have]" Elspeth crowded in, also right up against him. "Your every movement, your every grunt and growl spoke oceans of emotions!"

  "Why, thank you]" Gar inclined his head, but kept the mask in his hands. "If I had been given a word to speak, though, I'm sure I would have shamed us all!"

  "Well, you didn't!" Dicea crowded in, too, closer than she ever would have dared if she hadn't seen the actresses do it. "You were noble, overwhelming!"

  "Really, most excellently done!" Androv stepped up, shooing the girls away, and clapped Gar on the shoulder. "It was a stroke of genius to have Axel lead the peasants! Did you hear how that audience cheered them? How did you know they would?"

  "Why, I didn't know, of course," Gar replied, "but I've learned that no one likes to see anything so much as himself-if that self is disguised a bit."

  Androv nodded slowly, interest kindling in his eye. "Are you su
re you've never acted before?"

  "Not on a stage, no." Gar was still grinning. "And I beg you, don't make me do it again-at least not in any part that has lines."

  "Give the man a stoup of ale!" Androv cried, and steered him toward his clothing. "Come, pull on your garments, and let us tell you of the next work we have in mind for you. No, not on the stage, don't worry; the Imaginary Invalid has no part for a giant."

  "I should think not!" Gar laughed, and the two of them were off to chat as Gar pulled his clothes back on. Disappointed, Dicea stepped over to Dirk, batting her eyelashes. "Shall you be a player, too, sir?"

  Coll wondered when his sister was going to make up her mind-and whether or not it would do her any good. "Only in the right game," Dirk said, grinning, "and for the right stakes."

  "Oh? And what stakes are those, sir?" she said with a saucy smile, stepping a little closer.

  Dirk abruptly sobered. "Peace, and the end of all these wars the noblemen wage. Freedom would be a nice added fillip, but I'll settle for one thing at a time."

  Dicea stared, taken aback by the enormity of it. Then she recovered, gave him a look of mock exasperation, and said, "You can become so stuffy so easily, Sir Dirk!"

  "Indeed," Ciare said, stepping up to Coll's side. "Can you be playful, sir, even though your master is not?"

  Dicea flashed her a look of annoyance, but Coll favored her with a long look and an intent smile. Her eyes met his directly, and he felt as though some force was speeding from her into himself, making his whole body thrum like a fiddle string. "What game did you have in mind?"

  "Ducks and drakes," Ciare answered, just as Dicea said, "Roundelays," and they were off into a three-way contest that featured hidden meanings and not-so-subtle innuendos. Coll found himself wondering whether he was really a player-or only a referee.

  The next day, Elspeth and Duse vied for the honor of showing Gar his duties when he wasn't acting; diplomatically, he stated that he needed both points of view and strolled about the innyard with one on each arm. Ciare stayed out of that competition, only guiding Coll to show him his duties. Of course, Gar really didn't need a halfhour's tour and explanation of how to hold the horses of the gentry while they watched the play, and Coll certainly didn't need anywhere near an hour's coaching on how to roll a rock across a sheet of iron to mimic the sound of thunder. Coll did have to admit that he was asking for far more detailed explanations than he needed to, but he noticed that Dicea kept dropping in on Dirk from time to time with one unnecessary question after another, so he felt justified.