The Rope Dancer (11 page)

***

Deri found Carys looking at her filthy hands when he entered the stable. He was amused by her frown, remembering how untroubled she had been by what seemed like years of filth when they had picked her up by the road. Then he told himself he was being unfair. She had had other things on her mind when they found her. He also saw that all three animals had been rubbed down and realized she must have done it, since that lazy Arne would never have done more than he was asked, which was to show her how.

“You did not need to tend the beasts,” Deri said. He kept his voice low, although it was too dark to expect more guests, and there was now only one dozing groom by the entrance of the stable. “I asked Arne to show you only so the grooms should believe you were a boy.”

Carys smiled at him. “I did not mind. It was a service I could do, a small return for all you have done for me, and I like the animals. I think they like me too. The only thing is that I made my hands dirty and I think my face is all spattered with mud also. Telor will not like it. Is there some place I can wash myself before he comes back?”

Telor will not like it, Deri’s mind echoed, and leapt to the illogical, but previously demonstrated, conclusion that Carys had already developed a passion for his companion. Deri felt a mild envy of Telor’s ability to attract women, but it was of a general nature. He had no specific interest in Carys beyond a sympathy for the hard usage she had suffered and a growing liking for her as a person. Deri did not find her sharp features and thin, hard body attractive—his wife had also been small, but plump and full of breast and hip, and she had been very sweet and gentle, which Carys was not. But Deri did admire Carys’s stoic acceptance of pain and loss and her willingness to be cheerful and find pleasure in whatever was available. On balance, he wished Carys well and felt it would be best for her to be parted from Telor before she got more attached to him.

While the thoughts passed through Deri’s mind, he had agreed that it would be good for Carys to wash, had led her out to the well, and had drawn a bucket of water for her. When her hands and face were clean, or as clean as water alone would make them, they started toward the drawbridge that led to the lower bailey. Carys was walking on both feet but limping badly, and Deri suggested she use his shoulder as a crutch, which she did with brief thanks. She kept her head down and made sure the hood shadowed her face as they passed the guard, but either the man did not recognize her or he had taken to heart Telor’s warning.

When they were crossing the bridge Deri said, “I do not think that you should claim to be Telor’s apprentice unless a guard tries to put you out or there is some other strong reason.”

“Why would a guard try to put me out?” Carys asked with apprehension.

“No one will,” Deri replied, “I was only trying to give an example of the worst that could happen, a case where you would have to claim Telor’s protection. What I thought was that if you wish to join one of the troupes playing here, they should not think you are bound to Telor in any way.”

That was a good reason, and Carys nodded a swift agreement. She did not wish to need Telor’s permission to leave him, but she could not help wondering why the dwarf had brought up the subject. To be rid of her quickly; but why should he want to be rid of her? Jealousy? Oddly the idea did not ring true with regard to Deri. He and Telor were on truly easy terms, not master and man or two players traveling together and putting up with each other because that was more profitable; they were friends. That would not change if she became Telor’s woman. And Deri would not fear her skill would draw attention from him; a good fool was always a prize attraction, the best attention catcher for the other acts.

Still, many of the dwarves Carys knew had strange twists in mind and temper, bred by their distorted bodies—not that Deri was really distorted, only disproportioned. To be on the safe side Carys changed the topic after her quick nod and began to chatter about the fair, which they could see was in full swing, with blazing torches lighting the booths and an improvised stage where a group of players was acting some comic piece. Carys and Deri could hear the shouts of laughter and see the players, a man and a woman who were snatching with acted-out rage at two dwarves. One of the dwarves leapt and cavorted with the skill of an acrobat, bumping and cruelly tumbling the other dwarf, a shambling creature who stumbled and bawled senselessly. Both Carys and Deri could not help laughing, although they were not close enough to hear the speeches. As they stepped off the bridge and started down the short incline to the level of the lower bailey, they lost sight of the stage. Carys realized that the lower bailey was very crowded and growing more so. Though the great outer gates of Combe keep were closed, a smaller entryway was open, and men and women with their children were still coming in.

“Who are all those people?” Carys asked.

“Serfs and yeomen from villages farther away,” Deri said. “They will be coming in all night. Perhaps the wedding will be tomorrow, although I thought it was to be the day after. It is custom for the lord to excuse his people from labor for the wedding day and to provide food and drink for all. Some lords give three days or even a week to celebrate,” he went on, lowering his voice somewhat, forcing Carys to bend down to hear him in the crowd’s noise. “I would not have expected it. De Dunstanville is not the most generous of men. Still, he has many noble guests and might not want them to think of him as mean.”

“Is there free food tonight?” Carys wanted to know. She was indifferent to de Dunstanville’s character, being determined to stay as far from any nobleman as she could for the rest of her life.

Deri laughed but reached up and squeezed her arm comfortingly. “No, not tonight, but you may fill your belly as full as you like anyway. I intend to buy both of us supper, and a good one too, if my nose is a judge.”

Then Carys realized that the reason her question had held such painful eagerness was because Deri had been pushing his way toward one of the booths where food was being sold, and her nose had been inciting her stomach to rebellion. She was so used to hunger that she usually could ignore it, and she had eaten well that morning, but the odors were tantalizing. She and Deri were not the only ones captivated. The crowd around the booth was thick, but each person Deri shouldered aside gave way readily and Carys saw that there were fewer buyers than watchers. Most of the people were standing back from the stall, perhaps, Carys thought, trying to decide whether it was worthwhile to spend their few precious farthings or items of trade goods on so ephemeral a pleasure as food.

When Deri pushed through into the open space, Carys dismissed all thought of anything but the savory treat coming. She watched with eyes round with disbelief as the dwarf demanded two pies of flesh and two of fowl and two portions of stew, which was served in a hollowed-out end of a stale farthing loaf. A few in the crowd moaned a little, and Carys looked nervously over her shoulders to see if any around them seemed to be thieves when Deri pulled out a purse and put a whole silver penny on the counter.

He caught the gesture and laughed. “You need not fear
I
will be robbed. For one thing, the lord’s men are on the watch for trouble. For another, any man who tries is likely to get his head broken—not for trying to take my purse, which he will never reach, but for making me spill our stew when I pick him up and throw him into the horse trough. Now, pull out that overlong tunic of yours, boy, so you can carry the pies. They will be too hot for your hands.”

One of the men who was buying looked around when Deri spoke. He nodded familiarly at the dwarf, grinned, and said generally to the crowd, “You had better believe he can do it. No one in Castle Combe will wrestle with Deri Longarms. Is your master up in the keep, Deri?”

“He is, my lord,” Deri answered, sketching a bow while he replaced the purse and then scooping the hot pies from the plank that served as a counter into the tunic Carys was holding out. “And why,” he asked in sympathy, “are you here while he is singing?”

The man, who Carys could now see was quite young, made a grimace of chagrin. “I am named overseer of the guards for this night, partly to make sure they do their duty and catch thieves and brawlers, and partly to make sure they do no outrages either.”

Deri nodded. “There is great uneasiness in the land, and it is wise that the lord of Combe seeks surety that this gathering for joy does not become one of sorrow.”

“Yes, it is true.” The squire sighed.

“You need not fear to miss anything,” Deri assured him. “Telor will sing anything you wish to hear privately. I will tell him you asked for him.”

“Good. Tell him to look for me. The lute he made me is wonderful, but I would like to have extra strings. And also, I think, I would like a smaller instrument, perhaps a gittern.” Then the young man frowned. “Fool that I am talking of music. What do you know about the uneasiness in the land, Deri?”

“Only that we have been dodging armies all the way southeast from Creklade. We heard at Uffing’s town that there was fighting around Marlborough, so we stayed off the great road. But the whole countryside was in arms. The neighboring keep beyond the village where we picked up this boy had been taken by assault. Caron, what was the name of the place?”

“Faux’s Hill,” Carys muttered in a gruff, shy boy’s voice, bobbing her head as if she wished to bow but did not dare.

Deri had looked at her when she answered and looked away again, vaguely uneasy. But the squire waved him on, saying his food was getting cold. Deri pushed back through the crowd, which parted ahead of him and closed in again behind, pairs of eyes peering down into the bread shells at the stew he carried. One or two, encouraged by what they saw, moved toward the stall. Carys followed as closely as she could, walking and hopping, until Deri gestured sharply with his head to a corner made by the makeshift stage and the wall of a sty.

“Sit there,” Deri suggested.

“This is our place,” an angry voice snarled as Carys put the pies on the stage and turned to take the stew from Deri. It was the acrobatic dwarf.

“We will not hold it long,” Deri offered placatingly as he put his hands on the edge of the stage and vaulted up. “We only want to eat in peace.”

“And we are of your kind,” Carys said.

“More the fool you if you think we welcome others to thin our profit,” the dwarf snapped viciously. “There is a second troupe here already.”

Carys shook her head. “We do not play here. Deri is Telor Luteplayer’s servant. Telor sings only in the keep among the lords. I am Carys Ropedancer, but I am with Deri and his master by chance. My man died of sickness, in the dark of the moon, and I was driven from the town before I could find another troupe. One day on the road, I fell. After I climbed back to the road, I fainted, and Telor and Deri found me and out of kindness took me with them.”

“A rope dancer? Well.” A man came across the stage, pushed the dwarf out of the way with a nasty blow, and sat down beside Carys. To her surprise Carys found her nose was offended by him. “I am Joris Juggler,” he offered. “Why should a rope dancer not perform? If you are good enough, you need no callers, and any man can help you set your rope.”

“I have no rope,” Carys said around a large mouthful of bread and stew. “They cast me out with nothing.”

That was too common an occurrence for the juggler to doubt her word, but he shrugged with little sympathy.

“Also, just now I am lame,” Carys went on, having swallowed what she was chewing. “I hurt my ankle when I fell, but it mends apace. When I am ready, if I can borrow a rope, I may show my art.”

Once Carys began to talk, Deri had addressed himself to his meal, tilting the bread container to tip stew into his mouth and chewing down the edges of the bread to get it all. He seemed fully occupied, but his eyes kept flicking to Carys, then to the juggler and other members of the troupe who had climbed onto the stage.

Deri was confused. When Carys had spoken to de Dunstanville’s squire, why had she looked repulsive? There had been something wrong with her face. A shadow thrown by the torchlight? It must be that, Deri told himself, but he was not convinced. And now, as she talked to the juggler, who seemed to be the leader of his large and relatively prosperous troupe, Deri realized that Carys’s speech and manner set her as far above the juggler as he was himself. Her accent was of his own class, as was her polite self-assurance. Deri came to the shocking conclusion that Carys did not belong with these people at all!

Deri was sorry he had all but told Carys to join one of the troupes in Castle Combe and had brought her to this corner with the purpose of meeting the players. She was doing her best, using a story that would not bind her to Telor nor give any hint of trouble. She had even set the “death from sickness” of her man long enough in the past that she could not be thought to bring the sickness with her. Deri could only hope the other troupe was better, because he could not think of what else to do with her. He would be willing—he would even enjoy—having her join him and Telor. With him as fool and her to rope dance, if she were as good as she said, and Telor to make music for them, they could play in larger towns and at fairs. There would be more profit in it than his acting the fool alone—although Telor would have to change his name and disguise himself so his noble patrons would not know him if they came across them by accident. Telor would object, but Deri knew how to make him agree.

The real problem was Carys. If she desired Telor, there could be no doubt Telor would grant her wish as easily as he granted that of all the women who beckoned him. There would be no harm in it either, if Telor was parting from Carys as he parted from the others. But if Carys joined them, Telor’s natural kindness would bind her tighter and tighter, and she could be bitterly hurt when it became clear that Telor had merely accommodated her as he accommodated all women.

Carys regretted that Deri had involved her with the players more than he did. Because he had been present, she had maintained the speech and manner she used with him and Telor. That had naturally separated her from Joris Juggler, making her “different” and therefore untrustworthy. But worst of all,
she
felt different, apart from people she knew would have been her kind before. Before what? Only a night and a day. One night and one day with Telor and Deri and she found herself stepping back so that Joris would not touch her. Yet it was clearly a good troupe. She had herself heard the roars of laughter from the crowd when they played their piece, and she could see that the men and women were well fed and not in rags—even the idiot dwarf. But they were dirty. Carys had to stop herself from laughing by stuffing more stew into her mouth when the thought came to her. They were dirty? What she had been two days since made them look as fresh as a bed of lilies, and yet…