The Rope Dancer Page 8

  Instead, Carys hugged her arms tight around her knees, reminding herself that it might be impossible to withdraw again if she confessed her desire and offered herself on that basis rather than as a debt to be paid. To show herself unwilling before Telor asked for her favors and became her lover was one thing—that could not hurt his pride because she might be, as she indeed was, only frightened, or naturally cold. To offer herself, lie with him, and reject him was another thing entirely. That would be an attack on his virility, and Carys knew the rage and resentment spurning a man’s virility could provoke.

  Safety, Carys knew, lay in keeping apart from Telor. There had never been any danger in yielding to a man who woke her interest when she knew that the troupe would be gone the next day from the town or village in which that man lived. But she would not be leaving Telor…unless she found a troupe in Castle Combe. A slight sinking in her belly told Carys that she did not want to find a troupe; but, if she stayed with Telor, it would not be safe to lie with him. The thoughts slowly went round in her head as she examined them for a side path that would permit her to satisfy both desires, but she found only the same unpleasant truth—that if she wished to stay with Telor, she must never allow him to see that she desired him.

  There were no obstacles to their journey to Castle Combe to distract Carys’s mind. Deri had found the men working in the fields near Chippasham to be worried but hopeful. They had heard rumors of war to the east, and the bailiff of the town had sent men south to the great road between Marlborough and Bath to bring back warning if an attack threatened, but the armies had moved farther south toward Devizes. As far as they knew, Deri reported, the roads to the west were safe. With little else to guide them and the hope that the taking of the keep in which Carys had been caught was an isolated incident to the north, Telor decided to take the most direct route to Castle Combe.

  The only delays they experienced were two rain showers, but by the time they approached Combe the sky had cleared and the setting sun outlined the great keep on its spur of land above a little valley. The road curved around the heights after passing below the keep itself, approaching past the huts of the villagers, which were clustered around the stream that had carved out the valley. Only a few old women and dirty children peered out of the dark, smoky interiors as Telor turned to ride up the slope to the keep.

  “A good season for a wedding,” Deri remarked. “Nothing to do in the field beyond some weeding, so it does not hurt so much to drag everyone off to work in the keep.”

  “I suspect de Dunstanville was thinking more about easy traveling for his guests than about his serfs’ crops,” Telor replied. Scion of burghers of a chartered city, he had less empathy for the landed nobility than Deri, whose family had been rich yeomen rising toward knighthood.

  “I wonder how many will stay home to guard their keeps now that this fighting has started,” Deri said, ignoring Telor’s cynical remark. The mild disagreement between them was old. “You know, Telor, if there are few guests, we are likely to have made this trip for nothing.”

  Telor laughed. “Nothing except the steadiness of my head on my shoulders. It is true that de Dunstanville might be too busy to trouble himself with me at once if this war spreads, but he has a long memory, and I suspect this area would never have been safe for me again if I failed him.”

  Telor sounded as if he spoke half in jest, but Carys’s terror was still too recent for her to dismiss even a shadow of a threat from a lord. She looked over Telor’s shoulder at the huge stone walls looming above them and shuddered while the horses climbed the road. When they passed under the keep, she had seen that it was taller than the walls, which extended from it to enclose the inner bailey. The lower portion was blank stone, the second floor marked by thin arrow slits. Only on the highest level were there narrow windows, set deep into the thickness of the walls. Had she been in such a keep, Carys thought, rather than an old-style wooden one, she would have been dead by now—or, worse, still screaming and praying for death. Carys was deeply grateful to Telor for dressing her as a boy, and she went over in her mind every detail she could remember of the points Morgan had made of the differences between boy and girl in voice, gesture, and manner. She was determined to be just one more servant boy to whom no one would pay attention.

  In this case, Carys’s anxiety was wasted. The latest outbreak of unrest had created one advantage for her as a member of Telor’s party. Those of any importance in Combe keep, who might at a time of celebration eagerly scrutinize each new troupe of players to judge what sort of entertainment they would be getting, were far more interested in the noble parties arriving. Who came and who did not now had a significance it would not have in times of peace, showing support or suspicion of de Dunstanville.

  There was not even the usual interest Telor’s arrival would have generated when no guests were expected at Combe. At such times, the rumors and news Telor brought from the towns he passed and the other castles at which he entertained were of deep interest to de Dunstanville and the knights and squires of his establishment. The influx of noble guests made such secondhand information unimportant. The guards at the outer entrance, some of whom knew him from previous visits, waved him through the gate and turned back to what they considered far more interesting conversations with other men-at-arms, who had come with one or another noble guest.

  Carys gripped the back of Telor’s saddle nervously with sweat-slicked hands as they passed into the dark, narrow tunnel that pierced the walls, but neither outer nor inner guards gave their party more than a single glance. Telor and his dwarf, although horsed and decently dressed, were not important enough to send a messenger off to keep or stables—and Telor was as pleased as Carys at the lack of attention. Had the guards notified some officious understeward of his arrival, he would surely have been told to leave his animals in a pen in the outer bailey or even been banished to the village. As it was, he had an excellent chance of simply handing Teithiwr, Surefoot, and Doralys over to the grooms in the stable in the inner bailey. Once they were in, Telor was sure the grooms would do their best to give his animals preference for space over any but the mounts of the great lords. It was Deri they wanted to please, since Deri cared for the beasts himself, saving the grooms work—and put on a show for the grooms in the process.

  By the time they were well into the outer bailey, Carys had relaxed enough to look around, and her eyes grew bigger and bigger as she did. There were more people here than in most villages, and the pens held more animals than she had ever seen, except at a great fair. In fact, the bailey seemed to hold a fair; she could hear the cling-clang of a smith’s hammer and smell fresh-baked bread and hot pies, which made her swallow a sudden rush of saliva. And there were booths where all sorts of things were displayed—cloth, leatherwork, and carved bowls and cups. Wood and bone carvers, Carys thought, made combs as well as bowls and cups.

  “Oh, Telor,” she breathed, “is there something I could do to get a comb?”

  Telor reached back and patted her arm, since he dared not look around while trying to direct Teithiwr through the crowd. “I think I will do well enough here to get you a comb and other things also.” His voice was cheerful and expectant but then sharpened as he added, “It is not at all needful for you to do anything, certainly not while we are at Combe. Remember, you promised to keep out of sight unless I call on you to perform.”

  Telor had also been looking around with pleasure. The noisy crowd was a good sign. Most of the merchants were local people from Chippasham or those who always traveled from place to place, but some were from Bath and Calne, and others came from as far away as Bristol and Malmsbury. Those from Chippasham would not have dared stay away since they were so close to de Dunstanville and would suffer from his displeasure, but the merchants from towns farther away would have come only if they had seen or heard that the lords of their neighborhood were going to attend. That would mean the concourse of people would be large enough to make the trip profitable. And if the lords had come,
there were two good reasons for de Dunstanville to be liberal, Telor thought. First, he would be in a good temper, and second, he would be ashamed to seem ungenerous when surrounded by his vassals, his peers, and, Telor hoped, even a few lords greater than he. Not to mention that the other lords would also “gift” the minstrel.

  Carys’s request caught Telor at the top of that rising spiral of expectation and added to his happiness. He had a swift, pleasurable perception of how her big eyes would grow still larger with amazement and delight, her small, childish face light with joy when he gave her not only a pretty comb but perhaps shoes and stockings and a dress that was not in rags. He felt warm and content at being able to provide for her what she had seldom known—a gift of love. The phrase that came into his mind was totally unexpected, and he corrected it swiftly to “a gift of pure caritas.” On the heels of his pleasure had come the nasty pang of jealousy that sharpened his voice when he realized that she had not asked him for a comb but what she could do to get a comb. He did not really think Carys would sell her body for a comb. If that was what she intended, she would not have asked him. A different kind of anxiety made him remind her she was to stay out of sight.

  Since Carys could not read Telor’s mind, there was no reason for her to protest against his order that she do nothing in Castle Combe. There was nothing much she could do until her ankle healed completely, and she herself was not sure whether the way she had phrased her question was a sly invitation for Telor to bargain a coupling against the comb. Certainly, she felt no guilt about his promise to obtain for her what she needed without that form of payment because she was confident her rope dancing would repay whatever he gave for the items. However, as they approached the drawbridge that would take them over the dry moat dividing the outer from the inner bailey and she saw that even thicker, higher walls would separate her from the cheerful fair of common folk, Carys felt fearful again.

  “I can pass for a boy,” she said softly, “I swear I can. No one will know who I am. Cannot I stay here and see the fairings?”

  Three powerful and conflicting emotions struck Telor at once. An immediate response to the slight quaver in her voice that drove him to agree to anything she desired was instantly blocked by his conviction that the moment she appeared alone in the outer bailey, she would be seized and absorbed into a troupe of players. He did not stop to consider why he should object to so desirable a solution to the problem, but fixed on a more present, although equally improbable, danger.

  “I cannot leave you here,” Telor snapped. “You will not know where we are and likely will not be permitted to enter the inner bailey if you have not been marked by the guard. No, do not argue. You can hardly walk, and you know nothing of the workings of a great keep. How are you to find food and a place to sleep?”

  “Never mind him, Carys,” Deri said, smiling up at her from the back of his pony, which was a few steps behind Teithiwr and just alongside her. “He is right about being marked by the guards, but they all know Deri Longarms, and I know the workings of these places well enough. When he goes in to perform, I will come down to the stable and take you to see whatever you like.”

  “Yes,” Telor agreed. “I have no objection if you go with Deri and obey him.”

  “I will,” Carys said fervently, eyeing with trepidation the iron fangs of the raised portcullis.

  Deri fell behind, the passage being too narrow for two horses abreast, and Carys tried to shrink into invisibility behind Telor. She did not want to pass below those threatening points nor the second set which she could see in outline against the light of the inner bailey at the other end of the dark passage through the walls. The inner bailey was quiet, with none of the cheerful hubbub she loved, and as they came out under that second set of teeth she could see that much of the open space was filled with the bright pavilions of those noblemen who had decided they preferred the privacy of their own quarters in the mild weather of early summer to the crowded conditions in the great hall of the keep. That frightened her even more, and she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out and begging to be allowed to go back when a guard raised a hand to block Telor from passing.

  “Luteplayer,” the guard said, “there will be no place for you in the great hall among the noble guests.”

  “Is that by the lord of Combe’s order, Tam Will’s son?” Telor asked. “He summoned me himself to sing to his guests at evensong this day, and as you see by my dress, we have come from afar through rain and over bad roads. If you send me down to the outer bailey and I must find a place in the crowd to wash and dress and then must walk back, I will not be in place at evensong. The lord of Combe will be ill pleased with me if I am not ready, but I think he will be even more ill pleased with you when I tell him why I was late in coming to him.”

  The guard, who had received no specific orders about Telor, knew Telor stayed in the keep when he came at other times. He had acted on his general contempt for players, feeling that de Dunstanville would not want one of them to mix with his guests. But Telor was special—other players were never allowed to stay in the keep—and, in any case, there were higher officers who could deny the minstrel a place if he was not to have one.

  “Go, then,” he said.

  “Thank you.” Telor nodded. “Behind me is my apprentice, Caron. I will leave him in the stable. Deri will take him down to the outer bailey later—he is all agog to see the fairings.” On the last words, Telor’s voice was amused and indulgent.

  “A pretty boy,” the guard said, smiling suddenly. “But he looks a little battered.”

  Telor’s expression changed to level-eyed threat. “Not from learning his new craft, Tarn Will’s son. Being new to riding, he slipped from my horse on a hill and fell. He sings by nature, and from me is learning to play the harp. I am not teaching him any other lessons, and neither will you or any other man here.”

  Carys said nothing, but she called herself ten times a fool for not adding this danger to the others she had thought of for keeping out of sight. If she had, she could have changed her face so the guard would have felt no attraction. It would have been useless to change her face right in front of the man. He would know it to be a lie and remember the face he wished to remember. All she could do now was deliberately turn her head and bend down to whisper to Deri that when they got to the stable she would hide and only come out when he whistled thrice for her.

  Carys knew at once from what Telor was trying to protect her. She had learned early that it was the men-at-arms and castle menservants who were most attracted to her thin, hard, boyish body. Because of the dearth of women compared to men in a castle, men whose livelihood mostly confined them to keeps often developed a taste for other men. Many, however, told themselves and others that this was only by necessity, and when they were free of their duty they preferred women. For some that was true, but for others it was not, and those wanted a girl like Carys and often wanted to use her as if she were a boy.

  One experience—or near-experience, for Carys had knifed the man before he could force her into position—had been quite enough. She wanted nothing to do with any man who thought her a “pretty” boy and would kill again if she had to protect herself. But killing a man-at-arms in this keep rather than in a town from which the troupe was departing anyway could not be concealed. Then it had been simple enough to hide the body in their cart and dispose of it a few miles from the town, although Morgan had beaten her well for making trouble. But here, killing would be a disaster, and not only for herself. She hoped that her deliberate turning away would signal her unwillingness and end the matter; however, hiding was even better.

  Still, the new face would be useful, since it would prevent any other man from being attracted. As Telor turned Teithiwr toward the stables, Carys quickly bundled her hair into the hood fastened to the tunic and drew one side of her usually full and pouting mouth down a little. Carys knew that hiding her hair made her features look pinched and mean, and Morgan had told her that drawing her mouth down “that
way” could turn a man’s stomach. She had never had a mirror and could only judge the effect in the uncertain reflections in still water, but she thought Morgan had told the truth. It had worked before, and none of the grooms, who all came forward and greeted Deri with cries of joy, looked her way more than once.

  A drawback was that Carys did not want Telor to see her “ugly” face. She knew that was foolish, that he would understand why she had made herself ugly, or she could explain it to him. But she could not bear to leave a picture of her like that in his mind, so she straightened her mouth when Telor helped her down from the horse. Fortunately, he moved away from her at once and began to unstrap his instruments and a long, flat basket from Doralys’s pack. Deri, who had led Surefoot and Teithiwr to a far corner of the stable, hoisted the basket to his shoulder as he placed Doralys’s lead in Carys’s hand.

  “Take Doralys over to the others.” Then he turned toward the group of grooms who had gone back to some gambling game they were playing near the entrance. “Ho, Arne,” he called. One of the men looked up. “I will be back anon,” Deri went on. “If you can spare a few minutes to show the boy how the harness is undone and how to wipe down a horse, I will be grateful to you.”

  Carys was startled by what Deri had said after she told him she wished to hide but realized almost at once that to disappear instantly might have raised questions in the minds of the grooms. To disappear after being set to unwelcome work would be much more reasonable, so when Arne came back to where she had limpingly led Doralys, she drew down her mouth even farther and grumbled sullenly that she was an apprentice to a minstrel, not a horseboy. Carys knew this would annoy Arne and make him determined that she should learn to care for a horse whether she liked it or not.