The Rope Dancer (41 page)

It was not necessary for Lord William to ask his men whether he had checked for hidden fighters. Sir Harry would never have left the manor until he was sure it was secure. The man might not be subtle, but he knew his work. What he asked was whether Sir Harry had found the minstrel, whereupon his grin grew still broader.

“Yes, my lord. It was he who killed Orin.”

“How?” Lord William asked. “Did he strangle him with a lute string?”

“Oh, no, my lord. He crushed in Orin’s head with a quarterstaff that I would not like to face myself. And he did not creep up behind the man either. Orin had his sword out. At least, that is what I believe to have happened. I did not ask more than who had killed Orin. The rest I took from what I saw. Will you come in? There is no need if you would prefer to ride back to Lechlade. I have given orders to put horses to a cart, and the minstrel is up in the solar showing the men which books and scrolls to put where, so as little damage is possible may be done. However, Sir Walter and Sir Harold—”

“Yes, I will come,” Lord William said, and touched his horse with his spur.

***

Even as Deri launched himself at one of the men attacking Telor, he was screaming with rage because he saw that Telor was wounded and the other would strike before his opponent could be dispatched. His knife was out and ready, but he could not be sure of striking a vital spot or even of severely wounding a man in armor. Thus, Deri was not surprised when the man he had borne down heaved violently under him. He struck wildly with the knife at his victim’s throat, but he missed the neck and felt the blade slide off the man’s helmet. Cursing his deformity, for a man with normal legs could have braced himself against the ground and fought his enemy’s heaving, Deri struck again, crying out with satisfaction as the knife buried itself. A final convulsion flung him off the body, and he leapt to his feet and spun toward Telor, only to cry out a third time in surprise.

Telor had disappeared, but the red-haired man who had been attacking him was down on the ground with—God help him!—with Carys on his back. She was screaming and clawing at the man’s shoulder, which confused Deri, but he jumped the body of the man he had dispatched and drove his knife in the base of the skull of Carys’s victim.

It was only then that Deri realized that Carys was screaming, “Telor! Telor!” and trying to roll the dead man away. Since she was still sitting on him, it was a hopeless task. Deri lifted her up bodily, getting a whack in the head that made him hear bells, and threw her away—gently—so that he could pull the corpse off Telor. Carys bounded back, squalling like an infuriated cat. Deri raised an arm defensively to protect himself and shouted, “Carys, it’s me, Deri.” She gave no sign of having heard him, but he assumed she had because she did not strike at him. She flung herself down beside her lover and began to examine him for wounds.

Deri took the chance of turning his back on her to watch the bailey in case they should be attacked, but no one seemed to notice them. There were groups fighting on the north and west palisades, but their defense did not seem effective, and many of the men who should have been rushing to help seemed to be moving very slowly. As he watched, several dropped to their knees and began to vomit; others clutched at whatever they could find to keep them upright. Deri shook his head and glanced over his shoulder.

“Is he hurt badly?” he asked.

“I cannot find anything but a small cut on one shoulder,” Carys answered, “but—”

Telor groaned and lifted one hand waveringly toward his head. Carys sighed in relief, slumping back on her heels, and watched as his eyes fluttered. In the next moment, however, her expression altered from joy to alarm. She jumped to her feet and dodged around to Deri’s side.

“He hit his head when he fell, I think,” she said hurriedly, keeping her voice low. “And one of those stupid men ran off with my rope. I must get it.”

“Your rope—” Deri cried, but before he could say more or grab at her, she had darted away and scrambled up to the roof of the nearest shed. “You fool!” Deri shouted. “There’s a battle—”

“Tell him
you
killed the men,” she yelled down. “He gets angry when he thinks I used my knife.”

Deri watched openmouthed as Carys ran along the roof of the shed and leapt to the next. She was making for the stable, he realized, but there was no way he could stop her. Telor groaned again, and Deri turned to him, still glancing over his shoulder at the bright flashes of color that marked Carys’s progress. The dancing dress eased his fears for her. No one could consider a dancing girl as one of the combatants, and it was unlikely any man would think of rape until the battle was over.

Telor was trying to lever himself up on one elbow, and Deri knelt beside him and helped him sit up. “Deri?” the minstrel said, blinking and gingerly feeling the back of his head. “Was that you?”

“If you mean, did I knock you down, no,” Deri replied truthfully but cautiously. “That was the other man who was attacking you.”

It had suddenly come to Deri that Carys had not run off to look for her rope but had fled before Telor could see her. He was of two minds as to whether to betray her. On the one hand, she had left him alone to explain a broken promise to Telor; on the other, Telor would be ten times as angry if Deri admitted Carys was in Marston, hopping from roof to roof in the middle of a battle, pretending to search for her rope to avoid a scolding; and on the third hand—Deri felt he would need a third hand to explain why he had not mentioned that Carys was there when Telor asked
why
the red-haired man-at-arms had fallen on him.

But Telor did not ask that question. Because he was staring out into the bailey, watching men fall down, some to lie groaning, others to try to struggle on with the defense of the manor, he did not feel it necessary. “They must have eaten tainted food,” he muttered.

“All of them? On the day of a battle against Lord William?” Deri asked in a neutral voice.

Telor looked at him and shrugged. “Do you wish to ask him about it?”

Deri shuddered. After a moment he said, “It is very strange to be sitting here quietly, watching a battle. Do you think we should do anything more about it?”

“I do not think I can,” Telor admitted. “My arms are too sore. Besides, I do not think Lord William’s men will need our help against these wretches, and I want to see what havoc Orin created in Sir Richard’s library. Help me up, Deri, and guard the hall while I go to the solar and look.”

He righted his staff and, between that and a hand on Deri’s strong shoulder, got to his feet. The cut on his shoulder ached a little, but the blood had dried already, and the pounding in his head was lessening. He felt sufficiently steady to hurry on toward the library alone, leaving Deri to close the shutters and then wait at the hall door so he could close and bar that too if Orin’s men thought of taking refuge there. Inside the hall Telor saw the man Carys had felled, but he hardly looked at him, the pool of vomit that had spattered the rushes being sufficient explanation.

It was not Orin’s men but Sir Walter and Sir Harold against whom Deri closed the door. They won their way over the palisade and down into the bailey only minutes after he and Telor had entered the hall. Deri had no idea whether they intended to do any looting, but he was sure they knew the value of the books in Marston. Deri was equally sure Telor would try to preserve the library for Lord William, who loved books for themselves rather than for the gold they would bring, and if he could, Deri wished to prevent a confrontation.

In fact, the closed and shuttered hall aroused in Sir Walter and Sir Harold the same suspicions that the weak defense had aroused in Lord William. That hall could hold double or triple the men they had, and their hearts sank when they thought of Lord William’s reputation for guile. Although neither dared mention retreat before any threat appeared, by instinct each gathered his men into a defensive position near a ladder leading up to the west palisade, securing for himself a path to safety, and they were still grouped there when Sir Harry led Lord William’s men in through the burst gates.

Deri heard the crash of the ram, since he was standing on a stool with one of the shutters that faced into the bailey open just a crack. He called to Telor, who came from the solar, and they opened the door, coming face to face with Sir Harry and a party ready to break the door.

“Surrender!” Sir Harry shouted, raising his sword.

Telor lifted his right hand, palm out. “I am Lord William’s minstrel, and this is my friend Deri.” Telor pointed with his staff at the bodies near the hall. “And there is evidence that I am no enemy to your master. The man in mail was Orin, the cur who murdered my master, Eurion. The others were Orin’s captains.”

“And who is in the hall behind you?” Sir Harry asked. He recognized the dwarf and the minstrel, whom he had seen before, but the weak resistance in Marston had made him as suspicious as his master.

Telor stepped in and to the side, Deri following him, to make way for Lord William’s captain. “Another dead man,” he said, shrugging. “That is all.”

Having glanced around and sent in a dozen men to examine the place—after echoing with even more vehemence Telor’s warning that they touch
nothing
in the solar—Sir Harry stopped outside and looked at the bodies. He barely glanced at the two stab wounds, but paused to look from Orin’s skull, crushed with such force that blood and other matter were oozing out, to Telor’s staff. He said nothing but resolved to be more cautious in the future about allowing the minstrel to swing that staff about in his presence. Then his eyes flashed over the bailey where his men were prodding and rolling Orin’s men into a compact group that could be easily guarded. It hardly seemed worthwhile.

“Do we have you to thank for that,” he asked, gesturing at the sick men, “as well as for the ease of opening the gate?”

“No!” Telor exclaimed, startled.

That was when Sir Harry started to laugh, which made Telor and Deri glance at each other and wonder once again whether the sickness in Marston was of Lord William’s contrivance. Sir Harry himself seemed to think so, but he did not voice that belief, of course. All he told Telor, between chuckles that were growing more violent, was that Lord William wished Telor to oversee the loading of the books and scrolls. A wagon and men to carry would be sent to the hall; Telor was to see no damage was done, to which he agreed eagerly.

Deri, who had been growing more nervous by the minute over Carys, slipped away as soon as Telor returned to the solar. He had some trouble getting to the stable, being stopped three times by men-at-arms who did not know him and wanted to include him among the prisoners. Twice men from the group at the farm identified him as Lord William’s man, and once he was released merely by pointing out that he had to come in with the attackers since he was not sick.

When Deri got to the stable, however, Carys was not there—not even up in the rafters, which Deri scrutinized carefully. Could some men have caught her and dragged her off to enjoy in a shed? Deri could scarcely believe that, for Carys was so quick and clever—and so handy with a knife. He stared around helplessly, not knowing where to start, and then thought that perhaps she had gone back to the hall, since the battle was over and she knew she could not hide forever.

Deri rushed back, navigating the bailey without interruption this time, only to be stopped by guards at the door of the hall. “I am the minstrel’s dwarf,” Deri cried. “Has a dancing girl come in here?”

Loud laughter greeted that question, which was answer enough, and Deri started to turn away, only to be stopped again by the guards in response to Lord William’s voice, which called softly, “Is that the dwarf? Send him in.”

Sir Walter and Sir Harold, smiling at each other in a pleased way, were on their way out as Deri entered. He hurried past them toward the dais. The shutters were open, the body and contaminated rushes near it were gone, and Lord William was seated at a table with two books and a scroll open before him. Deri came to the table as quickly as possible and said, “My lord, I must go—”

Lord William’s high, nickering laugh rang out. “Never,” he exclaimed, “is a man less eager for my company! And no cause have I given you, Deri Longarms.”

“The rope dancer,” Deri said desperately. “She is here, and I am afraid your men—”

Lord William turned his head and spoke to his squire in French. “Pass the word that the girl players are to be brought to me immediately by anyone who finds them.” Then he nodded to Deri. “I have sent to seek for her. She will be brought here. This will be more quick than for you to seek, no?”

“Thank you, my lord! Thank you!” Deri exclaimed.

Lord William pointed to a bench by the wall. “Stay. The minstrel will soon come.”

Before the words were out, Lord William’s eyes turned back to the book before him, and he touched it very gently, smoothing a page that had been creased, before he closed it carefully. Deri pulled himself up on the bench and sat, for once feeling no tension in Lord William’s presence. Just now, the indefinable threat that usually surrounded the man was absent. He was absorbed by the book, with a kind of softness in his face that made him only an ordinary man. Deri no longer felt the compulsion to watch Lord William every moment, which afflicted most people in his presence, and was able to watch for Carys.

From where he sat, he could see out the front door at an angle, and he saw Sir Walter and Sir Harold leaving with their men behind them. As he waited, he grew less anxious about Carys too. Men-at-arms bent on rape do not seek obscure hiding places. Had Carys been taken for a plaything, she would likely have been found already. If she had hidden herself, she would be much harder to seek out—if she were found at all. Deri glanced back at Lord William, but he was still immersed, unrolling and rerolling the scroll and then carefully opening the second book.

Men had all the while been passing through, their arms full of scrolls and coming back empty-handed, but soon the traffic all went out, and at last Telor appeared holding five yellow-looking scrolls. Lord William closed the book he had been examining as soon as Telor appeared, giving it a gentle pat, as if it were a good little dog.

“I will put these in myself, my lord,” Telor said in French, stopping at the table. “They are very old and getting fragile. They should be recopied as soon as possible.”

Lord William gestured, and Telor put the scrolls down on the table. Unrolling them just a bit, Lord William glanced at the writing and then up at Telor. “You say you cannot read, minstrel. How do you know these are of special value? Could they not be old manor accounts?”

Telor smiled. “I do not think Sir Richard ever wasted parchment on accounts. I think he kept those on tally sticks, but I can tell anyway because of the way the writing is done—and two of the scrolls have pictures.”

“A reasonable answer,” Lord William remarked. “Have you an equally reasonable one for how a minstrel came by four horses and men-at-arms’ hauberks?”

Telor looked astounded at the sharp change of subject, which was what Lord William intended, of course, but Telor answered without hesitation and with only a little discomfort. “My answer is reasonable to me. I hope you will not call it outlawry.”

“Outlawry?” Lord William echoed, obviously surprised and rather amused by the unexpected reply. “Did you
steal
the horses and arms? From whom? And how?”

“I did not consider it stealing,” Telor said. “I took them from Orin’s men. We laid an ambush on the road. Deri brought down two with his sling. I brought down a third with my staff, and Carys—”

“The rope dancer?” Lord William asked, grinning in a very human way.

“Yes, the rope dancer,” Telor agreed, “caught the fourth by stretching her rope across the road. Forgive me for asking, my lord, but how did you know about the horses and the rope dancer?”

“My dear Telor,” Lord William replied, laughing, “I begin to think you are as innocent as your face looks. Did you think I would
not
find out when and how you came into town, where and with whom you were staying, and everything else there was to know?”

“No, my lord,” Telor replied. “I am not so innocent. Truly, I did not consider the matter because I could not imagine being important enough for you to bother. But it does not matter to me. I hope I am far too wise to lie to
you.
If you do not ask, I may omit this or that, but I would never fail to answer any question you ask with the truth.”

“Then answer me this. Between the time you escaped from Marston and entered Lechlade, did you speak to anyone, anyone at all, about your desire to avenge your master?”

Telor frowned, clearly puzzled, but he answered at once, “To Carys and Deri and you, my lord. I swear I did not say a word to any other person.” Suddenly he smiled wryly. “And I only spoke of it once or twice to Carys and Deri, my lord, because they thought I was mad.”

“Very well, I—” A noise at the entrance made Lord William look up sharply, but it was his squire, shepherding before him Carys and Ann.

Telor had a fine voice. It was trained to carry through a great hall over the sound of many people eating and drinking and even talking. It rose easily over Stephen saying, “Here are the player girls, my lord.” Over Lord William saying, “Come forward, rope dancer.” Over Deri’s inarticulate cry of mingled horror and revelation at a dream vision made real—if in miniature.

“Carys!” Telor bellowed. “What are you doing here? I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice.”

“I came—” Carys began, and then her eyes flicked to Lord William, who had leaned back in his chair and was laughing silently.

“Remember,” Lord William said, obviously enjoying himself hugely.

Carys licked her lips and fiddled with the rope that was draped from right shoulder to left hip. She drew a breath, but was saved from speaking by Deri, who had been drawn forward from the bench by the necessity to confirm what he knew he was seeing but could not believe.

“Ann?” he demanded. “Are you Ann?”

“Yes, Deri,” she said, nodding encouragingly. “Of course I am Ann. Who else could I be?”

He turned on Carys and, in a voice scarcely less powerful than Telor’s, roared, “Carys! Did you drag Ann into this just to drive me crazy?”

“Not to drive you crazy,” Carys replied indignantly. “I wanted to help Telor, and Ann wanted to help you—so we both came.”

“And what do you think you accomplished?” Telor bellowed.

Although she did not answer, Carys’s eyes flicked momentarily to the part of the floor on which a man had lain dead, and Telor suddenly remembered that Deri could not have knocked down more than one of his attackers. He was silenced as he realized Carys had saved his life again.

Ann got the funniest smile on her lips and said, “We did not do so badly.”

“Cook’s daughter!” Deri cried, recognizing with a terrible wrenching the match to his own satisfaction in bringing big people down. “What did you put in the food?”

“I did not poison them,” Ann replied, shrinking against Carys. “No one could die. It was only a purge.”

And almost simultaneously, Carys remarked, “Little or much as we accomplished, I cannot see why you are angry now. We are here, unhurt, and I have found Teithiwr, Doralys, and Surefoot.” She turned suddenly to Lord William and curtsied to the ground. “Please, my lord, they are Telor’s horses—I mean, one is a mule and one a pony. Please,” she whispered, “Telor and I and Deri have done what we promised. May Telor have his beasts again?”

“Is it that you desire
seven
horses?” Lord William asked in a somewhat choked voice.

Even Carys with her terrible fear of lords could see that he was amused, not angry, and she answered somewhat less fearfully, “I did not mean to keep them all, lord. But ours are—are our friends. And if I
could
keep the gray one…”

“That is all you have to ask?” Lord William said. “One horse, old and gray? It is true that the men you brought for me into Marston had not much to do—for which my thanks to our little poisoner.” He nodded at Ann. “Still, greater men did less and asked more.”

Carys, not now terrified but not at ease under that obsidian stare, shook her head nervously, but Telor said, this time in English, although he usually spoke to Lord William in his own language, “I have a favor to ask, my lord.”

Lord William looked at him. “Yes?”

“I would like to marry Carys in church, but I am very far from my parish in Bristol. Could you arrange that a priest marry us, my lord, and that he give me a writing so that my marriage may be recorded in the church of my parish in Bristol? I have not lived at home for many years, but now that I am taking a wife, I must look to the future.”

“Bristol?” Lord William repeated. “The stronghold of my father?”

That was not how Telor thought of his city, but he simply nodded.

“Your family, it is there?”

“Yes, my lord. Jacob Woodcarver is my father, and my brother, also Jacob, now keeps the shop.”

“I know them,” Lord William said, switching back to French. “They are fine workmen, very fine. Very well, at prime tomorrow, attend me at my lodgings in Lechlade. My priest will marry you in the church there and give you the writing you desire—and a letter from me, also, to make all smooth.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Telor bowed.

Lord William smiled broadly, mostly because the connection with Bristol and Telor’s innocent willingness to come to him the next day, when any trap would have surely been sprung, proved there never had been any basis for his suspicions. For once, an action that looked easy had been even easier than expected and had been profitable beyond expectation. For the price of a few cuts and bruises on his men-at-arms, he had attached two knights and a town to his father’s cause and blocked the king’s advance north and west, even if Faringdon did yield. There was another cause for grinning, though.

“Look to your woman,” Lord William said to Telor, lifting a finger to point at Carys. “From her face, I would say you should have spoken to her before you spoke to me about marriage.” He laughed as Telor’s head turned, and he added, “You may go. I have no more time to listen to you quarrel. I must arrange for the keeping of Marston. I will speak to you tomorrow.” He beckoned to his squire. “Stephen, tell the guards that this party may leave whenever they wish and also that they may take with them anything they wish to take.”

Then, seeing that Telor was fully occupied with Carys and had not heard his final sentence, he repeated it in English, so that it was Deri who bowed and offered thanks. Telor only moved when Deri prodded him. He had his arm around Carys and was whispering urgently to her. Lord William wished he could hear, for Carys seemed to be stubbornly shaking her head, and her face was as white as a day-old corpse. It was, Lord William thought, just as he had told himself—as good as a play; but he had no more time for amusement. He was here to settle what was to be done with Marston and the prisoners, not to amuse himself. Nonetheless, he had been amused, and Telor…Lord William stared after the minstrel’s retreating back.

Men were not like books, Lord William thought, idly stroking the one that lay under his hand. Books could be trusted; men could not. However, some men could be trusted a little more than others. He had seen the loving care with which Telor had handled the books and parchments, and Telor was a great artist—yet more accessible than the Welsh-born Eurion. Why not arrange for his own future pleasure rather than rest on chance for bringing the minstrel and his troupe back to him? There was a good stone house not far from the keep in Shrewsbury—the woman in it could go elsewhere; the minstrel need know nothing of that—where the four could live during the winter months. The dwarves would have warmth and peace in which to devise new insults to fling at whole men; the rope dancer would have a safe courtyard in which to tie her rope and invent new marvels; and Telor, Telor of the sweet voice and nimble fingers and even nimbler mind, Telor could come up to the keep and listen to the tales in the books and parchments—or even learn to read them, if he wished—and create new beauty from old.

***

Outside the hall, Telor looked around vaguely. He was stunned and frightened by Carys’s reaction. He knew he had mentioned marriage to her before, but he could not remember anything special about her response. He looked down at her anxiously. She had not tried to escape his encircling arm, but she was still staring straight ahead, white-faced, and she had not said one word since he asked Lord William for help in marrying them. He could not imagine what was wrong, and he dared not speak, lest he say just what would upset her more. He had to find a place where they could be alone and he could woo her into compliance…or at least discover what was troubling her.