The Secular Wizard - Wis in Rhyme - 4 (30 page)

"I have not struck you at all," the manticore returned, "though I was tempted at first."

"Evading the question, huh?

"Not at all." Manny drew himself up. "How do I know all this? I and my forebears have long memories, man!"

Matt stared. "You saw?"

"Not I myself, but my great-grandsire. Well, he did not see Romulus and Remus," the manticore admitted. "If you wish my opinion, I think they were naught but myths. But my greatgrandsire came to life when the Latini were still rough tribesmen and the Etruscans already cultured gentlemen. He saw Horatio, but could not come near the tent to hear the great conference between Horatio, Lars Porsena, and their respective elders. He saw them come out of the tent in amity, though, and was severely disappointed."

Yes, because peace meant leaner pickings. Matt hurried to change the topic. "How much of it did you personally see?"

"Only the breaking apart itself." The manticore sighed. "I came to life about seven centuries ago. I thought then that it boded well for me and my kind, for state would war upon state-and I was right. Then the sorcerers came-" "And they muzzled you?"

"Muzzled, aye, and harnessed," Manny said with disgust. "I had begun to wonder why I bothered living, till you came to amuse me."

"Nice to know I have a purpose in life." So the empire had only been dead a couple of centuries before Hardishane came marching out of Gaul to reunite the whole of Europe and squash the sorcerers, or at least drive them back far enough so that they didn't do much damage. Obviously, therefore, the sorcerers had proliferated during the break-up; Matt thought he saw their hand in the warring between Gaul and Germany and between Gaul and Iberia. He wondered about the full story of the behind-the-scenes power plays between Good and Evil.

Well, maybe he'd have time to do the research someday. Of course, he didn't have his PhD. yet, but it would make a great dissertation topic.

Well, he'd worry about it in the morning-say a morning a few years away. For now, the talk had calmed him; he was even beginning to feel a bit sleepy. He wasn't the only one-all about him sodden snores drenched the night and lovers lay sleeping in one another's arms. A few roisterers still teetered by the light of the moon, but from the way they swayed, they'd be down soon enough, too.

"It's looking almost safe," Matt said. "I don't suppose I could talk you into standing guard while I catch a little sleep?" Manny shrugged. "'Tis the least I can do, considering the vast number of sheep and cattle you have bought me these last days. Not quite so tasty as-" "Yes, well, if you're hungry, I can always find a few more," Matt said quickly.

"Do not bother; I shall behave." But Manny looked about him him-grily. "Sleep, and have no worries." He turned his back, but not quite quickly enough; Matt heard him muttering about the atrocious waste. Well, if he couldn't trust the manticore, he could at least trust Pascal's grandfather's spell. Matt turned over, cradled his head on his arm, and didn't quite have time to be surprised at how quickly he fell asleep.

He woke up. Under the circumstances, that rated as an accomplishment.

He woke up and looked around carefully. The manticore was curled up cat style right next to him, the stinger on its scorpion tail sticking out of the ball of fur. Asleep or not, Manny was a guardian to give would-be assassins second thoughts.

Matt started to sit up . . .

The stinger whipped around and poised above him. Matt froze as Manny uncoiled enough to reveal wide-open eyes filmed with sleep. "Who stirs?"

Matt had moved barely eighteen inches, and that pretty slowly.

"Light sleeper, are you?"

"Deep, but I waken quickly nonetheless. It is only you, then?"

"Just me." Matt swallowed. "I was, uh, thinking about getting up."

"Go, then. You can defend yourself when you are awake-if you do not let females of your kind hold your attention."

"That wasn't what you think."

"No, it was-for I think she pursued, and you sought to retreat. I confess I cannot understand your species."

"It's called'morality."' "As I said," the manticore growled, "I understand it not."

And that, Matt mused as he plodded down toward the little stream, was the manticore in a nutshell. Not that he was all that different from any other member of the feline family-it was just that, having a human face, Matt had sort of expected some other human attributes, such as a conscience. He should have known better-the double set of teeth should have tipped him off.

It seemed that the manticore wasn't the only one lacking an under-standing. Everywhere Matt went, he heard isolated sobbing. Some of the girls were curled up weeping quietly next to their snoring mates; others were sitting up alone. Not all of them, nonot even a quarter-but too many. His heart twisted with the urge to comfort, but he knew better than to intrude.

He found a copse of trees for his morning ablutions, knelt by the stream to wash his hands and face and shave with his dagger, then turned back toward the camp just as the girl in the homemade noose jumped off the stump.

Matt took in the rope snaking up from the noose to pass over the limb overhead and down again to where it was tied around a lower branch, but by that time he was already running, yanking his sword out, and he managed to slash through the rope just before the girl hit the top of her arc.

She crashed to the ground with a cry of anger and despair, then rolled up to her knees, huddled and sobbing.

Matt sheathed the sword and went to her slowly, wondering what to do, what to say. "Do" was obvious enough-comfort her-but what to say while he did it?

The girl solved the problem for him. As he knelt down beside her, she moaned, "Go away! is not my shame enough, but that you must see it, too? Gooooo!"

"I don't see any shame," Matt said firmly. "I only see a pretty girl, who could have a wonderful life, giving up when she doesn't have to."

"Does not have to!" The girl whipped about, glaring up at him.

"What do you know about it? Losing your virginity is cause for a man to boast! For a woman, it is always cause for shame, even if she has gained a lover who will be true to her forever ... And if he will not stay true - - ." Her face puckered, and she turned away as the tears flowed with renewed vigor. Matt held out his arms, but she ignored him, curled into a ball of misery.

"Bess!" cried another girl's voice, accompanied by a lot of thrashing and rustling of underbrush. "Bess! Where have you gone?" There was anxiety in the voice, even fear.

"Here," Matt called, then asked, "Is your name Bess?" His only answer was a wail of grief.

The thrashing stopped, and the other girl pushed the branches aside to stare in shock. "What have you done to her!"

"Only cut her down before she could stay up. Matt climbed to his feet and went toward the new arrival. "She won't take any comfort from me. See what you can do."

The older girl stared at him as he went by. "You are too old for her!" know," Matt said over his shoulder, "but somebody else didn't. And he went on his way, resisting the temptation to look back, but hearing the soothing murmuring and the awful tearing cry as Bess threw herself into her friend's arms.

Matt hoped he would never learn the rest of the story. Had she only wakened to find her seducer gone? Or had he gone off after some other girl while Bess was still awake? Or something worse? No, all in all, Matt hoped he never found out-and if he met the man, he hoped he wouldn't know it.

As he went back toward Manny, he saw most of the people beginning to stir, sitting up with hands pressed to their heads and

moaning, or crying as Bess had been crying. Here and there a couple sat up beaming into one another's faces, but there were definitely very few of them. "I have brought the magistrate!

You will stand up and take your oath like a man, or you will go to the Devil!"

Matt turned, staring. Half a dozen hard-faced men were standing around a disheveled teenage couple with pitchforks poised to stab.

"But I do not wish to marry!" the boy cried, and the girl's head snapped up with a look of dismay that transformed into aching hurt.

"You should have thought of that before you took her to bed," a grizzled man said grimly.

"But take her to bed you did, and you will marry her or die!"

" In front of a magistrate? " the boy wailed. A squire in a robe stepped up. "Aye, in front of me! I shall testify that it was justified! Up and swear, or die with my blessing!"

"You will marry, come back to the village, and settle down like the good husbandman you will become," the grim old man snapped. "But I do not want to go home!" the girl wailed. "I want to go to Venarra!

" "The only way you will go there is if he goes ahead of you and finds work enough to support you both in decency! What, my lass, did I95 you think there would be better than this

for you in Venarra? You shall swear, too, or we'll spit him like a pig!"

Alarm in her face, the girl scrambled to her feet. "Come, Williken! I would not see you dead!"

The boy climbed to his feet, face thunderous.

Matt decided not to linger. As he went away, he heard the magistrate beginning to intone the ritual. He did notice that there was no mention of God-but at least there was no mention of the Devil, either. He looked about the field, noticing a few other groups of men carrying scythes and pitchforks. Some of them had found their quarry and were holding them while they waited for the magistrate; some of them were still hunting. Matt wondered what kind of a life two kids could have if it began like this. Well, at least it would be legal ... But there were no priests on hand, and he saw at least two parties digging graves.

Some of the fights over women had gotten out of hand. Matt shuddered as he realized he could very easily have been one of the bodies being lowered into the ground, in hasty, improvised graves with nothing to mark them. He turned away from the sight, to look down at the sound of sobbing coming from nearby ...

And almost tripped over Pascal.

Pascal looked like the eked-out remains of a secondhand illness. His face was battered and bruised-either several small fights or one humdinger. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembled, and his face was the color of melted beeswax. He winced at the sound of Matt's footsteps, and Matt could imagine the headache that produced such oversensitivity. Pascal was hung over so far that he was about to fall in. His face was a container for misery, but even so, he sat with his arms about a young woman whose body was racked with sobs. His face was a study in consternation; he obviously didn't have the faintest idea what to do, but felt the need to do something. "I know, Flaminia, I know," he was murmuring. "it is the greatest of pains, to be scorned by one you love ... Only two days ago-" "Did she promise you marriage and bed you, then steal away when she thought you slept?" the young woman flared. "But no, if she had you would have rejoiced! It is different for men!"

"I would not," Pascal said with full conviction. "But we did not share a bed, only a few minutes in a garden - " "Ah, but if she had taken you to her bed, you would have found your ardor remarkably cooled in the morning!" At least the heat of the girl's anger was drying her tears.

"I did not think so then," Pascal said slowly, looking directly into

her eyes. "No, I still think bedding her would not have changed me-but meeting you, hearing your voice, your mirth, your wit ... It is strange, but Panegyra seems less than she did. . ." Flaminia froze, staring at him. Then she recovered herself enough to snap, "So you would desert her!"

"I cannot," Pascal said simply, "for she would not exchange promises with me, no matter how many I offered. No, she is to marry a man old enough to be her father, and has no interest in breaking off with him. She enjoyed flirting with me, aye His gaze strayed. "Yes, I see it now! She was toying with me, enjoying the game, tantalizing me! Why did I not see that before?"

"Why indeed?" the girl said, but her tone had lost its steel.

"Do not be too hard on her-every woman enjoys that sort of play. But did she give you reason to think she might return your ardor some day?"

"Now that I think of it, Flaminia, no," Pascal said slowly. "She told me that if I were a knight, and wealthy ... Ah, friend Matthew," he said, blushing.

Flaminia looked up, horror-stricken. "Another who knows my shame," the girl said bitterly, and scowled back down at the ground.

"I could never go back to my village now, not in such disgrace."

"None need know save yourself!" Pascal assured her. "Two boys in three days? Be sure that one of them will tell, if the other does not!

Gossip will travel back to my village, Pascal, and if you know it not, you have never lived in so small a place. Of course you have not, squire's son," she said with even more bitterness, "and you cannot know the petty cruelties of peasant women! But believe me, I do, and I shall not open myself to them! No, I cannot go home. I must go on to Venarra-but Heaven knows what the men there will make of me!" The tears overflowed again.

Pascal reached out again to gather her in. She resisted for a second, then tumbled into his arms. "There, there, sweet chuck," he soothed. "You may yet marry."

"Marry!" she wailed. "What tailor would buy soiled goods?

What groom would be wanting a wanton?"

"You are only a wanton if you choose to be," Pascal said slowly.

"There are men who can understand that a woman has made a mistake, has let herself believe gilded lies, but will never do so again." "I will not, be sure of it! Lies have been my undoing-I shall never heed them again!" She pushed him away, tears still streaming down her face. "So do not tell me any more of them! Where is the man who would wed a lass who is no virgin?

Where could I find such a fool?"

"I cannot be sure," Pascal said, looking straight into her eyes,

"but I might be such a fool-if I were in love with the woman." Flaminia froze, staring at him.