A Wizard in War

10

Ciare saw him reaching, and cried, “Coll, no!”

But another hand intercepted Coll’s, holding him off in an iron grasp, and it was Dirk’s other hand that caught the lordling’s wrist and squeezed. The young blood cursed and twisted his hand free of Dirk’s—and of Ciare’s waist, but he was too busy glaring at Dirk to notice. “Who are you, fellow?”

“A gentleman who had a prior claim on this young woman’s time.” Dirk stepped up to him, nose to nose, though he had to tilt his head back to do it. “Do you dispute that claim?”

The young blood glanced down at Dirk’s hand on his rapier’s hilt and grinned wolfishly. “Why, here’s a poxy bold fellow! Do you know to whom you speak?”

“What does it matter?” Dirk retorted. “Corpses need no names.”

The young blood’s grin hardened. “But they have them, and their kin take unkindly to those who slew them.”

Dirk shrugged. “So you have a large number of corpses, all with the same name. Is that an improvement?”

The young blood snarled and pushed Dirk away, leaping back himself to draw his rapier. Dirk’s steel flickered out to guard only a second behind. The other young bucks started to move in, but someone nearby cleared his throat very loudly. All four of the playboys looked up—and suddenly became less willing to play, because it was Gar who stood nearby, hand on the hilt of a sword longer than any of theirs, towering over them all by almost two feet and a hundred pounds of muscle. He was only watching the proceedings with interest, but the backup group took the hint and backed off.

“The landlord won’t like spilled blood in his innyard,” Gar said. “Be quick about it, will you?”

“We’ll see whose blood is spilled!” the young gentleman snapped, but with more volume than emotion. He leaped forward, thrusting.

Dirk parried, then whirled his sword in a figure eight as the young blood advanced. He thrust, and Dirk’s sword rang down, striking the rapier so hard it spun away into the dirt. Its owner cried out, shaking his hand in pain. While he was distracted, Dirk stepped up and twisted the dagger out of his left hand. The young blood stared at him, suddenly realizing how completely he was at Dirk’s mercy. His face went white.

Dirk sheathed his sword and took the injured hand. “Here, let me see.” The young blood tried to pull away, then shouted more with alarm than pain as Dirk’s left hand closed tight on his forearm. Dirk’s right probed the other’s sword hand gently. The man winced and ground his teeth. Dirk dropped the hand and stepped back. “Nothing broken—but I didn’t think there was. Probably a sprain, though. You should wind a bandage tightly around it and let it rest for a day. Some brandy would help—inside you. Not too much, though.”

The young blood blinked, surprised that his late opponent should care.

“Here, take him home,” Dirk said to the backup group, then turned to Ciare, who was watching from the safe haven of Coll’s arm. “Androv says you have work to do setting up for tomorrow’s show.”

“Yes! Of course. Thank you.” Ciare gave him a glance of gratitude, then went past him toward the stage, Coll following.

Dirk watched them go, saying to Gar, “That fast enough for you?”

“Yes, quite,” Gar answered. “Lacking a bit in finesse, mind you, but certainly effective.”

Dirk shrugged. “You didn’t say to make it pretty.”

Coll was inside the tiring house only a minute, then came out to see Dirk and Gar coming toward him, while behind them, the young gentry were escorting their friend out of the innyard with awed glances back over their shoulders. Coll knew just how they felt. He stepped aside for Dirk and Gar, deciding they were his masters indeed.

They came through the tiring-house curtains and found Ciare standing, hands on hips, looking about her. “I thought you said Androv wanted me here! ”

“He didn’t,” Dirk said. “I do,” Coll told her.

She darted into his arms, head on his chest “Oh, you darling fool, I was so afraid you would strike that lordling and have a dozen soldiers fall on you!” She looked up at Dirk. “Thank you, thank you, Master Dirk, for saving him for me!”

“Anything to oblige a lady,” Dirk said gallantly, “which you are, by your behavior if not by your birth.”

Ciare gave him a dazzling smile, which became slow and languorous as she turned back to Coll.

“I believe it was you that Master Androv wanted,” Gar told Dirk.

The smaller man replied, “Did he? Guess I don’t hear so well these days. Well, let’s not keep him waiting.” He led Gar out of the tiring house without a backward glance.

“My employers are understanding,” Coll said to break the sudden silence.

“Understanding what you meant by saying that you want me, you mean?” Ciare turned her head a little away, regarding him through her lashes. “Well, then, you have me. What do you wish to do with me?”

For answer, Coll lowered his head and kissed her. He meant it to be short and respectful, but Ciare’s hand pressed down on the back of his neck, and the tip of her tongue danced over his lips, galvanizing him, so the kiss became far longer than he had intended. When it was done, he had to cling to her for a few minutes before his head stopped swimming.

Ciare laughed softly and pushed herself a little away from him. “What else do you wish to do with me?”

“Many things.” For a moment, Coll’s mind spun with possibilities—but they frankly frightened him, so he answered her smile with one of his own. “But not necessarily here. Those young swaggerers have left the innyard now, so there’s no need to stay hidden. Let’s step inside. I think the rest of the company is sitting down to supper, at the landlord’s expense.”

“Will you take me in on your arm?” Ciare demanded. For answer, Coll proffered his arm. She slipped her hand inside his elbow and went with him, laughing.

Coll sat beside her throughout dinner, and noticed that Ciare never said a word about the young men who had accosted her, or Dirk’s way of dealing with them, but she was even more attentive to Coll than usual. Dicea gazed at them, fuming, for a while, then turned her attentions to Gar. He chatted with her gravely and with courtesy, managing to work her into the conversation with three of the other actresses who had made a point of sitting near him. As the servers were bringing out the pudding, Coll realized that it had been some time since Gar himself had spoken more than a few words; somehow he had managed to coax all four women into a discussion about the frustrations and pains of dealing with men. Gar still listened impassively, but Coll had to turn away, his ears burning, and listen somewhere else.

The next morning, Gar asked Androv, “Do the young men in the audience always pester the actresses?”

“Always,” Androv confirmed, “though Magda and Drue don’t seem to think of it as pestering, if the young bucks are handsome enough. For the others, though, we must be watchful. They’ve become expert at discouraging young men gently, but some refuse to be discouraged, and have to be diverted by other means.”

So after that day’s performance, Coll made sure he was by Ciare’s side right after the ending, and Dirk was right beside him, so the young bloods were clustering around a trio, not a woman alone. Nonetheless, a young knight swaggered up to elbow Coll, crying, “One side, fellow! Don’t keep the sugarplums all to yourself! ”

“The actress’s time is taken,” Coll told him.

“Oh, is it indeed!” Today’s young blood dropped a hand to his sword hilt. “And what if I should like to take some of it?”

But Coll stood like a boulder, and Dirk turned to face the young buck, hand on his own hilt—but two others sidled up to Ciare. “Oh!” she gasped, as a hand touched her bottom, and “Sir!” more angrily, as the other man touched her breast.

Dirk swung about, eyes flashing, sword half-drawn, and steel whickered as the man behind him drew, too.

“No!” Ciare cried in distress. “Please, no! I will—”

“You won’t!” Coll shouted.

“Let go!” the young blood behind him raged. Everyone turned to look, Dirk with only a quick glimpse that showed the swaggerer with his sword half drawn, frozen by a huge hand which had closed on his, holding the sword where it was.

“Gently, gently, now, sir!” Gar soothed. “What kind of gentleman would force his attentions on a woman who didn’t want them?”

“Want them! Of course she wants them! Why else would she parade her charms before the public that way?”

“Why would the men who play parts on the stage ‘parade’?” Gar countered. “Or do you think they do it to attract women to buy their favors?”

“Well, of course not! For a man, it’s different!”

“But this woman, and all her friends, have only the same reason as the men,” Gar explained, quite reasonably, “to present a story for your entertainment, and the money they gain is only that which comes at the gate.”

The man glared up at him. “Do you mean to tell me none of these women sell their favors?”

“I’ve never seen them do so.” Gar didn’t mention that he had been with the troupe only a few days. “Better to ask yourself how many women of the common people do go willingly to the bed of a man not their husband.”

“Why … they seem willing enough when I ask them.”

“Willing?” Gar said skeptically. “Or scared to refuse?” The man straightened, throwing his shoulders back.

“Look at me, fellow! What woman would not wish to bed me?”

“Any who wasn’t in love with you,” Gar returned straightaway, “and if you deceive yourself into thinking that they choose to go with a total stranger out of sheer desire, you deceive yourself indeed. Any woman who makes so free with her body does so out of fear or hunger, or both.”

The young blood glared in indignation. “Do you say that I am not a fine figure of a man? And with a handsome face, too!”

“I wouldn’t know,” Gar said. “I’m not a woman. But I do know that no matter how attractive a man is, a woman must be wooed for a few days—or weeks, or months—before she desires to share his bed.”

The young man frowned, peering more closely. “You don’t sound like a man common-born. What are you?” Gar gave him a sardonic smile and, in a tone that gave the lie to his words, said, “Come, now. Would a lord, or even a knight, travel with a band of players?” He stared directly into the young man’s eyes.

The young man returned the gaze, holding it level as he said, “No,” and, “Of course not.”

Coll heard the words, but also the tone, and knew that Gar had confirmed the young nobleman’s guess, and the young nobleman had accepted the knowledge as a secret that would be kept.

There was a new tone of respect in the young man’s voice as he said, “I am Dandre, heir to the Earl of Mauplasir. And you, sir?”

“Gar,” the giant told him, “just Gar. How do you think of your serfs, my lord—as people to be protected, or worldly goods for your own pleasure and amusement?”

“People to be protected, of course!” Lord Dandre said in indignation. “Certainly they must do their work, but it is the lord’s obligation to protect and care for them!”

Gar nodded. “And serfs who are not your own?”

“Why, you treat them with the respect you would show to any other kind of property belonging to another lord…” His gaze strayed to Ciare, who clung to Coll, watching with apprehension. “Do you say that I have broken my own code?”

“You have, though I suspect you had no idea you were doing so. You assumed that because the lass was a player, she would be eager for any lord’s attention—but if she had been a serf on your own estates, you would not have assumed so.”

“Not the one following the other as summer follows spring, no,” Lord Dandre said slowly, “though there are surely serf girls aplenty to vie for a lord’s favors. Still, I have never pursued one who did not make it clear that she wanted me to do so.” His face firmed; he turned to Ciare, sweeping off his hat in a bow. “Your pardon, lass. I mistook.”

“Certainly, my lord,” Ciare answered, wide-eyed. “I thank you.” She glanced at Gar as though to wonder what wizardry he had performed. So did the young man’s companions, though they, too, had begun to look rather thoughtful.

“You are knights,” Gar pointed out. “What did you swear to do when you were knighted?”

Lord Dandre frowned. “Why, to protect the Church and to fight for the Right, but there’s never much need for that.”

“And to defend the weak?”

“Yes, and the honor of ladies, especially…” Dandre’s voice ran down as he glanced again at Ciare. “But she is a woman, not a lady!”

“Is it only the wellborn, then, that you’re supposed to defend?”

Lord Dandre looked at Ciare in consternation, and his friends began to mutter darkly to one another.

“Perhaps you think that women of the common people can protect themselves,” Gar said, “but think—you’re also supposed to protect the poor, and the weaker from the stronger. What is a commoner woman but just such a weaker? And these players, I assure you, may be numbered among the poor.”

The backup group quieted, frowning at Gar.

“You mean, then, that I should certainly defend all women,” Lord Dandre said quietly, “not ladies only.”

Gar nodded. “If not because they’re ladies, then because they’re poor.”

“And that I should defend the weaker, herself, against the stronger—myself.” Lord Dandre’s smile was tight with self-contempt.

“You have named it, my lord. Oh, I have seen soldiers bring a virgin kicking and screaming to their lord, for no better reason than that she was a serf, and pretty. To do them justice, young men of our—your—class are taught that all serf women are eager to leap into bed with them, if only for the money which will be sent them if they prove by child. But that is simply and plainly not true; it is a fable handed down from father to son, when neither ever asked the women themselves.”

“Why, then, how could we know the truth?” the young man exclaimed with anger. “But if it is as you say, then my misguided notions nearly led me into virtual rape!”

“There is no ‘virtual’ about it,” Gar said severely. “No means no, my lord, no matter of what class the woman may be. Even if ‘no’ means only that the woman isn’t sure she’s ready to say ‘yes,’ even if it means she is wanting to say yes and is almost willing to, it is still no.”

“ ‘Willing’ isn’t enough; the woman must be eager, or I am exploiting one weaker than myself.” Lord Dandre’s face was red with anger. “A pox upon the vile rumors that have ever led me to believe otherwise! I thank you, friend, for showing me this! I shall tell this truth to all who speak of it!”

“This isn’t the only untruth about their serfs that noblemen believe,” Gar assured him. “How many of the lords you know have serfs who are well housed and well fed, my lord?”

“Why, well enough, for serfs,” Lord Dandre said, surprised.

“Are they truly, my lord?”

Lord Dandre frowned again. “You must think otherwise, to ask me with such weight. Nay, friend, rest assured that from this day forth, I shall look more closely at the poor folk around me!”

“Thank you, my lord,” Gar said with a little bow. “I think you will be surprised at what you see.”

“Surprised or not, I shall thank you ever more! And if I find the poor folk to be as miserable as you say, I shall exhort all young lords to work to defend them!”

Gar looked down at the ground, pressing fingers over his lips, then looked up with a forced smile. “I am delighted to hear you speak so, my lord—but may I caution you not to be too outspoken on the issue? Indeed, I would enjoin you to be very careful to whom you speak about it.”

Dandre frowned. “Surely it cannot be so dangerous!”

“But it is. Think, my lord—by saying that lords are obliged to lessen the sufferings of the poor, you’re limiting the power of each lord to do as he pleases within his own demesne—and there are some lords who will not take kindly to any such limits, no matter who imposes them.” Lord Dandre stood gazing into his face for a minute or more, then abruptly nodded. “A wise caution. Again I thank you.” Then he turned to Ciare, doffing his hat. “Lass, again I ask your pardon!” Then he turned to his friends, clapping his hat back on his head. “Come! Let us go study the poor folk, and see how deep is the truth this stranger has told us!”

They went on out the innyard gate, walking fast, and Gar turned to Ciare, who was sobbing on Coll’s shoulder. She looked up at Dirk and Gar through her tears. “Thank you, my protectors! I could not have borne it if it had happened again! ”

“Again?” Coll went rigid, but managed to hold back the questions and only hold her, resting his cheek upon her hair, waiting for the sobs to pass—and slowly, the tension bled out of him.

When Ciare’s sobs slackened, she turned a tear-streaked face to Gar and said, “I cannot thank you enough, Sir Gar, for having saved us from spilled blood.”

“I’m not sure I would have minded doing a little spilling,” Coll grated.

“Oh, I know, my brave one!” Ciare pressed a hand against his chest, looking up into his eyes. “I was so frightened that you might strike to defend me, and be spitted on the young nobleman’s sword!”

Coll stiffened, but forced a smile and touched her cheek gently. “I don’t think I would have been the one struck down.”

“Even worse! For then they would have fallen upon you in a pack and beaten you senseless! And when you waked and found yourself in irons, they would have tortured you before they hanged you! Oh, I could not have borne losing you! Please, oh please, my brave one,” she implored him, “vent your anger on me if you wish, not on a man whose only real fault was that he was misguided! You heard what he said to your friend, even now! He didn’t know!”

Coll drew a sharp breath. “What a generous spirit you have, to be able to forgive so easily!”

“But rightly,” Gar said. “The young lord does have some sense of noblesse oblige, after all; he only needed his obligations made clear to him.”

“And you did so with great skill and gentleness!” Ciare turned back to Gar. “Oh, thank you, thank you, for holding them away with words, not with blows!”

“It was my pleasure,” Gar said gravely, “but it imposes an obligation on you, lass, one which I’m sure you have already fulfilled—to never say ‘no’ if you don’t mean it, or at least aren’t yet sure you mean ‘yes.’ ”

She stared at him, breathing, “I never have!”

“Nor did I think you had, as I have said,” Gar assured her, “but there are many women who aren’t willing to accept that responsibility. Of course, they will never really be women grown then, will they?”

Ciare frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“That’s all right,” Dirk said. “Neither does he.”

“Lord Dandre is really a good young man, but misguided,” Gar told them. “If he tells what he has learned to other young lords, we may see the wars ended out of sheer duty.” He turned to Coll. “Is there a chance of it?”

Coll’s smile was sour. “I’d like to believe it, Master Gar, but there have been young lords of good heart before, many times before.”

Gar frowned. “What happened to them?”

“Their fathers died,” Coll said simply, “and they became lords in their own right. Then they changed, as I have told you.” He shrugged. “A lord is a lord, Master Gar. Maybe it’s the coronets they wear that infect their brains.”

“Perhaps,” Gar said darkly, “or perhaps it’s the power.” Coll shrugged again. “Coronet or power, what can be done about it?”

“Leave them the coronets,” Gar told him, “but take away the power.”

Coll stared, feeling fear chill him at the mere thought. What kind of man was this, who could speak so easily of curbing the lords?

They performed once more the next afternoon, but the innyard wasn’t quite so fully packed as it had been the day before, and the innkeeper told Androv several of his courtyard rooms had gone unrented. Androv knew the signs, so he thanked the man and told his players to pack. They took down the stage, filled the carts, spent one more luxurious night sleeping in real beds and had one more breakfast cooked in a kitchen, then rolled out of the innyard and onto the high road when the sun was scarcely above the horizon. As they passed the outskirts of the town, Kostya and Chester veered away from the carts and went jogging off the road through a screen of bushes. Coll was very curious, but he knew better than to ask.

Half an hour later, Coll was getting worried. “Look,” he told Ciare, “we’d better tell Androv that two of his players are missing.”

“He knows,” Ciare assured him.

“Yes, you all know each other’s business, don’t you?” Dicea said acidly.

“Always,” Ciare said, amused. “We’re like a big family, in a way.”

“And I’ve noticed how well the brothers and sisters get along,” Dicea said darkly.

Ciare laughed outright. “Or fail to, you mean? Yes, we have our rivalries—and yes again, we’re very much like two children vying for their parents’ favor.”

“Or two sisters vying for the same suitor,” Gar said. Both women gave him a glare, but he only asked, “You know the song, don’t you?”

That took them by surprise, and both stared at him. “Which song?”

“The song of the two sisters,” Gar said, and sang them the tale of the woman who pushed her younger sister into a river so that she might win the younger’s lover for herself. They listened enthralled; Gar gave them the nicer version, in which the miller tried to save the girl and buried her when she died, but her breastbone rose to the surface, and a minstrel made a harp of it—a harp which, when he played it in her father’s hall, sang the story of the elder sister’s treachery for all to hear.

As Gar was finishing, two figures darted from a grove just ahead of them—Kostya and Chester, each with a fat chicken under one arm, the other holding the beak shut. They leaped up, and friendly hands hauled them aboard the carts, where they burrowed under the cloth and among the trunks to disappear.

Coll stared, scandalized, and Dirk asked, “Just what have you two been up to?”

“It’s a crime to let a stray chicken wander off to become the prey of a fox,” answered a voice from the interior of the cart.

“The fox should know,” Gar said, amused. “Are you certain those chickens were strays?”

“Quite certain,” the other voice assured him. “We made sure of it ourselves.”

“You just couldn’t stand to see them penned up and fretting to have a nice walk outside their coop, eh?”

“Who should know better than those who love the freedom of the open road?” Kostya’s voice countered.

“Then let us hope you continue to enjoy that freedom, boys,” Androv said, and shook the reins. “Gee-up, you! Go a little faster, there!”

“You shall indeed, Your Grace,” the castellan agreed. “However, this proud stripling now has most of Earl Insol’s soldiers to drive before his own.”

“What matter? I shall have more! There’s not a one of us ten dukes who doesn’t know how vital it is to teach a new monarch his place! Send heralds to each of the other nine, Sir Lochran, and tell them the news, then tell them that Trangray says we must band together to teach this strutting peacock chick a lesson straightaway, or he will take it into his head to try to conquer us one by one!”