Secular Wizard

Chapter 13

The rival jumped back, but not far enough-a streak of crimson appeared across his belly. The girl screamed, though whether with horror, delight, or both, Matt couldn’t tell. The rival blanched and leaped farther back-into a wall of hands that shoved him forward to meet the blade of his foe. He howled with anger and slammed a fist into the other man’s jaw-a fist with a knife sticking up from the top. The jealous lover reeled back, blood welling from a gash on his cheek, then charged back with a roar. The rival lunged, but the jealous lover blocked the blade with a cloth-wrapped fist and struck for the chest. The rival blocked, but he had no wrapping, and the blade nicked his knuckles. He shoved hard with a shout of rage, though, then sprang back to yank a shawl from a woman in the crowd, who shrieked protest-but he paid no attention, only began whipping his fist in circles to wrap the cloth around his forearm as a shield. The jealous lover struck before he could finish. The rival blocked and stabbed, but the jealous lover blocked, too, and they sprang apart. The crowd booed. They actually booed, incensed that nobody had been slashed. That did it. Matt decided he had to put a stop to this, somehow-especially since he was hearing angry shouts from two other places in the crowd, and quick glances showed a fistfight breaking out off to the left, and a couple of older men going after each other with cudgels, off on the right. Matt swung his lute into firing position, took aim, and struck a chord-not that anybody could hear it. They couldn’t hear his voice, either, amidst all the yelling, but he sang anyway:

Nobody could hear him, of course, but he went on singing doggedly away. It did cross his mind that a religious song might attract some very unwelcome attention in a country like this, but though the particular song on his lips might have been a spiritual, it didn’t actually mention the Deity or the Savior, or any other specifically religious words. Maybe it was those very associations that gave it the power to cut through the magical inertia of Latruria, for it did seem to be working-the duelists in front of him slowed, the anger fading, uncertainty replacing it until, finally, the jealous lover hurled down his knife with a snarl-right between the rival’s toes-then turned on his heel and stalked off.

The onlookers crowded back out of his way, wary of his thunderous face. The rival watched him go, frowning, then sheathed his knife and turned away. The girl who had been the cause of it all ran to touch him on the arm, but he shook her off with a snarl and strode away into the crowd. Neither felt proud of himself, that was obvious. The girl glared after the rival in indignation, then pivoted to glare after the jealous lover in fury, then finally tossed her head, a dangerous light in her eyes, and stepped up to a good-looking youth who had been watching. “Would you forsake a damsel so easily as that, handsome lad?‘

The boy answered with a slow grin. “Nay, surely not! Not one so fair as yourself! Come, shall we dance?”

“Pay the piper first,” the girl said-and sure enough, now that the excitement was over, an older man was unlimbering a small set of bagpipes.

Matt felt a bit indignant about the competition, but he couldn’t really claim that the man was horning in on a songster’s territory. The young fellow paid him, and the piper coaxed his instrument into a wheeze. Matt winced. No, he certainly didn’t have to worry about competition. The bag inflated, the pipes droned, and the chanter began a merry melody. The boy and girl began to dance. Others joined them, and soon a score of couples were prancing merrily over the turf while the sounds of the other two fights ceased.

Matt glanced at the two areas uneasily, but all four men were still on their feet, though glaring blackly at one another, so Matt decided to take a little credit for it. Not aloud, of course-especially with that piper going. He was into full swing now, and if he wasn’t very good, he was certainly loud. Well, as long as the young folk were dancing, they couldn’t very well be fornicating-although, looking at some of their movements, Matt wasn’t all that sure. The postures and undulations became steadily more suggestive, and Matt turned away, suddenly realizing how very much he was missing Alisande. As long as he’d been staying busy, he hadn’t thought of her more than once every couple of hours, and that in a rather platonic way-but work had suddenly begun to remind him that he was male, and therefore to remind him of his chosen.

What was it doing to Pascal? There he went, flying by in a stamping, hip-thrusting dance, movements that Matt was quite sure he had never known until now-but he was a fast learner, and the girl who was teaching him was very dedicated. Not very pretty, but dedicated-and with a figure well calculated to cheer a disappointed lover. Then they were gone, faces flushed with the dancing, but also with drinking. Matt looked about him and saw that they weren’t the only ones.

Only an hour after sunset, and most of the young folk were staggering-and at least half of their elders, too, the ones who were still standing. Of the forms on the ground, some were madly coupling; the ones who weren’t, were passed out cold, reeking of ale. Most of the bushes were shaking their leaves and rustling, but the ones that weren’t emitted the sounds of abused stomachs rebelling.

Come to think of it, the innkeepers may have been giving the ale away for free, but they weren’t exactly shabbily dressed. Matt tried to picture each of the three he’d seen, noticed that they were all wearing unpatched clothes of good cloth and that their wives wore jewelry. That might have come from selling food and renting rooms, but he had a notion a lot of it came from selling beer, too. By local standards, they were wealthy-but if they could afford to give the stuff away to buy off potential troublemakers, it wasn’t because they charged high prices. In fact, the first innkeeper’s prices weren’t bad at all. If he’d been doing well, it was only because his countrymen drank a great deal of beer.

Everything considered, Matt decided, it was lucky that medieval Europe hadn’t had access to much in the way of narcotics. Pascal went whirling by in the round of dancing again, laughing too hard and eyeing his partner with desperate purpose. He had definitely thrown himself into it with a certain wildness, with the air of a man who is anxious to forget. “Dance with me, handsome minstrel!”

Matt turned in surprise. The woman was about thirty, still attractive, and her figure was generous. “Why thank you.” Matt forced a smile. “But if the minstrel dances, who will play the music?”

“Why, the piper.” She swayed closer, fluttering her eyelashes. Matt thought he must be a fool or a testosterone deprivation case, to feel only the slightest stirring of response. “The piper will tire.”

“But will the pipe?” she asked, and stretched up to plant her lips on his in a firm, demanding kiss. Her tongue teased his lips, and he was shocked to feel them part-by reflex? But her body was pressing against his, he could feel each curve all too warmly, and he realized it had been far too long since he had spent an evening alone with Alisande… The thought of his wife cooled his heating ardor, and he broke the kiss, gasping. “I… thank you, damsel, but-”

She broke into a peal of laughter. “Damsel? Why, thank you, gallant sir, but ‘tis ten years and more since I was wed!”

Matt knew better than to ask if she was a widow. He was dimly aware that the crowd had mostly swirled away, that they were standing at the fringes now. “It has only been a year for me, plus a few months. No, my wife and I are still very new to the business, and still very excited about it.”

“Give it a few years,” the veteran advised. “You will find it boring enough-and find that a kiss and caress on the side will rouse you to greater heights with your wife.” She demonstrated with another kiss. This time Matt was warned, and he kept his lips firmly closed-until he felt a hand smoothing over his buttock and sliding around toward the front. He gasped out of sheer surprise, and that maddening tongue deepened the kiss. She felt his response and moved back with a low, throaty chuckle. “So then, you are not so faithful as all that, are you? Come, sweet chuck!” And she kissed him again. This was definitely too much. Never mind that a healthy body will respond to any touch-Matt didn’t want to respond, damn it! He took the lady by the waist and pushed her firmly away-but she clung, her mouth a veritable suction cup… Pain rocketed through his head, a rocket that must have been heading for the stars, because they were there suddenly, and the world was tilting, more and more, until it jarred up behind him.

Dimly, he could hear the woman chuckle again, feel her hands, though they weren’t searching in any way amorous this time, they were searching for his purse, and there was another pair of hands busy, too, trying to wrench at his belt, his sword… Then his vision cleared just enough for him to see a huge blade sweeping down at him out of the darkness. Panic shot through him and he tried to roll, but his body wouldn’t respond… A roar filled his ears. Something slapped up under his shoulder and sent him spinning. Under the circumstances, he didn’t mind. The roar broke again, and there was a lot of screaming, some of it masculine. There was a pounding that faded. Finally, Matt managed to push himself up off the ground. The world tilted around him, then reversed direction. He caught his breath and swallowed his stomach back down to where it belonged, squeezed his eyes shut, waited for his inner tilting to stop, then tried looking again, and saw… A great tawny wall of fur. It looked vaguely familiar, so he tilted his glance upward, up and up and straight into a grin-two of them, and Manny’s eyes twinkling with amusement up on top. “You said I could not eat them, man,” the manticore said, “but you did not tell them that.”

“Th-Thanks, Manny.” Matt pulled himself up to a sitting position, amazed that he ever could have thought this beast was his enemy. “They… they got a lot closer that time… didn’t they?”

“It is easier to overcome a man,” Manny reflected, “if you do not give him a chance to fight.”

“There is that,” Matt agreed. “Get him busy with a willing wench, then sap him from behind.”

“It somewhat galled the wench,” Manny observed, “that you were not willing.”

Matt smiled ruefully. “Or at least, that she had to keep me rolling for a while before my engine would catch.”

The manticore frowned. “ ‘Engine’? What device did you use?”

“Only a lute,” Matt sighed, “but apparently that qualifies as a lethal weapon in this universe.” He looked around and saw his instrument, miraculously uncrushed. He took it into his lap, checking, but finding no more than a scratch. “Remind me to be very careful who’s around when I sing songs.”

“With all due respect, minstrel-knight,” Manny said, “I doubt that it was either your words or your songs that brought on this… encounter.”

“No.” Matt stared down at the lute, brooding. “It’s the same sorcerer who’s been trying to kill me all along, isn’t it? But why?”

“Why not?” Manny replied. “A manticore needs no more reason for killing than hunger. Perhaps your foe needs not even that.”

“Am I that big a threat? Just me alone?”

“It would seem so-and in the midst of this carnival, who would know you had been slain for any reason more than jealousy over a woman?”

“If anybody even bothered to look that far,” Matt muttered. “Yes. Perfect cover for a murder, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps not perfect,” the manticore said judiciously. “If it had been I who did it, now-”

“Uh, yes, I’m sure you would have managed it much more efficiently.” For some odd reason, Matt wasn’t in the mood for hearing the gory details of the manticore’s no doubt fabulous plan. He climbed to his feet, trying to ignore the piercing pain in his head. “Let’s say it may not have been perfect, but it was certainly good enough.”

“Nay. Almost.”

“Right. Almost good enough.” Matt took an experimental step. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? Thanks to you, Manny.”

“It was nothing,” the manticore assured him. “Anything for a friend.”

“I’ll try to return the favor some day.” Matt looked around him at the merrymakers, most of whom were no longer standing. “It just makes you wonder why putative Christians are so busy breaking the Commandments.”

The manticore winced. “Please! If you must use strong language-”

“Uh, yes, sorry again,” Matt assured him. He’d forgotten that the creature had been so long a pawn of evil that words associated with virtue might be offensive to it. “And I suppose nobody can be openly a Chr-religious, even under the new regime. In fact, most of them probably aren’t at all.”

“Not so. King Boncorro has let it be known that he will not move against any who worship as they please.”

“And nobody believes him. They think it might be a ruse to bring all the believers out into the open, where he can cut them down. Having been persecuted for a hundred years might tend to make a person paranoid. Besides, there’s no assurance Boncorro won’t be bumped off, and his throne usurped by a sorcerer-and then where would they be, the people who had started going to church again? Still, you should be able to tell them by the way they live-by moral conduct.”

“Not under the old king,” Manny said. “Even if people lived morally in private, they did not necessarily want it known.”

“Morality became a matter of taste, eh? And Boncorro hasn’t seen any reason to change that.”

“Other than to let people who want to be moral, be so, no.”

Matt nodded. “Besides, the moral folk wouldn’t have left spouse and children to go trooping south to Venarra-and the kids might be in rebellion against moral parents as easily as they might be running away because they had no morals.”

“You might say it is unpopular,” Manny said thoughtfully. “Moral living is not considered to be in the best of taste. Your northern prudery never did have all that strong a hold here. The folk of ancient Reme lived lives quite scandalous by your standards. Their descendants have been somewhat tempered by the preachers, but not overly much.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about the Roman orgies,” Matt said, “but I thought they were only for the people who could afford them.”

“Smaller purses yielded smaller vices,” the manticore agreed. “But the city was Reme, mortal, not Rome.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot-the other brother won the fight here.”

“ ‘Other’ brother?“ Manny frowned down at him. ”Why should Remus have been the ‘other’ brother? Surely that would have been Romulus!“

Matt was about to protest that the whole story of Romulus and Remus had just been a myth, but was hit by a sudden stab of uncertainty. Sure, it had been a myth in his universe, but here it might have been documented fact. “They were orphans who were suckled by a she-wolf, right?”

“Nay. Their nurse was a wildcat.”

Matt let that sink in. If the whole story of the she-wolf were just a symbol to express the inner nature of the Romans, what did that make their analogs here? A lynx was just as much of a hunter as a wolf, but went after smaller prey, and wasn’t anywhere nearly as rapacious-except in self-defense, or defense of its young. What kind of people could have established an empire just because they were good at self-defense? Paranoids, probably. If they defended themselves all the way into North Africa, Spain, Asia Minor, and England just to make sure nobody would attack them…

Or diplomats? That had a better sound to it. After all, in the myth of the founding of Rome, Romulus was the one who had started building the wall for a future city, and Remus was the one who had made fun of him and jumped over the wall to show how useless it would be. Then Romulus had killed him… But here, Romulus had lost-and his city had been founded by the descendants of the man who didn’t believe in walls. “So Reme has no wall to guard it.”

“Wall? Around Reme?” Manny stared at him as if he were insane. “Why would the citizens have done that? ‘Twas not Babylon or Ninevah, after all!”

“I thought we were discussing its morals. But if they didn’t have a wall, what happened when the Etruscans attacked?”

“ ‘Attacked’? Surely that is too strong a word for two bands of young bloods who steal a few maidens from one another!”

Matt stared. “But… but Lars Porsena… Horatio at the bridge…”

“Ah! I have heard of Horatio. He it was who persuaded Lars Porsena and the other Etruscan noblemen to come confer with the elders of the Latini, under a tent on the broad plain beyond the Tiber! He it was who quieted their acrimony, who showed the Latini how the raids and even the deaths wrought by the young men’s skirmishes appeared through Etruscan eyes-and Lars Porsena, not to be outdone, explained for his folk how the raids must have looked to Latini eyes. They built a bridge indeed, a bridge of understanding between people! Worse luck,” he said, in a sudden change of mood. “There are better pickings for manticores when war bellows loud about the land.” He licked his lips, remembering the taste of human blood. Matt had to get his mind off that subject. “So what did they do about the raiding?‘

“Why, each nation agreed to restrain and rebuke their young men, but to allow them to come courting properly, if they wished-and, to drain off their youthful urge for swordplay and glory, they established the Circus, where the young men could fight with blunted swords for fame-and even fortune, for both peoples paid into a fund to confer prizes upon the winners.”

“The gladiators were free men?” Matt stared. “Of course.” Manny scowled down at him. “What would you have had them be-slaves? How valiantly would they fight, who were forced to?”

It did make a lot more sense than the way Matt’s Romans had done things. “So the Remans didn’t defeat the Etruscans, they married them?”

“Aye, and out of their union grew the great empire of Latruria, whose soldiers marched out to protect all the civilized world from the howling hordes of barbarians.”

Well, Matt had heard that line before. “Sure-and they protected all the other nations so well that they wound up owning them.”

Manny shook his head. “ ‘Owned’ is too strong a term. They led, they showed the Greeks and the Egyptians the Latrurian way of fighting, and learned theirs; they learned from every nation they protected, and taught them the use of the legion. But ‘conquered’? No. Each nation in turn asked to join the Federation of Latinis and Etruscans, and Latruria was glad to embrace them, for the barbarians were growing in numbers and skill. It was too much to ask that each nation be accorded a syllable in the name of the empire, though, so Latruria it remained-not Latruri-greegyptolibiberi-”

“I get the point,” Matt said quickly. “So it was a friendly federation of states that just happened to be ruled from Reme, huh?‘

Manny shrugged. “It was Horatio who built the bridge of understanding; it was his countrymen who excelled as diplomats and teachers-aye, and in commerce, too. Of course the Senate met in Reme, and just as surely, every provincial nobleman longed to see Reme before he died.”

“And all voluntary and from enlightened self-interest,” Matt said, feeling numb. “How about Judea?”

“Those stiff-necked fanatics?” Manny said with a snort of disapproval. “They who would not ask Reme’s help, Reme wisely let be, but when the Medes-”

“Medes?” Matt frowned. “I thought the Eastern empire was Persian.”

“Nay. Alexander had sounded the death knell of the Persian empire long before. ‘Twas the Medes.”

Matt shrugged. “One man’s Mede is another man’s Persian. So what did they do to the Jews?”

“Why, conquered them, of course. They pounced upon the Jews and conquered them with the Latrurian way of waging war. Then Judeans wished then that, rather than be conquered by a member of the Federation, they had accepted the help Reme offered.”

“Sure-members of the Federation would have been barred from fighting one another.” Matt felt numbed. “I assume the Medes used Reme’s laws and penalties?”

“All did.” Manny pursed his lips, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making a guess as to what might have happened to a man convicted of blasphemy. Crucifixion was still the penalty, I guess-even though it wasn’t Romans who did it.”

“Remans!”

“Right,” Matt sighed. “Remans. What did they do about Carthage?”

Manny grinned. “Outbid them, of course, time and time again-and Carthage would not hear of a merger. After the defeat, it was the visionary statesman Hannibal who convinced his countrymen that if they could not beat the Remans, they should join them. Therefore did he send an embassy to Reme with rich gifts-”

“Including elephants?”

“Then you have heard the tale!”

“No, but something like it. So Carthage stayed Carthage, but joined the Federation?”

“It did indeed, and became a mighty power for welding the empire together with strands of gold and silver.”

“Commercial colonialism got an early start here,” Matt reflected wryly. “Hard to see how an empire like that could ever fall.”

Manny shrugged. “Did it fall? Or was it merely too successful? It civilized the barbarians all about it, after all-even the Huns, when they hacked and slew their way in; but the legions engulfed them, punished their leaders, and sent them home with rich gifts for their kings.”

Matt stared. “The Huns joined the empire?”

“No, but they learned from it, and ceased to roam the steppes with their herds. They became herders still, but within their own farms-if you can call it a farm, when it encompasses miles and has only grazing land and fields of oats…”

“I’d call it a ‘ranch,’ ” Matt said sourly. “If they managed that with the Huns, what happened to the Gauls and the Germans?”

“Oh, they became more Reman than the Remans! Even those silly folk on that northern island who painted themselves blue and stiffened their hair with chalk, even they began to build Reman houses and baths, and wear Reman clothes! But they began to think that they could fare better by themselves, and broke away from the Federation. Then older states followed their lead and one by one declared themselves independent. Reme looked up one day and discovered that it was alone, though it had many friends. But when those friends began to make war upon one another, it had no justification for seeking to stop them. Oh, they sent diplomats to plead and explain, but the Gauls and Germans and Goths, in their pride, would not listen. Then at last, the Vandals, in their arrogance, sacked Reme, and the day of empire was most definitely done. Hurt and angered and bitter, the men of the Tiber turned inward, rebuilding their city and swearing to care no more about the other nations, only to take care of their own.”

“So.” Matt glowered down at his lute. “They finally built Romulus’ wall for him, eh?”

Manny turned to him, startled. “An odd thought-but when I think of it that way, you are right. It is not a wall of bricks and stones, but of pride and bitterness-yet it is nonetheless a wall.”

Matt looked up. “Where did you learn all this? You don’t strike me as the bookish sort.”

“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 great-grandsire 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 breakup; 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 Ph.D. 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 canned 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 hungrily. “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 understanding. 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, no-not 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 home-made noose jumped off the stump.