The Rope Dancer Read Free

had only been recalled the day before Telor rode into Goatacre. Telor had thanked them sincerely and given them a few songs in exchange for a meal and a place to sleep. They had listened gladly—any form of entertainment was a delight—but they had really preferred Deri’s caperings and crude jests and insults to Telor’s elegant performance.
    Dressed in motley, Deri appeared to stumble about, tripping on his own feet and turning each misstep into a wild gyration of cartwheels and fancy tumbling. Between acrobatic feats, the dwarf twisted his face into crazy grimaces, which disguised his handsome features and made his pithy insults and ribald innuendoes seem to be the accidental mouthings of a fool. Telor heightened the effect by playing a few discordant chords and jangling notes to accompany Deri’s tumbling and often uttering loud, resigned sighs or looking horrified or covering his face in “embarrassment” at his companion’s remarks. Finally, Telor would flutter his hands helplessly, as if he could bear no more and was warning Deri to stop.
    That gesture inevitably produced the opposite effect. Deri would pretend to rush eagerly toward Telor, shouting, “You want me, master? Dear master, I come! I come!” all with a leer so suggestive that the innocent words were given an obscene meaning too clear to be misunderstood. But Deri would never reach Telor, who would stand up with a furious expression on his face; instead Deri would fall into a series of frontovers interspersed with even more outrageous remarks. Then Telor would raise his long, iron-shod quarterstaff and shout at Deri to stop his mouth, the dwarf would collapse on the ground in apparent terror, and Telor would grasp his arm and pull him up, holding him as if to keep him still. Finally, he would apologize to the “good people” if his dwarf had offended them—and the act would be over.
    They were always given a meal and offered a place to sleep, sometimes even invited to share a villager’s house. In more prosperous places they might be given a bit of silver coin or, more often, Telor was able to obtain a straight length or block of fine wood or catgut or white hair from the tail of a horse. He would work on the wood in the long spring and summer evenings, shaping and embellishing, until a fine new pipe, harp, gittern, or lute came to life in his skilled hands. When he and Deri arrived in a large town, he would sell his work if they were in need of money, but usually their skills could buy them lodging and food even in the towns.
    In villages, Telor always tried to separate himself from their hosts and find a loft or a shed where they could be apart. Sometimes he used Deri’s bad behavior as an excuse, but often a shed was all they were offered. Even the serfs distrusted and looked down on the roving jongleurs, who sang, danced, and otherwise amused them but who had no settled place in life, no master to protect them, and were meat for any man’s spite. Of course, the serfs had good reason for their distrust, since the jongleurs were often as skilled in thievery as they were in their art.
    Telor would have been one step above that level had he not traveled with Deri; Telor was a minstrel, a skilled musician and singer with a large repertoire of songs, which celebrated epic deeds and heroic love stories. Moreover, Telor was marked as a person of importance by the simple villagers because he had a good horse, Deri a smaller animal, and there was a mule to carry baggage. Besides, Telor looked noble. He was taller than most of the villagers and cleaner. His features were not striking—mild blue eyes, an undistinguished nose, and a mouth that had a smiling look—but his face was long and thin, like a nobleman’s; his clean, shining hair was carefully trimmed and combed, like a nobleman’s; and his calm manner and seeming assurance impressed the simple souls.
    Actually, Telor’s proper audience was among the nobility, to whom his repertoire had