The Secular Wizard - Wis in Rhyme - 4 (20 page)

The young man had been staring as if his face wore a matched pair of fried eggs. Now he gave his head a quick shake and turned to climb out of his blanket, then fold it up. Matt followed suit, relieved to find that he wasn't the only one taken by surprise.

The knight sat down at a table, still grinning. "I could eat my horse, or at least as much food as he!"

" 'Tis early still, but I shall bring you whatever is hot." The wench favored him with a slumberous look.

The knight laughed softly, with one last tug at her fingers, and she turned away, tossing her head at the chorus of catcalls with which her fellow serving maids greeted her. "Jealous witches! Simply be-cause he did not choose one of you!"

"Who else among us was so quick with comfort and nursing?" a buxom wench countered. "Was the loser worth your time?" The girl smiled and flaunted a brooch.

"Gold!" The buxom one lost her smile, eyes round.

"And more in coin," the wench told her.

The other girls hissed envy.

She tossed her head again and flounced over to pick up her tray.

"It is good to be charitable to poor wounded knights."

"Aye, if they be rich and spendthrift!" another girl sneered.

"And lacking in taste," a third contributed. The chorus of jibes went on until she had taken her tray away, still

with a self-satisfied smile; she obviously felt that she had pulled off a coup right beneath their noses. So, obviously, did they.

"I find I have small appetite for breakfast," Pascal told Matt.

"Let us take a loaf and eat as we march."

"Good idea." Matt went to the innkeeper to pay their score and pick up some bread. He was glad to see that Pascal's part of Merovence hadn't been completely corrupted by Latruria-yet.

They passed out of the village, managing not to be shocked by the number of people who were up and about-at least to judge by the smoke rising from chimneys and, in the case of peasant huts, smoke holes. Pascal seemed not even to notice, and Matt had become inured to a culture in which people went to bed with the dark and woke with the light. It wasn't quite that bad at Queen Alisande's court, where the candles, fueled by the royal exchequer, burned until well after ten P.m.-but it still made Matt do a mental double-take when he realized that most of the common folk were up and about when he would have been just getting to bed in his protracted college days.

They hadn't gone more than two rods past the village limits when a soft padding behind them made Matt turn around. Sure enough, it was Manny. "Did you eat well?"

"Aye, though the cowherd seemed inclined to dispute ownership with me."

"You didn't eat him, too, did you?" Matt said anxiously.

"Nay. After all, 'twas in your interests he objected."

"Ours?" Pascal frowned.

"Aye. 'Avaunt!' cried he. 'I've sold that beef to a minstrel!'

'He is my master,' quoth I-it galls me, but I find these simple peasant folk cannot comprehend how a monster might be loyal to a family, even as one of its servants might be."

"I have a little difficulty understanding it myself," Matt confessed. "Not objecting, mind you-I guess Great-Grandpa did a better job en-chanting you than he knew. So what happened to the cowherd?"

"He did not agree with me."

"I told you not to eat him."

"Nay, 'twas with my words he failed to agree, not my stomach. At the last, I became angered and told him that 'twas for me you had bought the steer, and he seemed doubtful enough that he left me to my repast."

Matt sighed. "I can't imagine why."

,Certainly the wisest choice," Pascal agreed. "Then you slept well?"

"Aye; green grass is soft enough for me. Why you plaguey people seem to think you have need of feather beds and such, I cannot fathom-nor why you will not allow me to accompany you into the towns."

"Bad for business," Matt explained. "We're trying to attract crowds, not chase them away."

"So you have said-though I should think that no matter how well they pay you, they would pay better to be sure I would go away."

"Well, yes," Matt said judiciously, "but that way, they might be a little more careful what they said around us, and I'm out to pick up gossip. Matter of fact, with you along, I don't think we'd get close enough to overhear anything they said."

Manny sighed. "Mortals are such flighty creatures. Delicious, mind you, but excitable nonetheless."

"Yes, I've noticed that myself. But for the time being, Manny, we'll keep the present system, if you don't mind."

"Not greatly," the manticore sighed, "so long as you buy me a cow before you go parading into the town. Still, as I've said before, you need only whistle the phoenix's call, and I shall bound to your rescue."

"I remember the notes," Pascal assured him. "But how can you be sure 'tis the cry of a phoenix?"

"Why, because I heard the bird cry out thus just before he burst into flame."

Pascal looked suddenly worried.

"Don't worry, you've done it once already, and nothing happened,

/I

Matt said by way of reassurance. He turned back to Manny. No chance that another phoenix will come to answer it, is there?

The manticore shrugged. "I cannot say with certainty-but I have heard the phoenix is a most singular bird."

"Meaning there's only one of him, I hope," Matt mused, "though I'm not sure I'd really be all that unhappy to see one."

"Would it not depend on whether it came to help you, or hurt you?" Pascal offered.

"Yes, that might affect the way I felt," Matt admitted.

"Now, Manny-when we get to the castle we're heading for, village rules apply, okay?"

"So long as there is a fat bullock staked out for me every night," the manticore said, "I will be as invisible as the very wind. But you will make me feel unloved, mortal."

"How about if I try to find a lady manticore for you?" Manny's grins widened. "That would be even better than a bullock." "No promises," Matt temporized, "but I'll keep my ears open for information about one." And they went on down the road, with Matt Chapter pondering the complexities of manticore reproduction.

Panegyra's house was a moated grange-a large country house with low walls, a wide moat, and a drawbridge. So big a moat appeared rather extravagant to Matt, until he looked closely and saw that it had been made from an oxbow bend in the river, and that all the squire had needed to do was to dig another arc connecting the two prongs of the U. The house itself was fieldstone, and it was surrounded by a low wall, only four feet high-not enough to keep anyone out by itself, but enough to offer cover to archers trying to keep an enemy away.

"Doesn't look like they're all that sure the peace will last," Matt commented.

"Her great-grandfather was not," Pascal answered. "The land was still in strife then, between the forces of the kings and the counts." Matt pricked up his ears; that sounded like the medieval Italy he knew.

"Did each noble family have a town it more or less owned?"

"Aye, or shared with another noble family." Pascal looked at him quizzically. "I thought you knew nothing of Latruria, Sir Matthew."

"Oh, I've heard bits and pieces-and hold off on the 'Sir,' okay?

Around here, I'm just a minstrel." "As you wish," Pascal said,

"though I confess that without it, I begin to lose track of your station.

Pardon me if I offend."

"No need." Matt was used to undergraduates trying to be too familiar with the professor.

"If I can't win your respect by my actions, the title isn't going to do me much good."

Pascal frowned. "I would have said that it was those who do not win respect, who most need the title and station."

"A point, but one I'd rather not admit. For myself, I'd just as soon not be left standing at the station." He turned to the manticore.

"Time to head for the tall timber, Manny."

"Where?" The monster looked about at the wide plain, with nothing more than occasional outcrops of trees.

"A point," Matt admitted, "but I'm sure you can find someplace to hide. We paid that shepherd well to leave you two skinned sheep by the big rock in his meadow every night-so don't ramble too far away, okay?"

"I shall not-but do not be gone overlong, I prithee. His flock is not overly large."

"At the price I paid, he can buy sheep and still make a fat profit. In fact, he promised to do just that. Probably thinks I'm a bandit chief with a small army in hiding-so I don't think he'll try to cheat us."

"He had best not," Manny answered, and Matt wondered if it was his voice rumbling or his stomach.

"All this talk of sheep makes me yearn for meat," Pascal grumbled.

"Come, friend Matthew! Let us knock on their gate!" But there was a hidden urgency about him; he was as taut as a hound on a leash. Matt gave him a glance, but only said, "Yeah, it has been a long hike.

Off we go, eh? " They crossed the drawbridge, and Matt counted it a healthy sign that there was no sentry stationed to watch. Come to that, the chains running up to the bridge tower were a bit rusty, as if they hadn't been used in a year. Things must have been safe lately. They came through the tower-really just a stone arch, Matt discovered. He glanced back to see if Manny was watching them, but the manticore had already disappeared.

"Good day! What do you here?"

Matt snapped around to see a man with a bucket and brush staring at them as if trying to decide whether or not to scowljudging their class, most likely. He must have decided favorably, for he forced a smile and turned to Pascal. "I know you, do I not?"

"You do indeed," Pascal told him. "We met at the family gathering last summer, though I fear I do not recall your name.

Mine is Pascal de la Tour."

"Ah! Young Master Pascal! You are welcome, Sir, I am sure though your coming is quite a surprise. I am only Anselmo, a footman-I doubt

you would have heard my name, let alone remembered it. Come, let me conduct you to Squire dell Tour."

He spoke with a heavy accent, but it was the same language Matt had grown accustomed to the dialect as they came south, after all. Anselmo set down his bucket and brush on the doorstep, then led the way into the house.

He brought them to a small, spartan reception room where they waited for a few minutes before the door slammed open to admit a stocky, graying, bearded man in an open robe with open arms. "Cousin Pascal! What a happy chance!"

Pascal rose, just in time for the squire's forward rush to carry the young man into his arms for a bear hug. Matt thought he heard Pascal's ribs creak; then the older man held him back at arm's length, looking him up and down with a grin. "Well, a bit of dust on you, but that's to be expected in so long a journey.

What happy chance brings you to my house?"

"Why, a wish to see something of the world, Cousin Giuseppe." The answer was glib; Pascal had rehearsed it at least five times a day, all the way from Merovence. "I had thought it best to begin where I was not a complete stranger-and at the gathering last summer, you and my father did extend open invitations to each other's families."

"We did, we did indeed, and right glad am I of your company!" Squire Giuseppe turned to Matt. "And who is your companion?"

"Matthew, a wandering minstrel who has been good enough to let me accompany him. Even today, I have heard it is not wise to travel alone."

"Indeed it is not-in fact, you are fortunate to have chosen a companion who did not try to cut your purse the first night." The squire pumped Matt's hand. "You are welcome, sir, welcome! I thank you for escorting my nephew! But come, gentlemen, come! You must see my house-then you must refresh yourselves, so that you may come to dinner!" And he swept them out the door and off on a whirlwind tour of his house, complete with names and dates of each ancestor who had built each wing or installed each convenience or had which picture painted or statue sculpted.

He was indefatigable and never seemed to remember that his guests might not be-so when they had finally been deposited in a guest room, Matt sank down on a chair with a sigh. "Now I know what they mean by aggressive hospitality!" He eyed the great copper tub hungrily, but said, "You wash first, Pascal-I think you'll take longer dressing. When do we get to meet this feminine paragon of a cousin of yours?"

"At dinner." Pascal was already half out of his clothes, movements quick and nervous. "I can hardly wait, Matthew! A year and more, but at last I shall see her again!"

"Yes, at last." Matt just hoped the boy decided it had all been worth the trip.

"Your Majesty must not go!" The gray-bearded doctor trembled with agitation. "I have cast the runes, I have gazed within a pool tinted with a drop of your blood-and there can be no doubt! I have seen the babe that grows inside you! You are with child and must not risk the baby's life by going on campaign!"

"I shall take no risks that I can avoid," Alisande said with total de-termination, "but ride I must, or the child may have no father!" The doctor's face sank into a tragic mask. "At least ride in a litter," he pleaded.

"What! A warrior going forth to battle in a litter? Who would respect it?"

"I have heard of wounded kings who directed their battles from horse litters," the doctor insisted.

"I am not wounded!"

"No, but you will be if you do not take care. At the very least, Majesty, ride sidesaddle!"

Alisande tried to glare at the doctor, but she couldn't keep it up with someone who was honestly concerned for her welfare. She dropped her gaze. "Very well, learned doctor-I shall ride sidesaddle. Until battle."

"Do not ride in battle," the old man pleaded. "What are generals for? Alisande looked up, eyes sparking. "Should not queens be generals, too? " "Aye, Majesty-if they are not mothers."

"I will not be a mother yet," Alisande muttered, eyes downcast-but she put on her armor with a heavy heart.

Then she took it off again. It no longer fit around the middle. When she was finally attired, her ladies sighed and ushered her out the door, shaking their heads but knowing it was useless to protest. As they came out into the courtyard, a shout went up and all the men stood straighter, all eyes locked on their queen, in her hood and coat of light mail, covered by the tabard with her arms emblazoned on it, and her battle coronet on her head. She stood a moment, looking out at them, feeling the old pride stir within her. Then she turned to the groom, who was holding the stirrup of her charger. She nodded